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waitimcomingtoo · 6 months

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Just to Learn That You Never Cared

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

requested/idea by @usoppsstar

Masterlist

“Oh, hey. Your girlfriend left this in class.” One of Peter’s classmates said as he tossed Peter a hoodie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Peter said before realizing what the person had said. He turned the hoodie over in his hands and recognized it as yours. His face warmed up in a blush when he realized you had just been mistaken for his girlfriend. He shoved the hoodie into his bag and wondered if he should tell you or not.

Peter saw you later that night on a rooftop you frequented often. You were in your suit, as was he, but had your mask sitting beside you. You were munching on a bag of chips and wordlessly extended them to him when he landed on the rooftop beside you. He smiled graciously and took a few before sitting down next to you. Your knees were touching but neither of you moved away.

“You left this in physics, dingus.” Peter said and handed you your hoodie.

“Oh, thanks. We had to run out of there so fast to save that lady. I must’ve left it behind.” You smiled gratefully and pulled it over your head. Peter felt bad that his high tech suit had built in heaters and your homemade suit was probably leaving you freezing every night. He wanted to suggest sharing his warmth, but he didn’t want to overstep.

“I know. Thank God she called the police on those kids for selling lemonade without a permit. I’m really glad we left a test to go witness that heinous crime.”

“It’s not all bad. We did get to see the cops arrest her for wasting their time by making a fake police report, which is always satisfying. And the kids gave us free lemonade. But I think calling it “homemade” was bullshit. I know Minute Maid when I taste it.” You replied, making Peter chuckle.

“You’re right. Both those things were enjoyable.” Peter agreed. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like we have to leave class every other day.”

“I know. Why did we have to pick a college in such a Karen ridden neighborhood?” You sighed.

“Because we wanted to go to the good school with the good science program. We should’ve known the neighborhood would be full of bored housewives who call the police whenever they have a minor complaint. It was our own hubris.”

“It was.” You chuckled and said looked over at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you looked over at the city horizon. Peters eyes never left you and he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh, my aunt and I were gonna get Chinese food later. At the place that got shut down for being a front for money laundering but that was really just a front for a second Chinese food chain.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” He nodded. “Anyways, you should totally come-“

Peter was cut off by the police radio he wired to his phone going off. He rolled his eyes and checked what the alert was.

“Damn it. Robbery at the bakery on 9th.” He told you.

“Lowkey, I’d do the same. Their cream puffs made me cream.” You said as you put your mask back on.

“Haha, yeah.” Peter chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll handle the robbery. But I’ll catch you tomorrow, Parker. Get home safe.” You saluted him before falling backwards off the building.

“I love you too.” Peter sighed.

“Did you say something?” You asked and popped back up.

“No.” Peter quickly lied.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow.” You waved to him and disappeared again. Peter let out another sigh before swinging home.

The next day, you ran after one of your classmates once class was let out.

“Hey, Carly. I emailed you my notes from the class you missed.” You told her.

“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” She replied. “Oh, and could you tell your boyfriend that band practice is in the gym today?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” You agreed. She was about to walk away when you realized what she had said.

“Wait, what am I saying?” You wondered. “Who’s my boyfriend?”

“You know. That guy with the prescription shoes.” Carly answered. You tilted your head in confusion until you realized you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Wait, Peter?” You laughed in surprise. You expected her to laugh too and reveal she was just kidding but she looked completely serious.

“Oh, right. Peter. Why do I always think his name is Timmy?” Carly wondered.

“Because he looks like a Timmy. He gets it all the time.” You waved your hand. “And his shoes are not prescription. He just bought women’s platform shoes because he wanted to be taller and didn’t think anyone could tell.”

“We can.” Carly mumbled.

“I know.” You agreed. “But, I’m getting off topic. Timmy is not my boyfriend. I mean, Peter is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever label you guys use, can you tell him that wind ensemble is meeting in the gym instead of the choir room? The sopranos kicked us out again to practice or do drugs or something.” Carly explained. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and tried to figure out if she was joking or not.

“The label? I’m so lost. Who told you that Peter’s my boyfriend?”

“Nobody told me.” She shrugged. “Everyone just knows that you guys are a couple.”

“Well how would they know something that isn’t true?” You asked and folded your arms.

“I mean, it’s not like you guys try to keep it a secret. Between all the whispering and staying close by each other. Plus you’re always sneaking out of class together or showing up late. And if one of you is absent, the other always is too. It’s been like that since high school. People just put two and two together I guess. Why, did you want to to be secret?”

“I didn’t want it to be anything. We’re not even dating.” You insisted and felt like you were going crazy.

“You don’t have to deny it.” Carly laughed. “I know feelings are weird and gross and stuff and you’ve never been the relationship type, but I think this guy is good for you. He brings something out in you. I don’t know. But you guys are cute. I love seeing the nice loser and assertive pretty girl troupe in real life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” You calmed down momentarily and smiled a little. Carly walked away and your smile quickly faded when you remembered what she had said. You looked around the hallway and saw another student holding an instrument.

“Hey. Band nerd.” You called out to him.

“Me?” He asked and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You had to let go of your saxophone case to point to yourself. Have you seen my boyfriend today?” You asked him.

“Peter? I haven’t seen him since yesterday in-“

“That sentence better not end with “wind ensemble” or I’m gonna lose it.”

“It was wind ensemble.” He said quickly.

“I’m leaving.” You shook your head and walked away from him. You pulled out your phone and went straight to your schools “campus sweethearts” page on instagram. Sure enough, there was a picture of you and Peter sitting next to each other right at the top of the page. You had your head thrown back laughing at something he was saying and he was looking at you fondly. You let out a shocked gasp and before walking out into the courtyard to look for Peter. You spotted him on a bench and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you, small campus”. You pumped your fist and went to sit next to him.

“Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you-“

“Someone is spreading a horrible rumor about you.” You cut him off.

“Oh no.” Peter frowned. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” You shook your head. “Peter, they’re saying you’re in wind ensemble.”

“Oh, I am.” Peter shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I play the clarinet . See. Clarinet.” Peter said and lifted up his little black clarinet case.

“Huh?” You said louder.

“I used to play in high school, pre-bite but post 9/11. I saw a flyer for orchestra on campus so I joined.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You practically shouted. Peter knew you weren’t happy but felt strangely honored that you were so upset over him not telling you something about her personal life.

“Because I know how you feel about band nerds.” He replied. “And you and I don’t really talk about non-work related things. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I care.” You insisted. “My rumored boyfriend has been in wind ensemble this whole time and I didn’t even know?”

“Wait, rumored boyfriend? Who, me?” Peter asked in surprised.

“So you didn’t know about this either?”

“No. I mean, someone did refer to you as my girlfriend the other day but I thought it was just an accident. People think you and me are dating?” Peter asked and tried not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Apparently. I’ve had multiple people refer to you as my boyfriend today. And look. We’re on the campus couples Instagram page.” You said and held up your phone.

“Ew. We have one of those?” Peter grimaced and took your phone to see the picture better.

“Yeah. I honestly think the principle runs it.” You replied. Peter was quiet as he stared at the picture for a while.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing. This just a cute picture of us. And I think the only picture of us.” He said with a shy smile. You frowned and looked at the picture again before realizing he was right.

“Carly said people think we’re dating since we’re always sneaking off together.” You told him. Peter thought out this for a minute and then made another connection.

“Ohhhh.” He said and nodded his head.

“What?”

“This explains why the boys congratulated me on the bus back to New York after the Washington monument trip for losing my virginity at a historic landmark.”

“You lost your virginity on that trip? To who?” You whispered harshly and felt jealousy burning through your veins.

“You, apparently.” He laughed. “You and I disappeared to get the glowy alien egg bomb thing back and I guess everyone assumed we were off desecrating a national monument.”

“Oh my God. That was like 3 years ago.” You realized. “People have thought we were dating this whole time? We need to put a stop to this.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Or…” Peter trailed off and gave you a look.

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or, we lean into it.” He suggested. “We let people think it. We encourage it, even.”

“Why would we do that?”

“People have been suspicious about where we go and what we’re doing since high school. We can only fake so many illnesses and I ran out of grandparents to lie about the death of by junior year. So if people already made up a reason, maybe we should let them think that. We don’t have to go out of our way to confirm it but we can keep the assumption going to keep them from finding out what we’re really doing.”

“So you think we should let people think we’re dating so they stop wondering about what we’re always off doing?”

“That’s exactly what I just said, yes.” Peter nodded.

“Hey. Be nicer to your fake girlfriend.” You said and smacked his arm.

“I’m sorry. I will.” Peter blushed and rubbed his arm. You felt bad for hitting him and wrapped both arms around him to rub them up and down. He smiled softly at you and you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You play the clarinet?” You asked after a minute.

“Squidward made it look so cool.” Peter shrugged.

“Did he?” You asked, making Peter laugh.

“No.” He admitted.

The next day, you and Peter walked to school together with the understanding that from then on out, you were going to play the part of a happy couple. You weren’t going to go around announcing it to everyone or anything. You just needed to convince the few that didn’t already believe the rumor and confirm things for the ones who did believe it.

“You ready for this?” You asked Peter as you stepped into campus.

“I think so. Maybe we should hold hands or something. You know, since people think we’re dating.” Peter suggested and tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter to him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took your hand and took note of the way it fit in his like it was made for him.

“This is weird.” You whispered to him, popping his bubble.

“Why? Are my hands sweaty?” He panicked.

“No. Just really, really hot.” You told him. “It’s just weird that nobody seems to care that we’re holding hands right now.”

“I mean, we are just two random people with almost no social presence.”

“That’s true. I guess I just thought people would care more.” You admitted as you looked around the campus. No one was phased by you and Peter, but he was too busy enjoying the moment to realize it.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked you.

“Yeah. I wore my best bra because I thought I’d be getting more attention today.” You frowned and adjusted the strap of your bra.

“It’s okay. I’ll take one for the team and stare at your boobs.” Peter assured you.

“Aw. Thank you.” You gushed and gave his hand a squeeze.

You got to your physics class and sat together at your usual lab table. Peter looked around the classroom while you carried on as usual.

“Maybe I should put my arm around you. You know, to really convince people.” Peter suggested with a shy blush on his face.

“Is that really something people do?” You genuinely wondered. “I feel like I never see couples with their arms around each other.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have either. But let’s try it anyway.” He said and wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer to him so that you could comfortably lean into him. You quickly realized you didn’t hate it and let out a content sigh.

“Hm.” Peter made a little noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” You asked him.

“Our height difference makes this hurt my shoulder.” He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Then move your arm.” You whispered back.

“I can’t. I just wrapped it around you. It’ll look weird if I immediately take it off.” Peter said as he covered behind him to see who was looking.

“Or, consider this. Nobody in this entire city, and dare I say world, cares where your arm is right now.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. I’ll remove it. But I have to give a reason.” He told you before loudly clearing his throat.

“Ah. Sorry, babe. I can’t cuddle you right now. My arm is sore from band practice.” Peter said loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear him. You hung your head in shame and heard people murmuring about his strange comment.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped. “People are looking. They’re gonna know something is up. I have to put it back.”

He went to put his arm back around you but you stopped him before he could draw any more attention to the two of you.

“Just do this.” You whispered to him and pulled his stool closer to you and turned towards him a little. Your knees and were touching and you were now facing each other.

“That’s it? No one can even see this.” Peter said in disappointment. He thought being your fake boyfriend would bring you guys closer but you were sitting the way you always sat in class.

“It’s not about what people can see. It’s about proximity.” You explained. “We’re sitting closer together than anyone else is without being egregious about it. It’s a simple touch. If we’ve been together as long as people think we have, we don’t need to be wrapped around each other all the time. A simple touch to let the other know we’re there is all we need.”

Peter was silent as he stared at you following your explanation. He stared for so long that you felt yourself blush under the eye contact.

“What?” You asked him.

“I like the way you explain things.” Peter said simply. You quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see the effect that comment had on you and took a moment to collect yourself.

“It’s just something I thought of.” You shrugged.

“I know. But I never would have thought of that. Especially not as naturally as it did for you. You’re so quick.”

“Thank you.” You laughed shyly and found yourself unable to look away from him. Peter opened his mouth to say something to keep the momentum rolling but his phone interrupted him.

“Shoot. Sus-tivity on the b bridge.” He whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked at full volume.

“It means there’s suspicious activity on the Brooklyn bridge.” He rolled his eyes. “We have to act fast so I didn’t have time to say the whole thing.”

“But you just said the whole thing. And the abridged version. So it took twice as long.”

“Shh.” He waved his hand. “We gotta go.”

You reluctantly collected your things and took Peter’s hand to pull him out of his seat. Peter followed you out the classroom but the teacher cleared her throat when you walked by.

“And where are you two going?” She asked. You and Peter exchanged looks as the class snickered and murmured their theories about what exactly you were heading off to do.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pepper. My girlfriend and I have to leave class unexpectedly. Please excuse us. It’s urgent.” Peter’s said politely.

“I bet it’s urgent, Parker.” A boy snickered, making serval classmates laugh.

“Gross.” You wrinkled your noses and looked at the boys in disdain.

“Fine.” The teacher sighed. “The only reason I don’t write you two up for skipping so often is because you somehow have the best grades in the class. Go on. Just get the homework done.”

“We will.” You assured her before leaving the room with Peter. Peter noticed that you didn’t drop his hand even when you were alone in the hallway.

“Hey, you know that teachers name is Dr. Zhang and not Dr. Pepper, right?” You asked him.

“Oh my God.” Peter gasped. “Is it really? I’ve emailed her so many times and said “Dear Dr. Pepper”. We have to drop out.”

You laughed and held his hand the rest of the way out of the building.

That night, Peter laid in his bed with his phone held close to his face. He had been trying to figure out what to text you to let you know he had been thinking of you.

“I had fun fighting crime with you today” He wrote out. He read it over before scrunching his nose.

“No. Too cringe. She is not gonna fall in love with someone that says “fighting crime”. I’m not Paw Patrol.” He said like it was obvious. He deleted his text and thought of another one.

“I had a good time today, we make a good team” He wrote out instead. He read it a few times until he found issue with it.

“Oh, you had a good time stopping those break dancers that were obstructing that Sbarro? That’ll catch her attention.” Peter said sarcastically and deleted the text.

“have a goodnight :)” He typed out and then shook his head.

“No. Wayyyy too horny.” He sighed and deleted it again.

“night” He wrote out and read it a few times.

“This is good. I can work with this.” He nodded. He was about to workshop it when a text from you popped up.

“pick a color” It said. Peters heart skipped a beat at the vague message and replied with the first color that popped into his head.

“blue”

“thank u” You wrote back within seconds. Peters heart stopped pounded and the disappointment that the conversation was over settled in. After all these years of fighting crime together, you two never really managed to make it past the coworkers stage. He was desperate for more but never knew how to get there.

“no homo but I had fun fighting crime with you today” You suddenly texted again. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips and he touched his as if it were your face.

“ok paw patrol” He wrote back. Back in your room, you were laughing at his text and trying to think of a witty reply.

“ur mad bc you know I’m the chase 🐶” You texted him.

“if ur the Chase then who am I?”

“plssss ur such a marshall” You wrote back.

“but that’s the third most important dog :(“ Peter replied.

“well yes but he’s cute and wears red so the little paw patrol shoe fits” You answered. A blush painted Peters cheeks over you calling him cute but he didn’t want to read too much into it.

“Im wearing red right now😳” He texted back.

“oh I bet you are” You answered, making him laugh. He kept the conversation going for about an hour before duty called once again. Peter groaned and put his suit on before swinging to the scene of the crime. He met you there and stopped the crime before stopping on a nearby rooftop to rest.

“These burglars aren’t very considerate of our sleep schedules. Who robs a Jersey Mikes after midnight? Or, like, ever?” Peter huffed as he tugged his mask off.

“I know. They’re always at inconvenient times. I was in the middle of painting my nails.”

“Can I see?” He asked in a soft voice. You pulled your gloves off and held out your hand for him to see.

“Look. Blue. But I only got half way through before Mike’s was targeted.”

“It’s okay. They still look pretty.” Peter complimented you with a soft smile.

“Thanks. You picked a good color.” You replied.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I told you to pick a color. This is why.” You explained and held out your hand again. His eyes lit up at this new information and he took your hand to see your nails closer.

“You let me chose your nail color?” He smiled fondly.

“Well I didn’t know what to chose so I thought I’d ask the audience.” You shrugged and felt shy all of the sudden.

“Oh. And I’m the target audience, huh?” Peter smirked and turned towards you.

“I never said target.” You teased him and shoved him shoulder.

“I must be hearing things, then.” He shrugged as you both smiled.

“Yeah. Must be.” You said in a soft voice as you stared into his eyes. Peter gulped before making a bold move and taking your hand again under the guise of looking at your nails.

“Look at you. You even got my favorite shade.” He noted.

“You like “Eating For Blue”?” You pretended to gasp.

“Is that really the name of the color?” He laughed.

“Uh huh. It was apart of Essie’s baby fever collection. I almost chose “All In Blue Time” but that’s one tends to get little air bubbles and they give me agida. And I used to have “A Dream Come Blue” but it rolled under the sink so it belongs to the dust bunnies now.” You shrugged as you checked out your nails.

“Wow. This is all new information to me. So, are all nail polish colors named after puns and wordplay?” He asked as he stared into your eyes. He didn’t really care, but he was finally getting somewhere with you and didn’t want it to end.

“In my experience, yes. Not always color related wordplay but always something that makes you go yeah, I guess this shade of beige is what the word “ladylike” would be as a color.”

“This is blowing my mind right now.” Peter chuckled.

“You mean blue-ing your mind.” You corrected and tapped the side of your head.

“I think you inhaled too many of those fumes. Because that was not funny.” Peter said through a laugh.

“What?” You pretended to be offended. “You’re literally laughing right now. I’m so funny.”

“You are.” Peter admitted when his laughter died down. You stared into eyes for a minute before smiling.

“Is that what you rumored saw in me?” You asked him.

“Probably.” He chuckled. “I also heard a rumor that I think you’re really pretty. Like, the prettiest girl I was ever rumored to have allegedly seen.”

“Now you’re the one who’s looney from the fumes because that’s a straight up lie. I know you’ve seen prettier girls because I was standing right next to you when Anne Hathaway left that diner.” You said without making eye contact with him. Things were moving a little too fast and you needed it hit the brakes for a second.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Peter forced a laugh and awkwardly looked over at the cityscape when he realized you were politely telling him to pull back.

“But I appreciate it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking saying that.” He laughed nervously. “I was just getting caught up in the fake dating. We’ve been doing it for so long that it felt real.”

“We only started this morning.” You reminded him.

“Right. Well, it’s late. I’m gonna go home.” He said quickly and stood up. He had just blown that and needed to leave as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Goodnight. See you at school.” You called after him. Peter swung home with tears in his eyes and went straight to bed, missing your text about having fun fighting another crime.

The next day at school, Peter decided to start over and push last night from his mind. He played the part of your boyfriend to the best of his abilities and opened every door, pulled out every seat, and carried ever book for you all day long. Then he did it the next day, and the day after that. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings day in and day out no matter how painful it was getting. You and Peter had finally moved past the coworker stage and become real friends so he didn’t want to sabotage it all by telling you that he spent his days wishing for more.

“What are your plans tonight?” You asked him one day as you walked out of class together.

“My aunt is going out with her friends so I was probably gonna watch a movie on my couch. But on my laptop with my earbuds in. Likely in my boxers. Likely with an entire package of Twizzlers. Why?”

“Well I was gonna suggest that we hang out but you sound booked.”

“Really? You want to hang out?” Peter asked with much more enthusiasm than he intended.

“If you want. I’m not doing anything as exciting as boxers and Twizzlers.”

“I would love to. I’ll put on pants for you. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” You laughed. “Text me your address, okay?”

“Sure. Or you could walk with me now. Unless you’re tired of me and need a break before we hang out.” Peter suggested as you left campus together.

“It’s funny you say that. I was just telling my mom the other day that I never get tired of you.” You said casually.

“You..you don’t?” Peter’s face heated up as he followed you down the sidewalk.

“I don’t. I usually need a break from other people if we’ve been together awhile but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my social battery if that makes sense.“

“It makes sense.” He smiled shyly as your hands bumped against each others. He was about to make a bold move and take your hand despite no one being around but you suddenly moved it to hit the crosswalk button.

Back at Peter’s apartment, he awkwardly gave you a tour and wished he had picked up his clothes before leaving the house that morning. You didn’t seem to mind the socks and boxers strewn across his room because you were too focused on all the little things he kept on his shelves. You picked up a picture frame of your freshman year high school class that had you and Peter seated right next to each other. Your friendship had only just begun so you often forgot how long you knew him for.

“So this is your room.” You smiled and put the picture back.

“Yup. This is where the magic happens.” Peter said and immediately cringed at himself.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. This is where I practice magic. Wanna see?” He asked and picked up a deck of cards. You laughed and went over to take one.

“Is your card the ace of spades?” He asked.

“Queen of hearts.” You snorted and turned the card around.

“You’re the queen of my heart.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” You asked as you looked at all his Legos.

“I asked what you wanted to do tonight.” He lied.

“I don’t know. We have the place to ourselves. We could do something rated R.” You said with a coy smile.

“Like what?” Peter gulped.

“Watch an R rated movie, you perv. Your aunt isn’t here to stop you.”

“You remember me telling you that I’m not allowed to watch R rated movies in the living room anymore?” Peter blushed at you remembering something he had randomly told you long ago.

“Are you referring to the time you watched Tusk at full volume while she had her friends from work over for the first time? How could I forget?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what the movie was about. And I didn’t think her friends were gonna come into the living room and see that guy getting turned into a walrus.”

“Yeah, the title and cover art gave no indication that the movie would end that way. But that’s not a bad idea actually. Let’s watch something scary.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed and followed you out into the living room. He turned off the lights and got some snacks while you picked a movie. He hated scary movies but he was not about to tell you that. Instead, he sat on the couch beside you as a respectful distance and handed you a bag of chips. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other. Peter had never really seen you scared before but you were practically in his lap just 40 minutes into the movie. You reached into the bag of chips at the same time as Peter and your fingers touched. You both froze and looked at each other as your faces heated up.

“Shit. I’m not wearing a condom.” Peter sighed, making you yank your hand out and laugh.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed and turned back to the movie just as a jump-scare happened. You screamed and jumped closer to Peter.

“This is so scary. Why did I pick this movie?” You asked as you drew your knees up and leaned into his side.

“Yeah, same.” He replied, not even listening. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. You were cuddled into his side with your head on his shoulder and knees in his lap with a blanket drawn up to your nose. He knew you were only cuddling him because you were scared but it didn’t even matter at that point. The movie went quiet for a minute and then made a loud sound, sending you to burry your face into Peter’s neck.

“Tell me when it’s safe to come out.” You whispered into his ear. Peter gulped and wrapped an arm around you to fully protect you from the movie.

“I will.” He said in a soft voice. You peaked your head out a few minutes later but stayed nestled into Peter’s side. You realized his arm was around you and smiled a little.

“Oh, this isn’t so bad.” You shrugged as the main character got eaten alive.

“I don’t understand you.” Peter chuckled and looked down at you. You laughed as well as you looked into his eyes. He was about to say something when another sharp sound from the movie caused you to jump.

“Hold my hand.” You blurted and grabbed his hand. Peter happily accepted and clasped your hand before holding it under his chin. You stayed in that position for a long time and watched the movie. You were both so focused on the screen that you didn’t hear May opening the front door and coming in.

“Hey. I’m home.” She said, making you both scream.

“Oh, hi May.” Peter greeted while he realized it was just her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m-“

“I know.” She smirked. “I’ll just be in my room. But, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“No going in your room with the door closed, okay? I’m home. And we have thin walls. Just keep that in mind.” She said, making Peter turn bright red.

“Got it, May.” He mumbled. She winked at you and disappeared into her bedroom.

“You told your aunt we were dating?” You whispered to Peter in confusion.

“No.” Peter answered honestly. “I guess she just assumed we were.”

“Wow. She’s just like the kids at school.” You shook your head. “I don’t get it. Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

“I mean…” Peter trailed off and looked down at your clasped hands. You hadn’t realized you were still cuddling and quickly jumped off of him. Peters heart sank and the longer he sat in the absence of your body heat, the more upset he felt.

“You just jumped off of me like I was sharp.” He said without looking at you.

“I didn’t want your aunt to see us cuddling and think-“

“And think what?” He snapped, cutting you off. You gutted your head back in surprise and let out a nervous laugh.

“Woah. What’s going on with you? She already knows about your secret life. We don’t have any reason to pretend we’re dating in front of her.”

Peter stared at you for a long time as the word “pretend” cut into him like a knife. Every time he thought you were going somewhere, he was reminded that it didn’t actually mean anything to you.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He mumbled and looked at the movie again. You kept your eyes on him and felt guilty. You had so much to say to him but you felt unable to speak.

“Peter-“

“I don’t think we should pretend to date anymore.” He blurted, cutting you off once again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise and you got a sick feeling in your tummy that you had just ruined something really important.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s stupid. No one even cares anymore.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to fake a breakup or anything but I don’t want to hold hands or play along anymore. I’m done.”

“What changed?” You asked in a soft voice. He was still looking at the movie while you were fully turned to face him.

“Nothing changed. That’s the problem.” He said and angrily got off the couch. You quickly caught his hand and he stopped. He looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you if he hadn’t told you what was wrong. He slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Five years ago, you showed up to the same robbery at an all night CVS that I was at and I realized we knew each other from AP Spanish class because I had asked you earlier that day how to conjugate “poner” and you said “pusiste” and I laughed because I thought you were joking but you weren’t and then that night you heard me tell the burglar that he better“pusiste” the money back into the register.“ Peter began.

“Okay. Wow. That was a really long sentence.” You laughed softly. “But I remember that. I laughed and told you that you better remember that for the test.”

“You did. That’s how I knew it was you.” He smiled at the memory. “I failed that test, by the way. I still can’t conjugate “poner.” And I still think it means “boner” even though I know it’s a verb. But anyway, that night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to have met you. Even though we technically already knew each other, that night put us in each others radars. I could not believe that I had met my match. You’re into science like me and sarcastic like me and you understand this side of my life because you have the same side. But despite running into each other on patrol almost nightly and seeing each other around school, I barely got you to notice me. I don’t think you even knew my name until we ended up going the same college. You called me “Timmy” all throughout high school.”

“You seriously look like one. It’s uncanny. I don’t know what it is.”

“I thought things would change when I found out we were going to the same college. The campus is so small I figured there’s no way we wouldn’t become friends. But even then, we hardly ever talked and when we did it was always about work. I didn’t even know where you lived until last semester.”

“I remember that too. The first night we really bonded was when you fell off that roof because you were trying to show me how to do a backflip.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to do a backflip.” He admitted. “I only said I could because you said you always wanted to learn how to do one and I assumed given my abilities I’d be able to do one if I just followed my body. But I busted my ass and you were kind enough to sneak me through your window and patch me up with some Scooby Doo bandaids.”

“It was all I had.” You shrugged.

“And you gave it to me anyway. Because you’re kind and compassionate and I’m just…I’m crazy about you.” Peter finally admitted. “I was so excited when we started hanging out more this semester but it always ended up crushing me when I remembered that we just doing it to keep people from finding out the truth. I really, really love our friendship and if I’m ruining it all by saying all this then at least I can die with it off my chest.”

“Wait, now I’m confused. Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It feels like I am every time you and I start to get close and then I remember this is all pretend for you.”

“So it’s not pretend for you?” You asked quietly. Peter stared into your heads for a minute and then shook his head.

“No. I was never pretending. I like you.” He told you. Your facial expression didn’t change as you stared back at him. Peter was really starting to panic until a smile tugged at your lips.

“Sit back down.” You told him.

“I’m sat.” He said and rushed it sit down. You nestled back into his side and laid your head down on his shoulder. Peter smiled and rested his head on top of yours, finally pleased with the way a conversation with you went. You both turned your attention back to the movie just in time for it to end.

“Hm.” You huffed. “That was supposed to be us symbolically finishing the movie as a real couple but it appears we’ve already arrived at the credits. Now what?”

“We could watch Tusk.” Peter suggested at the same time you said “We could make out.”

“I never actually saw Tusk but I always wanted to.” You gasped and hit his arm with excitement.

“Or we could do your thing.” Peter forced a laugh and tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Let me see if I can find it.” You said as you scrolled through the streaming services on his TV.

“Or we could do your thing.”

Tag List 🏷️

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker fake dating #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x you #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x y/n

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abyssalfaith · 2 months

Text

Synastry obs <3

Hiiiii !!! It's been a while ! Here's another synastry obs, enjoy it :)

Rising in their 8th house : the 8th house might be very aware of everything the rising do in their everyday life and they even might stalk a little... 8th house synastry is also about the spiritual, rising might introduce them to new beliefs (especially if 9th house synastry is present.). This relatioship, platonic or romantic, will be transformative for both of them.

6th house synastry : UNDERRATED. Girl, if you want a bestfriend in a boyfriend, a secreteller, a shoulder to cry on and someone to call and yap about your day... I love this synsatry because the planet person just want to be in the life of the house planet and want to improve everything in it ! Be aware of pressure and toxicity tho, you have your own pace ! Great placement for longterm relationship.

Lilith synastry (inner planet : mars, venus and moon) : briefly = the mystery. Everything about them will be mystery at some point.

Mars asp lilith : attraction of one to another will be a mystery : why ? how ? how much ? Why me ?

Mon asp lilith : Their emotion will seem irrational, childish or just straight up incoherent. Might triggers some past trauma in the lilith person.

Venus asp lilith : the out of reach. For some reason this placement is always about two poeple not being able to be together, or not for a long time. Social class, age, title, work... Even when it seems like you two can be ? Like why ? Something do not feel right.

Moon in the first house : moon person can read every little emotion and thought on the first peron face and mind.

10 th house synastry : I have seen heavy 10 house synastry in two case : meeting at school or work (it's your boss or the pretty senior boy that you are too afraid to talk too.). It's a celebrity : house of social statut, even if you are the house person, you just might have a big crush on people having the sign of your 10th house.

9th house synastry : house of journey... spiritual, physical. Anytime you have this synastry you will experience some sort of trip with the other one. You might move house with them, change country ? Or you might travel in the beliefs of the other, convert to a religion with them ? Enjoy it and take the lessons of these adventures.

Lilith conjunct moon : here, the planet of your emotion encounter the dark side of the moon nd in the same sign. Think about the bad and the good side of one side meeting up. In some case, you two might help each other grow, in some other case it can become too intense. I experienced it one time : a friend of mine (the moon), it started very fast, we spend every free moment together, made the world together late at night and it just stopped for some stupid shit. I think about her often tho, hope she is alright !

South node is worth looking at, trust me. You can have some peeps into your past life with the others.

Do I have to say anything about the 8th house synastry ( especially mars and venus) ? No, we know, i know, you know... uhm anyways.

Moon conjunct moon : bestfriend placement, think the same and at the same pace, just loving placement !

I have always wondered who feel the most... house or inner planet ? Tell me.

That will be all girlies :) Hope you will enjoy it :))

#astrology #synastry #1st house synastry #mars synastry #astro observations #astro community #astroblr #astrology community

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senseofnewness · 1 month

Note

What about the bully fic where reader bullies art?

unsportmanslike conduct

pairing : art donaldson x f!reader (bully!reader)

rating : explicit

word count : 4.6k

contains : smut 18+, bullying, name-calling, handjob, virginity, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), mention of character death

You were a nice girl, you always had been. Anyone could testify to that. From your daddy, who adored you and would move mountains for your pretty eyes, to your clan of friends who followed you around and worshiped the ground you walked on. All would sing your praises.

However, if anyone asked your classmates, they would describe you as the worst brat the earth has ever carried. Especially that weirdo, Art Donaldson, he would swear you are the very incarnation of the Devil.

You could precisely pinpoint when you first got involved with Art Donaldson, it had been hard to forget. It all started back in 9th grade. You had never talked before that. All you knew about him was that he was a boring nerd who only talked about ping pong, or whatever that sport was, and had a strange homoerotic relationship with his best friend, whom he constantly mentioned. To be honest, you had no interest in getting to know him at all, but this year, you had to tolerate his presence as you two shared a Spanish class.

You had truly started to notice him during one of your Spanish lessons when he had accidentally called the teacher ‘mommy’. The entire class had erupted in laughter as his face had turned a bright shade of red. He had stammered out an immediate apology, but you couldn’t just forget such an awkward moment. Sure, it had been an innocent slip of the tongue, but wasn't he a bit too old to even call his mother that way?

As soon as he had stepped out of the class that day, you had begun teasing him, calling him names and punctuating all your sentences with ‘mommy’s boy’. You had repeatedly asked him all sorts of intrusive questions about his relationship with his mother. No matter how much you had provoked him, he had remained silent, and that infuriated you. So, you had escalated things by involving your friends in the teasing, spreading tales about the bizarre things Art supposedly did with his mother. Perhaps you had been the source of the rumor that he was still breastfed at the ripe age of fourteen. And maybe you had been the one who claimed he slept in his mommy’s bed every time he wet his own, which, according to the rumors, had happened very often. Now the whole school had been in on it.

The truth was, you didn’t give him a second thought when he was out of sight. But as soon as you spotted him, his ridiculous blond curls, his sad downturned eyes, you knew you were in for a bit of twisted amusement. That day, he had been curled up on the steps leading to the physics classrooms, hunched and defeated. His face had been streaked with tears he had tried to brush away, and he looked utterly vulnerable. You had always loved an easy target.

“What’s wrong, Donaldson?” You had taunted, unable to hide the smirk on your face. His eyes had been red and puffy, revealing that he had shed far too many tears. He had sniffled, quickly swiping at the traces of his sadness at the sight of you. When he had opened his mouth to respond, you had cut him off with a sneer. “Missing your mommy?”

That had completely silenced him. He had glared at you with fury in his eyes, his gaze so piercing it could have burned a hole through your head. Without a word, he had stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

A few days later, you had heard whispers that his mother had been admitted to the hospital. Cancer? Polio? The specifics were vague, but the gravity of it was not. For a moment, a wave of remorse had tugged at you, a shadow of empathy for the boy you had tormented. But that moment had been brief, swallowed quickly by your own indifference to the boy. The memory of his tear-streaked face faded, and soon enough, you had forgotten all about it.

His ill mother didn’t stop you from teasing him throughout high school, it had become a staple of your daily routine. He had made every effort to avoid you, but you had always managed to cross paths with him. It was now sophomore year, and Art Donaldson still ate his lunch outside the cafeteria, away from the crowd, anxious about running into you. But you made sure he didn’t have the chance to avoid you. You had followed him outside, observing from a distance as he enjoyed his home-cooked meal. “Did mommy prepare that for you?” You asked, your voice sharp enough to freeze him in place. You made your presence known by walking over and sitting down beside him, your eyes hungrily staring at the delicious-looking food in his lunch box. The truth was, you had been envious that his parents cared enough to prepare a meal for him. All you had was lunch money and access to your father’s UberEats account. “Really putting the ‘son’ in Donaldson.” You had teased.

He had only sighed in response, his gaze heavy with annoyance, as if you were the most irritating person on earth. You had stared back at him, an innocent grin fixed on your face, daring him to react. He had squinted, holding your gaze with an intensity that caught you off guard. It was then you had noticed, for the first time, that one of his eyes wasn’t as blue as the other, with a hint of brown disrupting the otherwise light color. “Creep.” You had snapped, breaking the moment with a sharp edge in your voice. You had stood up, smoothing the pleats of your skirt with careful precision. “Gotta go. Got better things to do.” You had added, turning on your heel and leaving him behind, with nothing but your contempt for him.

You had thought you were done with him for the day, but that very same afternoon, as you had been smoking a cigarette with your friends a few feet from the school gates, when someone had tapped you on the shoulder. You had turned around, surprised to see him standing there. He had been the last person you had expected to approach you.

“I need you to quit being a bitch and fucking leave me alone.” He had demanded, his face set with a determination you hadn’t seen before. His request had taken you by surprise. Until then, he had always stayed silent in the face of your teasing. You had assumed it didn’t bother him, which had only fueled your desire to push his limits even further.

“Wow. You grew balls, Donaldson?” You had challenged, standing defiantly in front of him with your hands on your hips. It had struck you then how much taller he had grown over the past few years. He wasn’t a little boy anymore; he was starting to look like a man. His arms had become as thick as your thighs, and if he had wanted to smack you, you would have probably gone flying across the yard. But you hadn’t been scared of him. Despite the muscles, he had still been a pussy in your eyes. “Don’t need your mommy anymore?” You had scoffed, a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth as you had locked eyes with him. You had taken a long drag of your cigarette and blown the smoke directly into his face.

“You see, Donaldson, the thing is I don’t care what you need.” You had said, stepping closer until you had been practically chest to chest with him, invading his space. He had closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh as he had tried to keep his composure. Without another word, he had turned and walked away. As soon as he had been out of earshot, you had turned to your friends, a victorious smile spreading across your face. Silence had hung in the air for a second before you had all burst into laughter, the sound echoing around the yard like a cruel choir.

Despite your attitude, you had somewhat left him alone after that. You weren’t actively seeking him out to stir up trouble, you would only teased him if he happened to cross your path. You had far more pressing concerns than Art Donaldson. It was senior year, and you needed to secure a spot in a prestigious university to avoid having your parents cut you off completely. You were determined to study communication and become a journalist and Stanford had always been your dream, but you were unsure if your grades were high enough to make that dream a reality.

Aside from academics, boys had consumed a significant portion of your attention. This year, you had started catching their eye, thanks to having finally gotten rid of your braces and your breasts having grown three sizes. Now, nearly every weekend had been filled with dates. No one had formally asked you to be their girlfriend yet, but you were enjoying being the center of their attention. You believe that one could never be too experienced.

The next time you had really interacted with Art Donaldson was during senior year, in history class, a period that had felt more like an opportunity for a beauty sleep than a lesson. The teacher’s monotonous voice had been more effective than any lullaby. Plus, he didn’t seem to care much about whether students followed along, as long as they kept their noise level low enough for him to remain buried in his book.

You had been reapplying your makeup, having just spent recess making out with that boy from the basketball team in the boys' restroom. The encounter had left your makeup smudged, so now you were carefully touching up your lip gloss. Art had been seated two rows in front of you, to the right, but despite the distance, you had felt his gaze fixed on you. When you had glanced up, you had caught him staring intently at your tits. Looking down, you had noticed your shirt revealing more breasts than intended, but what had truly captured his attention was the hint of your areola peeking through the edge of your shirt. When you had looked up at him again, he was still completely engrossed in your cleavage.

“Wanna suck on my tit like you do with mommy, Donaldson?” You had asked with a smirk, adjusting your shirt to cover yourself. He had looked up, his face flushing bright red, and he had quickly turned away, pulling his hood up to hide his embarrassment. “Shut up.” He had mumbled, his voice muffled as he covered his face with his hoodie.

The teacher had called both your names. “Both of you are staying after class for detention.” Detention? Was he serious? This was all that fucker’s fault. “Sir, I didn’t do anything wrong! He was the one looking at me inappropriately, all drooling and stuff.” The teacher had lifted his gaze from his glasses, eyebrows raised. “Should I call the principal?” You certainly didn’t need that kind of incident on your record. “No.” You had replied quickly, shaking your head.

“I can’t believe that you are, of all people, in detention.” You said, glancing over at Art, who was seated in the chair right next to yours. “Maybe if you weren’t such a creep.” The teacher had left you both in class to write an essay about respect. Most teachers trusted you to be left alone, given your role as class representative. As for Art, he was known as the quiet kid who stayed out of trouble and avoided problems. The essay had only taken ten minutes to finish, and now you were bored out of your mind. What more was there to say about respecting your peers? You were respectful, after all, it wasn’t your fault if Art Donaldson happened to be a perv.

Initially, you had thought that teasing him would provide enough entertainment, but his lack of response to your incessant questions had left you frustrated. So, you had decided to try a different tactic. “Wanna smoke?” You had asked, breaking the silence with a nonchalant tone, offering a small, mischievous smile as you had waited for his reaction.

“How? We’re stuck in here.” He had said with a shrug of his shoulders. You had rolled your eyes, walked over to the window, and opened it. Perching on the edge, you had lit the blunt and taken a deep drag, savoring the smoke. “What’s that sport you’re into, already?” You had asked, passing him the joint. “Tennis.” He had replied, taking a long puff that made him cough. You had chuckled, amused at his obvious inexperience. “Are you any good?” You had inquired, snatching the cone back. You had heard he was quite skilled and had accumulated a fair number of trophies. He had shrugged dismissively.

“Does your mommy come to watch your matches?” You had asked, your tone teasing. His expression had darkened. “You should just quit the mommy thing already.” He had mumbled, while picking at the skin around his nails. “Why? Is it turning you on?” You had teased, watching as a faint blush colored his cheeks. You had taken another drag from the blunt, filling your lungs with the smoke before exhaling slowly. “It’s getting old!” He had snapped, and you had looked at him in surprise at his sudden outburst. “I like it. It’s fun.” You had said with a shrug, unbothered.

“Is being a cunt the only way you know how to have fun?” You had stared at him in disbelief, flicking the joint out of the window. Standing defiantly in front of him, even though he had been towering over you, you had placed your hand against his crotch, giving it a firm, deliberate squeeze. “You really have grown a pair!” He had grabbed your wrist, trying to make you stop, but you had continued to massage his groin with a mix of defiance and amusement.

He had stared into your eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. There had been something unsettling in his gaze that had made you reconsider what you had thought about him previously. Maybe Art Donaldson had, in fact, been attractive, just a little. His tall, athletic frame had spoken of his years of tennis training, as had his strong hands and muscular thighs. His messy blond curls had framed a chiseled jaw and a long, straight nose, while his blue eyes, though often shadowed by his hair, had held a depth that was hard to ignore. What had always made him utterly unappealing had been his status as a ‘mommy’s boy’, a label that had clung to him like a second skin. Yet, perhaps, you had been the only reason he had been perceived as such. Aside from the accidental ‘mommy’ incident, he had never exhibited anything that might have cast doubt on his relationship with his mother. He had not even been remotely weird, he had just been a passionate boy.

Maybe he had not been as much of a loser as you had thought. Or maybe it was the horniness in you speaking. You had slipped your hand into his pants and had grasped his length. Maybe you were playing him, or maybe you were driven by your own desire, you were unsure. His cock had been of a decent size, certainly better than some you had encountered in the past. You even had seen worse earlier that day in the cramped restroom when you had knelt for that guy, John, or had it been Jake? Proof that tall boy did not always mean big dick. You had wrapped your hand around Art’s member and had begun to stroke him slowly. He had immediately buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your expensive perfume. Things had not been as slick as you had hoped, so you had briefly pulled away to spit into your mouth. Returning to his shaft, you had spread the gob of saliva over his length, making the process a bit easier.

The fact that he had not been gazing at you with his usual puppy eyes had made the whole process easier. You had managed to imagine it was anyone but him you were touching. But this pretense hadn’t lasted long. As you had continued to stroke him, he had pulled away to lock eyes with you, desperate moans escaping his lips. Leaning in closer, he had closed the gap between your faces. Art Donaldson had begun kissing you, and to your surprise, you had leaned into the kiss while fisting his cock with urgency.

When your tongue had finally met his, you had heard him whimper, and instantly felt his warm, slimy cum spreading across your hand and wrist. He had broken the kiss to glance at the mess he had made, his face reddening with shame. “Fuck, I’m so sorry!” He had exclaimed, clearly humiliated that the entire experience had been so brief. “Ew.” You had responded with a look of clear revulsion, your eyes narrowing as you had released your grip and moved to grab a paper towel from the teacher’s desk. You had used it to wipe your hand clean, your expression one of utter distaste.

You had been aware that boys at that age often didn't last long, but this had been a new record. After discarding the paper towel in the trash, you had returned to your seat quietly. The room had been heavy with an uncomfortable silence as both of you had remained motionless, ashamed by what had just happened : him because he had lasted a second and you because you had jerked off the school’s creep. It had been so underwhelming that you had wished you could erase it from your memory entirely. You could already imagine the reactions from your friends if they found out you had, of all people, jerked off Art Donaldson, the infamous bed-wetter. The thought alone made your stomach turn with embarrassment.

After several minutes of suffocating silence, Art had finally broken it. “You know, she died.” His voice had been a faint murmur. You had wished he would just ignore you and not speak to you. You had already been hating yourself for being so weak in front of him. “Who?” You had asked, feigning disinterest despite the knot tightening in your chest. You could feel the answer coming and it was going to break you. “My mom.” He had said, his whisper heavy with pain. It had been evident he had struggled to say the words out loud. You had turned to face him, your mouth opening as if to offer an apology, but the words had never come. Apologizing had not been something you were used to, and the magnitude of your regret had left you feeling utterly helpless. You had never felt so foolish and ashamed, realizing how your relentless teasing had tormented him further. You had looked away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze or your own guilt. “I’m sorry.” You had murmured, barely audible.

When the teacher had returned at the end of the hour, you had been relieved to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the classroom, which had reeked of weed and musk. “Thank God!” You had muttered as you had stood up, eager to leave behind the uncomfortable encounter.

He had tried to talk to you in the following days but only faced your avoidance. You had been resolute in your decision to ignore him, unwilling to be seen with him in public and still eaten alive by guilt over the ‘mommy’ incident. You hadn’t understood why he had persisted in wanting to talk to you either, especially given how mortified he should have been about coming so quickly.

Eventually, you had given in when you had spotted him with his cap on backwards. There had been something oddly attractive about the way he wore that outfit. From the golden locks falling from under the brim of the hat and how his nose had seemed so defined, to the way he had been wearing those short shorts that showed his thick smooth thighs. He had been carrying his tennis bag, likely on his way to practice, but you had seized the opportunity to lure him into your car when no one else had been around.

“I have tennis practice!” He had protested, reluctance evident in his voice. “Your boyfriend can wait.” You had replied with a sigh as you had turned off the engine. “My boyfriend?” He had questioned, clearly puzzled. “Philip. Or whatever.” You had said dismissively, growing increasingly impatient. “Patrick? He’s not my boyfriend!” He had insisted, but you had stared at him skeptically. “Whatever. Get in!” You had commanded. “No, I will be late.” He had refused. “Listen, Donaldson, I’m going to say this only once. I won’t repeat myself. If you refuse, it won’t happen again.” You had warned, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I’m horny and I’m ready to fuck just anyone.” You had confessed. You had watched him swallow hard, his resolve breaking as he had hurried into the car, buckling his seatbelt with visible eagerness.

After a few minutes of driving with Art's incredulous gaze fixed on you, you had parked in a secluded spot within a forest. The location was discreet enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention but close enough to the road to feel accessible. Once you had turned off the engine, you had moved to the back seat, signaling him to follow. He had simply watched as you removed your sweats and panties, his face flushed a deep crimson that spread to his ears. "Come on, already." You had urged, exasperated by his hesitation. Eventually, he had joined you in the back seat, his movements awkward and tentative. After that, you had straddled him and taken him in the backseat of your car, guiding him through the experience with clear instructions. You could tell he was a virgin by his clumsy movements and how quick he had orgasmed. So, you had taken charge, orchestrating every detail of the act. You had enjoyed the power of control, delighting in the way Art was so obedient to you. As you had rode him, driving him closer to climax, you had placed his hat atop your own head, a symbol of your dominance. With each bounce on top of him, you had moved with an intensity that made it feel as though your very life depended on it.

Every time you had promised yourself to never repeat the cycle and fuck that weirdo, you had found yourself parked in the same spot, this loser under you. You had mostly used him, fucking yourself on him like he was merely a toy. You only had allowed him to touch you when it suited your own pleasure, indifferent to whether he came or not. Yet, despite your best efforts, he always ended up coming far too soon, often leaving you to finish yourself with him limp beneath you. Nothing had frustrated you more than his premature release. Art Donaldson had been a bad fuck initially, the pleasure had come from how effortlessly you could dominate him and make him do whatever you wanted of him. However, to his credit, he had improved with time. He had now managed to climax only a few seconds before you did.

Without intending to, it had become a regular occurrence. You had ended up having sex with him several times a week. Eventually, you had ventured beyond the confines of your car and had started visiting his house. When you had met his grandmother for the first time, she had asked. “Is she your girlfriend?” You had shot a sharp glance at Art, waiting for him to respond. Instead, he had stammered out a few incoherent sounds. “I’m not. Just a classmate.” You had cut him off. His bed had been far more comfortable than the backseat of your car, but the incessant interruptions by his grandmother had made you miss the privacy of your vehicle. Had she not knocked before entering to bring you fruits, she would have found you sitting on her precious grandson’s face.

That was one thing you had come to appreciate about Art, if you could even call it appreciation. He had never hesitated to focus on your pleasure, regardless of his own. You had taught him everything you knew about sex, and he had become entirely dedicated to your satisfaction. And despite the fact that you feigned not caring about him, you found yourself eager to watch him climax as well. Perhaps you hadn’t been entirely wrong, he was indeed a submissive little boy who needed a strong woman’s presence to guide him through sex and allow him to come. A true mommy’s boy.

While your relationship outside of class had shifted dramatically, you had continued to treat him poorly at school. You still didn’t want to be seen with him in public. But now, instead of mocking him in front of all your friends, you simply ignored him. A small gesture for the guy who had made you come after school hours.

One day, while you were having lunch with your friends, he had approached your table. “Hey.” He had said, but you had merely glanced at him with a disdainful frown. “You’re needed.” He had added when you didn’t acknowledge his greeting. “Why are you talking to me, mommy’s boy?” You had retorted, your voice dripping with irritation. All your friends had been watching, bewildered by his intrusion. “It’s about a certain detention.” He had said, his tone serious. Anger rose within you, and your friends began to bombard you with questions. You had shrugged nonchalantly. “Must be because I smoked weed.” You had explained, though you knew there was more to it than just that.

You had followed him through the hallways, glaring at the back of his head as if you could burn a hole through him. “Who even allowed you to talk to me in public?” You had snapped as he had guided you toward the restrooms. “Be quick.” You had added with a sneer. “I don’t want to be seen with a loser like you. It’d be social suicide.” You had slammed the door behind you and locked it with a decisive click. Without hesitation, you had dropped your panties to your ankles and bent over the sink, pushing your hips back. As you had adjusted your position, he had fallen to his knees and lifted your skirt, his lips leaving burning kisses against the exposed skin of your ass.

Sure, you were the one in control in this relationship, acting solely on your own desires. So why had you allowed him to pleasure you like this? He had been the one to seek out your company while you were busy with friends, not the other way around. Maybe you were beginning to enjoy this arrangement a bit more than you had anticipated. Not as much as he seemed to, though, judging by the sounds escaping his mouth as he eagerly lapped at your pussy like a starving dog. “Say it.” You murmured, eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. “I know you’re dying to.” You had grasped the edge of the sink, closing your eyes against the overwhelming sensation of his tongue exploring your folds.

“M-m..mommy.” He had moaned, his mouth focused on pleasuring your clit. The name made you smirk, maybe you weren’t really the nice girl you had always thought yourself to be.

♠♣♥♦

a/n : idk felt inspired to bully that little bitch, thanks for the reminder anon

#challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fiction #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #ask

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tarotwithavi · 6 months

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SOLAR RETURN OBSERVATIONS PT1

pluto in the 3rd house can indicate moving or changing schools, being in a new class enviroment.

Scorpio rising can make you attract a lot of toxic or obsessive guys. This can make them be physically attracted to you.

Having saturn in 3rd house in SR can signify a stoppage or delay in studies. or you may find schools difficult.

saturn in 3rd can also strain your relationship with your siblings.

sun in 12th house can signify you learning a secret or a not so positive thing about your father.

uranus in 4th can also signify a change in how your parents view you and you view your home enviroment and parents.

chiron in aries in 4th house can signify a sudden change of home. the year i had this placement my father just randomly came and told us pack your belongings we're changing homes.

neptune in 1st house, pisces rising and mars in pisces can signify taking more naps or sleeping more that year.

saturn in 11th can signify a year of isolation and cutoff from friends and your usual social circle.

leo in 7th house can attract a lot of romantic partners.

venus and mars conjuction in leo is likely the year when you'll experiment a lot with your hair.

south node in 6th can suggest being concerned with health matters that year or you may want to focus more on your health that year.

jupiter in the 9th house can suggest a great year for spiritual growth and higher knowledge.

neptune in 1st can signify a year with where you may use sleep, imagination or dreams as a way of escape from reality. but it also indicates highlightened intiution and creativity.

this placement can indicate a year of finding answers in your dreams.

Astrology masterlist

⚠️ These are my personal observations, you are free to disagree with them.

#pluto astrology #astro notes #solar return #astrology #astro observations #astro community #vedic astrology #pick a card #spiritual community #pluto aspects #saturn astrology #venus astrology #astrology notes #astrology community #astroblr #astrology readings #astro aspects

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punksocks · 1 year

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Venus and Your Gifts From Aphrodite

*just based on my observations, only take what resonates

So I’d like to think of your placements holding a certain amount of power that the native is able to hone. Like they’re gifts from the Gods in the planets that carry their namesakes. I’m a bit more in touch with the Greek pantheon and many asteroids are still named after the Greek gods and mythological figures. Venus is under the domain of Aphrodite. I’ve grown to celebrate her more and more on my transformative journey of love. Love that falls under self love, love of friends, love of family, and love of romantic interests. We’ll get into the gifts each placement has below:

-Aries Venus/Venus in 1st: You have the gift of presence, you embody a passionate and competitive energy. Youre a natural born leader and many people look up to you for your fearless approach to love. You’re a chaser that take leaps of faith for the sake of love. /You also tend to have a lovely face and charming affect on others.

-Taurus Venus/Venus in 2nd: You have the gift of creativity, loveliness, patience, and warmth. This is an exalted placement that tends to hone the luxury and physical comforts of Venus. You have the gift of Aphrodite’s favor in your natural charm and tendency to attract abundance. /You also tend to have a lovely body.

-Gemini Venus/Venus in 3rd: You have the gift of wit and you’re able to charm others with your natural intelligence. You’re naturally a charming speaker and people pay attention to what you have to say. You have a way with your words and words of affirmation may be your love language. /You tend to have a lovely voice/neck and/or hands.

-Cancer Venus/Venus in 4th: You have the gift of an abundance of love to give, and others will feel at home in your presence. You help people in relationships with you heal, you’re quite the caretaker. /You tend to have an angelic beauty about you and you may have a lovely chest (lol feels so blunt).

-Leo Venus/Venus in 5th: You have the gift of regal charm and presence. You may like to be the center of attention and attention comes to you easily from many eager parties. You’re a superstar with natural charisma. /You may have a lovely back and/or lovely hair.

-Virgo Venus/Venus in 6th: You have the gift of discernment, you tend to notice all of the little details and take care of those around you. You charm others through acts of service. /You may have a lovely stomach.

-Libra Venus/Venus in 7th: You have the gift of charm, beauty, and you’re a true romantic. Venus is exalted in this placement and tends to make hopeless romantics out of the native and makes them the type to seek out balance in all of their relationships. /You tend to be quite beautiful overall and may have a lovely butt (lol still feels so blunt).

-Scorpio Venus/Venus in 8th: You have the gift of passion and intensity. You feel protective and sometimes possessive of all of your relationships. Although this placement can be difficult to work through, the native is given the ability to transform through their relationships. You tend to have a natural magnetism as well. /You may be seen as s*xy overall and you may have lovely genitals (yep).

-Sagittarius Venus/Venus in 9th: You have the gift of worldliness and charm others with your positive and jovial nature. You tend to philosophize and crack jokes in the same breath, and it usually works too. You also tend to be open to learning about other cultures, an openness which adds to your charm. /You may have lovely legs, especially your thighs.

-Capricorn Venus/Venus in 10th: You have the gift of practicality and dedication, others are charmed by your maturity in your relationships. You have an air of class and refinement. You tend to charm those that are mature and carry respect in their own lives. /You may have lovely bone structure.

-Aquarius Venus/Venus in 11th: You have the gift of being unique and charming in your one of a kind ways. You may be friendship oriented and make friends easily in exchange. Your relationships tend to feel very novel and intellectually stimulating. /You may have lovely ankles (yep).

-Pisces Venus/Venus in 12th: You have the gift of a dreamy and ethereal charm. You make a fae like impression on others with your otherworldly aura. You tend pour your heart into your relationships and often build up a fantasy of your idealized friends/romantic partners. People often get lost in your day dreams with you and it can have mesmerizing effects./ You may have lovely feet.

-Bonus:

-Venus aspecting Asc: your presence has a natural charm about it.

-Venus aspecting Sun: You beam like the sun and others feel your warmth.

-Venus aspecting Moon: You tend to value harmonious relationships as people feel safe with you

-Venus aspecting Mercury: You’re a naturally charming speaker and others are swayed by your words

-Venus aspecting Mars: You tend to be very attractive to all people and you don’t have too much trouble getting suitors

-Venus aspecting Jupiter: your charm comes in abundant measures and others feel like you have an impactful presence

-Venus aspecting Saturn: You tend to come into your beauty when your older, and you grow even more beautiful as you age

-Venus aspecting Neptune: You have a presence like a daydream and others find you very alluring

-Venus aspecting Uranus: You have an eccentric and charming presence, people tend to enjoy your quirks

-Venus aspecting Pluto: You’re magnetic, you tend to exude power and people are drawn to you like a moth to a flame

-Venus aspecting Lilith: You’re a siren and people see you as everything they want but they think of you as too hot to handle

#astro observations #astro notes #astroblr #astro community #venus #scorpio #capricorn #leo #aquarius #astrology #pisces #cancer #gemini #libra #aries #Taurus #Virgo #Sagittarius #lilith astrology

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iridescentparkers · 4 months

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study buddies - tasm!peter parker x female reader

a/n - this also works for any peter ;)

THE BRIGHT BLUE flyer posted on the Midtown bulletin gave Peter flashed lightbulbs in his already crowded brain.

Tutoring. It was the only way he could talk to Y/N. Intentionally walking his body in her direction and offering to buy her dinner? Heck no. Baby steps, he thought to himself.

So after school today, Peter put on a new hat, an actor. He was amazing at physics, even planning to take AP next year, but he couldn’t tell her that.

Now, he sits in the dark physics room, putting on an amazing show for his new study buddy.

“Coulomb’s law?”

“Something with electric fields?” He asked, looking down at his worksheet and tapping his pencil rapidly on the desk.

“Something like that.” She informed, her voice raising an octave as she lowered her lids.

She picked up her pencil, writing out some numbers in her textbook, “All of these variables should be over “F” squared.”

“Actually “r” squared,” he muttered, looking at the sheet.

“What?”

“What!”

“You knew I already knew this?”

“And you dumbed yourself down to come talk to me?” Y/N laughed, darting her eyes from the false practice problems to his large, droopy brown eyes. “I think you win.”

“Why did you lie?”

“To talk to you.” He informed, shrugging a shoulder as he darted his eyes to Y/N’s expression.

“I know you’re a genius, Peter.” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “We were in the same classes in 9th and 10th grade”

“But if you knew that, why did you agree to study with me?”

“Cause…” she trailed, moving her eyes up and down. “I think you’re cute.”

He felt heat in his cheeks as he ran an index finger over his forehead. Y/N reached up to place a long kiss on his cheek, “Except for when you fake being dumb.”

“The nerd thing is really hot.”

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hannie-dul-set · 11 months

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모기 / MOGI — [c.bg].

SYNOPSIS. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment), romance, humor, very light-barely there angst, pining idiots, college! au with flashes to high school, featuring an ensemble of 01z idols. WARNINGS. swearing, many many (fake) death threats, so much secondhand embarrassment, mentions of sex, mentions of blood and gore, the worldly problems of a teenager, mc has anger issues, gossip. WORD COUNT. 14k.

TAGLIST. @matcha-binz @bgomtori @lotties-posts @bearbeom @bbinwrld @beomies-world @baekberrie @20-cms @jenodreamer

NOTE. it is here! alternatively titled: all the reasons you don't like choi beomgyu (but maybe you do). this is just a v quick v fun read (i hope HAHHAHA). parts in past tense and within parenthesis are set in the past! hope you enjoy mosquito gyu and please let me know what you think! begging for crumbs of feedback plspls.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. He’s been a thorn in your side for as long as you can remember— a far too nimble mosquito for you to catch and swat away, constantly buzzing around your ears like a mild annoyance. Mild, but annoying all the same.

The problem is, you can’t get rid of him. Not when both your families have been friends before either of you were even born. Not when you’ve been half-living in his house for the better part of your life and he’s been half-living in yours. Not when you’ve always been magically assigned to the same class for twelve god damned years and somehow, you’re now even set out to go to the same university.

It’s like the world just wants to stick the both of you together.

“Hey, fuckface.”

“What do you want, dipshit?”

Unfortunately for the world, you don’t want the same thing.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt upon hearing your question at the same time as he drops down to the ground with a thunk on the playground seesaw. “Right. That happened.” It’s late at night, the streetlights are dimming, and it’s a week before high school graduation. Not the most appropriate time to be playing around the kid-sized rides tucked in the corner of your apartment complex, but things have been penting up, and there currently seems to be no better way to deal with your physical and emotional exhaustion than by being sprung up to the air, down, and back up again.

“You also said— whoa!” You glue your feet firmly to the chalky ground before dangling your legs up once more. “You also said you’d do anything I ask after saving your ass. I’m here to collect your debt.”

The next instance, you aren’t see’d or saw’d back up. Beomgyu stays grounded, looking at with an expression you can only describe as oozing of suspicion. It is weird, you have to admit, bringing up a spur of a moment promise he made three years ago, possibly under the influence of anesthetics. You’d be suspicious of yourself, too. “Alright,” he relents after a long moment of thought. Beomgyu leans forward, resting his arms over the seesaw handle and burying his chin into his sleeves. “Spit it out. What do you want? I’ll buy it for you.”

You press your lips together. “It’s not something you can buy.”

Now, that definitely doesn’t help your case. Your crypticness is causing his brows to furrow, and Beomgyu is deep in thought wondering what the hell kind of favor your fucked up head is thinking of (especially after the shrimp incident). You can save him from misery and just spit it out right then and there, but it’s not easy for you to pull out of your mouth either. Once this night is over, your throat will be littered with sores and cuts and it’ll all be self inflicted.

“Wait.” Beomgyu suddenly jolts up and sits straight, causing the seesaw to wobble a little. His ears are peeking out the mess of his hair. It’s already way past the school policy length— a privilege of a graduating student, he says. And despite the shadowed sky cloaking the playground lot, you can clearly see the tinge of red painting the thin skin. What is he thinking? you narrow your eyes at him. The blush has spread all over his neck. "You—you—you’re not trying to ask—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, sparing him from an aneurysm. “We’re starting college next month, right?”

His expression tells you he’s completely missed the mark. “Yeah...?” he sounds out, confusion riddled in his tongue. You bite down yours— an early repentance before finally throwing it out in the air.

“Can you do me a favor?” you squeak out. “Can you pretend like you don’t know me?”

Quiet washes over. You preemptively wince, expecting the impending torrent of swear words from your friend, but he doesn’t say anything. He says nothing for a long while, filling the quiet with tension-filled agony before finally saying, “I don’t understand.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“What are you saying?”

There are uneasy creaks on the hinges of the seesaw set, as if it’s unsure whether to go up or down. The scent of iron seeps into your palms with how tightly you’re holding the handle. “Please pretend like we aren’t friends when we enter university,” you inhale sharply. “Better yet, act like you don’t know me at all, okay? Treat me like I was a ghost and I’ll do the same with you.”

You don’t have the guts to look Beomgyu in the eye. You train your eyes to the graveled ground and hold in your breath, listening as the creaks of the rusty hinges slowly come to a still. He’s not saying anything. He isn’t saying anything and you’re starting to grow scared.

The seesaw finally stops rocking, and you finally hear Beomgyu’s response—

“Fine.”

—all while your ass gets dropped to the ground with an even louder thunk when Beomgyu gets off the damned thing. You let out a yelp as your body gets jerked back by the sudden recoil.

“Hey!” you yell out, stumbling to get off the seesaw in a panic because he’s starting to walk. “Choi Beomgyu— wait up!”

“What?” he snaps his head back, and you flinch. He doesn’t look great. He doesn’t look happy at all. Guilt overhauls your entire being with a single, ringing punch and your tongue is weighed down by sand and soot and it’s difficult to swallow without the threat of choking. “I thought you wanted me to pretend like I don’t know you?”

You frown. “I did, but I didn’t mean it to be—”

Words fail when he turns his back to you once again. You can’t say anything. You can’t bring it in you to justify yourself. You can’t even find the shame to call him back. So all you can do is watch as Beomgyu slowly disappears into the evening, leaving behind more things in the playground than just you.

It’s fine, you inhale sharply. You can give him some space tonight and just talk it out on the way to school tomorrow. And it’s not like you didn’t expect him to be mad at you. It just hurt a lot more than you thought it would.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you yell at his disappearing figure.

It stings, sure. But still. It’s something you feel like you need to do, because you don’t like Choi Beomgyu, and all the things he’s cost you.

#1: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR WASTING SO MUCH OF YOUR TIME. You’re pretty sure at least three years of your lifespan has wilted away into nothingness because of how long it takes for him to answer the door. It takes two rounds of incessant knocking and a yell of his name. Even then, his mom is more likely to answer than the fucker himself.

He’s been like that ever since. Though you can’t exactly pinpoint when that ever since begins— you can’t remember how you met him because his stupid face has always been present in all of your earliest memories.

(Knock, knock, knock!

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Open the door!”

Classes ended early today, and your teachers at the academy are having a seminar so you don’t have to go there today. This was a rare opportunity in your life as a middle schooler— where every day runs from waking up, to eating, to studying, to eating, to studying again, studying some more, and wanting to quit studying. Today you had free time, and you’re going to spend it wisely.

At least that was the plan. But then Beomgyu called your landline while you were watching TV, saying that he had “something super, duper, insanely cool to show you and you’ll regret it if you don’t come over.”

It’s probably something lame.

You hurried over to the unit right across yours.

But like usual, it took a good five minutes until you heard Beomgyu’s hurried footsteps padding louder and closer and closer. He didn’t give you an opportunity to be annoyed by him— he quickly tugged you into his home and shut the door lock with a kick, running into and out of the living room like it was a racing track, and before you knew it, you were in his room and he was all giddy and excited and it served as a sign that he was up to no good.

“You’re being suspicious,” you leered at him as he dug through his school bag, already taking the liberty to plop down on his bed. “What’s that?”

There was a proud grin on his face when he pulled it out and showed it off to you. You weren’t as impressed. In fact, you were terrified.

Specifically because of the 18+ label on the CD container he’s holding.

“Why do you have that?!” you screeched. “Holy crap. You idiot. Are you trying to get us into trouble?!”

“We won’t get in trouble as long as you stop freaking out like a little wuss,” he reasoned, already slotting the forbidden CD into his conveniently placed laptop right at the foot of the bed.

Your houses shared an internet line, and most websites have been blocked as per both your parents’ request so it “doesn’t get in the way of your studying,” they say. You thought it was crap. Beomgyu thought it was crap. So you’d been trying to find ways to subvert that restriction by whatever means you can get your hands on (i.e. going to PC rooms and getting dragged back home by your parents).

But that didn’t mean you were fine with watching a movie you legally weren’t allowed to watch.

This was absurd.

“Yeonjun hyung lent it to me. Hey, stop overreacting. You said you wanted to watch this and wouldn’t quit whining about it the past two weeks. I’m doing you a favor!”

“We’re not allowed to watch this! If our parents find out, they’re gonna—” You made the mistake of letting your eyes wander to the laptop screen. It’s all blood and guts and gore from the very beginning. You were taken. “Whoa. Move over.”

Beomgyu was grinning at his success. The equally bloody CD container found itself tucked underneath his bed, and before you knew it you were both hiding under the blankets, sharing a pair of earphones because there’s too much screaming and squelching from the off-brand slasher film your friend smuggled from a sketchy high schooler. Maybe that was just the right amount of screaming. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never watched anything like this before.)

To be frank, you don’t remember much about the film. You do remember nearly pissing yourself in fear and screaming along to the cries of agony whenever someone was killed on screen. Beomgyu was unfazed though— that freak. How was he not pissing himself when a severed limb flew into the frame?

But he wasn’t as calm when his brother came home early, and your constant screams of terror elicited understandable concern. (“Shut up! You’re going to get us caught,” he hissed, trying to smack his palm over your mouth but you’re already burying your face into his comforter and blindly shoving him off).

Long story short, you both got caught and got grounded for a week.

So much for having free time.

“Congrats on finishing your last exam!”

You grunt, shoving past Heeseung as you exit the classroom, a stack of scratch papers pressed to your chest. He trails behind you with an evident bounce in his step. You’d be just as excited had you not been brutally murdered by midterms week. It’s only your third month of university and you’re already ready to drop out. Why is this normalized? This is structural, systemic violence.

“Jieun and the rest are planning a night out tomorrow,” he mentions. “You coming?”

“No. I’m going to sleep for forty-eight hours and die.”

He tells you you’re no fun and you flip him off. Three months have passed and you feel like you’ve aged thirty years, but Heeseung is still fucking energetic and you’re sure it’s because the girl from computer science he’d been flirting with for the past two weeks finally agreed to go on a date with him. The stupid grin on his face as he’s typing on his phone is annoying you to no end. “What?” he asks, looking up from his phone, still all smiley and irksome.

“You’re insufferable,” you deadpan. His expression morphs into confusion, then realization, then pity, then circles back into being incredibly annoying again.

“If you beg, I can set you up with one of my friends.”

“Eat ass.”

You smack the top of his head with the stack of papers. He is unfazed. “I know a few guys! C’mon! Instead of being bitter, why don’t I help you out? I don’t do this for everyone, you know. I’m only offering because you’re my friend.”

Well, the past three months haven’t been entirely bad. Your freshman batch was fairly easy to get along with— Heeseung specifically, whom you hit off with during the orientation. You’ve also been doing pretty well with all of your classes despite the back-breaking workload. And now that midterms are over, your uni has this policy to cancel classes for a whole week after every major exam (for the students’ “mental health” they say), so now you have the chance to finally fucking rest.

“Beomgyu!”

You flinch upon hearing Heeseung yell out his name. You can’t get used to it.

The space next to you becomes empty as Heeseung excuses himself for a moment to join Beomgyu and the little group he’s appeared with. You take the opportunity to shove the scratch papers you have into your bag, taking a few glimpses here and there— regretting doing that when Beomgyu happens to meet your gaze at one point, and you quickly avert your eyes to the posters on bulletin boards stuck on the hallway wall. E-Sports Fest 2023. Sign up for your respective departments now!

“Later,” Heeseung waves them off and runs back to you. “Hey. We’re fucked. Beomgyu’s playing in like half of the games next, next week. The ICT fuckers have practically won already. This is too much of a skill gap. This isn’t fair.”

You give him a look. “Okay?”

Heeseung pouts. “At least pretend like you’re interested. Jeongin said yes, but I still have to get Chenle onboard so we can at least get second place, but he says he doesn’t wanna waste our short break so— hey, are you listening?”

No, you’re not. Because you met eyes with Choi Beomgyu once more before he left with his friends, and even if it’s been three months since you’ve last talked to him, there’s still a weird feeling in your gut every time you happen to cross paths.

It’s been easy for him to keep his promise. The both of you have different majors, and though you two share a few mutual friends, Heeseung doesn’t know shit about your history, and nobody seems to suspect anything.

Still. You can’t completely avoid him. Not when you two are literally still neighbors.

The both of you moved out since your campus is a two hour commute from your homes, but you also moved into the same apartment building in the city as per your parents’ request. (“Now, I’m more at ease knowing you’re still living next to her, Beomgyu,” your mother remarked the day his dad drove you both to your new building). Your mom didn’t know how not at ease you are with him still floating around you with a seeming permanence, especially after what happened in the playground that night.

“Anyway, I have to go,�� Heeseung tells you, probably off to meet the compsci girl he refuses to tell you the name and identity of. You fear she may be one of your friends. “How about you?”

“Off to have lunch with Sungchan and Minjeong,” you hum. “Have fun. Don’t come crying to me when you eventually get your heart broken.”

“You’re just bitter. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a date to save you from your misery.”

“Go to hell.”

“See you.”

The both of you part ways, and you meet up with the aforementioned two at the campus cafeteria because fast food is outside of your budget after splurging all your allowance on caffeine and energy drinks this week. Your two friends seem to have also been hard fucked by midterms. Lunch was filled with quiet complaints and you immediately took the first bus home after eating.

“You stopped by?” you speak into your phone, wedging the device between your cheek and shoulder as you punch in the code to your unit’s door. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve come home earlier.”

“It’s alright. I just left you some side dishes for the week. They’re in the fridge. Who knows what kind of junk you’re putting into your body without me on the watch.”

“I am eating perfectly well!” you exclaim, shutting your door with a click. You love your mom and her food but she’s as protective as ever. “I just got home. I’ll send photo evidence of me enjoying your kimchi, madam.”

You hear her laugh a little at the end of the line, and you hum out a smile. “I’m hanging up. You must be tired so get some rest.”

“Yeah, alright.” Upon entering the living room, you can see the familiar, reusable blue shopping bag on the open kitchen counter, its unreasonably gigantic size taking up too much of the space. You narrow your eyes and walk towards it. When you take a peek inside, there are still full containers and tupperwares. The rolled omelets look particularly good. “I thought you put them in the fridge,” you say. Without waiting for your mother’s response, you’ve already produced a pair of chopsticks and have pried a box open, stuffing a roll inside your mouth.

“Oh, those are for Beomgyu.”

The eggs suddenly taste like sand.

“He mentioned on call last time that he was missing some of my home cooked dishes. Why haven’t you been sharing with him? Greedy child. Anyway, drop them off at his place later when he gets back. He wasn’t around when I visited earlier. Okay?”

First of all, why does your mother keep calling Choi Beomgyu behind your back? Second of all, the guilt of eating what is supposed to be Beomgyu’s food shot your appetite back down into oblivion, so you quickly close the container and stuff it back into the bag in a zip. “Okay. I’ll do that.” You throw the chopsticks into the sink. He isn’t gonna notice that one omelet is missing, right?” “Bye.”

“Come back home during your break.”

Then again. Why do you have to waste this perfectly good food on a guy like him?

The line ends. You fall to the floor with an anguished cry. “Ugh,” you groan, forehead hitting the counter body a few too many times that a bruise could form. “The bastard might snitch on me if I don’t do it. Fuck. Fine.”

You feel like a reanimated corpse when you force yourself back on your feet, a series of grunts as you begrudgingly lug the large bag of side dishes that won’t even end up in your stomach. This is fine, you exhale. You can do this. You’re gonna knock on the door, throw the bag to his face, and say goodbye without talking. This is fine. This is easy.

But with Beomgyu, it’s never easy. The simplicity of the act ends after you’ve left your unit. What came after was the short, dreadful walk across the hallway because shit— in the past three months you’ve moved here, you have never actually gone up to his door.

Knock, knock, knock.

No answer.

Knock, knock, knock.

Still no answer. This bastard never fucking grows.

“Choi Beomgyu!” Your light knocks quickly transition to a heavy banging. “Choi Beomgyu, open up—”

There’s a click and a creak. Your knuckles don’t land on the familiar hardwood— they land on his chest because the momentum made you keep knocking even after he’d opened the door. “Oh,” he flatly starts. A brow raised and arms crossed, he leans against the door frame and looks at you like you’re an unwelcome guest. “What do we have here?”

He’s insufferable. He’s totally insufferable.

“Who are you again?”

“Cut the crap, Beomgyu,” you grunt, absolutely not in the mood for this. You know that it’s a pretty shitty thing for you to ask him to pretend to be strangers. You really do, so you didn’t hold it against him for being mad at you at first. He’s been doing his end, sure, but you don’t remember him acting like a big fucking bitch to you in private as a part of the deal.

You thought his anger would subside after three days. It’s been three months and at this point you’re convinced that this relationship is now irreparable, and neither of you are making the effort to resuscitate it. “You’re the one who came to my door. Why are you swearing at me?” he huffs. You grit your teeth, shoving the bag to him and his act of arrogance falters from surprise. You don’t miss how his eyes widen and how his scrunched up brows suddenly disappear under the messy bangs he’s decided to grow out.

“Here. I’ll take back the containers next week. Make sure you’ve washed them by then. Goodbye.”

That, in fact, wasn’t a good bye because you stomp back into your unit without giving him a second look.

Dammit, dammit, dammit it all. The door is cold against your back when you retreat inside. You hate him. You really do. This would’ve been easier if your lives weren’t so irrevocably tangled— messed up in all sorts of knots and ties that even a fucking boyscout can’t tear it apart.

You left your phone on the counter when you left and you can see it buzzing and lighting up. There’s a few messages. Hi, dear. How have you been? It’s from his mother. There is no escape to this. Absolutely none.

#2: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR FORCING YOU TO SWALLOW SO MUCH OF YOUR PRIDE. Somehow, he’s always there at the lowest points of your life— moments where you wouldn’t even want any of your family to see you, but he’s there. He always is, and you’d always wish to evaporate along with the rain.

Maybe he has a signal whenever you’re on the verge of doing something stupid. Or losing face. Or being absolutely dumped. Or all of the above at the same time. Maybe he’s there on purpose so he can have one more thing on his belt of things to hold against you.

(“I like you.”

The words squeezed out of your throat like a choke, more than anything. Maybe it was because of the fact that you sounded so pathetic that Jiwoong couldn’t even reject you properly. Maybe if he were to be frank, he was afraid that you’d end up crying.

“Um, there’s...there’s somewhere I have to be for a moment. You don’t mind waiting for a bit, right?”

But it wasn’t you that ended up in tears. It was the sky. You weren’t sure how long you’d been waiting, frozen still in an abandoned corner behind the school where your pink-stained note had asked him to come— him, your desk partner for the semester that you’d been unfortunately struck by— but it was long enough for the afternoon sky to be inked by gray clouds. Long enough for it to start pouring in on your behalf.

You sniffled. Ah, shit. This is stupid. You said you weren’t going to cry but fuck, your eyes suddenly started to sting, and you’re looking up at the clouds because gravity might help in preventing them from falling, but all it did was pool saltwater in your tearducts and now they’ve overflown, mixing into the raindrops cascading down your face.

“Until when are you going to keep standing there like an idiot?”

Instead of the gray, pouring sky, your vision is cloaked by a jarring electric blue. It was the same obnoxious color as the umbrella Beomgyu brings around. Then again— that was just his voice, too. Your cheeks started burning. That was enough to bring you back to your senses. “Did—did you see—”

“Let’s go home.”

It was one thing to be caught crying by your friend-slash-neighbor-slash-annoyance. It was another thing to be caught getting rejected by him. That was double the shame and embarrassment soiled. But Beomgyu hasn’t made a mention of it throughout your walk back to the building, much to your relief and suspicion. This man would make fun of you to the ends of high hell just for keeping a plushie to bed until you were thirteen— you weren’t sure when he started developing the emotional intelligence to stay in the comfort of silence throughout your walk home.

Of course, you didn’t expect him to hold his tongue for too long. It was an empty road, and the rain was still pouring. Beomgyu held up his umbrella above your head, and started with a low voice, “Want me to beat him up?”

Your steps lagged, faltering a little in mild surprise. “You?” An invisible force started tugging on the corners of your lips. “With your lanky ass and noodle arms? Keep dreaming, loser.”

“Hey—” You had to hold back a snort when you saw his face, an evident look of unbridled offense taking over, and he stopped in his tracks just to passionately defend himself. “You take that back. I’m strong. I’m pretty sure I can lift you up with just one arm. I can beat the shit out of Jiwoong if I wanted to.”

“Sure,” you snickered. “That is if you want to end up in the hospital. You’re all skin and bones, Beomgyu. You’re weak as hell. Remember the last time we arm wrestled? I’m pretty sure it ended up with me as the winner, and you as the— eep!”

You yelped, eyes widening. Suddenly, the ground wasn’t touching your feet anymore, you could feel the rain on your skin, and the bright, blue umbrella was now on the ground. You can see nothing but the fabric of Beomgyu’s dark and drenched uniform blazer and glimpses of the upside down pavement. Your face started to heat up. You could feel his firm grip around your waist and legs.

“That was in sixth grade, doofus. Keep up,” he snorted.

“What the hell? Put me down!” you let out a grunt and tried to wiggle yourself free, but he’s unyielding— continuing the walk back home while carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If you don’t put me down, I am going to bite you.”

“Nuh-uh.” The bastard gave your body a rough shake as a warning, and you screamed. “Not until you take back what you said earlier.” You balled your hands into a fist and hit his back. “Wow, you’re so ungrateful. I’m giving you a free ride home yet you decide to assault me. Your mother will be so disappointed when she hears this.”

“Your mother will shave your head if she finds out your haircut received a warning this morning.”

“Oooo—kay. Down you go. Ride over.” The moment Beomgyu settled you back on the ground, you gave him the nastiest glare you could muster. He gave you a grin. “Your hair is a mess.”

“Whose fault is it?” you sneer.

“Jiwoong’s,” he answered, matting down the top of your head with his hands. You winced when his fingers got caught between the wet, tangled strands. Beomgyu’s lips pursed as he tried to unravel them, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m uninviting him to our game night tomorrow. He can eat shit.”

“He’s gonna talk shit if you do that,” you replied.

“Who cares.” He was finished tinkering with your hair. It was still pouring. “Done. Let’s go home.” You didn’t know if he made it better or worse.

“Okay,” you replied, feeling the top of your head. “But your umbrella ran away. Idiot.”

“Does it matter?” his lips quirked. “We’re already drenched, anyway.”)

The ice in your service water has already melted. You are going to kill a man named Lee Heeseung.

Why isn’t this motherfucker answering your calls? You let out a mental swear. It’s the second Saturday of your one-week break after midterms, and Heeseung organized a blind date for you and his friend today. The problem is, that said friend is nowhere to be seen. The customers next to your table have already changed thrice already. You’re not pathetic. You’re not gonna wait for him.

Right when you muster the willpower to get up, Heeseung finally answers your call. He’s quick to overtake your possible threats by immediately rambling, “Okay. Before you get mad—”

“You’re dead to me.”

“I’m sorry!” he screams-slash-pleads. “Eunseok canceled at the last minute because of this thing with his— nevermind. That’s not important. I’m gonna kick his ass the next time I see him, but please tell me you haven’t left the cafe yet.”

You bite your bottom lip. You want to lie. You want to tell him that you’ve already left thirty minutes ago and are now in your apartment with cozy pajamas and a cucumber face mask. “I’m around the area,” you reply. “Why?”

“Oh, good. Great.”

This is brow raising. The bell above the door entrance rings, catching your attention and you look up. “Why?”

“You’re still going on a date,” he tells you. “I promise you, your time definitely won’t be wasted—”

Heeseung’s voice disappears into the background. Entering the cafe is the person you want to see the least. He’s wearing the hooded sweater you got him for Christmas last year, and around his neck are the headphones you got him for his birthday.

“—so I called another friend. Don’t think of him as just a second option, okay?! I think he’s more your type anyway, and—”

He’s looking around. He still hasn’t noticed you. He’s standing in the middle of the shop and he pulls out his phone.

“—and he’s headed there right— oh! He says he’s there already!”

Beomgyu has spotted you and you want to kill yourself. Your head drops down and you bite down a scream of agony and despair. “You’ve heard of Choi Beomgyu, right? From BSEMC? I’ve mentioned him a few times. Haha. Anyway. I hope you enjoy your da—”

“Heeseung told me his friend got stood up and needed a backup.” He’s now in front of you. He’s looking down at you from behind the opposite chair. “I didn’t expect that that friend would be you.”

You’re going to kill yourself after you kill Heeseung. Better yet, why not murder Beomgyu as well so you can all rot in bloody fucking hell?

“Hello?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, trying your best to subtly hide the burning embarrassment on your face without making it obvious that your pride is now in perfectly tattered shambles. Of all people, why him? Why? For the love of god, why? “Just leave. I doubt you even want to be here. Let’s just spare each other the headache, alright?”

Beomgyu stifles a scoff. You watch as his knuckles flex while clutching the back of the chair. “I canceled a game for this.” He pulls it back and plops down on the seat like a petulant child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your face contorts into an unabashed grimace. You take your bag and stand up. “Okay. Then, I’m leaving.”

“You could’ve left an hour ago.”

Pause. He looks up at you, arms crossed and confident. Your upper lip twitches. You sit back down. Heeseung has already died twice in your head.

“I guess even someone as heartless as you is desperate for a little romance,” he hums, leaning back against his seat and completely at ease— a stark contrast to your end of the table: hot and bothered for all the wrong, not very sexy reasons. You’re trying to feign calmness, but the sweat dripping down your forehead from the heat of shame is ratting you out. This is the worst. This is the absolute worst.

You’re only able to breathe again when Beomgyu gets up to order something. Maybe you should order something too because your throat is as dry as bone. He returns not long after with a tray in hand. He settles it down on the table, revealing two glasses of iced tea and a plate of matcha tiramisu.

“Quit sulking,” he says. “You’re ugly when you sulk.”

With one hand, you flip him off. With the other, you use to grab one of the forks and dig into the dessert. Beomgyu mirrors your actions (minus the middle finger part), and grimaces after a spoonful lands in his mouth. “How are you eating this?” You hover a hand over your lips, pressing down a laugh. “It tastes like grass. Are you a cow? Is that it?”

Offended, you pull the plate closer to you. “Then why did you buy matcha if you’re just gonna insult it?”

“Because you like it.” Beomgyu reaches an arm over to get another bite, gags, then continues to try again. “Your tastebuds are really fucking weird. You should get them checked. I think they’re broken.”

You settle with an eye roll before taking a sip from the iced tea. This is odd. This feels like you’ve been transported back into time prior to your three-month long cold war. Choi Beomgyu is sitting in front of you and tapping on his phone laid on the table, and you’re sitting in front of him enjoying a nice piece of dessert he bought. There’s an odd cacophony inside your stomach— like butterflies and glass shards fluttering and cracking in a single enclosed space.

“I heard you’ll be playing for the E-Sports Fest next week,” you mention, trying to dig a deeper hole into this crack that managed to resurface. Beomgyu gives you a weird, insinuating look in response. “Shut your face. I just keep hearing your name being mentioned. Heeseung is obsessed with you, I think.”

“Why are you asking?” he snorts, passing you a napkin. “You want to cheer for me?”

“Ew. Why would I?” you reply, blindly wiping at the corner of your mouth. “We’re not even from the same department.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, trained on the lower half of your face. “Tch. Then why even bring it up, you—”

Time stops. For some reason, Beomgyu has reached his arm over the table and is now touching your face, thumb pressed against the side of your lip with a napkin, the opposite side of where you were trying to wipe off.

Your eyes meet. It gets warm.

“Sorry,” he coughs out, retracting his hand to wipe the green-dusted cream off his fingers. Now, you know all of Choi Beomgyu’s tells like the back of your hand— and he’s not hiding those blushing ears from anyone. You’ve caught him. You knew his son of a bitch act was gonna crumble at some point (no, you didn’t. You thought he was gonna stay mad at you forever so now your heart is racing in glee). “If you’re done, let’s go. Come pick up your mom’s containers from my place.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Right.”

“I washed them.”

“Congratulations.”

He sneers. “Get up. I’m leaving you.”

The one thing you regret about making the deal with Beomgyu is missing out the opportunity of taking advantage of him and the car his parents’ gifted for graduation. Seriously. Had you known he’d be driving a private vehicle to and from campus everyday, you might have never asked for that favor in the first place. Those three months worth of bus fares could’ve been spent on your daily doses of coffee instead.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds while pulling out of the driveway. You’re mildly impressed and your face isn’t hiding it, and neither is the bashful tint on the tips of his ears. “Quit staring, you weirdo.”

“You can be kind of cool after all.” You give him a thumbs up. He grunts, and now you’re on the road back to your apartment.

It’s a quiet drive— the hum of the engine filling the early evening silence. You steal a few glances here and there, sneaking a few peeks at a new side of your friend(?) that you’ve never witnessed before. Since when was he so good at driving? He’s got only one hand on the steering wheel. It’s weird, you think. You’ve known everything about him for as long as you can remember, and finding out something new for the first time in a while— and not being the first one to find out about it— is making odd twists and turns inside your gut.

When you reach the apartment building, it’s still quiet. And when you ride up the elevator all the way to your floor, walking up the space between both of your doors, silence still permeates the walls and it makes you wonder— has it ever been this quiet between you two?

“I’ll go get the stuff. Stay here.”

You’re left behind with your messy thoughts in the hallway and before things can get even more tangled up, Beomgyu shows up again with the bright blue shopping bag you dropped off last week. “Tell the madam that her seasoned spinach is perfect as usual.” He returns the bag, a faint smile on his face.

“Go tell her that yourself,” you huff, retrieving it from him. “I’m pretty sure she calls you more often than she calls me.” The tupperwares and containers look clean. You should give him a treat for doing a good job.

“Your mother is constantly worried about her young, impressionable daughter taking her first steps of independence, but doesn’t want to be called overbearing by her only child, so she asks me about you instead.” Beomgyu’s tone is nagging. You shoot him a glare and he simply steps closer to jab a finger into your forehead. “You have no idea how hard it is to make up bullshit about what you’ve been up to. You owe me a lot, dipshit.”

You wince, smacking his hand away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. His eyes leer away for a moment, and he lets out a huff of air through his nose. “Why? Do I know you?”

Oh god. Here he goes again.

“Why do you keep—” You stop, squeezing your eyes and taking in a deep inhale because for a moment there, you were just about to yell again. “Okay,” you restart. You should do something about your temper. “Okay. I apologize for troubling you, and I’ll tell her to quit bothering you, so—”

It was going well. It was going so well. Only if you had missed the very subtle, very irritating roll of his eyes upon your remark.

“—so you should quit being an absolute dickhead too, asshole!”

Then maybe you could’ve lived in happy ignorance, and all your progress today wouldn’t have to restart.

“Oh, so I’m the asshole?” he scoffs, incredulous. “You’re the one who told me to distance myself. You’re the one who asked. I’m just doing what you told me to do. Why am I in the wrong?” Your throat tightens, a familiar choke the moment you try to swallow.

“I never asked you to stop being friends with me, Beomgyu! I just—”

Asked you to keep our friendship hidden because I’m selfish. Because I’m insecure. Because I hate you just as much as you mean the world to me.

But you can’t tell him any of these things, can’t you?

His disappointment is clear from the look on his face. Beomgyu lets his fingers rake through his hair with a sigh. “Just go home. Thanks for the food.”

There’s something twisting inside your stomach, churning at an uncomfortable pace. It’s gnawing and grating. You’re only able to pinpoint it when Beomgyu turns back to his apartment, prompted by the resounding click of his door lock.

Ah, you realize amid the silence of the now empty hallway. It’s guilt.

#3: YOU DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. You know it’s not on purpose. You know he doesn’t know. But it’s something that’s plagued you until your last few weeks of high school— the time for last chances, and final opportunities. It’s for this reason that you can’t stand him the most.

(“Hey!”

It was an unfamiliar voice that called out your name from behind you in the hallway, so you ignored it assuming that maybe they were calling someone else. It gets repeated, and you stop in front of your locker to retrieve your shoes, paying no mind to it. You’re going home alone today because Beomgyu’s out with his guy friends. “We’re having dinner together at my house later! Don’t forget!” was the last thing he yelled at you before running off. An unconscious smile crawls onto your face at the thought of it.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and heard the same voice that’d been repeating your name. You spin around, and are a little surprised to see the group standing behind you. “Hi!”

It was Haena, one of your classmates, and she was joined with two more of the girls from your class, and one that you didn’t quite recognize.

“Oh, sorry,” you bowed a little. “I didn’t know I was the one you were calling. I wasn’t trying to ignore you, sorry.” Your surprise stemmed from the fact that you weren’t really close with Haena or her friends. Not that you were on bad terms. You greeted each other from time to time, but your friend circle really just consisted of Choi Beomgyu, your deskmate Chaeryeong, and Ryunjin from the broadcasting club.

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “Do you…maybe have any plans today?”

You pulled out your shoes from the locker and closed it tightly. “No, not really.”

“Great! There’s a new cafe that opened near the school. Wanna join us?”

Well. This was unexpected. You didn’t have any other plans besides the joint family dinner you had with the Choi’s, so going on a cafe detour wouldn’t hurt. Beomgyu was also out with his other friends right now. Who says you couldn’t do the same? “Sure,” you replied. “I’ll join.”

It was a cute, cat-themed cafe with the only disappointment being that there were no actual cats— just the cat-shaped whipped cream on your strawberry drink, and the cat-shaped tiramisu on your plate. Cats weren’t usually green or pink, but you digress.

The girls were friendly. Conversation ranged from the universities you’ll all be attending, the classes you’re all about to finish, sprinkled with topics on shopping and clothes and the names of the rest of your classmates here and there. You’d started to zone out after a good while, stirring the contents of your half-empty drink as you stared at the glass windows, tinted orange by the sunset sky.

Haena cleared her throat. “So,” she started. You turned your attention back to your companions, and your eyes widened a little when you were met with all their eyes on you. Haena pronounced your name. “I’ve always been curious about something.”

You blinked. “About what?”

She leaned closer, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you and Beomgyu dating?”

You nearly choked on the sweet, strawberry drink. “What? No!”

“Really?” Seohyun nudged herself closer next to you on the seat.

“Everyone thinks you’re dating him,” said Bora. “You’re always together.”

“Ah, that’s ridiculous! I’m really not dating him!” Your face has started to warm up. Gosh, what was this? What kind of situation was this? A few of them weren’t convinced, you could tell. You pressed your lips together before breathing out, “We’ve known each other since we were like toddlers. There’s no way in hell I’d be dating him. I don’t know where you're getting all these assumptions from.”

There was a glint in Haena’s eyes that you didn’t fail to notice.

“So, you don’t have any feelings for him?” This was getting weird.

“No. No, I don’t.” And even if you did, what the hell would they be interrogating you about it?

Haena visibly brightened. “Really? Then can you set me up with him?”

You were dumbfounded.

“I’m— I’m sorry?”

Things started to click. Senior high school was almost over, and your classmates whom you’ve barely even shared a conversation with for the past three years, were taking their last chance to start something with their crushes, or some shit, under the guise of half-hearted friendliness. You’ve understood now— and you’re nothing less than offended.

“Actually, I’ve liked Beomgyu for a while now,” Haena bashfully admitted. Seohyun inserted that her friend has had a crush on him since the beginning of the year. “I thought there was something going on between the two of you so I never acted on it. But I’m so happy to hear that you two are just friends!”

You shouldn’t be annoyed. But you were. You were very annoyed.

“You’ll help me right?”

Needless to say, you went home that day with your cat tiramisu in a paper box as takeout. The next morning, the three girls greeted your classroom entrance with unabashed glares. You paid no mind and headed over to your seat at the back, where an out of place box of chocolate milk was gingerly resting on the table.

You were mildly suspicious that Choi Beomgyu was the one who put that there, so you held it in your hands with caution, examining the box closer when you took a seat.

The alleged perpetrator suddenly showed up from behind you. Your head felt heavier. Beomgyu was resting his arms on the top of your head, leaning down all of his weight onto you. “Oh wow,” he started. “Looks like someone has a secret admirer.”

You elbowed him and he let out a sharp yelp. You could see Haena giving you dirty looks from afar. “Go back to your seat,” you scolded him. “Class is starting soon.” Beomgyu listens to you well, but not after messing up your hair even further and greeting Seungmin who had just walked in.

“Are we still going after class?”

Choi Beomgyu was always surrounded by people. This was something you noticed a few months into your second year of middle school. He was like a lamp, flocked by so many buzzing insects in the night— just like right now, his face barely visible from inside the crowd at the middle of the classroom where his seat was. Even your seating assignments placed him at the center. That’s just where he’s meant to be.

“Hey, did you and Haena get into a fight?”

You looked up to see Chaeryeong barely arriving in time before the bell, pulling her seat back and plopping down right next to you.

“Don’t mind it.” You sunk your face into your arms on the desk, elbow grazing the still unopened chocolate milk on the line dividing yours and your friend’s desk. “Hey,” you let your face peek out a little from your makeshift cocoon. “From an outsider’s perspective...do Beomgyu and I give the impression that we’re, um, dating?”

She snorted. “Haven’t your parents arranged your marriage, already?”

“This is a serious question!”

Honestly, this has never crossed your mind. Not until Haena mentioned it yesterday. It took a while for things to click inside your brain, but if this misunderstanding was really not singular, then that would really explain why you have never received any confession, any valentine’s day chocolate, or love letter, or anything for the past three years of highschool. It was all Beomgyu’s fault. He’s been unknowingly sabotaging your love life and if you end up sad and dying alone, it’s all on him.

Well, I guess it’s not completely ruined. Your cheeks pressed against your arms, looking at the milk carton on your desk.

When you got up to your desk the next morning, there was another milk carton on your table.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Seungmin hovering in front of your table. “What?”

“Not even a good morning? Beomgyu was right. You do have an attitude.” You rolled your eyes and stuffed the drink into your bag, and Seungmin decided to keep talking. “Anyway, where is he? You two usually arrive at the same time.”

“He slept through his alarm,” you replied. Then you furrowed your brows. “Why are you asking me? Couldn’t you just text him?”

“Well, it would be quicker to just ask you. Anyway, thanks.”

With that, he left. The bell rang, and your teacher arrived. You decide to save the drink until lunch time and when you got back to the classroom from the cafeteria, there was another snack on your table. For the next following days, you would find snacks suddenly spawning on your table. It was starting to get curious.

“Whoa. Holy crap. Someone might actually have a crush on you.”

It was now Friday, the end of the week, and you have accumulated a total of four milk boxes, three melon breads, and one pack of cookies all throughout. You and Beomgyu were staring down at the latest addition: a grape juice box and a packet of chocopie. He started muttering, “Does your admirer know that you snore when you—”

You gave him a kick. Beomgyu matched it with a harsh pull on your bag. He quickly ran away before you could retaliate, the rest of his body having already left, and his head peeking from the door to give you one last message.

“I’m going first! We have a raid in a while. What time is dinner later?”

“I’ll message you.”

“Alright,” he hummed. “See you. Text me if something comes up.”

This must be why people think you were dating. You were tired of it. When you were younger, people paid no mind to how much time and space you two were spending together— now that you’ve gotten a little older, maybe some things couldn’t be perceived as platonic forever.

But you don’t have any feelings for him, and neither does he for you. The only feeling you have for him is a penetrating sense of irritation. You mulled it over as you left the school building, clutching your bag straps as you walked. However, you paused upon seeing a familiar face standing at the edge of the entrance stairs. He looked like he was waiting for someone.

“Oh! Um,” he suddenly exclaimed upon noticing your approaching presence. A cough stifled out from his throat, followed by a nervous smile. “Hi.”

It was Lim Jimin, one of your classmates and one of the boys that were usually rallying up every afternoon after class to the internet cafe with Beomgyu and Seungmin like a bunch of nerds. “Hey?” you greet back. “Didn’t you guys have a raid or something today? I think they already left.”

“No, I uh, I stayed behind,” he mumbled. “Can we talk for a bit?”

The chocolate milk carton he was holding had not gone unnoticed by you. Your narrowed eyes flitted over to his fidgeting fingers. His nerves were spilling right out. “Have you been the one leaving food on my desk?”

He flinched. “Yeah— well—” A smile curled on your lips. “Damn, this is a little embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you hummed. “I enjoyed them. Thanks.”

There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks, a sheepish hand on the back of his neck and it looked as if he was running through a million thoughts in his head at once. “I’ve...I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he finally started after a moment’s silence. “Can you do me a favor?”

Your heart jumped. Holy shit. This is happening, this is actually happening.

“Y—yeah?”

Your breath hitched inside your throat. Oh my god. You might actually end your curse of lovelessness today. Oh my fucking god.

“Can you convince Beomgyu to help me get to Platinum in League?”

What?

“I—I know this sounds dumb, and it’s kinda pathetic that I had to bribe you with snacks just to get to this— but he’s been refusing to help any of us because he leaves after like three games!” Jimin exclaimed, and, upon noticing the flat look on your face, quickly gathered himself back together. “Ahem. I thought…maybe you could convince him since you’re like, his girlfriend and all.”

Your brain was a loading screen. You blinked but saw nothing but red. Beomgyu goes home after three games because you guys eat dinner at six in the evening. Jimin was giving you food as a bribe. You were not getting a confession.

All at once, the blood rose to your face,

“W-wait— is that a yes? Are you gonna ask him—”

Your shame couldn’t keep you standing there like an idiot for any longer. Every hurried step you took was a testament of your misery, and you left behind in your wake a fucking wave of turmoil and embarrassment. Fuck, your cheeks were burning. Fuck, why did Beomgyu have to entertain that idea and muddled your brain.

“Oh, you’re home?” your mother greeted the moment you kicked open your apartment door and started stomping to your room. “Where’s Beomgyu? Why didn’t you come home toge—”

“Ugh!” you groaned. “Enough about him, please!”

Did you only exist as an extension of him? As a part of him? As Choi Beomgyu’s friend, girlfriend, whatever, as the girl who’s always been around him for the past seventeen years to the point where that was all you’re known for?

You were fucking sick of it.

Your mom was scolding you for yelling at her, but you were far into your emotions to stay behind and say sorry. Your bag was left on the living room floor, and you were once again stomping out of your apartment unit, only to bump your face into Choi Beomgyu. “Whoa,” he remarked, quickly grabbing onto your shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” You shoved yourself off him.

“Someone’s cranky,” he mused, trailing behind you as you continued bulldozing down the hallway, down the stairs, out the building and on the dim and chalky path towards the playground. Beomgyu kept chattering. “What’s up? Why are you mad? Did you leave something behind in the classroom? Okay, you aren’t talking to me. That’s fine. I was gonna ask you what flowers you wanted for our graduation ceremony, but I guess I’ll just pick and choose whatever I—”

Smack!

You’ve spun around. You’ve got his face smacked in between your palms, promptly shutting him up. His eyes flew open, mouth firmly and tightly closed. “Can you stop talking for a second?” you guttered out.

Beomgyu stared at you, eyes still wide, then nodded once, still sandwiched between your palms. You bit down your bottom lip. Your ribcage was starting to squeeze in on itself. “Sorry,” you mumbled, arms falling back to your sides and you resumed your march towards the playground.

He stayed silent for the rest of the time, following you on the see-saws and the both of you exchanged ups and downs for a few moments— quiet moments— until you were the one to break it.

“Hey, fuckface,” you called out,

“What do you want, dipshit?” he replied.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”)

YOUR MORNING STARTED OFF NICELY. It’s the first day back to uni after your one week break. You woke up before your alarm and had the time to make a really stir-fried rice meal for breakfast (your first breakfast in a week, mind you). Your clothes are fresh from the dryer, mascara unclumpy, and you arrive at the bus stop at the same time as your bus to campus arrives, right on the dot.

Today is going great. That is until Heeseung shows up at the library after sending you a text that he’s on the way, and ruins everything with one, single statement.

“Did you sleep with Beomgyu the other night?”

The orange juice you’re drinking nearly dribbles out of your mouth.

“What the fuck?”

Your voice is louder than you thought. Heeseung shushes you and sits and pulls out the seat next to yours, ready to explain. “The guys from the coding club blew up the GC last night. A few of them saw you come out of his car and enter his apartment building together last Saturday. I think there were pictures.” Your mouth is agape. You’re speechless. “I didn’t tell them anything! Some of the guys were just around the neighborhood and happened to see you.”

Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no no.

“But, I guess...the blind date went well?”

God, fuck no.

Your worst nightmare has finally come crashing into reality.

“We live in the same building, get your mind out of the gutter!” you hiss, pulling him by the collar. Heeseung is very visibly terrified. You never wanted him to find out about your living situation in the first place because you know that he’d force you to hang out with them whenever he’s crashing at Beomgyu’s. You’re starting to regret hitting up a conversation with him during the orientation. These men are the banes of your existence. “Who is it? Who the fuck is spreading that stupid fucking rumor?”

“Please let go of me,” he squeaks out. You grunt, releasing the fabric of his shirt. He takes in a breath and fixes his clothes. “I’m not a snitch. Sorry.”

Heeseung is avoiding your eyes. He’s twiddling with the top button of his button up, nervously pressing together his lips. You run through the members of their “coding club” (it’s just a cover so they can play games in a cushy campus office). It doesn’t take long for you to come up with a name.

“Yang Jeongin.” Your friend’s panic tells you that you’re on the nail.

“He only sent the photo!” he quickly exclaims. “He never said that you two were hooking up or anything! Please, spare him, please—”

So much for a perfect morning. It’s not even nine and you’re already fucking drained.

You let out a groan, massaging your temples and balancing yourself with your elbows on the study table. Heeseung is spewing out a million apologies and you’re not taking shit. “You’re not gonna go to our clubroom and destroy our computers, right?”

“Thanks for the idea.”

“You’re a demon,” he grumbles. “What’s the big deal, anyway? You yourself said you and Beomgyu didn’t fuck. But you two went home together and you haven’t complained about him yet. That means your date went really, really—”

“Can you please just quit it?!”

That’s it. You’ve had enough. You shoot up from your seat, quickly gathering your things before you actually start throwing punches. “I’m sick and tired of hearing his name!” Heeseung gulps. He quickly scoots away to evade your haphazardly swinging bag. “Why the fuck do you all keep mentioning that piece of shit? It’s like everyone’s obsessed with him, it’s like everyone wants a chance to ride on his di—”

The words get cut off. Because when you turned around to make your leave, Choi Beomgyu was right there, behind you, and you bump into him and his blank face of terror.

“Oh.”

Yang Jeongin is also there, looking mildly scared of you.

But you’re more horrified than anyone in this hall.

Hiccup!

Your face flushes, searing hot and visibly enflamed.

“I, uh—” hiccup! “I’m about to leave anyway so you guys can—” hiccup! “—shit, fuck, fucking hell—”

You quickly swerve away, head down, but an arm swooshes over to barricade your exit path. There’s a water bottle in front of your heated face. Your line of sight follows towards the owner of the arm. Beomgyu is looking at you straight in the eye.

“Drink some water first.”

Hiccup!

Fuck, this is so embarrassing.

“Whoa. She’s so fast.”

The three boys watch your speedily retreating figure, pausing once or twice because of a hiccup, but your pace is still abnormally fast as you escape from the premises. There is no trace of you, save for the orange juice container you’d been drinking since earlier.

“There’s this tension between the two of you, you know.” Beomgyu turns his head to Heeseung who made the observation, a single eyebrow raised. “Do you two really live in the same building, or is she just making up an excuse? Seriously. Tell me how it went with you two. I was the one who set you up. I think I have the right to know.”

Beomgyu holds back a snort. He leans closer to Heeseung, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “You wanna know?”

Heeseung’s eyes sparkle. “Dude, I’m dying of curiosi—”

Smack!

“That’s none of your business.”

Beomgyu swipes the juice box from the table and promptly leaves the library despite the protests of his two friends. Out in the hallway, he doubts he could catch up to you after running away like a white collar convict, but who knows? He might get lucky— just like last Saturday.

“Hey, dude, wait up!”

An arm is hooked around his neck, and he gets pulled down with a grunt. He might be unable to catch up to you, but his friends definitely can with him. Now all his chances are gone, slipping out of his fingers like the juice container that he drops when caught between Heeseung and Jeongin shoving each other around, and it’s now completely lost upon the arrival of the people from his major.

“Hey, classes are canceled.”

“What are we having for lunch?”

“Are we having a practice run later for the festival?”

“Wait, I have to update my story— hey, look at the camera!”

They talk, but it’s all white noise. He gets carried off by static for the rest of the day. He hopes to bump into you when he gets home, but Beomgyu doesn’t even know what time you usually get home.

All the years you’ve spent mastering the perfect bitch face have finally come to fruition when you visited the programming club during lunch to make sure none of the bullshit they’re speculated escapes their clubroom doors. They all apologized— apparently Beomgyu also told them to quit their gossiping.

However not even fear can stop an inherently stupid man. Because the next day, Minjeong suddenly tells you, “hey, I didn’t know you and Choi Beomgyu were a thing!”

Now, which rat managed to slip through the door crack?

“No, we’re not,” you scrunch your nose. “Where did you get that from?”

From a friend of a friend of a friend, she says. Sungchan asked you the same thing earlier. So did some guy from one class whom you don’t even know the name of. Your head is hurting. Crap that blind date was a stupid fucking idea. Seriously, why does no one know how to mind their own business? What is it about Choi Beomgyu that people just can’t keep his name out of their mouths? He’s not even a celebrity. He’s just a freshman with a pretty face and the social skills of an annoyingly loud butterfly.

“I’m going home,” you tell her.

“Why? I thought we were having barbecue with the rest of the guys!”

Not when you’re sure you’re gonna be barraged by another slew of questions about your dumb childhood friend. You bid Minjeong goodbye and exit the campus, hopping on the bus back to your apartment with a dead set agenda in mind. You’re going to fix this. You’r gonna bring things back to normal once and for all. So when you arrive at your floor, you don’t make a left like you usually do— you turn to your right and make three hard knocks on the sturdy door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Beomgyu, are you ho—”

It gets opened sooner than you’re used to.

“Listen. We need to talk,” you quickly start, ignoring the surprise on his face upon seeing you, ignoring the way he almost shuts the door again right into your face. You hold back a scoff, but a sneer manages to sneak out. “Things have gotten messy since last Saturday. You should’ve kept your clubmates in check. What’s the point of acting like we’re strangers when people I don’t know keep asking me if I’m your fucking girlfriend, and Lee Heeseung keeps badgering me about what’s going on between us, and— oh my fucking god. Heeseung is right there.”

Beomgyu’s body is shielding you from the view of his living room. It’s not doing a good job because Heeseung waves at you from inside. Jeongin is there too. You can’t do this anymore. You’re cursed. You’re cursed with a plague called Choi Beomgyu and his ten million friends.

Your shaking eyes flit over back to Beomgyu. He looks panicked. Your heart is threatening to jump out of your throat and shrivel up like a pathetic dried grape.

“Fuck.”

At this point, running away feels like muscle memory to you now.

“Wait, I— hold on. I’ll be back,” you hear him say right before the door clicks and there’s another pair of pattering footsteps down the hallway right behind yours. The rhythm is familiar— a lag by one step, catching up, then slowing down as if he doesn’t want to overtake you all while you bulldoze through the hallway until you reach the flight of stairs, down three floors, and you’re met with the cold wind of the outside.

It’s only now that you realize your lungs are shaking.

“Hey—”

You smack away his attempt to settle a hand on your shoulder, but you’re far too embarrassed to look up and look him in the eye. Your face is burning. It’s been burnt so many times within the span of two weeks and it’s a miracle it hasn’t been charred. “Go away. Go back upstairs,” you sniffle. All you can see is the cement ground and the worn out slippers on his feet.

He stifles out something sort of a sigh. “No.” There’s a tug on the hem of your shirt. You wobble forward. Beomgyu holds onto your arms. You finally snap your head up and see his face. “You said we needed to talk. Let’s talk.”

It’s a little pathetic how you’re so near to breaking into tears. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to.”

“Is that really what you should be saying after completely screwing yourself over?”

“Shut up.” All the strength you had in your legs has been stripped away. Beomgyu is tugging your limp body to your complex’s gazebo with ease. “How could I have known your friends would be there?” you drawl out, allowing yourself to be dragged under its overhead roof.

He settles you down onto the stairs. “Isn’t Heeseung your friend too?”

“Not anymore.” You plop down on the wood, shoulders slacked, legs outstretched. Beomgyu is standing before you with his arms crossed. “From now on, he is nothing to me.”

There’s a frown on his face. “You should’ve called before deciding to blow up like that. I did my best. You’re the one that ruined your whole stranger agenda.”

“Fuck off, I’m still trying to cope.”

You kick out your foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and Beomgyu definitely doesn’t look impressed. He walks up, signaling you to scoot over, and squeezes right next to you on the narrow stair step of the gazebo.

Shoulders pressed together, he leans slightly forward, elbows on his lap, and all you can see is the side of his face as you incline backwards so you don’t suffocate from the sudden tightness of air. “Am I like, too lame for you, or something,” he suddenly says. You blink once, failing to comprehend his words the first time. When he cocks his head back, you see the look in his eyes— earnest and raw.

You can’t help but crack out a snort.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” you sputter out. Your plaster your hands over your face, trying to suppress your misplaced chimes. “I just didn’t think you could make that kind of face. Wow, you can be serious too, huh?”

“You’re laughing,” he deadpans. “I’m trying to be serious here and you’re laughing.”

“I said I was sorry! Okay, let’s try again, let’s try again.” You clear your throat, sitting up straight and patting your palms on your lap, but something keeps tugging on the corners of your mouth and it’s hard to sit still. “No, you are not ‘too lame’ for me, Beomgyu. Where did that even come from?”

His expression bitters, unconvinced. “Then are you ashamed of me?”

“No.”

“Did I do anything abhorrently wrong?”

“What? No—”

“Am I not cool enough to be considered your friend?”

“Beomgyu, what are you talking about?” It was funny the first time, but now you’re just concerned. “Would I have stuck around your ass for almost twenty years if I thought any of that? Things haven’t been the best between us lately, but I still think we’re friends, Beomgyu, I—”

There’s a crack in your voice. Your face flushes. He’s looking at you so intently that you instinctively drop your head down before prying out the words that’s been lingering in your throat for months overdue.

“I…I hope we still are,” you mutter. “I really do.”

“Then why did you want to act like we’re not?”

There it is.

“I didn’t want to keep it up for a long time!” you reason. “I just— I just wanted to keep my distance until I’ve adjusted to uni and until I’ve made a few friends of my own because for most of my life, I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always around you and nothing else.”

It takes a gnaw at your pride to be finally saying this out loud. It’s a bitter taste on your tongue— ugly and unpalatable and you’re glad that you won’t ever have to swallow it ever again.

When you look up, you see Beomgyu make another new face you never expected from him.

“I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you, but I really don’t blame you for anything. It was an unreasonable request and you had every right to be mad. I might have taken it back had we stayed around on the playground for a little longer.” You take a pause. “But then you started acting like a dick to me so I decided to be a dick to you too.”

You expect him to bite back but he doesn’t and it worries you. Shit, maybe you’ve unhauled too much. Maybe this wasn’t the right time be all vulnerable and crap but Beomgyu isn’t telling you you’re a big fucking idiot, so maybe it’s fine.

Instead, he stays quiet for a little longer, your words simmering in the air.

“I wasn’t just angry. I was hurt,” he finally says. “Like you said, you’ve been with me for all my life and you suddenly tell me to reverse all of that. How the fuck did you expect me to act like you’re nobody when we both know that at this point I can’t live without you.”

Oh.

“Shit.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t mean— I didn’t want to say—” He’s covering the bottom half of his face with his fist. He’s turning his head away as much as he can but you can still see enough to notice. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. Forget about it.”

You lean closer. “Beomgyu, are you crying?”

“No. Fuck off.”

His right shoulder is serving as his shield as you try to dig your nose further, completely turning away from you, but you don’t miss it. You can’t miss it. “Oh my god, you’re crying.” Beomgyu leers back at you ever the slightest. There’s red tinting his eyes. You expect him to scurry off back into the building after that— but, no. Instead, pulls you by the forearm, and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his forehead pressed firmly down.

“Eat shit and die,” he mutters in between sniffles. After your initial surprise, you lift up the arm he isn’t grabbing onto to give him a few pats on the back, circles over his shoulder blades, and you stay like that for a while, for maybe too long because the sky is now darker than when you first went outside.

“Beomgyu,” you start.

“What do you want?” he muffles, as if he isn’t still draped over you like an oversized rag.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was selfish and inconsiderate.”

You hear him sniffle again. Heeseung wouldn’t believe you if you tell him Choi Beomgyu is actually a big baby. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize the way other people were treating you,” he says. “I can’t help being such a cool guy that you get overshadowed, you know. So I’m not sorry for that— ow! Ow, what the heck!”

You pry him off by the hair. You’re sure a few strands got plucked off, but a realization you didn’t expect to glean from this was the fact that his stupid shaggy hair is actually really soft. “I think this is enough. We should head back.”

In spite of his complaining, Beomgyu trails behind you when you stand up and dust yourself before making your way back inside. It’s still quiet, save for the hisses and grunts and swears whenever Beomgyu would step on your shoes, whenever he’d bump into you and feign innocence, whenever he’d get on your nerves immediately after just reconciling with you.

It’s annoying. It’s annoying and it’s better than everything that’s been these past three months.

“Are you twelve?” you shoot him a glare, ready to punch in your door code before you get the urge to punch him instead.

“Come inside,” he tells you, nosing at his side of the apartment. “Let’s watch a movie.”

You raise a brow and cross your arms. “All of a sudden?”

“Yeah.” He mimics your pose. “Got a problem with that?”

You roll your eyes, but somehow you’re now a few steps away from your front door, and are now a few steps closer to his. “I do have a problem with it. Your fucking friends are in there.”

“I’ll deal with them.”

“Wow,” you snort. “So reliable.”

Still, you follow. Beomgyu twists his door knob and you’re suddenly nervous for the possible bullshit Heeseung would barrage you about your relationship with Beomgyu, but that doesn’t happen. The moment Beomgyu cracks open the door, his voice bounces around the inside of his apartment’s walls. “Anyone who doesn’t leave after the count of five will be banned from my apartment forever. Five. Four—”

Holy crap. You’re more surprised to see it actually work because Heeseung and Jeongin who’d been laying on the floor and tinkering with their playstation controllers have suddenly catapulted from the ground. “Wait, what about her?!” Heeseung protests as he’s being shoved by Jeongin out the door.

“She’s exempted,” Beomgyu responds. “Three. Two—”

“Whatever’s going on between you two, I take credit! You better spill the beans tomorrow. I can’t stand—”

“One.”

With that, the door is shut.

Quiet washes over. Beomgyu turns to face you. “Good?” he asks. You give him a pat on the head.

“Good.” He’s like a puppy, you think, and retract your arm before spinning around to look around his living space. “What are we watching?”

It’s your first time inside, and the first thing you notice is how freaking dark it is inside his apartment. The windows are covered by blackout curtains, the television’s blue light and the light bulb from the kitchen island being the only light sources inside. You take the liberty to plop down on the floor in front of the sofa, further welcoming yourself to turn off the game the two were playing to scroll through Netflix.

“Remember the movie we got in trouble for watching?” Beomgyu rouses. He’s in the kitchen and cracking open the cupboards. “It was in eighth grade, I think.”

“The one that our parents thought was porn?” you question. Anyone would have thought it was porn with the word Bodies and the 18+ label on the CD case. “I don’t really recall the plot.”

“Me neither. All I can remember were your pissbaby screams.”

“I was fourteen!”

He throws you a bag of chips and settles down right next to you. “Yeah, and so was I. Gimme the remote, scaredy cat.”

This guy is a perpetual test on your patience, but you continue to let him test you anyway. Before long, the television is shrouded by the familiar graphic imagery that scared you shitless early into your teenhood, and Beomgyu’s warmth is seeping into your side. His face is outlined by the bright red douses onscreen, melting into the contours of his face. “What are you looking at?” he asks, eyes absentmindedly still on the screen, hand mechanically digging into the bag of chips resting on your lap. “Don’t tell me you’re still scared? Wow, what a baby.”

“Coming from you? Your eyes are still red, Beomgyu. Your big baby tears have stained my shirt.” You swat his hand away. A creak rips out from the speakers. “Maybe you’re the one acting all tough.” Suspenseful music builds up. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your friends and fans that the great Choi Beomgyu is actually— eek!”

There’s a jumpscare. And Beomgyu is laughing his ass off as you unbury your face from his shoulders, ungripping the wrinkled fabric of his shirt with a sharp glare and flushed cheeks. “Not a single word from your whore mouth,” you warn. He’s grinning like crazy as he looks down at you.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” you sneer, trying to play off how you flinched at the sudden loud noise from the screen, but he’s probably noticed. How could he not notice every jitter from your bones when your legs are practically tangled together, when he keeps reaching out an arm over you to steal from the chip bag you keep nestled on your side away from him.

The next moments are filled with nothing but the noise of guts ripping, limps splattering, and blood-curdling screams.

“Can we watch something else?!”

“No way. Quit being lame and suck it up.”

Yet— in spite of the jumps and squirms and suppressed squeaks from your person— you haven’t felt this comfortable in months.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. You don’t like how much of your time he’s wasted. You don’t like how much of your pride he’s forced you to swallow. You don’t like how much of your identity he’s inadvertently stripped away.

You don’t like him for all those things, but here you are— dressed in his department’s colors, carrying a sign with his stupid face printed on, and waiting for the past thirty god damned minutes because he was supposed to be here ages ago for the stupid fucking E-Sports Fest that you’re not even remotely interested in.

If you don’t show up in five, I’m going home, you angrily mash on your phone. You’re risking it all here. If Heeseung sees you in this traitor outfit, he’s going to give you the silent treatment for a week. The bastard still owes you two more weeks of lunch to repent. You can’t lose the upper hand. You can’t lose your leverage.

Your phone buzzes. Had to piss. Be there in a bit, his reply says.

“I don’t need to be informed about your bladder activities, you freak,” you grumble to yourself. Your bright orange ensemble has been catching unwanted attention. That or his face on your sign. Any minute longer, you’re going to bury yourself alive.

“Excuse me.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and see an unfamiliar face. He’s wearing the same shirt color as you. “Are— are you friends with Choi Beomgyu?” he asks. The bastard has collected another fanboy. You feel a throb in the side of your head.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fucking friends with Choi Beomgyu. What about it? What do you want?”

“Whoa, there.”

The said bastard swoops in and swings an arm over your shoulder and presses you to his side. “Sorry about that,” he tells the guy. Your sneer deepens. Beomgyu gives you a subtle pinch on the arm. “My friend is just grumpy because we lost a game to the engineering department earlier. Anyway, how can I help you?”

Orange number two wanted to ask for a picture with him because he was so cool in the Sudden Attack match earlier. Beomgyu excuses himself for a moment and they take a quick photo. “Tangerines are supposed to look pretty, you know,” your stupid friend announces once he gets back to you. You start making your way to the venue for his next match. It’s in a closed classroom. There’s a projector screen outside to livestream it. “Quit scowling. You’re scaring the kids.”

“That’s the plan,” you tell him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“If you keep acting like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he says. You look at him. There’s a subtle smile on his face and you don’t like it. “It’s like you only want me for yourse— ow! Joking! Joke— it was a joke! Jeez.”

“Go win, or whatever.” You shove him off seeing that you’ve arrived. It’s already pretty crowded. You’re scanning the area for a good spot to squeeze into.

“I better be hearing your cheers from inside the classroom.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you send him off with a smile. “If you lose, I’m unfriending you.”

“Not the first time you’d be doing it.”

“Fuck off. Good luck.”

He nods with a salute and an expression that mirrors yours before disappearing off into the classroom, and you’re left with two dozen bodies uncomfortably wedged in the hallway just to watch him play a game you don’t even know the god damned rules for.

You don’t like Beomgyu. His face is something you’re sick of seeing after nearly twenty years of being stuck with him.

You don’t like him. Not even when he seems to always pick you despite having a million other options. Not even when he single-mindedly bulldozes straight into you despite having a whole army cheering for him on the sides after he’s won another game for his department, waiting for your praise and the usual swears you spit on his face with a bright smile.

“Congrats, fuckface,” you say, receiving him in your arms as he engulfs you in a tight hug. You give him a few pats on the back for good measure.

“You’re treating me to dinner, dipshit,” he grins, pulling away, but keeping a hold of your shoulders.

“Spoiled brat,” you sneer.

You don’t like him. He keeps buzzing around you like an immortal mosquito that just doesn’t die even after being swatted away tens of thousands of times.

“Only to you,” he hums, looping an arm around your neck and starting dragging you along forward. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

You don’t like Choi Beomgyu.

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You don’t. You really don’t.

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