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shy9-29 · 1 month ago

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Do You Ever Shut Up? [s.jy]

pairing - yapper jake x listener reader

“He talked, and I listened—quietly, sometimes frustrated, but always intrigued. It was never about the homework anymore, never about the noise. It was about the quiet moments in between, the ones where I started to realize that maybe, just maybe, the noise was exactly what I needed.”

wc. 18.1k

genre. fluff, high school sweetheart, introvert x extrovert — pt2

You had just transferred to this school at the start of the semester. New hallways, new faces, and the same routine—keep your head down, focus on your grades, and don’t bother trying to make friends. You weren’t rude or anything, just… disinterested. People were loud, messy, distracting. You had better things to do. Like acing every test handed to you and making teachers double-check your answers because they couldn’t believe how fast you worked through problems most kids couldn’t even start.

Within a few weeks, most of the staff knew your name—in a good way. The quiet, brilliant new kid. They praised your essays, passed your math tests around in the break room, and recommended you for everything from science fairs to tutoring programs. You didn’t mind. The praise meant progress, and progress meant a future far away from classrooms full of loudmouths and group projects.

You especially couldn’t stand people who didn’t know how to shut up. The ones who couldn’t go two seconds without blurting something out, who made every lesson drag twice as long. So when your chemistry teacher pulled you aside and said, “Y/N, I’m pairing you up with someone who could use your help,” you already knew it was going to be a disaster.

And then Jake sat down across from you.

Black hoodie unzipped just enough to show the edge of a white tee, black hair falling into his eyes, skin fair and clear like he actually cared about skincare or just had the genetics for it. His baggy jeans hung low on his hips, casual in that effortless kind of way. He looked like the kind of guy who never tried too hard but somehow still caught everyone’s attention.

“Yo! You must be Y/N, right? Man, they really gave me the quietest-looking tutor ever,” he said with a laugh, plopping into the chair across from you like he owned the place. “This is chemistry, right? Honestly, I don’t even remember what we’re learning. Something with… atoms? Explosions?”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He was loud. Way too loud. And friendly. Way too annoying. The kind of guy who talked like you’d known each other for years when you hadn’t even said hi yet. In your head, you were already calculating how many deep breaths it would take to survive the hour without snapping.

This had to be a joke.

Twelve years of school, and somehow your final year—the one that was supposed to be quiet, focused, flawless—had thrown him at you.

He was still talking. Of course he was. “I mean, I sorta remember something about covalent bonds? Or is that the one with sharing? I swear I passed the last test by, like, one percent.” He laughed again, leaning back in his chair like this was some kind of social hour instead of a tutoring session.

You stared at him, silently willing your annoyance to show through your expression. But either he didn’t get the hint… or he just didn’t care.

Jake.

You’d heard of him before today—impossible not to. Not necessarily popular, but everyone knew him. Loud in class, always chiming in with a joke, borderline annoying but weirdly charming in a way that made teachers sigh instead of scream. The kind of guy who never seemed to study, never seemed to worry, and still managed to scrape by.

The exact kind of person you hated working with.

He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table, eyes lit up like this was fun for him. “Okay, so, where do we start? You gonna explain it to me like I’m five or are we jumping into full nerd mode?”

You blinked again. “Do you always talk this much?”

He grinned like you’d just complimented him. “Oh yeah. It’s kind of my thing.”

You exhaled slowly, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “Great.”

He didn’t seem fazed. In fact, he looked amused. Like your irritation just made you more interesting.

This was going to be a long semester.

The tutoring session had barely started, and already Jake was more interested in you than the worksheet in front of him.

“So, Y/N,” he said, tapping his pen against the desk in a rhythmic, mildly irritating beat. “What kind of music are you into? Wait—lemme guess. Lo-fi? Or classical? You give off major ‘I study with rain sounds’ energy.”

You didn’t look up from your notebook. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, so I was close,” he grinned, like he’d won something. “Rain sounds it is.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to focus on drawing out the molecular structure of ethane, but he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing like he was trying to solve a mystery. “Do you always study alone? Or do you have, like, a secret group of brainiac friends who meet in libraries and whisper about grades?”

You gave him a look over the top of your notebook. “No.”

“Not very talkative, huh?” he said, more curious than offended. “That’s cool. Mysterious. Bet you’ve got a whole double life outside school.”

You sighed. “Do you want to pass chemistry or not?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’m focused now.” A beat passed. “Wait—do you play any sports?”

You didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t asking anything personal exactly, just… personal enough. Stuff people asked when they wanted to know you. Not your grades. You.

“No,” you said flatly. “I don’t do teams.”

Jake nodded like that somehow made perfect sense. “Yeah, I get that. You seem more like a solo mission kind of person. Like a main character in one of those moody indie movies.”

You blinked. “Are you always like this?”

He laughed. “Pretty much. My brain doesn’t know how to shut up. You’ll get used to it.”

You highly doubted that.

Still, somehow… you didn’t tell him to stop.

You weren’t sure how ten minutes had passed and exactly zero chemistry questions had been answered.

Jake was now fiddling with a paperclip he found on the desk, bending it into what looked like a crooked star. “So, do you like this school better than your old one?” he asked, voice casual, like you were old friends catching up instead of two almost-strangers stuck in a forced partnership.

You glanced up, half expecting the question to be another distraction tactic. But he looked genuinely curious.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the worksheet.

He nodded like you’d just shared a whole monologue. “Yeah, I mean, this place kinda sucks, but in like, a tolerable way. The food’s trash, the lockers jam half the time, and the Wi-Fi dies when you actually need it. But hey, the vending machines are alright.”

You didn’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitched. A tiny twitch. You prayed he didn’t see it.

Unfortunately, he did.

“Was that a smile? That totally was! Oh my god, I made the quiet genius smile. This is going in my personal highlight reel.”

You rolled your eyes, flipping the page in your notebook harder than necessary. “Can we please focus?”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on his hand like he had all the time in the world. “Sure, yeah. But just so you know, I’m gonna crack you eventually.”

You blinked at him. “Crack me?”

He grinned. “Get to know you. Make you laugh. You’ve got this whole silent, no-nonsense vibe going, but I bet there’s a cool person hiding under all that academic intensity.”

You didn’t respond. Not because he was wrong—but because, annoyingly, some part of you wondered if he might be right.

Still, you picked up your pen and pointed at the question on the sheet. “What’s the difference between ionic and covalent bonds?”

Jake groaned dramatically, slumping over the desk like you’d just asked him to run a marathon. “Ugh, fine. But I better get, like, one fun fact about you after this.”

You ignored that part. Or at least, you tried to. But your ears felt a little warmer than before.

By the time the clock hit the hour mark, you had managed to get through maybe—maybe—three questions. And even those had taken way longer than they should have, mostly because Jake kept pausing mid-sentence to tell you a random story or ask if pineapple belonged on pizza. (You never gave him a real answer. He took your silence as a “yes.”)

“Same time tomorrow, right?” he asked as he packed up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder like he hadn’t just wasted your entire afternoon. You nodded stiffly, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll bring snacks,” he grinned, already halfway out the door before you could say anything else. “See you then, study buddy!” You didn’t even bother correcting him.

The second he was gone, you slumped back in your chair and let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your fingers to your temples. Your notes were still open, your pen untouched for the last twenty minutes, and your patience? Gone. Absolutely gone.

By the time you got home, you were still stewing. You tossed your bag on your desk with more force than necessary, scowling to yourself as you replayed the entire hour in your head. He’d asked you more questions about your favorite movies and weirdest pet peeves than he had about covalent bonds. He was loud, distracting, borderline infuriating—and worst of all, he didn’t even seem to realize how much he got under your skin. You sat down, pulled out your notebook again, and started rewriting everything you should’ve covered today. Alone. In peace. Like usual. And yet…

You found yourself thinking about that stupid crooked paperclip star he left on the table. And the way he looked so proud when he caught you almost smiling.

Ugh. You hated people like him. Didn’t you?

The next day, you threw your hair up into a bun—more out of practicality than style—and tugged on a soft, oversized knit sweater that hung slightly off one shoulder. Paired with your usual jean shorts and worn sneakers, you looked effortlessly casual, though you hadn’t really meant to. You didn’t care what people thought. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You hadn’t expected to see Jake until your tutoring session later, but the universe clearly hated you because there he was—again—in second period English, slouched in the seat two rows over. You tried to ignore him. You really did.

But then, about halfway through the class, you felt eyes on you. You glanced up, and sure enough, Jake was looking straight at you with a grin like he’d just remembered something funny. And then he waved. Your brows drew together. He wasn’t subtle—he never was—so a few people turned to look, clearly wondering what the hell that was about. You quickly looked back down at your notes, pretending not to notice, pretending your face wasn’t getting warm.

After class, you were barely out the door before you heard, “Y/N! Wait up!”

You turned, only out of reflex, and there he was, weaving through the crowd toward you, beaming like you were best friends.

“You in chem next?” he asked, like it was normal for him to talk to you in the middle of the hallway with people watching. “I was gonna see if you could explain that thing again—the molecule stuff? I was kind of half-listening yesterday. Which, honestly, is a win for me.”

You blinked at him. “We’re not even in the same chem class.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but I still need to pass it. Don’t judge me for multitasking.”

You were about to reply—maybe with a sarcastic comment, maybe just a noise of disapproval—when his friends called out from a few feet away.

“Jake!” Sunoo shouted, brows raised. He and Jay were standing by the lockers, both staring like they’d just seen a ghost. “What are you doing?”

Jake looked back at them, then to you. “I’ll catch you later, alright?” he said, completely unfazed by the attention. “Same time after school?”

You nodded slowly, still confused, still unsure what dimension you’d woken up in.

Jake jogged back over to his friends, who immediately pulled him into some kind of half-hushed interrogation. You couldn’t hear every word, but you caught Sunoo whisper-shouting, “Since when do you talk to Y/N?” and Jay glancing back at you like you were the weird one in this situation.

You rolled your eyes and kept walking.

Let them be confused.

You were still trying to figure it out, too.

You spent the rest of the day trying not to think about Jake. Which, naturally, meant he was all you could think about.

Every time you passed him in the hallway, he either nodded at you like some inside-joke was forming between you two, or—worse—smiled. And not the fake, polite kind. The full-face, toothy, dimpled kind that made people stop and stare because Jake never smiled at just anyone like that. You hated how it stuck with you. Like an echo that wouldn’t quit.

By the time the last bell rang and you were back in the tutoring room, you’d rehearsed a dozen ways to tell him to focus this time, to maybe not spend the entire hour talking about his favorite cartoon as a kid or what he thought his “aura color” was.

But of course, the second he walked in, hoodie slouched on his frame, that damn crooked paperclip star in hand, all your frustration shriveled into confused silence.

“You left this yesterday,” he said, dropping it on the desk in front of you like it was important. “Thought maybe you’d want your good luck charm back.”

You stared at it, then at him. “It’s literally a mangled paperclip.” He shrugged, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, but now it’s sentimental.” You shook your head, trying not to let the faintest laugh escape. “Unbelievable.” Jake opened his notebook—shocking—and tapped his pen thoughtfully. “So. Ionic bonds, right? I did not Google them last night, so you’re gonna have to start from zero.” You blinked at him, almost impressed. “You actually opened your notebook.”

He gave you a mock-offended look. “Hey, I’m trying. You’re a tough tutor, but I think I’m learning. Like yesterday—I remembered you don’t like pineapple on pizza.”

You hadn’t even told him that.

He just… noticed.

You should’ve been annoyed. But instead, a small part of you warmed, just a little.

“Okay,” you said finally, flipping to a fresh page. “Let’s try again.” He leaned forward, scribbling something down as you explained. For once, he wasn’t interrupting. Not too much, anyway.

And even though he still talked way too much—and still asked questions like, “Do you think atoms ever get tired of being stuck together?”—you realized something strange.

You didn’t hate it as much as you thought you would.

Fifteen minutes in, and things were actually going… decent. Jake was focused, or focused enough—nodding along as you explained the difference between polar and non-polar covalent bonds, underlining things, even writing a few notes that didn’t look like doodles. You were cautiously optimistic.

But of course, it didn’t last.

He dropped his pen suddenly and groaned, leaning back in his chair like he was in the middle of a full-blown existential crisis.

You stopped mid-sentence. “What now?”

Jake threw his arms up. “Sorry, I just remembered I have to go home tonight and deal with my Gen Alpha little brother, and my soul left my body for a second.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“He’s so annoying,” Jake said dramatically. “Like, actually evil. You know how people say kids are mean? No—this one is a different breed. I think TikTok rewired his brain. He calls me ‘mid.’ Mid, Y/N. Just walks by and says it for no reason. I breathe and he’s like, ‘L ratio, you fell off.’”

You stared at him.

“He’s eight,” he added, like that made it make more sense. “And he told me I ‘dress like an NPC.’ Like, what does that even mean?”

You let out a breath through your nose, fighting the weird urge to smile. “Didn’t you say earlier you don’t care what people think?”

“Yeah, but that’s before I got verbally destroyed by someone who still watches ‘Cocomelon’ on the family iPad.”

You sighed, flipping back to the page you were on. “Focus, Jake.”

“I am focused. I’m just traumatized.”

You gave him a flat look.

He raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Covalent bonds. Sharing electrons. Got it. But if I randomly zone out again, just know I’m mentally preparing for another roast session when I get home.”

You shook your head and turned back to your notes, trying to pretend you weren’t kind of entertained.

Maybe a little more than “kind of.”

It happened every single time.

You’d sit down, ready to tackle the work, and then within minutes, Jake would start talking about anything but the assignment in front of you. One day it was how his favorite cereal was definitely the best, another time he spent twenty minutes describing his latest failed attempt at cooking dinner (which somehow involved burning a frozen pizza).

Every time, he would throw in a comment like, “Oh, this is easy. You’re a genius, Y/N,” or “Don’t worry, I’m totally listening,” and then proceed to get lost in whatever tangent was running through his head that day.

And for a while, you just kept it in. You stayed patient. You focused on the material while he babbled about his brother, his latest argument with his mom, or how one of his friends was “acting weird” (Jake’s words, not yours).

But by the time the sixth session rolled around, you were fed up.

You were in the middle of explaining the difference between ionic and covalent bonds again—again—when Jake started tapping his pencil against the desk. Tap, tap, tap. Then he started humming under his breath. Then he picked up his phone and checked his messages.

You could feel your patience unraveling, thread by thread.

“Jake,” you said, voice calm but strained, “I’m trying to help you here.”

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, not even looking up. “Sorry, sorry, I’m paying attention. Keep going.”

You gripped your pen tightly, taking a slow breath before you snapped, “Jake, I don’t know what you see here, but we are not friends. I’m not your personal therapist or your stand-in babysitter, and I’m definitely not here to listen to you talk about your annoying brother for the hundredth time.”

The words came out faster than you expected, a flood of frustration you’d been holding in for weeks. “I don’t care about your cereal preferences or how you totally destroyed your frozen pizza. You want to pass this class? Then focus. Or I’m done helping you. I’m not doing this anymore.”

For the first time in the several weeks of tutoring, Jake went completely silent. His pencil froze in mid-air, and his eyes widened, not in that usual playful way, but in actual surprise.

You didn’t care. You shoved your notebook aside, stood up, and grabbed your bag. “I can’t keep doing this, Jake. It’s exhausting, and I’m honestly tired of being disrespected every time I try to help you.”

He still didn’t say anything.

For a moment, you almost regretted it. Maybe you had been too harsh. But as you turned toward the door, you glanced back at him. He hadn’t moved. He was staring at his desk, eyes focused on something—or maybe nothing at all.

Jake was quiet. For the first time, he wasn’t talking. Not even a comment. Not a joke. Nothing.

Jake sat there for a long moment, his pencil still suspended in mid-air, the usual spark in his eyes completely absent. The silence between you both felt heavy, suffocating, and for the first time since this whole tutoring thing started, you felt the tension shift.

You almost expected him to crack some joke, to brush it off like he always did, but instead, he just… stayed silent. The kind of silence that made your skin prickle, like something was about to change. Something you couldn’t quite control.

For a second, you regretted what you’d said. Maybe you’d gone too far? Maybe you shouldn’t have snapped like that. But then again, maybe he needed to hear it.

You turned back to him, ready to speak, to apologize, maybe, but the words stuck in your throat.

Jake finally dropped his pencil, his fingers running through his hair as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze stayed on the desk, avoiding yours, and his lips pressed into a tight line, like he was holding something back.

“I get it,” he muttered after what felt like an eternity. His voice was different now—no teasing, no playfulness. Just… quiet. “I wasn’t really… taking this seriously, huh?”

You didn’t say anything, unsure if you should respond or just let him process it.

“I didn’t mean to waste your time,” he added, glancing up at you with an expression you didn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t playful, wasn’t cocky. It was genuine. “I guess I just… I don’t know. I thought if I made it more fun, it would be easier. Or maybe I thought I could mess around and still get by like I always do.”

You could feel the frustration and guilt bubbling up inside of you, but you crossed your arms and held your ground. “You can’t keep doing that, Jake. It’s not fair to me, and it’s definitely not fair to you.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say next. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “I’ll try harder. I just… I guess I got used to things being easy and not, you know, actually working for them.”

You were silent for a moment, watching him closely. For all his noise, his interruptions, and his distractions, this was the first time he seemed to truly care about what was happening in front of him.

“Good,” you said quietly. “Because if you want to pass, really pass, you’re gonna have to start actually trying.”

Jake nodded, his usual grin absent, but there was something softer in his expression now. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll focus. I promise. Just… don’t give up on me, alright?”

You felt a small flicker of something—maybe relief, maybe frustration—pass through you. “I’m not giving up on you. I just need you to show up, Jake. For yourself.”

He met your eyes then, something unspoken passing between you two. And for once, you didn’t have to explain it. He understood.

The next day, you walked into the tutoring room with your usual steady pace, preparing yourself for another round of distractions, interruptions, and Jake’s relentless chatter. You had half-prepared yourself for him to slip back into his old habits—because that’s just who he was. He’d brush off yesterday’s moment and go back to the loud, talkative guy who couldn’t sit still for five minutes. That was what you were expecting.

But when Jake showed up, it was… different.

He was already sitting at the desk when you walked in, his backpack slung over his chair, and he was quiet. You glanced at him, unsure if you were just imagining it. The room felt oddly still, with no humming, no random comments about how you were “definitely the smartest person in the room” or stories about his brother calling him “mid.”

He barely acknowledged you, his eyes focused on the open notebook in front of him, his pen tapping gently against the pages like he was thinking about something. Normally, he would’ve cracked a joke or some random remark about how hard chemistry was—but today, he didn’t.

You paused at the door, looking at him for a moment longer, waiting for him to say something. But nothing came. Not even a greeting.

You sighed, shaking your head as you sat down across from him. “You good?” you asked, trying to break the silence.

Jake’s head lifted, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Just… wanted to focus today. If that’s okay.”

For a second, you were thrown off. The change was… unsettling. The room felt quieter than usual. Too quiet.

You took a slow breath, trying to process it, but it wasn’t exactly easy. The constant noise, the banter, the Jake-ness that you’d gotten used to over the last few weeks—it was all gone. Now, he was just there. Quiet.

“Okay,” you said slowly, settling into your chair and trying to ignore the weirdness building up between you two. You picked up your pen, glancing at the worksheet in front of you. “Then let’s get to it.”

And so you did. You went through the material, explaining things like you normally would. Jake didn’t interrupt. He didn’t ask random questions or make jokes. He didn’t even fidget.

He was… listening. Actually listening. Really listening.

You’d thought it would feel like a relief, but instead, it was strange. You weren’t used to this version of Jake—the quiet one. The one who didn’t fill the silence with stories or pointless chatter. The one who was just… present.

It made you feel a little off-balance, unsure of how to act.

You hummed softly under your breath, trying to focus on the lesson without the usual distractions. The silence was deafening in its own way, but somehow, it felt… more comfortable. Even if it wasn’t what you were used to.

Jake looked up at you once, his eyes scanning your face, and you almost thought he was about to say something. But he just… nodded, his hand moving to scribble something in his notebook.

And for the rest of the session, you both worked in an unusual, almost peaceful quiet.

It was only then you realized how much you actually missed his constant noise.

The next day, as you were settling into your usual seat, Jake walked in with his usual easy stride, but this time, there was something different in his expression. It was a mixture of nervousness and excitement that didn’t quite match his usual laid-back energy.

He plopped down across from you and immediately opened his mouth. “Okay, so, random thought. I was thinking I should join an extracurricular.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure where this was going. “You’re already in, like, five different things.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, but none of them are fun, you know? I need something that actually interests me.” His eyes lit up like he’d just found a hidden treasure. “I think I’m gonna join the debate club.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Debate club?”

“Yeah! I’ve been watching these debates online, and they look so intense. Plus, I bet I could totally crush it. I mean, I talk all the time, so why not make it official?”

You paused, leaning back in your chair. “You do talk a lot, don’t you?”

Jake grinned. “Exactly! It’s the perfect fit.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Well, if you’re serious about it, the debate team’s pretty good. They’re always looking for fresh blood.”

Jake leaned forward, looking a little unsure for the first time. “Yeah, but, uh… I really don’t want to end up being paired up with someone super serious. I need someone who gets it. Someone who won’t just stare at me when I’m trying to argue my point. You know, someone who won’t be super intense about it.”

You blinked. “And you think that’s going to be—?”

He grinned widely. “You. Obviously.”

You froze, caught off guard by his sudden confidence. “What? No way. I’m not gonna be your partner.”

Jake gave you a half-smirk. “Why not? You already know the material, you’re sharp. We could totally own this.”

You shook your head, still not entirely convinced. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We barely survive tutoring sessions without me losing my mind.”

Jake just shrugged, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Come on, it could be fun. I promise I won’t talk your ear off during debates. Maybe.”

You gave him a skeptical look but didn’t say much else, just hoping he’d drop it. You knew Jake—he had a way of pushing until he got what he wanted.

The next day, you walked into the debate club meeting with your usual sense of reluctance. As always, the board at the front of the room had a list of members, paired up for upcoming debates. You moved through the crowd, skimming the names until you saw it.

Your heart sank.

There, in neat black letters, were your names. Right beside each other.

Y/N and Jake.

You froze, your stomach doing a weird flip as you scanned the board again to make sure you weren’t seeing things. No. It was real.

You turned to look at Jake, who was standing a few feet away, his grin wide and completely unapologetic.

“See?” he said, winking at you as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “Told you we’d make a killer team.”

You groaned internally. This was going to be interesting—and not in the good way.

Trying to swallow down your frustration, you looked over at him. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

Jake just shrugged again, that damn grin still plastered on his face. “Well, now we have to do this. Might as well make the best of it, right?”

You stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “I guess.”

And so, with your names officially paired together on the board, you realized that this was going to be a whole new level of chaos you never saw coming.

The day you found out you were paired with Jake for the debate was a mess in itself, but the fact that it happened while you were on your period just made everything a hundred times worse. The usual irritation, the cramps, the exhaustion, and then—Jake—your perpetually loud, always-talking tutoring partner now also your debate team partner? It felt like the universe was conspiring against you.

You were sitting at the debate table with him, the rest of the team already getting into their discussions. You felt a headache coming on, your patience worn thin, and yet you were stuck with Jake, who was so eager about everything and so unbothered by your obvious lack of enthusiasm.

He had this unshakable grin on his face, his usual energy dialed up to an eleven as he enthusiastically listed off arguments for the topic. You could barely focus on anything but the mounting frustration. You could feel your blood simmering as he babbled about points, cutting through everything you wanted to say. You’d gotten the message—he liked to talk. You got it. He liked to talk a lot.

And here you were, forced to sit through it. For the first time, you had no patience left for his unfiltered commentary.

You had tried, at first, to engage—pointing out some key arguments and trying to follow the structure. But Jake wouldn’t let up. He kept interrupting, going off on tangents about how he absolutely knew his point was the best and why the opposition was always going to lose, not realizing he was starting to sound like a broken record.

The anger you’d been keeping inside all day from the stress of it all, the frustration, the lack of sleep—it just built and built.

“Jake,” you said, through clenched teeth, trying to stay calm. “Just focus. We have to make an actual case here.”

He grinned at you, unfazed. “Yeah, but listen, listen—hear me out, we can totally make this point sound better if we—”

You couldn’t even stand the way he kept cutting you off. His voice, his energy—it felt like it was bouncing off every surface of the room, and you were just… done.

So you did the only thing that was left in your power: you shut down.

You kept your eyes on the debate board, nodding absently to everything Jake said, too tired to argue, too angry to even care. The words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. You let him drone on and on, tuning out every bit of his rambling, just letting his voice wash over you without hearing a single word.

“Y/N, you get me, right?” Jake said, clearly expecting some kind of enthusiastic response. He was waiting for validation, something you were so tired of giving him.

You just nodded, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, sure.”

His grin only widened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to react. The words felt like they were bouncing off a wall. You just didn’t care.

He rambled about how the opposition would have no chance against their “undefeatable argument” or how his points would totally blow everyone away. And you just sat there, nodding, fighting the urge to snap and scream at him to shut up.

By the time the debate was winding down, you had become the very picture of indifference. Every time Jake threw out a new idea, you just nodded along, your face a mask of calm that belied the tornado of frustration swirling in your mind.

You weren’t going to argue. You weren’t going to get into it. You didn’t have the energy. It was the same as always—Jake talking, you tuning out, and this endless, looping cycle where you did all the work, and he filled the silence with whatever nonsense he thought was important.

When the debate ended and the team moved on, you finally let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Jake slapped you on the back, still grinning.

“That went well, right?” he said, full of excitement.

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak without snapping. “Yeah. Sure.”

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to defend yourself or argue with him. You had nothing left to give. You just wanted to leave, to go home, curl up with your book and forget that you ever had to share a space with a guy who never stopped talking.

Every single day, Jake never ran out of things to talk about. Not once. He’d start with random observations about the weather, then shift to a story about how he almost got kicked out of his favorite coffee shop because of his constant “misunderstanding” of their rules. Or maybe he’d talk about his old life in Australia, how he missed the beach and how “everything was way less complicated” back there. Then, it would spiral into a tangent about a movie he watched the night before, then his latest argument with his brother, then—somehow—back to chemistry. But the thing was, he never actually focused on the work. Not for long, anyway.

You would sit there, your pen poised over your notes, trying your best to stay focused on the lesson. But it was hard. Jake would say something about how the electrons were “basically like the ‘bad boys’ of atoms” and you’d just stare at him, caught in the ridiculousness of his comparison. Or maybe he’d start talking about how much he hated the new gym teacher, complaining about how strict she was and how he’d “get so much more out of it if she just let him talk a little more.”

And the more he talked, the more you realized you weren’t really paying attention to the chemistry anymore. You were just… listening. Listening to him. Watching the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited about something, how his lips would curl into that mischievous grin whenever he said something he thought was hilarious.

He had this way of making everything seem like an adventure, even the most mundane details. His Australian accent, with just the right amount of smoothness and charm, mixed with his Korean roots, was oddly soothing. It felt like he was always on the verge of cracking a joke, but somehow, it didn’t get annoying. It was just… him.

Somehow, you found yourself unwinding in his presence, even though you should’ve been getting work done. His voice, the way he gestured wildly with his hands when he was making a point, the way his hair fell in just the right way over his forehead—it all made it hard to focus on anything but him.

There were moments when you found yourself completely still, watching him talk, completely lost in his energy. It was like you couldn’t even think of a way to look away. Every word that came out of his mouth felt like it mattered, even if it was nonsense about some random celebrity gossip or how he thought pineapple didn’t belong on pizza (which you didn’t even agree with, but you just nodded along, letting him talk).

But then there were the whispers.

You heard them the first time when you were sitting in the library, working on a group project with Jake nearby. A few girls were gossiping behind you, their voices too low for anyone else to catch but not too quiet for you. “Do you think they’re dating? They’re always together.”

“Yeah, they’re always hanging out. I bet she likes him.”

You didn’t want to react to it. Didn’t want to give any of it attention, but it lingered in the back of your mind. You’d heard things like that before. You and Jake were always together, weren’t you? You tutored him. You were partners in debate. Of course, people would talk. But hearing it out loud, hearing people wonder about something that wasn’t even close to being true—it made you uncomfortable.

But what bothered you even more was how Jake never seemed to notice it. He was always talking, always oblivious, always too busy to hear the gossip that followed you two. And in some way, that made you even more irritated. Maybe he had no idea how much people were watching, how much they were speculating.

Still, you pushed it to the back of your mind. It didn’t matter. You had bigger things to focus on—like your grades, like your future, like everything but Jake and whatever these people thought. But as you stared at him—at the way he leaned in, totally absorbed in some random story about his childhood in Australia, his voice carrying with that same mix of confidence and humor—you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he really looked.

It wasn’t just that he had the sharp jawline or the way his eyes always glinted when he talked, but it was the way he was so himself. He was loud, he was chaotic, and for some weird reason, it made him kind of irresistible. The way he didn’t try to fit into anyone’s expectations, the way he was always so… unapologetically Jake.

And in that moment, you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t listening to him talk just because he was your tutoring partner or your debate teammate. You were listening because you wanted to. You were watching him, not just because he was talking, but because you couldn’t stop.

So, as he kept on with his never-ending stories and distractions, you sat there, still. The work in front of you forgotten, your focus entirely on him. You didn’t know what you were thinking or how you’d gotten here, but all you knew was that the longer he talked, the harder it became to look away.

The night before the debate, you sat at your desk, staring at the empty pages in front of you. Your textbooks were open, but your mind was elsewhere—mostly, on how much you hadn’t done. You should’ve been preparing, memorizing points, going over counterarguments, reviewing the outline. But instead, all you did was sit there for hours listening to Jake yap about everything under the sun, from his favorite video games to how he thought the new coffee shop in town was overrated. He’d talk about the dumbest things, and you’d listen, because, well, you couldn’t escape it. The more he talked, the less you cared about the debate material.

The clock ticked by, and you realized, with a sinking feeling, that you were completely unprepared. The debate was tomorrow. Tomorrow.

You rubbed your face with both hands in frustration. You had barely touched the material. It was all just Jake’s voice in your head—his stories, his jokes, his random rants—filling the spaces where your preparation should’ve been. You had nothing. No solid points. No real arguments. Just a head full of Jake.

When the day of the debate finally arrived, you felt like you were walking into a battlefield completely unarmed. You tried to do a last-minute run-through of the main ideas, but it was useless. Every time you tried to focus, you couldn’t help but think about how Jake would be his usual loud, distracting self.

And sure enough, when Jake walked into the room where you were supposed to prep for the debate, he started up immediately. He wasn’t even five seconds in the door before he was talking.

“Yo, did you see the new episode of that show I was telling you about last week? It’s like they finally listened to the fans, you know?” he said, completely oblivious to the anxious look on your face.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the voice in your head screaming at you to focus. But it didn’t matter. Jake just kept talking. You barely even knew what he was saying anymore. His words were like background noise, a constant hum that made it impossible for you to concentrate.

“Jake!” you snapped, your patience snapping like a brittle twig. “Can you just stop for a minute?! I can’t even think with you yapping like that.”

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. “Whoa, what’s with the attitude?”

“What’s with your attitude?” you shot back, frustration bleeding into your voice. “I’m stressed, I’m unprepared, and all you do is talk! You’re making it worse. I’m trying to focus, but you won’t let me! I’m behind because of you!” You could feel the anger bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, everything you’d been holding in for so long now pouring out in one sharp burst. “You’re just so… annoying!”

The room fell silent, and you could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you. Jake’s eyes widened for the first time, and there was a moment of stillness. He blinked, and then his usual cocky grin was gone. Instead, there was something sharper in his gaze.

“I’m annoying?” he shot back, voice rising for the first time. “What about you, huh? All you do is sit there and act like you’re so perfect, but I’ve been doing everything I can to help, to talk to you—to be your friend—and you barely even try! You don’t even care that I’m here. I’m just trying to help, but you keep acting like I’m the problem!”

For the first time ever, Jake wasn’t the one rambling aimlessly. He was serious, his tone harsh, and it caught you off guard. You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not exactly all in either. So yeah, maybe I talk too much, maybe I annoy you—but at least I’m here, at least I’m trying!” His voice had a cutting edge to it. “You act like I’m dragging you down, but you never actually try to keep up. Maybe that’s why we’re behind. You’re never engaged, never focused. You don’t even care about this—you care about being annoyed.”

You were completely stunned into silence. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, like everyone was watching a car crash in slow motion. The room was completely still.

Then, from the back of the room, someone muttered, “Oh my God, just kiss already.”

You whipped your head toward the voice, heart pounding in your chest. It was the debate coach, shaking his head with a grin that wasn’t even trying to hide how amused he was by the tension.

A couple of people snickered, others exchanged awkward glances. You and Jake stood there, staring at each other, caught in this strange, new atmosphere that neither of you were quite prepared for. The sudden attention was enough to make your face flush with embarrassment, but it also gave you the clarity you needed. You realized you’d both been playing this ridiculous game for weeks, but now—now it was out in the open. And for once, neither of you could pretend like everything was fine. The cracks were visible.

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. But Jake, with his usual awkward grin, broke the silence.

“Guess we better actually start preparing, huh?” he said, his tone lighter but still laced with that underlying tension. “If we’re gonna be partnered up like this, I mean.”

You nodded, your chest tight, unsure of what to think or say next. “Yeah.”

And with that, the moment passed, but everything had changed. The debate was tomorrow, but now, you were facing something completely different—the lines between frustration, annoyance, and something else were blurrier than ever.

The next day of the debate came and went faster than you expected. You had been so focused on trying to get everything together that you had barely noticed the time passing. Surprisingly, you managed to get through the entire thing without completely falling apart. You were organized, you were prepared—and you had actually done all the work. Jake, true to form, spent most of the time talking about his ideas and rambling off thoughts that barely made sense, but you had managed to rein it in, turning his chatter into something halfway coherent. It felt like the work you’d been avoiding for weeks had come to fruition in a single, intense hour of debate.

Somehow, you won. The team won. And despite Jake’s non-stop talking, despite his distractibility, you pulled it off.

When the results were announced, you tried not to show how much relief flooded your system. You glanced at Jake, who was looking as stunned as you felt. You had done it.

As you walked to your locker afterward, head down, trying to process the fact that you’d somehow survived, you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Jake’s voice was unmistakable.

“You did it,” he said, breathless, catching up to you with a wide, triumphant grin. “We actually won!”

You couldn’t suppress the small wave of pride that crested in your chest, but you didn’t let it show too much. It was just another task done, another hurdle cleared. You should’ve felt accomplished—but you couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that everything was just a bit too chaotic.

Jake, however, was absolutely beaming, his eyes sparkling with excitement, clearly over the moon. And then, without any warning, he reached out and wrapped his arms around you in an enthusiastic, almost too tight hug. His head rested briefly on your shoulder, and for a second, you froze. It was awkward. It was too much. You could feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and it made your skin crawl, your stomach twist in discomfort. The kind of discomfort that made you want to shove him off, but you stayed still, not wanting to make a scene in the middle of the hallway.

“Seriously, I couldn’t have done it without you,” Jake said, pulling back, grinning widely.

You stepped back slightly, not sure what to do with yourself. “It’s fine. It was a team effort,” you muttered, trying to sound unaffected.

But then, just as you were about to turn back to your locker, you felt it—a tug at the corner of your lips. Before you could even process it, a small, involuntary smile crept onto your face. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there.

You hated to admit it, but that moment—the hug—felt different. It wasn’t just Jake being his annoying, talkative self. It was something else. You didn’t know how to categorize it, but a part of you didn’t mind it as much as you thought you would. That small, unwelcome smile lingered for just a moment longer before you cleared your throat and turned your attention back to your locker.

“Whatever,” you muttered, pushing your books into your bag. “It’s over. We won. Let’s leave it at that.”

Jake didn’t seem to mind your coldness. If anything, he seemed even more amused by it. “You’re always so chill,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. “You don’t show it, but I know you’re happy we won.”

You couldn’t help the tiny roll of your eyes, but you were smiling, even if it was just a little bit. It was strange. You didn’t want to get used to it, didn’t want to think about why you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. But there was no denying it. Something had shifted.

You just didn’t know what.

The next few days felt like a blur. The debate was over, and somehow, against all odds, you and Jake had come out victorious. But that victory didn’t change the fact that your tutoring sessions with him were far from smooth sailing. You were nearing the end of the two remaining sessions you had agreed to, and despite your best intentions to stay focused, it was like nothing had changed. Jake still showed up late, still launched into tangents the second he sat down, still had that never-ending need to fill every silence with his voice.

At first, you tried to keep your patience in check, tried to redirect him to the material. You even tried muttering a few “focus, Jake”s under your breath, but it wasn’t long before you gave up. You stopped trying to manage him. You let him talk. Let him yap. And, strangely enough, you didn’t mind anymore.

As he rambled on about his annoying Gen Alpha brother, how he kept stealing his clothes and breaking his gaming consoles, you didn’t even bother pretending to care. Your pen rested idly in your hand as you stared at the pages in front of you, letting the words flow in one ear and out the other. You caught yourself watching him instead. You noticed the way his hands moved when he talked, the way he always seemed to forget what he was saying halfway through, only to quickly come up with another topic. His lips, his eyes, the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was trying to find the right word—it was all so… familiar now. It wasn’t annoying anymore. It was just him.

You hadn’t realized how much you were just listening until the silence suddenly hit. Jake, for once, had stopped talking.

You glanced up, your gaze catching his, and you noticed something different in his expression. It wasn’t the usual easygoing grin or cocky smirk. It was something more subdued, more thoughtful. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The air felt thick with that kind of tension that usually accompanied an unspoken question.

“Why are you staring at me?” Jake asked suddenly, breaking the quiet with a soft laugh, though there was something almost vulnerable in his voice.

You blinked, caught off guard by his question. You hadn’t even realized you were staring.

“I—I wasn’t staring,” you muttered, suddenly aware of how hot your face was. But it didn’t matter, because you couldn’t look away. He was staring at you now, too. It was like a silent challenge, something you couldn’t quite place but felt undeniably real.

There was a brief silence as you both just… stared. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure if it was because you were finally noticing something you hadn’t before, or because there was something you were both avoiding.

Finally, Jake broke the silence again, this time in a quieter tone. “You know, you don’t always have to pretend you don’t care about me, right?”

Your breath hitched at the unexpected words. For a moment, you thought about snapping something sarcastic, something to deflect. But then you realized that the words felt different coming from him. They didn’t carry the usual teasing lilt. They were softer. Almost… uncertain.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for the first time in weeks, you were struck by the thought that maybe you didn’t have all the answers. Maybe it wasn’t just Jake talking anymore. Maybe it was something else entirely. Something you didn’t quite know how to handle. You stared at him for another moment, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but all you could do was swallow them back down.

Instead, you just nodded, a simple acknowledgment. “Yeah. Maybe.”

And with that, the moment passed. Jake’s grin slowly returned, and you both fell back into the rhythm you had known so well. He resumed his rambling, but this time, you didn’t fight it. You just… listened.

The tutoring session had ended, and you packed up your things with the usual methodical precision, still processing everything that had happened. Jake was nowhere to be seen, probably chatting with someone or off doing something else, as he always did. You stood in front of your desk, organizing your notes, trying not to think about how strange the last hour had felt. It was different than usual—less frustrating, maybe even a little… comfortable? But you weren’t ready to unpack that yet.

As you gathered your things, you heard the faint sound of footsteps outside the classroom. You glanced up, spotting Sunoo, who was leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for Jake. He gave you a quick smile, but it didn’t last long before he turned his attention back down the hallway.

“Hey, you,” Sunoo called to Jake as he appeared in the doorway. “Ready to go for your early birthday dinner?”

Jake waved him off, flashing a quick grin. “Yeah, yeah, just a second. I gotta grab my stuff,” he said, his voice distracted.

Sunoo crossed his arms, leaning back into the doorframe and flashing a mischievous grin. “You’re awfully distracted today. Been talking to Y/N a little too much, huh?”

Jake froze, almost imperceptibly, and glanced back at Sunoo with a raised brow. “What?” he asked, faking innocence, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Sunoo’s grin only grew wider, clearly teasing now. “I don’t know, man. You’ve been acting… different. Like, every time I see you after tutoring, you’re all smiley and weird. What, do you like her or something?”

Jake’s expression shifted, and for a brief moment, he looked almost… unsure. He glanced down at the floor, his hands in his pockets, but then he looked up at Sunoo with a small, almost sheepish grin.

“I think I do,” he murmured softly, just enough for Sunoo to catch the words, his tone quieter than usual.

Sunoo’s eyes widened slightly, his lips curling into a smile. “Oh? Ohhhh, so that’s what’s going on.” His voice was light, but his eyes held a knowing gleam. “You might wanna figure that out, man.”

Jake’s response was lost in a brief moment of hesitation, but he didn’t argue. He simply gave a small shrug. “Let’s just go, alright? We’ll talk later.”

Sunoo nodded, clearly still amused, and without missing a beat, he turned back toward the hallway. Jake followed him, and as they walked down the corridor, they began chatting about something else entirely, and the sound of their voices faded as they made their way toward the stairs.

You, however, had been too busy packing your things to hear anything more than a few quiet words exchanged between them. You didn’t catch what Sunoo had said. You didn’t hear the soft confession that Jake had made to him.

For you, the moment passed like everything else—leaving you to continue your life with no idea that something had shifted between you and Jake.

The next day, when Jake showed up for tutoring, something was different. It wasn’t the usual loud, chaotic energy he brought into the room, the constant stream of words that filled every quiet space. Today, he was quieter—not the usual loud, distracted Jake, but something more… subdued. He still had that confident, easygoing aura, but he wasn’t talking just for the sake of talking. It was almost like he was holding back, like he had something on his mind but wasn’t sure whether to say it.

You glanced up from your notes when he sat down across from you, his eyes a little more focused, but there was something in the way he was fidgeting with his pen that made you feel like he wasn’t entirely present. It wasn’t the normal Jake you’d gotten used to—the one who would drop a random fact or ask a weird question out of nowhere. He was… different today. Still there, but quieter. Almost as if he was waiting for something.

For a while, the two of you just worked in silence. You, flipping through your notes, trying to make sense of everything you were supposed to know for the upcoming test. Jake, scribbling away on his homework, but it was clear his mind wasn’t entirely on the assignment.

Finally, after what felt like a long stretch of silence, Jake cleared his throat.

“Hey, so, um…” he started, his voice a little hesitant, an unfamiliar shift in his tone. You looked up from your paper, sensing the change in his demeanor. He hesitated for a moment, eyes darting around the room, before meeting your gaze. “I was wondering… you know, my birthday dinner is tonight, and, uh… well, I thought maybe you’d want to come.”

You blinked at him, surprised. It wasn’t like Jake to ask you directly about something personal, and even more so, it was strange that he was asking you to join him at his birthday dinner. You weren’t the type for parties. You didn’t even like them, to be honest. You preferred quiet nights, your routine, your space.

“I… I don’t really do parties,” you replied, shrugging slightly, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I’m not really into big social gatherings.”

Jake, however, wasn’t deterred. His eyes softened, and you could see that he wasn’t about to drop it that easily.

“Come on,” he said, his voice taking on a playful, almost pleading tone. “It’ll be fun! Just for a little bit. You don’t even have to stay long, I promise. It’s just a small dinner with my friends… and… you know, I kind of want you to be there.”

His words caught you off guard, more than you’d like to admit. Jake, being the charismatic guy he was, didn’t beg. He wasn’t the type to be earnest about stuff like this. But now, with that small, almost shy grin on his face, and the way he was looking at you—almost like he was unsure of how to convince you—it was hard to say no.

You felt the tug of guilt. You knew he was just asking because he wanted you to be there—maybe even needed you to be there—and it was difficult to shake that thought.

“I really don’t know…” you started, but before you could finish, Jake jumped in, his voice becoming more determined.

“Please, Y/N,” he said, his eyes bright with that familiar spark. “Just this once. I swear I’ll make it worth your while. You can even leave early if you want. But, uh, it’d really mean a lot to me if you came.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair, feeling the pressure of his request weighing on you. It was just one night, one dinner. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

You let out a sigh, caving in. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Jake’s grin lit up, and you could practically see the relief flood through him. “Yes!” He immediately sat up straighter, looking way too pleased with himself. “It’s going to be fun. I promise. I’ll make sure it’s not boring.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips, despite yourself. “Alright, alright, I’m going. But don’t expect me to stay long.”

Jake chuckled, nodding enthusiastically. “Deal! I’ll make sure it’s short and sweet.”

And with that, the air between you two lightened once more. You could still feel that odd shift in the way Jake was acting today, but you pushed it to the back of your mind for now. You had given in, and you’d show up.

After all, it was his birthday.

You had no idea what to get Jake. You’d spent the last two hours walking around the mall, looking at store after store, trying to figure out what someone like him would even want. Jake was… well, Jake. He was loud, unpredictable, and always seemed to have everything figured out. He had everything you could think of: clothes, gadgets, sneakers—there was nothing obvious that you could buy him. You didn’t know him well enough to pick something meaningful, and you couldn’t just pick up something random and hope it worked. What did a guy like him even like?

Your mind raced, and as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself getting more and more frustrated. You checked your watch—two hours until his birthday dinner, and you still had nothing. Your phone buzzed with a reminder: “Get something for Jake!”

I’m trying, okay? you thought, shoving the phone back into your bag.

You had already bought a new top, a light pink short-sleeve shirt, hoping to look cute but not overdo it. It was casual, but still nice enough for dinner. You’d paired it with a simple white skirt—something you could move comfortably in, without feeling overdressed. You even styled your hair, which was rare for you. It felt like too much effort, but for some reason, today, you actually wanted to look… well, pretty. You wanted to look like you had at least tried.

But as you walked through the mall for the second time, your energy started to wane. The buzz of the crowd, the brightly lit stores, and the overwhelming number of options were draining. You stopped in front of a display with colorful mugs and keychains, wondering if maybe something small and quirky would be the right choice. But as you picked up a keychain shaped like a gaming controller, you immediately put it back. No way.

You checked your watch again. You had no time to overthink it anymore. You just had to pick something.

Ugh, why is this so hard?

You felt yourself getting more and more exhausted with every step. Your feet ached from walking so much, and the pressure of getting Jake’s gift just right was starting to eat at you. You glanced down at your outfit. The light pink shirt and white skirt felt okay—cute enough, but what if it was too much for a casual dinner? What if it was too little? You sighed, shaking your head.

You were halfway across the mall now, eyes scanning the stores around you, when you spotted a small boutique tucked in a corner. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something in there. You took a deep breath and walked toward it, hoping this wouldn’t be another disappointment.

You had no clue what Jake really wanted. You didn’t know what was cool for a guy like him. But you were determined to figure it out.

You just hoped you wouldn’t have to walk around the mall for another hour.

As you walked through the boutique, your mind kept wandering back to Jake’s offhand comment a few days ago. You remembered him telling you, between rants about his annoying little brother and his hectic school life, about his dog, Layla. His eyes had softened as he talked about her—there was something about the way he spoke that told you just how much he missed her.

“She’s a Border Collie,” Jake had said, smiling wistfully. “Back in Australia… She’s a good dog, always hyper and, like, way smarter than me. I swear she knows exactly what I’m thinking half the time. I miss her a lot.”

You remembered the way his voice had trailed off, as if the thought of his dog—so far away now—was too painful to fully dive into. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now, as you browsed through the small boutique, the memory of his words stuck with you.

The shop was full of delicate trinkets, little charms hanging from gold and silver chains. You walked past a display case filled with bracelets, each more charming than the last. Your fingers grazed the edges of the glass as you looked over them, and that’s when something caught your eye. A simple bracelet—gold, with a tiny charm hanging from it.

It was small and delicate, but the charm was unmistakable. The letter “L” was etched into the metal, accompanied by a small, detailed charm shaped like a dog’s paw. A Border Collie’s paw, if you looked closely enough.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit you. The bracelet was perfect. It wasn’t too flashy, just subtle enough that it wouldn’t draw too much attention, but meaningful. A little nod to Layla, Jake’s dog—something that would remind him of home and the bond he shared with her.

You felt a small smile tug at your lips as you gently picked up the bracelet, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the letter “L”. It felt right. The weight of it in your hand seemed to settle all the nerves that had been gnawing at you for the past few hours. This was the gift. You didn’t need to search anymore.

For a brief moment, you found yourself imagining Jake’s reaction—his face lighting up when he saw it, maybe a little surprised, maybe even touched. You thought back to the way he had looked when he mentioned Layla, and you could almost hear the fondness in his voice. It felt like the right thing to do.

With a small sigh of relief, you walked up to the counter and paid for the bracelet, feeling a sense of satisfaction that you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t some grand gesture, but you were pretty sure it would mean something to him.

You hoped it would be enough.

You arrived at the restaurant a little later than expected—traffic had been a nightmare. Your phone had buzzed multiple times, notifications from Jake, probably wondering where you were, but you’d been too caught up in the mess of cars and honking horns to reply. By the time you walked through the doors, you were sure you were the last person to arrive.

The restaurant was buzzing with the chatter of diners, the smoky smell of sizzling meat hanging in the air. As your eyes scanned the room, you immediately spotted Jake, sitting at a table with a couple of unfamiliar faces. You didn’t recognize them at first, but they were laughing and talking comfortably, clearly already deep into their meal. Sunoo and Jay were there too, sitting beside Jake, looking over at you as you approached.

Jake caught your eye right away. He straightened up, but when he saw you, there was a small flicker of surprise that crossed his face, followed by a look of relief. He had probably assumed you weren’t coming.

“Oh, hey! You made it!” he called out, his voice bright and welcoming, as if he hadn’t been quietly wondering where you’d been all this time.

The two unfamiliar faces turned their attention to you. One was a tall guy with sharp features and a friendly smile, the other a girl with short hair and an easygoing demeanor. They both looked at you, curious but polite. It was clear that they didn’t expect you to be showing up at all, and when they saw you, their expressions turned into warm but surprised greetings.

“Ah, you’re here!” the tall guy said with a smile, waving you over. “We thought you weren’t going to make it.”

You smiled awkwardly, shrugging a little as you made your way to the table. “Yeah, traffic was terrible. Sorry I’m late.”

Jake slid over, making room for you next to him, his usual grin back in full force. “No problem,” he said. “Come join us. This is Minho,” he pointed to the guy, who gave you a friendly nod, “and this is Jisoo,” he pointed to the girl, who smiled warmly. “They’re both friends from my class.”

You sat down, grateful for the space they’d made for you, and immediately noticed that Sunoo and Jay seemed more interested in you than they had before. They were watching you closely, but trying not to be obvious about it. Sunoo, of course, was already smirking, and Jay seemed just as relaxed as usual, giving you a wink as you settled in.

“Glad you could join us,” Jay said, his tone playful. “We were starting to think Jake might have to eat all the food by himself.”

Jake rolled his eyes, clearly used to their teasing. “Shut up, Jay. I’m not that bad.”

The mood around the table lightened as the conversation shifted to something else, but you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place with these new faces. It was Jake’s birthday, and it felt like you were crashing a party with his closest friends. You knew you were just there for dinner, but it was still a little strange to be sitting with people you hadn’t really spoken to before.

Still, you didn’t mind the warmth in the air. The laughter from the others, the clink of chopsticks against the grill, and Jake’s usual boisterous energy made the whole experience feel easier than expected. It wasn’t so bad. Maybe this would end up being fun, despite everything you had thought going into it.

And for a second, you even forgot the pressure of being there at all. You were just… part of the group.

As the night wore on, the conversation around the table flowed easily, with Jake and his friends joking, laughing, and digging into the sizzling Korean BBQ. You were starting to relax, the initial awkwardness melting away with every bite of meat and every passing moment. The more you watched Jake, the more you couldn’t help but smile. He was clearly enjoying himself, surrounded by his friends, his laughter ringing out across the table.

At some point, when the meal had slowed down a bit and everyone was lounging back in their chairs, you realized it was time.

You reached into your bag, your fingers brushing the small box that held Jake’s gift. You’d been holding onto it since the moment you bought it, unsure of the best moment to give it to him. The thought of handing it over felt a little nerve-wracking, but something in you told you it was the right time.

Jake was leaning back in his chair, talking with Minho about some new video game, and you noticed how relaxed he looked—like the weight of school and everything else was lifted off his shoulders for the moment. You bit your lip, then stood up from your seat, drawing a few curious glances from his friends.

“Jake,” you called quietly, your voice just a bit more hesitant than you intended. He looked up, meeting your gaze, and you saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes as you walked toward him.

“Hey,” you started, feeling your heart rate pick up just a little. “I, uh, I got you something.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this. His face lit up in that usual mischievous grin. “Oh? What is it? I wasn’t expecting a gift, you know.”

You handed him the small box, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. “Well, I know it’s not much, but… I thought you’d like it.”

Jake paused for a moment, looking down at the box in his hands. There was a flicker of curiosity in his expression as he carefully untied the ribbon and opened it. His eyes scanned the bracelet inside, the charm catching the light, and for a moment, he just stared at it, quiet.

“Layla,” he murmured, almost to himself. “This… this is perfect. How did you—?”

You watched him closely, noting the softness that appeared in his eyes. For the first time that night, he seemed genuinely touched. His grin softened as he looked up at you, a little sheepish, as if he hadn’t expected you to notice how much he missed his dog.

“I talked about her, didn’t I?” Jake said, his voice low but with a light chuckle, his fingers gently tracing the letter “L” and the dog charm. “You really listened.”

You shrugged a little, feeling that familiar awkwardness creep back up, but you didn’t mind as much. “I guess… I remember you saying how much you missed her. I thought it’d be a nice way to remind you of home.”

Jake’s smile grew wider, and for a second, it was like his usual confident self was replaced with something softer, something realer. He met your eyes, and for the briefest moment, the playful tension that always hung between you two seemed to fade.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “This means a lot to me. Honestly.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. His reaction had caught you a little off guard, but it was good to see him this way—appreciative, genuine.

As the evening continued, the gift was set aside, but you could see Jake glance at it now and then, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. You didn’t need anything more than that—a small, unexpected connection, and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, things between the two of you weren’t as complicated as they seemed.

At least, not always.

As the night went on, the laughter and chatter continued, and soon, the attention shifted toward the cake. It was a beautifully decorated strawberry shortcake, something you figured Jake probably enjoyed. His friends had all gathered around it, their voices rising in excitement as they prepared to sing. The lights dimmed slightly, and the room filled with the sounds of birthday cheers and the soft hum of the group’s collective enthusiasm.

“Happy birthday to you!” they all sang, their voices blending together in cheerful harmony. Everyone except you, that is.

You stood at the edge of the group, quietly observing. You had no interest in singing along—maybe it was the awkwardness of being around people you didn’t know very well, maybe it was just because you preferred to keep to yourself. Either way, you didn’t sing. Instead, you simply stood there, clapping softly along with the others, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched Jake. His eyes were bright with amusement, a wide grin stretching across his face as he blew out the candles, making a wish you could only guess at.

Jake was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice your quiet distance, but his friends did. Sunoo shot you a look, his usual teasing expression now replaced with something softer, a slight curiosity in his eyes. You didn’t really care though; you had no intention of drawing attention to yourself.

When the song finished, everyone clapped and laughed, and Jake’s friends immediately dug into the cake, passing pieces around. You took a small plate, accepting your slice with a polite nod, but you stayed quiet. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be part of the celebration, it was just… you didn’t really know how to navigate it all. Being around Jake’s friends, people you barely knew, in the middle of this cheerful scene—it all felt like too much sometimes.

Jake caught your eye for a split second, noticing how you’d stayed quiet through the whole thing. But instead of teasing you or asking why you weren’t singing, he just gave you a small, genuine smile. It wasn’t the usual loud grin you were used to, but something different—a quiet understanding.

You felt a warmth spread through you, something unspoken between the two of you in that brief moment. But then, the moment passed, and Jake was already moving on to joke with Minho, and you were back to standing off to the side, quietly watching the rest of the party unfold.

You may not have been the loudest or the center of attention, but in that moment, you were fine with that. You didn’t need to be. You had the soft smiles, the quiet nods, and the connection that had been slowly building with Jake. And that was enough for now.

“Happy birthday to you!” they all sang, their voices blending together in cheerful harmony. Everyone except you, that is.

As the party wound down, the once lively chatter began to dwindle. People filtered out one by one, bidding Jake a cheerful goodbye, some slinging playful goodbyes as they waved. Sunoo and Jay were the last to leave, both of them giving Jake a ruffle of the hair and teasing him about the night. Sunoo shot you a wink as he passed by, but you simply nodded, offering a polite smile.

Once they were all gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It wasn’t as loud or chaotic anymore. The music had turned down low, the cake had been mostly eaten, and the remnants of a once-bustling party now sat quietly on the table—empty cups, a few crumpled napkins, and the last of the leftover snacks scattered about.

Jake, who had been the life of the party just moments ago, was now sitting back on the couch, looking at his phone. He was alone now, too—save for you, still sitting at the edge of the room, sipping on your drink, having not really said much in the last hour.

You weren’t sure why you stayed. You could’ve easily made up some excuse and slipped out when the others did. But something made you linger, almost as if you didn’t want to leave just yet. Maybe it was the quietness of the room, or maybe it was the fact that it felt like, for once, the two of you didn’t have to be anything. You didn’t have to talk loudly, you didn’t have to keep up with the jokes or banter. You could just… be.

Jake looked up from his phone, catching your eye as you sat there, lost in your thoughts. For a moment, neither of you said anything. There was just the soft hum of the room, the quiet after all the noise.

“Everyone’s gone, huh?” Jake finally said, his voice breaking the silence. He was leaning back, his expression more relaxed than you’d seen all night. He didn’t look as animated or hyper now—just like a normal guy, unwinding after his celebration.

“Yeah,” you said softly, looking around the room. “Looks like it.”

Jake sat up, shifting to face you more directly. There was something different in the way he looked at you now—maybe it was the quiet of the room, or maybe the night was winding down, but you could tell he wasn’t just looking at you as his study partner or the girl he’d been tutoring with. There was something… more there. Something unspoken, lingering between the two of you.

“You didn’t really join in much, did you?” Jake asked, a bit of a teasing edge to his voice, though it wasn’t as lighthearted as it had been earlier. His gaze softened a little as he spoke. “You’re not really the party type, huh?”

You shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. “Not really.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn’t the same kind of tension that had existed before. It was quieter—almost understanding. You could tell Jake wasn’t pushing you, but he was curious, trying to figure you out, in his own way.

“I get it,” he said after a pause, leaning back into the couch again, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I’m not exactly a fan of huge crowds either. But… I’m glad you came.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You just nodded, offering him a small smile.

It was strange, being here with just him. After all the noise, the laughter, and the teasing, it felt like the two of you were in your own little world now—just the quiet of the room and the soft thrum of unspoken words between you.

“So,” Jake said, breaking the silence again with that familiar lopsided grin, “what now?”

You weren’t sure what to say. There was something almost comfortable in the way you were sitting there, not needing to fill the air with words. So, you just shrugged, still quietly smiling.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “Maybe we just… hang out a little longer?”

Jake’s grin softened into something more genuine as he leaned forward, stretching his arms out. “I like that idea.”

The night stretched on, but you weren’t in any rush to leave. For once, you didn’t mind the silence, and you didn’t feel like you needed to say anything more than what had already been said.

It wasn’t anything grand or dramatic. But, for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

The streets were quiet as the two of you walked side by side, the hum of the city’s nightlife echoing in the distance, but the air around you felt peaceful. The kind of peaceful that happens when the world around you seems to disappear, leaving just the two of you walking in comfortable silence.

You hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten. The hour had slipped away quietly between small conversations and moments of quiet. Now, here you were, walking in the cool night air, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Jake had been unusually quiet on the walk back. Normally, he’d be talking non-stop about something—something random, something funny, or something that caught his attention. But tonight, there was a strange silence hanging between you two, and you couldn’t quite place why.

When you reached the corner of your street, where you usually split off from each other, Jake stopped walking. You kept going for a couple of steps before realizing he wasn’t beside you anymore. Turning, you looked back at him, confused.

“Jake?” you asked, your voice softer than usual.

He was standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring down at the ground for a moment, clearly thinking. There was an air of uncertainty about him—something you weren’t used to seeing in Jake. Normally, he was so sure of himself, so loud and unbothered by what people thought. But now? He looked almost… nervous?

“Hey,” he began, his voice low and hesitant. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I… I’m not really good at saying this kind of stuff,” he continued, his words stumbling a bit as if he was choosing each one carefully. “But, uh, I guess I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I don’t know how to say it without sounding… well, like an idiot, but…” He paused again, running a hand through his hair, his gaze now focused on the ground.

You stood there, not sure what to say. The tension in the air was thick, and suddenly, the simple walk home felt a little heavier.

“I like you,” Jake finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at you again, his face a little flushed, his expression uncertain. “I don’t know when it happened, or why, but… I think I do.”

For a moment, you were silent, your mind racing. Your heart skipped a beat. You had no idea how to respond. The words caught in your throat, and you stood there, staring at him, not sure whether to speak or just… let the silence settle.

Jake’s gaze shifted as the seconds ticked by, clearly waiting for you to say something. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The shock was too much, and the weight of his confession was suddenly overwhelming.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly unsure of how to handle the silence between you two. “I know this is… unexpected,” he continued, his voice a little more rushed now. “And I know we’ve had our moments, but… I just had to tell you. I couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t there.”

You felt your pulse quicken, your breath caught in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond, or what this meant for the two of you. The shock of his confession left you speechless. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel something for him—something you hadn’t quite figured out yet—but this? This was unexpected. It threw you off.

You wanted to say something, anything, to fill the silence. But all you could manage was a quiet exhale, standing there frozen as you processed the weight of his words.

Jake didn’t seem to know what to do either. He ran a hand through his hair again, and the tension in his posture told you just how uncomfortable he felt now. “You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, almost too quickly. “I just wanted you to know. I—yeah. I think that’s all.”

The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of his confession still hanging in the air. You wanted to respond, but nothing seemed right. What were you supposed to say to something like that?

After a moment, Jake shifted uncomfortably again, looking like he regretted saying anything at all. “Uh, I’ll let you go,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was trying to avoid looking at you. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He turned to leave, but you didn’t move. You stood frozen, your mind still racing, trying to process the fact that Jake—loud, talkative, always so confident Jake—had just told you something that you hadn’t been prepared for.

He stopped for a moment and turned back slightly, glancing at you. “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, alone in the cool night air, trying to figure out what had just happened.

You didn’t move for a while. You just stood there, caught in the whirlwind of emotions that his confession had stirred up. What now?

The next day, you didn’t show up to school. The quiet, anxious feeling from Jake’s confession still lingered, and you didn’t want to face anyone, especially him. You needed time to process it all, to figure out how to even act around him after what he’d said. But despite not being there, somehow, Jake had passed his test. It didn’t make sense to you, considering how little you had actually done in your tutoring sessions. But then again, you didn’t really understand how Jake operated.

Your phone buzzed with messages from him—texts that you ignored. You weren’t ready to respond yet. The last thing you wanted to deal with was his incessant talking, not after last night. But despite your silence, Jake kept trying to reach you.

And then, there he was, standing at your front door.

You weren’t expecting him to show up at your house, especially not after everything that had happened. But there he was, standing awkwardly on your porch, looking at you with an apologetic expression.

“Y/N, hey,” Jake started, his voice quiet but still carrying that familiar nervous energy. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about what I said yesterday, and I figured I should apologize. I’ve been trying to text you, but I guess you didn’t get them…”

You didn’t know how to react. The last thing you wanted was him here, standing in front of you, talking to you about something that had been running through your mind over and over again. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was stand there and blink, lost for words.

“Jake,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt odd saying his name out loud, like your thoughts had finally caught up with the reality of the situation.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Jake continued, his words rushing out like they always did. “I mean, I didn’t want to mess things up, and I thought maybe—”

“Jake!” you interrupted, your voice a little sharper now, unable to handle the constant stream of words he was throwing at you.

He froze for a moment, blinking at you in surprise, clearly not expecting you to snap at him like that. “Sorry,” he said, giving you a sheepish smile, but still not stopping. “I just… I just thought maybe we could talk it out, you know? I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or—”

Before he could finish, you stepped forward, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him towards you. You didn’t even think about it, you just did it. And then, before he could say another word, you kissed him.

It was a quick kiss, but it felt like everything—like all the thoughts you had been too scared to say and all the confusion you had been carrying suddenly just dissolved. You pulled away just as quickly, your breath uneven, your heart pounding in your chest.

Jake was silent for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth slightly open.

“You’re so noisy,” you said, your voice softer now, but with a certain sharpness behind it. It was the first time you’d said anything since he’d shown up, and it felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders.

He blinked at you, clearly processing what had just happened. And for the first time in the entire conversation, Jake was silent. There was no rambling, no endless chatter. Just the quiet between the two of you, filling the space in a way that felt… right.

“I—” he started, but then, he stopped, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Guess I deserved that.”

You didn’t say anything else. You just stood there, feeling a little calmer now, a little more grounded. Jake had finally quieted down, and somehow, you felt like things might just be okay.

You stood there for a moment, your pulse still racing from the kiss, unsure of what to do next. Jake, however, didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. His eyes sparkled with that usual energy of his, though there was something different in them now—something softer.

“So… does this mean you, like, like me back or something?” he asked, his voice a little too hopeful, but still managing to sound just a little bit teasing.

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could get a word out, he continued, rambling as always. “I mean, I get it if you don’t know yet, and we can take things slow, but I just—”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Without thinking, you grabbed his face, pulling him toward you again, and kissed him. This time, it was longer, deeper, more deliberate. You didn’t let him talk, just focused on the feeling of his lips against yours, trying to silence the chaos in your own mind that had been building for days. When you pulled away, both of you breathless, you finally managed to speak.

“Shut up, Jake,” you said, your voice low but firm, as you pulled back slightly and gave him a pointed look.

Jake blinked, clearly stunned for a second, but then that familiar grin spread across his face again. He chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be mad or flattered right now.”

You just gave him a small smirk in response. “Maybe you should be both.”

The teasing glint in his eyes was back. “Guess I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then?”

You rolled your eyes and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Come inside, Jake. We need to talk about what’s going on here… after you stop talking for five minutes.”

Jake grinned wider. “That’s a big ask, but I’ll try my best.”

You raised an eyebrow, leading him inside. “Good luck with that.”

Once inside, you motioned for Jake to sit down on the couch. He shuffled in, still grinning like an idiot, looking at you with that same mischievous gleam in his eyes. You sat down on the opposite side, trying to create some space, but it wasn’t doing much to cool the heat you could still feel between you two.

Jake plopped down, still practically bouncing on the couch. “So, does this mean I get to talk now, or…?” he trailed off, his gaze mischievous as ever.

You sighed and rubbed your temples, trying to stave off the inevitable flood of words that was about to come. “You can talk, Jake, but just—” You paused, unsure of how to phrase it. “Just listen for a second. Let’s figure this out, okay?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll try to be quiet,” he said, though his grin suggested he wasn’t sure he could actually pull it off.

You took a deep breath, trying to sort through your thoughts. “I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t know what it means, and I’m still figuring things out… but you’re really distracting, you know that?”

Jake blinked, looking a little surprised at your admission. “Distracting? How?”

You shot him a half-smile. “You talk non-stop. You’re loud. You’re… everywhere. And honestly, I didn’t know how to handle it, especially after last night.” You paused. “But, I also don’t mind it… when you’re not talking about something completely random.”

Jake, for the first time in forever, sat still. His usual energy seemed to fade just a little, and he looked at you carefully, like he was actually trying to understand what you were saying. “You don’t mind me being loud?”

You shook your head. “No. Well, sometimes. But not always.” You sighed again, rubbing your forehead. “It’s just… you have this way about you. I don’t know. I didn’t expect any of this.”

Jake leaned forward, a bit more serious now, his eyes softening. “You’re kind of making me blush here,” he said, a small laugh escaping his lips. But there was no teasing in his voice this time, just a genuine warmth that made your chest tighten slightly.

You tilted your head, studying him. “I’m just trying to be honest. It’s hard to keep up with you sometimes, Jake. But I… I guess I’ve been keeping up with you more than I thought. And now, I don’t know what to do with it.”

He leaned back on the couch, his posture softening, as if he was absorbing your words. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m good at keeping up with you, then.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, but now it wasn’t just his usual grin—it was a soft, genuine smile, like he was letting you see the real him. “I think so.”

The air between you two wasn’t as tense anymore, and that uncomfortable feeling you’d had since his confession seemed to slowly fade away. There was something calming about the way Jake was looking at you now, no longer rambling on about random things, but just being present with you.

“Alright,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “But I still think you talk way too much.”

Jake chuckled, his grin returning. “You don’t mind,” he said, teasing, but with that same sincerity behind it. “And besides, you’ll get used to it.”

You stared at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I guess I will.”

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t neatly tied up in a bow. But it was something—something between the two of you that felt like it could be the start of whatever came next.

And then, there he was, standing at your front door.

“Jake,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt odd saying his name out loud, like your thoughts had finally caught up with the reality of the situation.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Jake continued, his words rushing out like they always did. “I mean, I didn’t want to mess things up, and I thought maybe—”

“Jake!” you interrupted, your voice a little sharper now, unable to handle the constant stream of words he was throwing at you.

Jake was silent for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth slightly open.

“I—” he started, but then, he stopped, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Guess I deserved that.”

You didn’t say anything else. You just stood there, feeling a little calmer now, a little more grounded. Jake had finally quieted down, and somehow, you felt like things might just be okay.

You sat there, quiet, the stillness between you two finally feeling like something that made sense. Jake shifted on the couch, his usual energy still present, but there was something different about it now. A softness.

“Oh, and,” he said suddenly, almost shy, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “I forgot to tell you yesterday… you looked really pretty.”

You blinked, a little surprised. You hadn’t expected him to say that. You didn’t even know how to respond. You weren’t used to compliments, and you weren’t about to start talking a lot now. Instead, you just looked at him, mildly flustered.

He seemed to notice your silence and rushed to explain, his words tumbling out. “I mean, you look good every day, obviously, but yesterday, I don’t know—there was something about you. Maybe it was just the way you were dressed? You know, the pink shirt and everything? It really suited you, and I just thought you looked… I don’t know, different. But in a good way.” He shrugged, his grin widening as he looked at you. “You know what I mean?”

You were quiet for a moment, processing. Finally, you managed to smile slightly, not really knowing how to express what you were thinking. “Not every day, though,” you said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

Jake, of course, didn’t seem to notice the hint of teasing in your voice. He was still going on about what he’d said, completely oblivious to your quieter response. “Yeah, but like, I mean—wait, did I say not every day? I didn’t mean it like that! You always look good, but yesterday—well, you know what I mean, right?” He paused, but when you didn’t immediately reply, he launched right back into it. “I guess it was just that moment, like, when I saw you yesterday… you had this vibe, this energy. I don’t know if I can explain it, but it just felt like you were different than the usual, like, I don’t know, more confident or something, and—”

You stopped him with a small shake of your head, still not saying much. You just couldn’t keep up with his constant talking, but at this point, you were used to it. It was just Jake being Jake.

You were content to sit quietly, letting him talk, even if you were barely following along. It was weirdly comforting, though. You didn’t need to speak, not with him around. He always had something to say, and it felt natural, like a part of your routine.

“So, anyway,” Jake continued, looking at you eagerly as though he was expecting some sort of reaction. “I was just thinking about it all, and then, I realized, maybe we could do the tutoring at your place instead of school? You know, less distractions, and, well, I know school can be kind of loud, but your place would be more chill, don’t you think?”

You barely registered his question, too caught up in the quiet hum of your own thoughts. You didn’t feel like speaking much today, not after everything. You were still figuring things out. But you nodded slightly, agreeing.

You gave him a brief glance, finally deciding to offer something to the conversation. “Maybe. But you’ll still talk the whole time.”

Jake laughed, his voice still full of that energy you were so used to by now. “I can’t help it! I mean, I’ve got so much to say, you know? I just like… talking. I like hearing myself talk,” he added with a grin, making you roll your eyes slightly.

You didn’t speak for a while after that. Instead, you just stared at him quietly, watching him go on and on. Honestly, you didn’t mind. It was like this every time you were together. You didn’t have to fill the space with words because Jake was always happy to do it for you.

“So, uh, same time tomorrow for tutoring?” Jake asked after a while, his eyes expectant as he looked at you.

You blinked, taking a moment to consider it. You had no intention of speaking much, as usual. But you gave a small nod. “Sure,” you whispered, feeling a tiny bit of tension leave your shoulders.

Jake smiled brightly, already moving to start talking again, but you stopped him with a look. He raised his eyebrows at you, clearly confused.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” you muttered softly, shaking your head just a little.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, you cut him off. “Fine, we’ll do tutoring at my place. But only if you talk less,” you said, your voice quiet, but with a small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

Jake blinked in surprise. “Wait, really? You’re agreeing? I thought you’d—”

“Yeah, well, you’re not going to shut up if I don’t,” you said with a shrug.

Jake let out a loud laugh, but he nodded. “Alright, alright. I’ll try my best. But no promises.”

You just gave him a small, quiet smile, the kind that said you didn’t really mind at all. You were used to him talking. You didn’t have to say much, and that was enough for you.

Jake, of course, wasn’t done yet. He continued talking, but you didn’t mind. You were happy with the silence of just being around him, listening to him speak while you kept your thoughts to yourself. It was like this every time. And maybe, just maybe, you were okay with it.

The next tutoring session came, and you couldn’t help but notice how much it had become part of your routine—Jake talking non-stop, and you sitting there, quietly listening, occasionally breaking into a smile or soft laugh when he said something that was just too ridiculous.

You had been staring at him again, your eyes tracing the way his hands moved as he tried to explain something he barely understood, and how his hair always fell into his face when he leaned forward in his chair. He wasn’t the best at math—if you were being honest, he barely understood half of it—but his enthusiasm made it… bearable.

“And then,” Jake was saying, gesturing wildly with his pen, “if you… wait, no, that’s not right. I meant—uh, okay, so this is just like that time when my brother messed up the barbecue, right?” He was halfway through explaining something entirely unrelated to the subject at hand when he paused and caught your gaze.

You were staring at him again, your eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to focus, but you couldn’t help it. Something about him was just so… distracting.

“What?” Jake asked, looking a little sheepish. “You think I’m being ridiculous again?”

You just giggled softly, shaking your head. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair, not at all fazed by the fact that he was constantly derailing your tutoring sessions with random anecdotes. “Yeah, I know. But you still like it, don’t you?”

Your eyes flicked away for a moment, a faint blush creeping up your neck as you tried to hide your smile. “You’re lucky I’m a good tutor,” you muttered under your breath, though the teasing tone didn’t quite cover up the warmth you felt.

“Ha! I knew it!” Jake pointed at you, practically jumping out of his chair. “You’re laughing! I’m winning!” He flopped back into his seat, satisfied with himself.

You couldn’t help but giggle again, trying to cover your mouth but failing miserably. His infectious energy was impossible to ignore, and you didn’t even want to.

The conversation veered off track again, and you found yourself caught up in his rambling, but this time, you didn’t mind. You didn’t feel the need to speak much. You just listened, occasionally laughing or shaking your head, all the while staring at him.

For once, it wasn’t frustrating. It wasn’t just noise. It was… nice. A quiet kind of chaos that you were starting to get used to.

The session ended with you both finally making a little progress on the homework, even if most of it had been distracted by Jake’s usual stream of consciousness. As you packed up your things, you realized that the time had passed quicker than you’d expected, and you didn’t want it to stop. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind the talking as much as you thought.

“Same time tomorrow?” Jake asked, still talking a mile a minute, but this time, you didn’t feel the need to shut him up.

You looked at him, giving a small smile, and just nodded.

“Fine,” you said quietly. “But try to get some work done, kay?”

Jake grinned widely. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh softly again, watching him grin and talk a little too much as you walked out of the room together.

I love jake sm bro | req open - masterlist | read part two here

2K notes · View notes

op1umeyes · 10 months ago

Text

from the club

Derek’s wolf whistle made you roll your eyes and try to slip into your seat without drawing too much attention. “Damn, mama,” he sang teasingly, eyeing you up and down.

“Derek Morgan! I ought to-“

“Whoa!”

You glared at Spencer, trying to ifnore the way his eyes trailed over your cleavage. “It’s like you guys have never even been in the presence of a female before,” you snark sarcastically. Secretly, though, you feel complimented that such aesthetically pleasing people thought you looked good.

Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, and Rossi were later than Hotch surprisingly. Aaron strode in next, laying a stack of files on the table. He sat down at his regular spot and turned to make conversation until the other arrived when he turned and saw you. His lips drew thinly over his face as he watched you reach over the table to grab a file. He swallowed and averted his eyes from you when you sat back in your seat. Hotch felt like a pervert and averted his mind to the more pressing matter. Dead bodies, knives, murder, he repeated to himself- trying to draw blood away from his crotch.

J.J., Penelope, and Emily arrived next. “Coffee for you all, my precious gems!” Penny sang, placing the team’s favorite brews in front of them. After she placed yours down her eyes gleamed and she raised her eyebrows. “Did you call-“

“Penelope!” You hollered, turning away from the red-head with a laugh.

She just giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. As Emily took her place beside you, she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’m no better than the men here, y/n. You look hot.”

You swatted her away and waited for J.J. to start the briefing. Emily snickered beside you.

There was really nothing professional about being called into work wearing low-rise jeans and a lacey tank top. But it wasn’t your fault- some of your college friends had stopped in the city and wanted to go to the club and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

Rossi showed up right before Hotch said his favorite phrase (read: “wheels up in 30”). You collected your file and started out of the room.

“Good lo- y/n!”

You whipped around to see Penelope rushinf towards you. “Wh-What?”

“You’ve surprised me more times today than I thought possible, darling girl. Turn around! I didn’t know you had ink!”

You breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the feeling of her cold fingers tracing over the black ink just above your jeans. “I have some on the mid back too,” you said quietly.

“Impressive,” Rossi- of all people- hummed. “One of my ex wives roped me into getting a matching tattoo with her. The pain was somethinf else and the aftercare was hell. Rookie, here has a high pain tolerance.” He patted your practically bare shoulder and walked by without another word.

Emily purred lowly as she walked by, laughing at the way you flipped her off in return.

“You know, Jeffery Dahmer didn’t consume people that had tattoos… He said that the ‘tattoos made the meat taste like… shit’,” Reid spouted.

The way Spencer paused before saying shit was endearing. Maybe it was your attraction to nerds, but you felt particularly flattered at the weight of his gaze on you. “That’s interesting, Spencer,” you replied quietly. “Did you know the oldest recorded tattoo ink recipe required insect eggs?”

Spencer just hummed.

“I- uh,” Aaron cleared his throat. You stepped back from Penelope’s hands. “I imagine you have more professional attire?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, Hotch. I’m really sorry, my friends convinced me to go out with them, you know, and I-“

Hotch chuckled and held his hands up. “It’s okay, y/n. What you do on your own time is your business,” he said.

You wrung your hands. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“No problem, y/n.” Hotch started to walk away and you felt Derek’s arm wrap around your shoulder. “Nice ink,” he called back to you.

“I’ll see you on the plane, y/n,” Spencer told you with a wave. You smiled back at him and watched him run a hand through his hair as he walked away.

“Lover boy’s gotta thing for you, y/n,” Derek told you, a shit eating grin on his face. “And Hotch too, if I took a guess. I think you made the old man pop a bo-“

“Derek Morgan!”

You shoved him off of you and tried to ignore his gleeful laughter.

3K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 4 months ago

Text

other side of the moon: chapter four | formula one imagine

chapter four: matchstick men

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

the cocktail party is fun while it lasts, late guests throw y/n’s decision into question but also show her just who she’s a mentor to.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

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there was a january chill in the monaco air as max and y/n exited the dutchman’s apartment complex and started their short walk to kimi’s place. y/n pulled the shawl around her tighter, the light material of her slip dress doing nothing to keep the heat in.

“i told you you were going to be cold,” max teased, pulling her into a side hug, rubbing his free hand up and down her arm, “are you sure you don’t want me to run back and get your jumper?”

y/n leaned further into the dutchman’s warmth but shook her head, if she was really that cold by the time they made it to kimi’s she’d just had to steal something from them.

“sometimes you have to make sacrifices to look this good maxy,” y/n said, poking her tongue out at him, “and that includes hypothermia!”

“you don’t need to do anything, you’re perfect the way you are. i should’ve known you were still the same diva from karting when you still managed to look perfect in that ghastly shade of orange.”

“a dutchman who doesn’t like orange, now this is a scandal!”

“i like my orange, my shade - not that ugly papaya. i like you in my orange.”

“well if you play your cards right i might just wear some in zandvoort. they might be paying me a lot, but no one can pay me enough to wear that ugly uniform.”

max tightened his grip on y/n as they turned the corner to kimi and ollie’s place. there, in front of their door, stood the pair… in suits.

“did i miss the memo of this being a black tie event?” max yells, making the two boys jump, “now i look like i just rolled out of bed!”

“you always look like you’ve just rolled out of bed, we’re lucky i put all of your red bull merch in the wash so you’d wear something different tonight.”

kimi came to stand by y/n, she looked down at the italian and fixed his collar.

“are the suits too much? we wanted to make a good impression but… are they all going to laugh at us?” his voice was small and the way he craned his head to look at y/n made him look even smaller.

“no! it’s cute, you guys are going the extra mile and that means a lot. plus if they have a problem with you dapper gents, then they’ll have a problem with me!”

kimi giggled as the pair started on their way to charles’, ollie hung back and turned to max, “thank you for convincing her to say yes, he hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since.”

max slapped ollie’s back, “he convinced her all himself. that letter had her immediately, i think she has this weird belief that we’re not all over the moon she’s back. she’s been more herself in these past few days since meeting him than she has in three years. trust me mate, she was a shell of herself. hell, i would’ve given him the second red bull seat years ago if i knew he would bring the real her back to me.”

“i don’t think you have the power to give out the second red bull seat?” ollie pointed out, max shushed him loudly, “that’s what we want you to think.”

up ahead, y/n and kimi had linked arms like they were old friends.

“i don’t want you to be nervous going here tonight. i know my whole retirement to solitude may look like i don’t like anyone in formula one but truth be told they’re all big nerds. i expect you thought max was this big massive asshole before you met him properly but we all know he’s a big softie inside.”

kimi let out a deep breath, “i know i’ve technically met all of them, i mean i’ve been to countless race weekends now, but i’m still scared - i don’t want them to treat me like a kid, i’m a competitor!”

y/n laughed even though truth be told she was guilty of treating kimi like her long lost child, hair ruffles and cheek pinches, the lot. kimi tugged on her arm, “what was it like when you first met the drivers? not like on the grid where everyone is on their best behaviour, but when you truly met them?”

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march 2020 - bahrain testing.

“i’m nervous! what if they hate me!”

y/n whined, throwing the entire contents of her suitcase at george sat on the bed. despite having meticulously planned about a million different outfits for the annual post-test party, she was at a loss for what to wear.

“did you smash into them during preseason? did you piss in their coffee? no! so you’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

“but what if they still hate me?” the look on her face was so genuine that george’s heart broke a little.

“no one can be angry at you for too long,” george laughed, “i’m sure that even if you shunted them into the first wall you they’d be here grovelling first thing.”

pelting another piece of clothing at george’s head, “what like you? i remember monaco last year. how long did it take you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m a broody, stoic stallion, i don’t grovel.”

“your delivery of artisan croissants and a teary monologue about how much i mean to you says different…”

a blush breaks out over george’s face at the memory. he’d hardly covered himself in glory in monaco he’d admit that, but every ounce of common sense left stage right when he saw y/n lean in and lick the line of salt off of mick’s hand.

“i treasure our friendship, i didn’t want to lose you over a dumb drunk argument,” george said, taking her hand in his, “i’m older now and i know when i should and when i shouldn’t step in. you’re old enough and ugly enough to look out for yourself.”

the pair had been friends since they first started karting against each other. y/n was nervous, lining up against a grid of boys for the first time but george had come right over and introduced himself, prim and proper handshakes and all.

y/n finally found the dress she had been looking for in the worryingly big pile of clothes, jumping up with a pleased grin. she ran to the bathroom and pulled it on, a short black sequin dress with boots and a black leather jacket on top. y/n thought she looked mysterious enough without looking like she was attending a funeral.

“what do you think georgie? does it scream ‘don’t take me out on track or i’ll kill you’ but also a healthy amount of ‘i’m a scared little girl don’t be mean to me or i’ll cry’?”

george was speechless, his mouth open but no words finding their way out. y/n did a little spin but he was still sputtering and running his hand through his hair like a mad man. he cleared his throat and stood up abruptly, “you look amazing y/n, i mean seriously amazing but i just remembered that i think i left the iron on in my room and i don’t want to burn the entire hotel down!”

he rushed towards the door, flinging it open, “williams definitely can’t afford that, i’ll see you later!”

he took off running down the hotel corridor, very nearly barrelling into alex who was on his way to y/n’s room.

“where’s he off to?” alex asked, coming into the room and making his way straight to the mini bar.

“he said he left the iron on in his room? i don’t know. he just started freaking out for like no reason. i just asked him whether this outfit is cute enough for tonight and he just sat there like i told him his whole family is dead and bolted.”

“weird.”

“so weird, right?” y/n made her way back to the bathroom to start her makeup, “i don’t know what came over him, is my outfit really that offensive? alex, you’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

“i think it might have been too much for george, but he’s being a weird puritan maniac recently, so?”

y/n poked her head past the door, “you’re so right. he’s posted about a hundred topless photos since making it to formula one but got so angry at me for licking mick’s hand!”

y/n was so close to the point it was right in front of her, but much to alex’s disappointment it looked as if she was just as useless as the rest of them. he tried to hide his annoyance on his face, but y/n still caught onto it.

“did you think that was bad too?! have you people never done tequila shots? so do you think this is too slutty for a driver party?”

alex shot up, nearly spilling his drink all over y/n’s bed, “no! george was being a weirdo about the tequila salt thing, had a proper bee in his bonnet that night. you look great, don’t change. i think he’s going through boy things…”

alex did not sound convinced by his own words, but he would work with it. y/n was confused until alex picked up a pillow and mimed putting it in a very specific spot and it finally clicked.

“he got a boner?!”

alex barked out a laugh, “oh tell the whole floor why don’t you? be quiet!”

y/n could not keep her laughs in, folding over with tears streaming down her face. this would definitely explain the emergency exit.

“you cannot tell him i told you, swear it!” alex hissed, grabbing y/n’s hand, “please, he’ll kill me and you know him he’s weirdly sadistic he’d go all dexter on me!”

the two linked pinky fingers, “i promise to never tell george that you told me he got a boner from me in a leather jacket”

“didn’t have to go into that much detail, but yeah i promise too.”

y/n touched her makeup as alex finished off his drink, “but you’re sure this is okay? everyone knows that the real time you meet the grid is when they’re all drunk.”

“you look great, stop worrying. i think george would agree, little george as well-” y/n pelted a pillow at him.

“i just fixed my makeup, don’t make me cry laugh again!”

y/n slipped her shoes on and the pair made their way down to the lobby and across the street to the bar. it was very laidback, completely empty bar the other drivers and some of their significant others.

“about time you guys turned up!” daniel called out from the table most of the drivers were huddled around.

“sorry all, um, we had something to iron out - ouch!” alex said before an elbow to the side from y/n cut him off. the rest of the table were none the wiser but george was suddenly infatuated with his drink, hoping the small umbrella in the glass could cover his blush.

amongst all of the chaos of welcomes, lance pulled up a chair for y/n and asked what she would be having to drink. “just a tequila sunrise for me lance, if they do them. thank you.”

the canadian gave her a little salute before heading to the bar. pulling up his own chair beside her, alex grumbles a little ‘don’t ask me if i want a drink then’ and gets another shove.

daniel claps loudly, silencing the table. he turns to y/n theatrically, wiggling his eyebrows. “so, to our lonely rookie of the season here, a couple of questions.”

the table all turned to her and y/n let out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with her jacket - where was lance with that drink?

“we won’t be hazing you, no worries. no that’s actually illegal, although i am curious as to your karaoke song of choice… we’re getting off topic! my burning question is… growing up with half of the grid you must have a rolodex of embarrassing stories about them. spill. i’m talking embarrassing falls, pissing in their karts or awkward boners, i want all of it!”

daniel looked at her earnestly, waiting on her response. this was a little overwhelming, lance had returned with her drink, alex was trying to keep his laughs at the mention of boners and charles was fixed on her with a death glare - guess the waterpark story was out of the question.

all of the focus was on her and it was overwhelming. y/n was somewhat used to having people watch her every move, you get used to that as the only girl in paddocks where people are just waiting for you to fail.

“i don’t know if i want to make enemies on the grid this early on,” y/n said, looking shyly at daniel to see whether this would be considered a good enough answer.

“very diplomatic, very diplomatic indeed,’ daniel said, pondering, “you’ll do well with the media with answers like that.”

“you learn quick as a girl in this sport.”

the entire table quietened again, although a lot more awkward this time. great first impression. daniel broke the silence once again, “not that we’re going to haze you, but just out of interest, what IS your go to karaoke song?”

“man i feel like a woman,” y/n answered without hesitation, seeing a wide smile break out on daniel’s face, “i think we’ll get along very well, rookie,” daniel replies. the aussie stands up and drags her to the bar, proclaiming that they ‘simply must do some shots together on account of being his new best friend’. y/n was not complaining, this was the first driver outside of the 2019 rookies and max who was expressing actual interest in friendship.

max had always gushed about daniel during and after their time at red bull together. y/n was surprised she hadn’t seen the dutchman yet that evening, but recalled him saying that he wanted to let her get to know the others, not wanting to hover over her like an overprotective parent.

another figure slipped in beside her at the bar and when she turned she came face to face with none other than sebastian vettel. the german gave her a soft smile and said, “i hope tonight wasn’t too daunting for you, we’re all very excited to have you on the grid, though some more than others.”

y/n raised her eyebrow, imploring him to continue. “the way max insists on praising you at every turn i thought your name was already on the second red bull.”

she let out a short laugh, “max does like talking…”

“oh he’s been showing us your formula two highlights all season, gushing about your lines and how we’ll all have to watch our backs this season.”

daniel finally got their shots and butted into the conversation, “max literally hasn’t shut up since you started in formula two, he’s all in on the y/n train.”

y/n smiled. she knew max was a big supporter of hers but hearing it from others made her heart swell.

the trio headed back to the main group who in the short time at the bar had managed to consume a worrying amount of alcohol. there was something surreal about seeing world champions struggle to string a sentence together or keep their heads up straight.

“oh my god what happened? how are they this fucked? we were gone for like five minutes?”

sebastian chuckled, looking over to fernando who was practically sat on a very bemused kimi raikkonen’s lap, “some of us have tasted the glory of winning the championship, so when you know that your car is nowhere near that this season, you cope in your own way.”

the bar had descended into chaos, looking closer to a renaissance painting than a sophisticated night out amongst high performance athletes. alex was sat in the same seat but now found himself flanked by two of his rookie class who now closely resembles a pair of clingy cats. y/n was sure she even saw lando, for the lack of a better word, nuzzle alex’s neck.

when checo appeared with an entire platter of tequila shots, alex took that as his cue to take lando and george home before they got their hands on any more alcohol.

“do you want some help with them?” y/n asked, watching alex wrangle the two drivers towards the exit.

“no, i can handle them. if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen them last year, proper made a fool of themselves. stay and get to know everyone, soon they’ll be so drunk you’ll have some good blackmail material on them.”

y/n hadn’t thought about that. not that she’d ever blackmail a fellow driver…

“well good luck getting them back to their rooms, see you tomorrow!”

y/n turned back to the mess in the bar. max was pouring pure gin in pierre’s mouth, charles was trying (key word, trying) to slow dance with sebastian despite the only music playing being edm and kevin magnussen was already asleep at the main table with nico hulkenberg and lance stacking coasters on his head.

“enjoying the circus?” a voice asks her from behind, y/n turned to see none other than kimi raikkonen. trying not to show her nerves, y/n took one of the drinks kimi was holding.

“i think i am. it’s a bit overwhelming.”

kimi nodded. there was a silence between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“are you excited for your first formula one race?”

“i am. i just want to show mclaren that they made the right decision on me.”

“you’ll be fine, trust me. i watched you in testing. i know that doesn’t mean much when it comes to the actual pace of the car, but you already had good control over the car. have faith in yourself.”

all of the praise from everyone else was nice but to get that many words out of kimi, it all was real now.

“thank you kimi, i hope we get to race this season. you’re a hero of mine.”

“that makes me feel old.”

“oh! i didn’t me too-”

“i’m kidding. most people would’ve chosen seb or lewis as they’re heroes.”

“oh i admire them, but there was only one blonde i loved in formula one.”

kimi let out a little laugh. the two sat there, observing for a couple of moments.

“don’t trust anyone,” kimi said suddenly, turning to y/n. “huh?”

“don’t trust anyone. i’m sorry that it’ll likely be worse for you, but these people they’re not really your friends, not when you’re in the car and everything is on the line. you can’t take it personally but you can prepare yourself. you’re a girl, so people will take their side more often than not. just know you’re here for a reason, they can’t push you around without repercussions.”

y/n took a second to let it sink in. there were things that managers and friends from outside the sport had warned her about, but a reminder from someone like kimi made it really resonate.

“i guess i’ll just have to be so fast that they can’t get near me.”

kimi laughed, properly this time. they clinked their glasses and went back to watching the mess unfold before them.

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yourusername

may 2020.

liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 1,289,409 others

tagged: georgerussell63, fernandoalo_oficial & landonorris

yourusername: that’s one way to get introduced to the grid

view all comments

user1: the way i’d actually give a kidney to have been here

user2: so much i need to know, so little information

user3: george and lando are never getting rid of the lightweight allegations

yourusername: as long as i am living and breathing those allegations will live on

landonorris: and when i sue you for slander

yourusername: come for me baby i know the law

landonorris: bring it on, the mclaren legal team love me

yourusername: they’ll take one look at my camera roll and laugh in your face xxx

landonorris: CAMERA ROLL?

yourusername: sleep well

landonorris: i will ruin your life rookie

user4: mclaren duo you are so precious

user5: now i have them, i can never see them at different teams

user6: they’re my prediction for biggest surprise this season

maxverstappen1: who keeps leaving bottles of gin unattended around me

yourusername: why can’t you control yourself around them

maxverstappen1: gin talks to me like the green goblin mask

yourusername: that much is clear

yourusername: poor pierre was sent into a different dimension that night

pierregasly: still better than my red bull experience

user7: this girl has chemistry with everyone damn

user8: bro sees a girl having banter with someone and loses his mind

user9: this is why the ‘friend zone’ exists because you guys mistake a girl being nice or funny for flirting

alexalbon: i miss out on so much because those dumbasses can’t handle liquor

yourusername: you should’ve just left them to die?

alexalbon: i fear both mclaren and williams know my address

georgerussell63: i don’t know where this is all coming from?

alexalbon: you threw up in the shower?

georgerussell63: i don’t recall this therefore it didn’t happen

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“george got a boner? can i use that as blackmail for a quali tow?” kimi gasped, clutching his metaphorical pearls.

“do not tell him i told you that,” y/n thought for a second, “or you can, i don’t really care.”

the four of them approached charles’ house and could already hear the hustle and bustle from inside. y/n went to ring the bell but kimi grabbed her hand quickly,

“you’re sure this will be okay?”

the italian had a little shake in his voice.

“you’re going to be fine, everyone will love you, okay? stop doubting yourself.”

she finally rung the bell and the group could hear the silence sweep throughout the house. the door swung open to reveal charles who was already pink in the face, telling y/n that the monagasque had already been amongst the drinks.

“well look what the cat dragged in,” charles said looking her up and down. the three behind her were suddenly weary, charles’ face had hardened when his eyes landed on y/n. “i’ve fucking missed you!”

charles pulled her into a tight hug. the world had stopped. y/n hadn’t spoken to charles since the crash and three years of silence was suddenly pouring out of both of them. tears slipped out from both of them, pulling each other so tight like they were trying to fall into each other’s bodies.

“as touching as this all is, it’s fucking freezing out here and i’d love that cocktail i was promised?”

max broke the silence in his typical fashion and charles finally acknowledged the three others. his smile turned wicked when he realised what kimi and ollie were wearing.

“oh mon amis, those suits are just too cute!”

y/n peered over charles’ shoulder with a very clear ‘i told you so’ written on her face. charles pulled on ollie’s hands, muttering about how well dressed his son is, and ushered the rest of them into his home.

kimi, ollie and max continued down the corridor and into the common space with the other attendees but y/n and charles hung back.

“i’m being serious, i really missed you,” charles said, “i really haven’t been the friend i should’ve been during all of this. i know i hurt you and i don’t expect you to forgive me, but know i am sorry, truly.”

the tears had returned to charles’ eyes once again. y/n tried to summon the anger that she had festered in for three years, but here, stood face to face with charles, she just couldn’t. the monegasque looked so wrecked and she knew that wasn’t a lie. y/n, through common sense but also the advice of her therapist, had never seen the race that ended her career. however, in a weak moment of social media addiction, y/n had stumbled upon a clip of charles’ radio. it was a compilation of his radios across the year, including grosjean’s fireball, pierre’s near miss in japan a couple years ago and finally, silverstone 2022.

“holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck! is that y/n?”

“i can confirm it is y/ln, we are waiting for news from mclaren”

“is she okay? has she responded on the radio?”

“no news yet charles, stay in delta and come to the pit lane.”

“anyone but her, god please. please be okay, please, please, please. not another one, don’t take another one.”

shivers had wrung up her spine when she had heard it. the weekend had been so traumatic that she had hardly stopped to think about anyone else. the crash had unleashed such an ugly anger within her, so powerful that just a glimpse of a formula one car made her feel so vulnerable to her emotions. instead of facing it head on, it just felt easier to hide and to try and forget.

“hey, hey,” y/n took charles’ face in her hands, “look at me okay, i have no hard feeling against you. you don’t need to be sorry, these things happen. i did what i thought i had to do and that was hide. was it healthy? no, but i hate that my silence might have made you think that i blame you in any way.”

charles let out a wet laugh and y/n continued, “i heard your radio, for the first time a couple months ago. i know what you’ve been through, i should’ve spoken to you.”

charles shook his head, “you did what you needed to do, i won’t ever hold it against you. i’m just glad you’re here now, we can make up for lost time now. although i am pretty offended that you didn’t come back for me but for this kid?”

“kimi is a lot nicer than all of you dummies,” y/n poked her tongue out, “and once he looks at you like a lil puppy, you can’t say no.”

y/n smiled to herself, and charles replicated it. the two just existed together for a moment, listening to the greetings down the hall. a small shiver of doubt made its way up y/n’s spine. the reunion with charles had gone well, but would everyone else look past her three year silence?

“they’re looking forward to seeing you,” charles said, nudging y/n closer to the action. she took a small breath and made her way to the common area.

all conversation ceased when she took her first step in the room. max, kimi, ollie and alex all smiled at he, trying to ease her into the room. carlos looked happy to see her, but as always there was something off in his eyes, like he didn’t quite trust her and oscar was there? y/n had never met the aussie but had heard he was a little standoffish.

oscar couldn’t even make eye contact with her, he looked anywhere else, charles’ white ceiling suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. that was odd.

“welcome back!” alex yelled, making everyone else jump, “i have missed you so much, so much has happened. please never disappear again!” he said, wrapping her in a hug. y/n snuggled in closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her friend. drawing back she looked up at him with a strange look,

“have you changed your cologne?”

“well, i’d like to think i have changed a lot in three years, but yes i have?”

“do you have a girlfriend?”

“tell me you don’t check my instagram why don’t you? yes i do, you’ll have to come to dinner at some point. lily is very excited you’re coming back, she says we don’t shut up about you.”

y/n was so happy for alex, “you smell like a girl, she’s done wonders for you.”

alex’s smile fell immediately, “i didn’t miss this, you didn’t get any nicer in your break huh?”

“still a bitch i fear.”

everyone was back engrossed in their conversations, with carlos keeping his distance from y/n by busying himself with charles at the bar. y/n saw oscar again, hovering by ollie, trying and failing to conceal his staring.

“is oscar usually this weird with new people?” y/n asked alex, “he’s staring but also can’t make eye contact without looking like he’s going to shit himself.”

“oh he’s got massive survivors guilt, which is a weird way to put it considering he wasn’t in the race that day, but…”

oh. now it makes sense. “i see, i should probably talk to him shouldn’t i?”

“you can if you want to but you also don’t owe anyone anything? it’s your choice.”

y/n looked over again and oscar again quickly diverted his eyes. here goes nothing. making her way to the other group of drivers, oscar started looking for his escape.

“hi guys, are you okay if i steal the aussie for a second?”

the rest of the group didn’t care but oscar sputtered out a, “really? i’m okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to?”

“come on,” y/n took ahold of his arm, “let’s go talk somewhere else.”

the aussie looked nervous but he followed y/n through charles house. after trying a couple doors, the finally found a study and the pair sat down. oscar couldn’t stop fidgeting, he felt the sweat beading at his brow and the collar of his shirt was starting to strangle him.

“do you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?” y/n asked, “as far as i’m aware, you’ve done nothing to warrant this?”

oscar didn’t say anything. he didn’t know how to word it without sounding like an idiot.

“i just thought you would maybe resent me for taking your seat? i’m sorry for being such a weirdo about it. i know it was a dick move from me to not even bring you up but there was this whole thing with mark and zak, but i should’ve listened to myself, i’m sorry…”

it all spilled out at once and oscar just looked at her horrified. did she even know about mark and zak?

“oscar, i don’t resent you for taking the seat. i can’t say i’ve watched much more than just the races, so i can’t say for sure you’re the greatest guy off the track, although the fact you were even invited here tells me so, but you more than deserved that seat. yes, it’s unfortunate the way it became available, but i’ll never resent a racer for following his dreams.”

oscar let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, “thank you, you don’t know the amount of sleepless nights i had after i took the seat. i thought that maybe you would come back and either i’d have to give it up or i’d keep it and stop you from coming back. i mean you’re a hero of mine and all i could think was ‘am i an asshole for taking this from you when you’re still in hospital?’”

y/n sighed, “i won’t lie, it hurt. but not because of you. a full lifetime of work was snuffed out in one second. i understand formula one is a business but i don’t think zak knows that i could hear everything while i was in the medically induced coma.”

oscar’s head shot up at the mention of zak’s name and this told y/n everything she needed to know.

“he was on the phone just five minutes after the nurse told him i’d never be able to get in a formula one car again. my racing body wasn’t even cold yet. i do know it was mark on the phone. i’ve not held it against him, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

was it betrayal if he told y/n? everything had already happened and the truth was y/n knowing wasn’t going to change anything. but if he didn’t say then y/n could decide to go back and watch interviews and videos and see what a big liar he was.

“him and zak had this weird thing they were stuck on. like i said you’re a hero of mine, and i still wanted to honour you in any way i could. i had a plan to have a 13 on my helmet, i even wanted to dedicate my first win to you. but i wasn’t allowed. they said i needed to leave you in the past or it would make me look weak.”

tears were falling down oscar’s face as y/n pulled him into a hug. the aussie shook with the strength of his sobs.

“i’m a grown man, i should’ve told them no, but i had just gotten there. i’m sorry, i wish i had a back bone.”

y/n ran her hands through his hair, comforting the younger driver, “oscar, don’t worry. i don’t take any offence. you forget i raced under zak, i know what an asshole he can be. you don’t have to do anything to make it up to me, just don’t be a stranger in the paddock. i may be there for kimi, but you can still come to me.”

y/n wasn’t sure how lando was treating oscar, had he started off kind with him and flipped on his head as well? it couldn’t hurt to check.

“i know lando can be difficult, so don’t think you’re alone okay? i know how it feels, so come complain to me if you need to.”

oscar laughed, “i know exactly what you’re talking about. did you watch hungary this year? that was a mess, it was so awkward in the garage after that. it’s creepy how he can turn it on for a video right? i don’t know what happened between you but it’s almost like he knew i wanted to dedicate it to you? he asked me like ten times whether i dedicated it to anyone.”

okay, that was a problem. y/n had stupidly thought that maybe lando going cold turkey from her for three years might have made whatever weird vendetta he had against her disappear, or at least lessen.

“if i’m being completely honest, i’m not sure what happened between us. we obviously grew up together and were close from that, we all were, but as soon as the racing started he just switched up, and by the sounds of it, it hasn’t gotten better in my absence.”

the pair moved to the bathroom to get oscar some tissues and make him look a little more presentable. fixing his hair, y/n said, “i’m serious oscar, there’s no hard feelings. i’m proud of you-”

y/n was cut off with some commotion coming from the common area. the pair looked at each other and hurried to the scene of the noise. there stood george and lando, they both looked like they had grown up, lando sporting some facial hair and george in a suprisingly formal getup.

both brits locked on y/n and oscar as they returned.

“so one mclaren driver wasn’t enough for you? you had to go and seduce oscar as well?”

lando accused, a look of pure disgust on his face, “he’s got a girlfriend as well, do you have any respect for yourself?”

y/n burst out laughing, looking bewildered at lando. “is this guy serious?” she asked looking around the room, most of them looking just as shocked as her at his outburst.

“i don’t know what you’re laughing at,” lando said and turned to oscar, “i really thought you’d last more than five minutes mate.”

“lando, i don’t know what you’re problem is, but we were clearing the air about me taking the seat after her crash. you know, we spoke, like normal fucking people. just because you couldn’t spend more than five minutes with the one girl in the sport without wanting to fuck her doesn’t mean i don’t see her as an actual person.”

oscar replied, standing in front of y/n who was shocked but also impressed by the aussie’s take down of his own teammate. lando glared at his teammate, “you know having her on side will do nothing for this bullshit bid you have to be the number one driver this season. in fact i remember her launching a plot like that herself, and look how that ended.”

one second lando was smirking in front of oscar and y/n and next he was on the floor, all courtesy of kimi. the italian was looming over lando, the angriest anyone in the room had ever seen him. ollie tried to grab his hand, but he yanked it back and set his sights back on lando.

“you really are the dumbest person in the world aren’t you?”

lando was speechless, still on the floor.

“she could’ve said so much about you, your team and the bullshit you both put her through, but she didn’t. we all know you were an asshole to her, she could’ve ruined this dumb boy next door act you’ve got going, but she didn’t. so you should think yourself lucky.”

kimi felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see y/n. he stood up, moving away from lando and let y/n lead him towards the exit just as the other one decided to pipe up.

“she’s a bit old for you isn’t she, buddy?” george’s voice rung out, “or are you really going for the max verstappen route, problematic older woman and everything?”

that was a low blow. kelly was a sore subject for max, y/n didn’t really know much about her, just that they got together and broke up during the time that y/n was first moved to london. max had been the only one to know where she was, but that was only months after she had moved. y/n never met her and only heard about her when max had visited and gave her a life update that included a whirlwind romance.

“that’s a bold choice george,” max said, getting in his face, “isn’t kimi like a son to toto? you really think he’s choosing you over him? you were just a bed warmer for him when lewis had pissed him off. we all know he’d choose kimi and well, that he’d do anything for me, so are we really the ones you want to try and go toe to toe with?”

george narrowed his eyes at max, “i went through so much trouble for that girl back then, i hope you’re not getting your hopes up. she’ll just lead you on like she did to us, you’re just a stepping stone to her.”

“i am right here, you know? you don’t have to talk about me like i’m not?”

george’s head whipped around to her direction, “you were fine not talking for three years. why now? why come back now? there’s nothing for you there? or do you have an ulterior motive? are you using kimi to sabotage me?”

y/n let out another laugh in disbelief, “are you being serious right now? you can’t be this seriously delusional. despite popular belief, to you, not everything i do, is to do with you. both of you seem to have such an inflated view of your place in my life, please sleep well knowing i don’t want anything to do with either of you.”

charles interrupted, “i invited you two because i thought you would be happy to see y/n, why are you ruining my night? i brought olives and you’re bringing the mood down!”

“yes, i think it’s time you guys left.” max said, ready to escort them himself, with force if necessary.

the two gave y/n a final dirty look before storming out of charles’ house. y/n didn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between them, she longed for the times when they’d sneak out for ice cream at karting competitions and tell each other ghost stories. she wanted those times back so badly, but with displays like tonights she wasn’t sure if it was worth it. maybe those bridges had burnt the moment her car hit the wall.

the atmosphere in the room was thick, no one knew what to say following what ever they just witnessed.

“i guess we don’t outgrow the pettiness. ever.” ollie said, downing his drink, “if that’s what formula one does to a man i need another drink.”

charles started working behind his home bar and with the silence broken, the conversation started again.

“y/n i’m sorry i brought you back into this. i just wanted to have you as a mentor and try and get you to fall back in love with the sport, i didn’t want to bring you into a civil war where you get accused of seducing everyone.”

“kimi, i am happy to be here and we will work together. they don’t mean anything to me, okay? the things they say is water off a duck’s back for me now.”

“as long as you’re sure, i want you to enjoy it.”

“there’s enough of you i love to stick around. i’ve only known you for a short while, but the way you go for the things you want and stand up for what you believe makes me believe. they don’t matter to us. what matters is you and your car, and we will prove them all wrong.”

max slipped his arm around her shoulder as she spoke to kimi. “do you want to go?”

y/n looked back to kimi, “are you okay if we go? you and ollie can stay and enjoy yourself, rinse charles for as much as he’s worth.”

kimi nodded and hugged y/n. “see you soon, thank you again.”

“no worries, bunny.”

y/n and the dutchman grabbed their stuff and made their way to the door. charles escorted them out, “sorry it became such a downer, but i still liked seeing you again. we’ll have to get lunch some time before testing, arthur has been bothering me about meeting you.”

the pair ventured back out into the wind, a strained silence between them. “you know none of us believe what they said, right?”

“unfortunately, i’m very used to it maxy,” y/n said, leaning into him, “but it doesn’t bother me anymore. the people i care about know me, that’s all that matters.”

“just say the word and i’ll make their lives hell.”

“that’s noble, max, but i’m okay.”

“you let them get away with too much, y/n. seriously, what they just did was fucked up.”

“maybe to them i did do those things?”

“don’t say that,” max said stopping her, “they’re being childish. they can’t act like they have and expect that you’ll just fall into their arms.”

“do you think i’ll fall into your arms?”

“no. maybe? i don’t know, i want whatever you want. you know how i feel about you, but i just want you in my life. you’re the only one who has always really known me. we were so young and you saw me, not my dad and not my driving, but me. i will forever be grateful for you, it’s in your hands.”

“it’s all so confusing, max. if i do anything i just prove their point. at this moment i just need to exist. but i’d like to exist with you.”

“i’d like to exist with you too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: it's the drama mick i love it! a big bust up chap for you all, and boy have i been tired this weekend so this took a lil longer than i wanted it to. testing next!!!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy @tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #charles leclerc #max verstappen #ollie bearman #kimi antonelli #alex albon #oscar piastri #lando norris #george russell

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sleepynegress · 12 days ago

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Okay... So I'm in a way right now with the red tide and hormones..... But I did want to say some things about SINNERS while I have a little bit of mental energy.

Stack and Smoke are two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, red and blue, Italian and Irish gang clothing style... etc.

Some people are getting carried away with analysis and it's giving more projection of what you want it to be vs. what is.... Coogler himself has cited great fun tropey horror films and pop culture touchstones like Salem's Lot (the book not the movie) and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (which I love that that's a reference) he has said his most important takeaway is "ownership of art."

The act structure that gave us that classic "caper" set-up of all kinds of characters listening to the plan and then going "you sonavabitch, I'm in." for the juke joint was my favorite part of this TBH.

It is NOT a Christian "Come to Jesus" movie and I LOVE that about it. In fact, it's the opposite.

It's a "be true to self and your gifts in the face of any god or devil", movie.

BOTH women love interests (white presenting and full-figured and unambiguously Black ,--back to that yin and yang of the twins) were beloved by a twin, both fit the elemental nature of said twin, and both had to traverse death to be with their love.

As an aside.... loved hearing a southern accent from our Asian cousins, seeing the "not my problem" energy from the Choctaw hunters, and the reminder that there was actual ancestral cultural community before "whiteness" for white people too, and why many no longer have it...

LOVED LOVED LOVED the cultural details in the character work, setting, energy, etc.... ESPECIALLY Delroy Lindo's vocal cadence.

I loved what Coogler chose to NOT show to make the energy more impactful and palpable in both sensuality and scares.

I'll be the weirdo who prefers the pure blues vs. the remix but I LOVED seeing all the ancestors and descendents come and vibe with the music...I used to have recurring dreams of a multicultural ancestral world jam session, so "that scene" hit me hard.

Remmick just follows in the tradition of Coogler villains being compelling af, but ultimately WRONG because of an essential flaw in their logic (i.e. Killmonger's misogynoir and colonizing techniques and funnily enough Remmick's colonizing techniques, klan and black using vampire telepathy for a faux community peace)

I have seen no one else mention this, but I chuckled at Saul "List of Demands" Williams playing the preacher, aka Sammie's dad

the vampire nerd part of me absolutely rejoiced at all the "traditional" vampire warding aspects, ESPECIALLY the silver, something that is often wrongly asserted as being just for werewolves

loved how filthy and raunchy the language was when it came to desire... because that's real (and I hate purity culture which is very much now tied to the alt-right white Christo-fascist pipeline right now) AND centering women's pleasure and, in many cases audacious initiative. (ahem, I see you Ryan and I see how Zinzi's in the current state she's in, congrats!! *cough* this is the healthiest type of straight man sexual energy BTW)

BE WARY of the takes out there that are overly-projecting. It's neither religious nor hotepy. It's a Southern Gothic fable/folktale about a musician with a gift surviving a magical night....

YES it's full of ancestral energy, but ultimately the central message is about being true to self when it comes to ancestral gifts and community

#again #I'll add more later... but energy levels are low and I've been busy #sinners #meta #sinners 2025 #smoke and stack #sammie #michael b jordan #ryan coogler #wunmi mosaku #miles caton #hailee steinfeld #jayme lawson #delroy lindo #li jun li #ps remmick totally ate that baby

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littlcdarlin · 3 months ago

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Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck– is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

#event horizon #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #professor!Joel miller #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel x you #Joel Miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

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svtiddiess · 6 months ago

Text

Sex Education

Synopsis: In all your years of education you learned that there are many methods to study: flashcards, study groups, the pomodoro method etc. But you find that practice is better than theory. And what better way to study Biology than practice with your study buddy?

Pairing: loser!virgin!med student!Mingyu x afab!med student!reader

Genre: smut, slight crack, med school! au, mini-series

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: pet names (puppy), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, size kink, choking, loss of virginity, sub!Gyu, big dick!Gyu, loser!Gyu, riding, masturbation, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Thank you so much for helping me with the synopsis my twin @tomodachiii! As promised, here's sub!Gyu.

Thank you so much to @onlymingyus for beta reading!

Read part 2 here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Mingyu.

That's the only thing on your mind right now—nothing else, just Mingyu. You should probably be paying attention to the lesson, but how could you, with the hot nerd sitting right within your line of sight? Okay, maybe you chose this seat specifically so you could look at him without getting caught, but still! He’s a distraction you’re more than happy to have.

You rest your chin in your hand, sighing as your eyes trace over his figure. He’s built like a Greek god—strong, tall, with perfectly styled black hair, and his large square glasses barely hide his handsome, tan face. Oh, what you’d give just to see him without those glasses on.

You’ve known Mingyu since middle school. You never really interacted, but you definitely noticed him around. Back in school, he was known as the nerdy kid with glasses and a scrawny, lanky frame to match. Shy and awkward, he was an easy target for bullies. But over the years, his muscle mass increased, and his frame filled out. It seems he’s been putting in serious hours at the gym, and it’s definitely paid off.

Although he’s the most handsome guy in med school, he’s still incredibly shy and reserved, keeping his circle small and close-knit. Despite numerous people, especially girls, trying to get closer to him, he just pushes them away. That’s why, despite your massive crush, you haven’t made a move. You’re too scared he’ll shut you out and avoid you for good.

You can't help but bite your bottom lip and squeeze your thighs together as you rake your eyes over his bulging biceps, his shirt barely able to contain the muscle. Just one chokehold; one chokehold is all you're asking for, really. You sigh once again, knowing that you'll never be able to have him.

Your train of unholy thoughts is abruptly interrupted by the sound of your professor calling your name. Startled, you sit up and look towards him.

"Miss Y/N, are you even paying attention?" Prof. Choi huffs, crossing his arms.

"Of course I am, professor," you reply, flashing the sweetest smile you can manage.

"Then, for the third time, please answer the question on the board," he says, gesturing to the problem.

"Uh…" you trail off, completely lost.

Prof. Choi sighs and tells you to see him after class, to which you reluctantly agree. You sink into your chair, dreading what’s to come. Shaking your head, you let out a sigh and shifted your gaze back to Mingyu, watching in awe as he effortlessly answered the very question you stumbled over. Tall, muscular, hot, and smart—he really is the perfect guy.

You grumble as Prof. Choi calls your name, sabotaging your plan to slip out of class. Sighing, you drag yourself over to his desk, only to be surprised when Mingyu joins you. You glance between Mingyu and Prof. Choi, waiting for an explanation.

"Y/N, I’ll get straight to the point—you’re failing this class," Prof. Choi says. "At this rate, I’m not sure you'll be able to move on to the next year."

Well, it’s not your fault that a hot distraction named Kim Mingyu exists.

"That’s why I’ve assigned Mingyu here as your tutor to help you pass," he says, nodding toward Mingyu.

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to suppress a smile. Mingyu tutoring you? Spending time alone with him? This feels like a dream come true. You silently thank both Prof. Choi and the heavens for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Mingyu gives you a shy smile. "I hope we can get along well," he says, extending his hand.

You gratefully take it, noticing the blush coloring his cheeks.

"Please take good care of me, Mingyu," you say, beaming, already looking forward to your tutoring sessions.

You smooth out your skirt one last time before opening the door for Mingyu. You made sure to wear your sluttiest outfit today. After insisting that your brain works better when you study in your room, Mingyu shyly agreed to hold the tutoring sessions there.

You smile and step aside to let him in, watching as he sheepishly steps into your house. Making sure your ass is sticking out, you made him follow you upstairs to your room.

You sat down on your bed, subtly raising your skirt, and gestured for Mingyu to take a seat next to you. He awkwardly took his seat and started pulling out his notes.

He keeps his eyes on his notes as he starts explaining today’s lesson—something about the Krebs cycle, though you’re not really listening. You’re too busy admiring his handsome face. You twirl a strand of hair and blink sweetly as you ask (hopefully relevant) questions, but he barely glances at you while answering.

After what feels like hours of studying (it’s been 30 minutes), you whine and beg him for a break, and he blushes as he agrees.

"Would you like some snacks? Or maybe water or juice?" you ask, perking up.

"Just a glass of water is fine," he mumbles, still focused on his notes.

You nod and grab a glass of water for him and a snack for yourself. Returning, you hand him the water with a smile, which he accepts with a quiet “thank you,” while you peel your banana for your snack.

You lick the tip of the banana before biting down on it, smirking when you see Mingyu gulping at your actions. Noticing you looking at him, he blushes and quickly averts his gaze.

"Want a bite?" You offer him with a sultry smirk.

"N-No, thank you," he mumbles, his ears turning red.

You giggle as you finish your banana and scoot a little closer, prompting him to continue the lesson. But he’s a stuttering mess, tripping over his words and repeatedly asking for more water to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

After stuttering his way through, Mingyu finally managed to finish the lesson. Sore from having hunched over, you stretch, not so subtly pressing your chest against his arm. Mingyu flushes, quickly gathering his notes and mumbling something about being late for a gaming session with Wonwoo.

You see him out, throwing in a wink and waving goodbye. You watch as he stumbles a bit while getting onto his Vespa and driving off. Chuckling to yourself, you can't help but smile at how cute he is.

The rest of the tutoring sessions go the same way: you not-so-subtly flirt with Mingyu, while he either purposely ignores it or remains completely oblivious. You even try to out-slut your outfits with every tutoring session, but nothing seems to work.

One night, after yet another session, you lie in bed, frustrated that Mingyu isn’t picking up on your very obvious hints. Who knew the loser nerd would actually turn out to be a huge loser? You sigh, but him being a huge loser is what you find most endearing about him.

You bite your lip, remembering what he wore today—a black polo that stretched perfectly over his muscles, jeans that hugged his thighs just right, and of course, those thick black frames.

You can't help but sneak your hand down your torso as you remember how his arm felt pressed against your boobs. They felt so strong and firm, you bet that he could easily carry you and fuck you mid-air.

You shiver as your hand sneaks under your panties. You circle your pussy, collecting your arousal before pushing a finger into your hole, sighing at the slight stretch. You moan at the thought of Mingyu's fingers being way bigger than yours. His fingers would stretch you out so well before he finally fucks you with his huge cock.

You insert another finger and start thrusting your fingers, moaning out Mingyu's name. You imagine him hovering over you as he relentlessly thrusts into you, groaning your name right beside your ear. He'd growl as your fingers rake his back, leaving angry red marks. You'd wrap your legs around his hips and push him in deeper, making him breed you.

Your other hand circles your clit as you feel yourself getting to the edge. You imagine him thrusting from behind as his large bicep chokes you, putting just enough pressure to heighten the pleasure. He'd whimper and moan in your ear, letting you know how good you feel wrapped around him. He'd fill you up with his cum, again and again, and again, until the sheets underneath you are soaked with your mixed fluids.

Your breath hitches as you cum, whispering his name like a prayer, hoping that if you say it enough times, he’ll appear before you and make your dreams come true.

But he doesn't, and you're left lying in bed, sticky, sweaty, and alone.

You yawn for the umpteenth time as Mingyu drones on about anatomy; you're sure your brain has shut down by now. You sigh as you lean back onto the bed, too tired even to sit up.

"Mingyu, can we please take a break? I don't think my brain can take any more of this," you groan, resting your arm over your eyes.

"U-Uh, yeah, sure," Mingyu mumbles, fiddling with his notes. "We could always switch to a different topic if you want a change of pace…"

"What's the next topic?"

"The reproductive system."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk paints your face as an idea pops into your head. You sit up and grin at Mingyu.

"Sure, let's learn about the reproductive system."

Happy that you're finally interested in a topic, Mingyu gathers his notes and starts to explain. After about 15 minutes of explanation, you put your hand over his and gently push away his notes.

"Mingyu, I don’t understand the topic at all," you say with a pout, shifting to sit directly in front of him. His face turns bright red, clearly flustered. "I think it would help if we put the theory into practice so I can learn better," you purr.

Mingyu stumbles over his words, stuttering, his brain clearly short-circuiting. You giggle at his flustered state and shift to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of him.

"Will you let me use you to put the theory into practice, Mingyu?" you ask, tilting your head with a pout as you gently cup his face.

"I-I’m not sure h-how…" Mingyu stammers, swallowing hard.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo. "It's okay, I'll guide you, puppy. Will you let me?"

He licks his lips and lets out a shaky breath before giving a small nod.

"Don't worry, puppy, I'll make sure to take good care of you," you hum as you gently remove his glasses.

He blinks and looks up at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. You take a moment to admire his handsome face without the glasses. Cupping his face, your eyes trace over his features—his strong jawline, his parted lips, and the small mole on the tip of his nose. Unable to resist, you lean in and place a gentle kiss there, making him shiver.

"Can I kiss you, puppy?" You whisper.

"P-Please," he whimpers, and you can't help but smile over how pathetic he sounds.

You lean in and press your lips against his, and he kisses back desperately, hungry for your lips. You chuckle into the kiss, his inexperience showing with every hesitant movement. When you pull back, he leans forward, chasing your lips and letting out a soft whine when you don’t return the kiss.

"Puppy, if you don't behave, I will punish you," you scowl, furrowing your eyebrows.

"'m sorry," he mumbles with a pout.

You plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, then slowly run your hands down his torso, gently squeezing each muscle through his white polo. He moans and shivers under your touch, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Puppy works hard in the gym, hm?" You giggle, squeezing his chest slightly harder, eliciting a gasp from him.

You giggle, then start slowly dragging your hands to his arms, squeezing his biceps.

"God, your arms are so big and strong," you moan, squeezing him hard. "I want you to choke me, puppy. Can you do that for me? Choke me with your biceps?"

Letting out a shaky breath, he nods. You shift, pressing your back against his chest. He gently puts you into a chokehold and squeezes his arm slightly. Your eyes roll back, and a moan slips from your lips when you feel his biceps push against your throat.

You can't help but feel small in Mingyu's hold; he's just so big and beefy. You grind your hips against him, and you feel his grip faltering. He whimpers and pushes his erection against your butt.

"P-Please, I can't. I-It hurts," he whimpers against your ear.

You sneak down your hand and palm him through his jeans, making him groan and buck your hips against your palm.

"Need me to take care of your problem puppy?" You giggle, palming him roughly.

"Please," he strains out, choking back a moan.

He releases you from the chokehold, and you quickly clamber over to grab the bottle of lube you've stashed on the side table. You look over to see that he's already pushed his jeans and boxers down and freed his aching cock.

"Impatient are we now, puppy?" You chuckle, making his cheeks heat up.

Locking eyes with him, you give him a sultry look as you slowly peel off your panties but keep your skirt on. He gulps hard, shifting in place, anticipating your next move.

Biting your lip, you slowly crawl back over to him. You pour lube all over his cock and give him a few pumps, he whines your name and bucks his hips, making you giggle.

"Gonna make you feel so good, puppy," you whisper as you shift to hover over him.

You grab onto his shoulders and slowly sink onto his big cock, the stretch making you moan out loud. Mingyu whines and groans under you, his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging into you.

"F-Fuck," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth slowly envelopes him.

Your mouth goes agape, and your eyes roll back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

"M-Move, please move. I-I can't," he begs, muscles straining under you.

You slowly lift yourself and slam back down onto him, making the both of you moan out loud. Slowly picking up your pace, you start riding him. He becomes a blubbering mess under you, moaning your name and whining at how good it feels.

"Look at the mess we're making, puppy," you pant out, lifting your skirt and showing him the sticky mess forming at the base of his cock.

He looks down at where both of you are connected and moans. He starts picking you up and slamming you down at an animalistic pace, his hips meeting you halfway. You squeal at the feeling of him rutting into you.

Unable to hold back any longer, he cums hard, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. Desperate to reach your high, you continue to ride him despite his chokes and whimpers. You capture his lips into a messy kiss to distract him from the overstimulation.

"C-Circle my clit," you mumble in between the kiss, and he complies, his hand immediately sneaking down and rubbing your clit in circles.

You yell his name as you cum around him, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Mingyu moans, and a few tears slip from his eyes at the feeling of you squeezing him with a vice-like grip.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, your head resting on Mingyu’s shoulder as he leans back against the headboard. Licking your lips, you cup his face and look into his dazed eyes.

"You did so well, puppy," you coo, watching him blush and give you a fucked-out smile.

"But I don't think I've fully understood the topic yet. Maybe we should go over it again, just to be sure," you say before smashing your lips on his again.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour

@iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina

@theidontknowmehn @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @toplinehyunjin

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mintyys-blog · 1 month ago

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CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR— sinister! mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: masterbating, stalking, somnophilia, DUBCON, smut.

The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you scrolled aimlessly through the pages of fanfiction. You were lost in the sea of words—some hot, some awkward, and others that made you cringe outright. Your finger moved instinctively, flicking through stories, some leaving you breathless, others making you roll your eyes. But there was one thing that kept your attention.

You bit your lip, your fingers teasing at the screen as your mind wandered to thoughts of him. Mark. The quiet, charming comic nerd from high school, the guy you secretly crushed on but never dared to act on. After all, he was with Amber, your friend. He had no idea how you felt, and you were content with just watching him from afar. But the characters in the stories… the way they held power, their confidence, their dark seduction—it stirred something inside of you. The heat between your legs slowly built, your body aching for release.

You reached for your vibrator, going under the covers and continuing to scroll through the story.

You imagined yourself in their shoes, feeling the passion described in every word, imagining how it would feel to be taken by someone as ruthless and forceful as the characters in the stories. Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded as the words on the screen seemed to speak directly to you. It almost felt like the man in the stories was whispering in your ear now.

A soft moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help yourself as you breathed his name—Mark. Mark. It was almost a prayer, a wish you never thought you’d voice aloud. He was so close, yet so far, always with Amber, the perfect image of the sweet, comic-loving guy who was too kind for someone like you. But tonight, in the privacy of your room, you imagined taking him for yourself. What would it feel like if he wanted you instead of her?

Amber once told you how sex with Mark was, briefly, she described how much of a sweet heart he is, how he would blush. He was soft, gentle, considerate. It was different from the story you were currently reading. Still, trapped in fantasy you imagined Mark choose you, that he threw your legs on his shoulders, and thrusted into you at a pace that left you breathless. The thought brought you to an orgasm, moaning Marks name once more.

You sighed in contentment, your hands trembling as you placed the toy in the drawer. That would be a problem for later. For now, sleep was calling to you, urging you to shut your eyes and drift into blissful oblivion. “I wish Mark was with me instead..” you felt bad for saying out, but it was how you truly felt. Mark seemed so happy with Amber, so eager to impress her. Only if he saw you instead, looked past Amber to see you.

But you didn’t know you weren’t alone.

Outside, just beyond the window, Mark lingered in the darkness. Only he was dressed in a yellow and black suit. His eyes glinted as he watched you, his smirk growing darker with every sound that escaped your lips. Every moan. Every whisper of his name. He had heard it all, seen it all, and now, his twisted mind was buzzing with anticipation.

You had no idea that an alternate version of your secret crush was standing right outside, completely aware of the desires you had hidden so deeply. And as you drifted off to sleep, he stayed, a shadow in the night, waiting for the perfect moment to make his presence known.

His smile widened. “You think I didn’t hear you, don’t you?” he whispered to himself, voice dark and dangerous. “You should’ve been more careful about what you wish for.”

The night stretched on in eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind outside. Mark remained perfectly still, hidden in the shadows. His gaze never wavered from your window, and when he saw you finally fall asleep, a twisted satisfaction gripped him.

Slowly, as if testing the very air around him, he drifted toward the house. His feet never touched the ground. He was a shadow, unseen, unnoticed. The faintest brush of his fingers against the cold glass, and then he was inside—silent, like a predator stalking its prey.

His eyes scanned your room, dark and empty save for the soft hum of the night around you. Every detail was burned into his mind—the way your sheets lay slightly tangled, the soft, muted glow of the lamp still by your bed, the scent of your skin hanging in the air. He inspected the space as if memorizing it, studying everything you’d left behind. A drawer slightly open, your discarded clothes from earlier, the faintest trace of your perfume. It was all perfect.

Then, his gaze shifted toward you.

You were lying there, completely unaware of his presence, the gentle rise and fall of your chest the only sign of life. His body hovered just above you, inches from your sleeping form. His breathing slowed, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you. He could practically taste the heat you had left behind, the desperation in the air.

His hand moved without hesitation. He let it trail down your cheek, so soft, so deliberate. His fingers brushed over your skin, making sure he was close enough for you to feel the chill of his presence, even in your sleep.

You shifted slightly in your slumber, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Mark smiled, his breath hot against your skin, and he lingered for a moment, letting the silence thicken.

His voice, a mere whisper, grazed your ear, “You have no idea how badly I want you.” His words were dark, intoxicating, like poison slipping through your subconscious. “But, don’t worry… I’ll make sure you don’t forget me.”

The smile that played on his lips was twisted, filled with dark amusement. Slowly, he drew his hand back, lingering in the shadows once more, watching you—waiting, patient.

Mark knew this was just the beginning. He wasn’t finished with you. Not by a long shot.

Mark’s gaze darkened as he hovered over you, every detail of your exposed form burned into his mind. The room was cool, and as the blanket fell away from your body, it revealed you to him completely—vulnerable, unaware, and utterly at his mercy. His eyes traced every curve, every delicate shift of your body as you unknowingly reacted to the cold, your soft shivers making something dark stir in him.

He scoffed at the thought, almost amused. “To think,” he murmured to himself, voice laced with a twisted edge, “that you think Mark Grayson is the one for you.” He shook his head softly, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “How wrong you are.”

His figure moved silently toward you, like a shadow blending with the darkness, closing the distance between you and him. With a calculated motion, he slid his hand over your hair, pushing it gently aside, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your neck. You shifted again, but remained asleep, your breathing steady and unaware of the presence looming so close.

Mark smiled darkly, leaning closer, his body hovering over yours. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the soft rise and fall of your chest. His hand trailed down the line of your collarbone, fingers ghosting over your skin, barely touching, but enough to make you stir again. He watched every reaction, every small shift of your body.

“You wish for Mark Grayson, don’t you?” he whispered into the silence, his voice low, almost teasing. “But not the one you think of… No, you’re going to have me.”

His hand moved lower, pressing gently against your skin, feeling your pulse quicken ever so slightly under his touch. His smirk deepened as he leaned even closer, watching the slight tremor of your body as he traced the curve of your collarbone. He could practically taste your desire, even though you didn’t know the true source of it.

“I’ll grant your wish,” he murmured, the words heavy with dark intent, “but it’s not the Mark Grayson you’ve been dreaming of. No… it’s me.”

For a moment, he stayed there, watching you as your body shivered again from the cool air, and yet, he felt the warmth in the room growing around him. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was only the beginning. The twisted promise was clear: Mark Grayson, as you thought him to be, was nothing compared to the one who was now standing over you.

He pulls off the remainder of your clothes which was just an oversized T Shirt. He traced his fingers over your nipples, watching them harden with the help of the cool air. He moved your thighs to be between them, in an instant he was naked. His suit discarded in a neat pile on the floor. The tip of his cock rested on the outside of your folds. He watched as he spread them apart slowly with his fingers, “so wet..” he whispered. He slowly eased his cock in, stopping when you stirred again. He groaned lowly, “you’re tight,” he holds your thighs to his waist, thrusting slowly, watching as whimpers and moans escaped from your mouth.

He smirked, “dirty girl,” as he continued he grew more confident, thrusting faster and with more power than before. Quiet grunts and groans escaped his lips, and he almost panicked when he saw your eyes slowly open. Still sleepy, you whisper his name, “Mark?” You blink away the sleep, moaning as he speeds up, “wait..!” You hit his chest, pushing against him, but it was useless, your nails raked down his forearms. “Oh! That feels.. good” you throw your head back, over taken by pleasure and lust.

His fingers came to play with your clit, rubbing in circles, the bed creaking with every thrust. You tried to warn him that you were close, but any coherent thought left you as you came with a cry. Still, he refused to stop, putting one of your legs on his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper with the new angle. “Mark!” You whimpered, recovering from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm.

He covered your mouth, “shh, shh, just enjoy it.” And enjoy it you did. You orgasmed more times in that night then you ever have before, over stimulated you passed out.

Mark sucked on your neck, “good girl,” he came with a grunt, slowly pulling out to watch his seed spill from between your legs on your sheets.

He kisses your lips one last time, “you’re mine now,” he whispered. He covered your body back with the blanket, changing into his suit in a flash, he crossed his arms. Watching as your chest rose and fell. He then vanished within a second. Leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, but it was no comfort to you. Your body felt heavy, exhausted as though you hadn’t slept at all. You blinked, disoriented, and slowly pushed yourself up from the bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as you reluctantly removed the blanket. There was a dull ache in your muscles, a tightness you couldn’t quite place. But your mind was elsewhere.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. It was vivid, almost too vivid to just be a product of your imagination. Mark. Mark Grayson. The way he had felt—close, but not quite there. His presence had been so real, so commanding. You shivered involuntarily, the memory of his touch, his voice whispering in your ear, sending a strange thrill down your spine. It had been a dream… right?

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Your body hummed with a strange energy as you padded across the room, a little unsteady on your feet as you headed toward the bathroom. You had to shake off the lingering sensation, the way his words echoed in your mind.

The shower would help, you thought, as you turned the water on and waited for it to heat up. The warm steam slowly filled the bathroom, a comforting sensation against the coldness of your skin. You stood there, breathing in the mist, trying to clear your head. But it felt like the room was still charged, almost as though you were still surrounded by the intensity of the dream.

As the water reached the right temperature, you stepped forward, ready to wash away the remnants of the night. But when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your breath hitched. You froze, a cold shiver running down your spine, and your heart skipped a beat.

A dark, unmistakable mark marred your neck—a nasty hickey, dark and fresh, as if someone had just left it there. Your hand flew to the spot, fingers trembling as you touched it, not understanding how it was possible. You hadn’t been with anyone, not last night, not in weeks. You hadn’t even seen Mark recently, let alone… done that.

Your mind raced. How did it get there? You pulled away from the mirror, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection staring back at you seemed foreign, as though the person in the glass wasn’t the one who had gone to sleep the night before.

Was it… was last night really a dream? You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. The sensations, the feelings, the way it all felt so real. But this mark—it had to be proof that it wasn’t just your imagination.

Swallowing hard, you turned away from the mirror, your heart pounding in your chest as your thoughts spiraled. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t possible. That there was no way Mark had been in your room. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe—just maybe—last night had been something far darker than just a dream.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, forcing yourself to push the thoughts away. It had to be your imagination, just a lingering remnant of the dream messing with your head. The hickey—maybe you had scratched yourself in your sleep, or maybe it was some weird bruise you hadn’t noticed before. Either way, dwelling on it wouldn’t do you any good.

You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body, hoping it would wash away both the mark and the unsettling thoughts that came with it. Right now, you had to focus on getting ready for class.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about Mark. Well, the Mark—the one you’d crushed on since high school. Maybe you’d see him today, if he decided to actually show up for class. He had a habit of skipping, but on the days he was there, you always found yourself paying just a little more attention.

Once you finished showering and got dressed, you grabbed your bag and left your dorm, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The campus was already buzzing with students, some dragging their feet toward their early classes, others chatting in small groups.

As you rounded the corner, you nearly walked straight into someone. “Oh—sorry!” you said quickly, only to realize who it was.

Amber.

“Hey, stranger,” Amber greeted with a grin, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You look like you barely slept. Late-night study session or just too much scrolling?”

You let out a small laugh, deciding not to mention the real reason for your exhaustion. “Yeah, something like that,” you said vaguely.

Amber linked arms with you as you both started walking toward class. “So, did you do the reading for today, or are we both winging it again?”

“Definitely winging it,” you admitted with a smirk.

The two of you chatted as you walked, catching up on the little things—class, assignments, campus gossip. It was easy to fall into conversation with Amber; she was good at making things feel normal. And for now, that’s what you needed.

Normal. Even if, deep down, something still didn’t feel quite right.

Amber nudged you playfully, a knowing grin spreading across her face. “So, who’s the lucky guy? Or girl? I won’t judge.”

You froze mid-step. “Uh… what?”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Come on! Don’t play dumb. I can see that hickey behind all that foundation.”

Your stomach dropped. Your hand instinctively flew to your neck, as if you could somehow shield it from her gaze. Heat rushed to your face, and suddenly, the morning air didn’t feel so cool anymore.

“I—” You scrambled for an excuse, anything to explain it away. But nothing came. You hadn’t been with anyone. You knew you hadn’t. And yet… the evidence was right there, plain as day, enough for Amber to catch onto it even after you tried covering it up.

Amber raised a brow at your silence. “Wait… you don’t even know how you got it, do you?”

You let out a forced laugh. “No, I—I must’ve just… I don’t know, maybe I bumped into something?” It was weak, and you knew it.

Amber gave you a look. “Bumped into something? Babe, that’s not how hickeys work.”

You swallowed hard. “I was half-asleep last night. Maybe I, like… scratched myself in my sleep or something.”

Amber snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure. Unless you suddenly grew a mouth on your own neck, that’s a hickey—and a pretty nasty one at that.” She leaned in, smirking. “So spill. Who’s been sneaking into your bed at night?”

If only she knew.

You forced a smile, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Just a weird dream, that’s all. No mystery lover here.”

Amber eyed you for a second, like she didn’t quite believe you, but eventually, she let it go with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, keep your secrets. But if I see another one pop up, I’m demanding names.”

You laughed, though it was more to hide your nerves than anything else.

But as you walked beside her, pretending everything was fine, a single thought gnawed at the back of your mind. Was last night really just a dream? Something told her it was too real to be fake.

The moment you and Amber reached the lecture hall, you spotted him.

Mark stood near the entrance, looking as effortlessly casual as ever—hoodie slightly wrinkled, dark curls an unkempt mess, but with that same easygoing charm that had drawn you in since high school.

Amber lit up at the sight of him, grinning as she closed the distance between them. “Hey, handsome,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You finally going to class today, or are we just lucky?”

Mark chuckled, his hands resting loosely on her waist. “Yeah, yeah. Figured I should actually show up before you start yelling at me about my grades.”

His voice was warm, affectionate. His eyes—soft, full of something real—were locked onto Amber. Completely focused on her.

You stood beside them, feeling out of place, the moment stretching uncomfortably long.

Then, for the briefest second, his gaze flicked toward you. A glance. Barely an acknowledgment. No warmth, no interest—just a fleeting recognition that you were there.

Your stomach twisted, a quiet ache settling in your chest.

You had known, of course. You had always known where his heart lay. But seeing it so plainly, so undeniably clear in his eyes, made it so much harder to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Clearing your throat, you stepped back. “Uh—yeah, I’ll just, um… head inside.”

Amber barely noticed, still caught up in her playful banter with Mark. “Oh, yeah, we’ll catch up in a second!” she said, laughing.

Mark didn’t even look your way again.

You forced a small smile, turning toward the door, trying to ignore the way your chest felt tight.

But just as you stepped inside, a strange sensation crawled up your spine.

Like eyes on you.

Not Mark—the one standing outside, completely wrapped up in Amber. No, this was different. More intense. Hungrier.

You swallowed hard, shaking the feeling away. It was nothing. Just your imagination. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

Sliding into a seat near the back of the lecture hall, you exhaled quietly, relieved to be away from the scene outside. You popped in one earbud, scrolling through your phone before settling on a song that matched your mood. Something low, something to drown out the noise in your head.

Class wouldn’t start for another ten minutes.

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced at the clock before shifting your gaze out the window. The campus looked peaceful from up here. Birds flitted between the trees, the occasional student walked across the courtyard, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

Then— A flash of black and yellow. You jumped, your body tensing as your eyes snapped back to the window. What the hell was that?

You blinked, scanning the area again, searching for whatever it was. But there was nothing. Just the trees swaying in the wind, students moving about their day, completely unaware. Your pulse quickened. You knew you had seen something. It had been quick—just a flicker in the corner of your eye—but it was there.

A trick of the light? Maybe. But deep down, something inside you whispered otherwise. Shaking your head, you turned back to your phone, trying to brush it off. You were probably just tired. That’s all... Right?

Back in your dorm, you shut the door behind you, locking it instinctively. The silence of your room felt heavier than usual, wrapping around you like a thick fog.

You set your bag down on the chair and stood in the center of the room, scanning your surroundings. Everything looked normal—your bed slightly messy from when you rushed out this morning, your desk cluttered with books and papers, the faint scent of your shampoo lingering in the air.

But something was off.

You bit your lip, trying to piece together the fragments of last night.

The dream. It had felt so real. Mark had been here. He had touched you, whispered to you, been inside you.

Your breath hitched as you reached up, fingers brushing over the fading hickey on your neck. The proof.

You froze.

“Oh my god.”

You shot up from your chair, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

You had sex with Mark Grayson.

The realization crashed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless.

The hickey—there was no other explanation. You hadn’t been with anyone else. It had to be him.

But… how?

You wracked your brain, trying to remember every detail. The dream—it had been intense, overwhelming, too vivid to just be a product of your imagination.

Your skin prickled as you replayed it in your head.

The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

But then— You frowned. Something wasn’t right.

The Mark in your dream… he hadn’t felt like him. Not the Mark you knew. Not the Mark who barely acknowledged you in class, the Mark who only had eyes for Amber.

This Mark had been different. Darker. Hungrier. He was a lot more rough and demanding than what Amber described.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts until you found Amber’s name. You hesitated for only a second before pressing the call button.

It barely rang twice before she answered.

“Yello?” Amber’s voice was light, casual, completely oblivious to the panic clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard. “Amber, it’s me, Y/N. Weird question, but… uh, where was Mark last night?”

There was a pause on the other end. “…Uh, he was with me last night?” she answered slowly, like she wasn’t sure why you were asking. Your breath caught. “Are you sure? Like, the whole night?”

Amber scoffed. “Yes? We were hanging out at my place, and he fell asleep there. Why?”

You froze, as it confirmed your initial thoughts. Mark had been with Amber. The whole night. Then— Who the hell had been in your room?

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Amber asked, her voice laced with confusion. “You’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

You forced a nervous laugh, gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. “Uh—no reason! Sorry, I—I just remembered I have to be somewhere. Talk later, okay?”

Before she could press further, you ended the call. The silence that followed was deafening. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you slowly lowered the phone from your ear.

If Mark had been with Amber all night… Then the person in your room, the one who touched you, who whispered in your ear, who left that hickey on your neck… It wasn’t him. Your stomach twisted violently. Something was very wrong.

You sat on the edge of your bed, gripping your phone tightly, your mind racing.

If Mark had been with Amber all night, then who—what—had been in your room? Your fingers brushed over the fading hickey on your neck.

It had felt so real. The way he touched you. The way he whispered to you. The way he felt.

You knew Mark. You had crushed on him for years. You had memorized every little detail about him—his voice, his scent, the way he moved. And last night… that person had looked exactly like him.

But now, you weren’t so sure. You tried to think rationally. Maybe you were just exhausted. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe this was some elaborate prank—though you had no idea how anyone could pull off something this insane.

But deep down, something told you this wasn’t a joke. This was real. And if that wasn’t Mark… Then who was it? And why did he look just like him?

It started with glimpses.

At first, you thought it was paranoia. The weight of the hickey on your skin, the unanswered questions, the impossibility of what had happened—it all had to be messing with your head.

But then you started seeing him. At the corner of your vision, in the blurred edges of your periphery. In reflections—your bedroom mirror, the glass of a passing window, the darkened screen of your phone.

In crowds, where he stood just a little too still, his gaze locked onto you while everyone else moved around him like he wasn’t even there.

Mark. But not Mark. Because something about him was off.

His eyes lingered too long. His smile was just a little too sharp, like he knew something you didn’t.

And then—he started invading your life.

It was the small things at first. A flower left on your windowsill, its petals blackened at the edges. A note tucked into your books, written in handwriting eerily identical to Mark’s—Miss me?

A whisper in your ear when no one was around.

“You look so beautiful when you sleep.”

You had spun around, heart hammering, but the room had been empty.

No one else noticed.

Not Amber. Not your classmates. Not even the real Mark, who remained blissfully unaware, still wrapped up in his perfect little world with Amber.

You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it. That stress and exhaustion were getting to you. But deep down, you knew the truth. He was real. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, one night—he came back.

You woke with a start, the air in your room heavy, suffocating. You weren’t sure what had pulled you from sleep, but the second you turned your head, you felt it.

Someone was there. A figure sat perched on the edge of your bed, watching you with amused eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat. Mark. But not Mark. His smirk was wider than it should be, his head tilting slightly as he admired the look of fear on your face. His eyes, dark and gleaming, held something almost hungry.

“You wanted Mark Grayson, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice smooth, teasing, wrong.

He leaned closer, until his lips were inches from yours.

“Well…” His fingers trailed up your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now you have me.”

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