#echo writes letters

[echo-writes-letters]

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Hi there. I... can't read what you wrote, for some reason? Maybe it's just me, this headache is killing me.

Sorry about that, if it's on me.

--Echo

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Coming Out

WOO It's aspec week time!! 💜💚 To no one's surprise I'm starting off with Lukas :3 I know we have the wonderful support convo when he and Python sort of come out to each other, but I was always curious about the loose ends that it brings up -- how he comes out to/is treated by his family, the woman he's left behind, his fellow nobles, etc. This drabble doesn't really answer any of those questions sadfsadf but it's coming from that thought 😂

Father,

I am writing to you now, so soon after my previous letter, as there is something I have yet to confess. It may be difficult for you to hear, but

The sentence stops abruptly, a small dab of ink at the corner of the ‘t’ where the pen had rested a moment in contemplation.

A man sits back at his at a desk. His candle illuminates the page, displaying a few brief lines at the top. He dips his pen in ink time and time again, but the page remains mostly empty. 

At first, the man believes his problem to be a lack of words. No title exists for men like him. He’s well-educated and well-connected in the army; he has an extensive vocabulary for how the upper and lower class categorizes its people. Whether it’s a scholar’s dull terminology, vulgar common language insults, or the carefully chosen phrasing of a gossiper, none of the usual descriptors fit him. All he has are the distantly connected criticisms he’d heard his whole life: “heartless,” “cold,” “detached.” 

When the candle burns lower, however, he realizes the real issue. He has far too many words.

Where would he even start? Should he describe his contentment with his life here? How not one of his fellows ever brought up the lack of a woman at his arm, or how dinners with the King and Queen themselves were filled with pleasantries that never touched on his romantic endeavors? Whatever his father had been preparing for, it had never come.

Or should he begin earlier, when he was first accepted by this group of people? He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all that he experienced on that fateful night, speaking softly with the unit’s archer – a man he’d come to call one of his truest friends. The man had heard for the first time in his life that there were others like him. He heard that they were content. They were whole.

He could go back further and describe the moment that the realization first hit him. How his father had been right in a sense. Just as he said, one day when the man was grown, he would be in the arms of another, and everything about himself would suddenly make sense. There was only one difference. He’d been forced to bury that clarity, since it wasn’t the same kind that everyone else came to.

Or should he start even further back? He could recount all little hints that haunted him across his youth. His dreams for the future never quite aligned with those of his peers. Nothing ever seemed to align. His choice of stories to read, of games to play, of jokes to make. He wouldn’t ever claim he was mistreated as a child, but everyone would agree that the signs had appeared even then.

The man sighs. Where is the beginning, when one has always been this way? 

The clock strikes on the hour. It is late, and he will need to be at his sharpest tomorrow for drills and meetings. He has no more time to fret over words about his past. 

The man tries a new method, and wonders what his friends may write about him. He can’t resist a dry smile. He knows that he can never, under any circumstance, allow them to exchange any correspondence with his family. 

But the exercise gives him an idea.

He writes out a single statement. Then he blows out the candle and heads to his bed. 

there is nothing broken about me.

Cordially,

Lukas

[rabble-dabble]

and by the way i fucking deserved better. you came back with your hand held out and asked me to love you again like i was a fool, like you knew i wanted you to do but you forgot friendship is a two way street and i loved you deeper than you loved yourself. i heard myself in your words and i knew the answer before you asked the question because i spent a year grieving and a year growing and another two years healing and three more years forgetting and you sent me a message asking me to forgive you as if i already hadn't done so. you asked to try again and i almost became the fool that did it because once upon a time we were best friends then we weren't and i cried at night wishing you'd come crawling back to say those words to me again. and i thought of all the ways i could tear you apart with my teeth before carefully mending you back together with my sparkly glue and my shaky sowing needle.

but in reality i knew if i let you in again that i could forgive you but i'd never be able to forgive myself. i'd be looking into the past and spitting into the face of the kid who gave up everything he felt about you to become me and i needed to let you go like the sand between my cupped hands. the ocean cleans away the grit and leaves seashells in them. its a reminder that there are still things to find and cherish. i deserve to love the world and you will not be a part of it. i am not sorry for that.

[wizard-of-night]

Tag Dump?

[luna-azzurra]

Rage, Grief & Other Quiet Explosions

(Emotional meltdowns that don’t look like meltdowns, but absolutely are)

 The “Smiling Too Much” Grief Your character’s entire world is on fire, and they’re asking if anyone wants more wine. That’s not denial, it’s an effort to hold the damn pieces together. Smile like a glue gun. Watch them crack.

The “Not Crying At the Funeral” Breakdown They don't shed a tear. They organize everything. Perfect speech. Perfect outfit. But a week later, they scream into the laundry basket over a missing sock. That’s the moment. That’s the eulogy.

 The “Silent Dinner Table” Fight No yelling. No slamming doors. Just chewing. Clinking silverware. The kind of silence that tastes like metal. Let the reader feel the air shrink.

 The “Polite but Dead Inside” Apology They say “Sorry” because it’s expected, not because they’re ready. Their voice doesn’t crack. Their eyes don’t meet yours. This isn’t healing. This is a peace treaty with no peace.

The “I Don’t Want to Talk About It” Detour The one where they ask about your day mid-sob. Redirect. Deflect. “Let’s not talk about me.” That’s rage choked by shame. Write it like it’s shoving itself into a smaller box.

 The “Obsessively Productive” Meltdown New projects. New hobbies. Suddenly they’re running marathons, baking sourdough, fixing the garage door. Because if they sit still for one second, they’ll break. Keep the camera on them when they finally sit.

The “Unsent Letters” Grief They write it all down. Every damn emotion. Then burn it. Or delete it. Or hide it in a shoebox under their bed. It’s not for closure. It’s to let the ghosts know they were seen.

The “I’m Fine” That Echoes Delivered too fast. Too sharp. You could bounce a quarter off it. “I’m fine” isn’t fine. It’s the dam cracking. Listen to the echo. Let another character hear the hollowness.

The “Hyper-Logical Rant” Rage They argue with spreadsheets. With perfect bullet points. Cold rage—like ice, not fire. “I’m not mad, I’m just saying…” But that’s a lie. They’re volcanic under that clipboard.

 The “Laughing in the Middle of the Breakdown” Moment That bitter, hysterical laugh. The kind that sounds more like sobbing with teeth. Let it come at the worst time. Let it shock even them. That’s emotion refusing to stay boxed in.

[blackvahana]

Oh god. Rip to getting sleep properly tonight.

Memory of Grey's of getting locked (locking himself) in the Library itself for.... Uh. A very very very long time, probably bent time, I don't think he went missing per se for the time he was in there but he fucking came out the other side changed, that's for sure. Locking yourself in your own creation... body... extension... second (third? Fourth? Etc?) brain...

I'm nothing if not -

I was going to say, I don't know, tenacious, dedicated, willing to put myself through my experimentation to put my money where my mouth is but I am nothing but tomorrow, tomorrow, then I

[ariichive]

POPULAR

he didn’t realize how many people yearned for you as much as he did. and now that he had, the thought sat heavy in his chest, unsettling in a way he didn’t quite know how to handle.

cw: gender neutral, fluff, lighthearted, jealousy, slight stalking, reader has a lot of fans, secret admirers, established relationships, creepy letter in phainon's part

in okhema, there’s an npc named myrion who has a bunch of admirers lined up for her, so this inspired me lmaoo! once again, mydei's is my favorite... love writing for him

mydei₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

when you and mydei had gone on a casual stroll through okhema, he wasn't expecting to discover how well-known you were around the city.

verax leo was a mouthy lion, one that overheard many conversations in its time in the holy city.

you, wanting to stop by and see if the lion had any new riddles, were not expecting for the verax to use this as an opportunity to tease the prince of kremnos.

"the beautiful muse of the mighty prince, [name]! an honor to see you! here for another riddle?"

mydei’s brow arched ever so slightly at the greeting, golden eyes flickering between you and verax leo with a quiet intensity.

“beautiful?” he echoed, tilting his head in that slow, calculating way of his.

you sighed, already sensing where this was going. “don’t start.”

verax leo let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “oh? have i struck a nerve, mighty prince? or perhaps… have i simply voiced what many already whisper?”

mydei's perfect brow furrowed even deeper, "explain, annoying lion, what you mean by that."

verax leo, suddenly sensing the thick tension, voice wavered as he responded. "w-well, i would not live up to my name if i didn't put this in the form of a riddle!"

mydei didn't answer, only narrowing his eyes at the golden mount. "in the city of okhema, there are many beautiful antiques and valuables. often sought after. but, there's one that's unattainable, and can only be spoken of in whispers my lion ears can hear."

you blinked, glancing between mydei and verax leo, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

mydei’s expression remained unreadable, his golden eyes sharp as they bore into the lion. “go on.”

verax leo let out a nervous chuckle, but continued nonetheless. “this treasure is admired by all, longed for by many, yet it rests in the hands of one who walks among us.” the lion paused before continuing. “and oh, how the city wonders… will the one who holds it keep their grasp, or will another dare to reach?”

mydei let the silence stretch between them, his expression unreadable. then, with slow precision, he turned to you.

“is that true?” his voice was softer now, but laced with something deeper—something possessive.

you rolled your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “it’s just a riddle, mydei. you don’t actually think—”

“but it is true,” he interrupted smoothly, gaze never leaving yours. “you are sought after. spoken of in whispers. desired. it would be foolish if people didn't see your beauty.”

you swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his attention. “mydei—”

he exhaled, then, a slow, quiet breath, before looking back at verax leo. “and tell me, lion, what happens to those who reach for the unattainable?”

verax leo hesitated before answering, voice lower this time. “they risk being burned.”

a small smirk ghosted across mydei’s lips, though there was no humor in it—only certainty. “then let them whisper.”

and with that, he took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before leading you away from the lion’s watchful gaze, leaving nothing else to be said.

as you walked through the streets of okhema, the whispers verax spoke of suddenly felt louder—eyes flickering toward you, smiles offered, murmurs shared between passersby. you had never thought much of it before, but now, with mydei at your side, his grip firm around your hand, it was impossible to ignore.

“you’re really letting that riddle get to you, huh?” you finally said, glancing at him.

mydei didn’t answer immediately. instead, his golden eyes stayed forward, scanning the streets, his expression unreadable. when he finally spoke.

“it isn’t the riddle that bothers me,” he said. “it’s the fact that it isn’t just a riddle.”

you sighed for the hundredth time. “it's—”

“how many?” he asked suddenly.

you blinked. “...how many what?”

his gaze flickered to yours, sharp and calculating. “how many people have whispered about you? how many have longed for something they will never have?”

heat crept up your neck, but you scoffed, shaking your head. “do you hear yourself right now?”

“i hear the city.” his thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. “and i hear verax leo. neither of them are wrong.”

you stopped walking, tugging his hand to make him face you fully. “and? does it matter?”

his jaw tightened for the briefest moment before he exhaled, as if weighing his words. “no,” he said. then, softer, more certain: “not when the whispers mean nothing to you.”

your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he lifted your joined hands, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your fingers.

“let them whisper,” he repeated, gaze locked onto yours. “as long as they know who you belong to.”

you gave his hand a small squeeze before pulling him forward. “come on, prince of kremnos. we’ve wasted enough time indulging a silly lion.”

he let you pull him along, but his grip remained firm, unwavering. “hm. i suppose. though, next time, i may indulge verax leo myself.”

you raised a brow. “oh?”

his golden eyes glimmered. “yes. i’d like to hear what else the city whispers—so i know exactly what to silence.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “unbelievable.”

but as the two of you walked away, hand in hand, the city’s whispers no longer mattered. after all, there was no need for speculation when the truth was already clear—mydei had already won the prize they all longed for. and he had no intention of ever letting go.

phainon₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

phainon was a man that took pride in his relationship with you, always taking the initiative to show you off. he knew you were gorgeous, and was extremely lucky to have you before anyone else.

he'd often hear praise of your name throughout okhema, be it the older lady that worked the market or a young kid.

but there was an extent to how much he could take, especially when it became borderline crazy.

phainon, call him petty, often discarded the various love letters that were made for you. he would read through them and laugh at their contents. these men knew nothing about you, and it almost made him feel bad.

almost.

there was no room in his heart for men that overstepped many boundaries; and the letter in his hand was a prime example of this.

'Dear [Name],

you have caught my attention, which is an honor not many can achieve. I see the way you interact with the people of the Holy City, but I cannot help but be curious; when will it be my turn? To see your beautiful eyes gaze at me? Must I do something extravagant? I watch you, the way your eyes light up when the infamous Chrysos Heir greets you. Tell me, is it that simple? There's no way you're impressed by his-'

phainon stopped reading the letter there, irritation already seeping deep into his veins. not only was the letter addressed to his quarters, but now he had the nerve to diss him?

phainon was so lost in thought, he didn't notice you enter the bedroom.

you tilted your head, watching him with mild curiosity. it wasn’t often that he was this distracted, his fingers curled tightly around a piece of parchment, blue eyes narrowed in what could only be irritation.

"what's wrong?" you asked, stepping closer.

phainon blinked, finally registering your presence. his expression smoothed almost instantly, slipping into something more composed—too composed.

"nothing of importance," he said, rolling the letter between his fingers before tossing it onto the desk. "just another fool with more confidence than sense."

your gaze flickered to the discarded parchment. "another love letter?"

he exhaled, crossing his arms. "unfortunately."

curious, you reached for the letter. phainon's hand twitched as if debating whether to snatch it away, but he let you take it. as you scanned its contents, amusement tugged at your lips—until you got further down.

"just a creep," you muttered, throwing the letter somewhere of no importance.

"perhaps i should respond," he mused. "it would be a shame if our dear admirer thought their words went unread."

"phainon."

"oh, come now, you should know me well enough by now." his grin was all mischief and indulgence. "i wouldn't be cruel. i'd simply... clarify a few things."

"by 'clarify,' you mean gloat."

"semantics."

you sighed again, running a hand down your face. "you're crazy."

"and yet," he echoed, mirth dancing in his voice, "people still test me."

he leaned in then, voice a quiet hum against your ear. "but if you truly wish for me to ignore them, all you have to do is say so. you know i'm weak for your word."

"i'm well aware," you giggled softly which made his cheeks warm in delight.

"though i do wonder, would a ring around your finger put an end to this cruelty?" he put a hand over his heart in faux pain. though he was teasing, you couldn't help but notice the truth in his words.

"only one way to find out."

anaxa₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you were perfect, it was a fact any being with senses knew. more importantly, you were his perfect assistant. always there to assist him when he was busy with a student or to find his favorite pen.

it was these little things that mattered most to him, and he made sure your help never went unrecognized.

you watched anaxa busy himself helping his students with their research, the stack of thesis' on his desk going unlooked at.

"anaxa," your voice sweetly cut through the academic chatter of the classroom.

“i assume you’re here to remind me of some terribly dull obligation? my neglected paperwork, perhaps?”

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “i was going to suggest taking a break, but clearly, your self-awareness is intact.”

his smirk deepened as he placed his hands on his hips. “why, of course. i am nothing if not entirely conscious of my own habits—though I do wonder how I managed before you.”

“poorly,” you deadpanned. “misplaced notes, forgotten meals, and a truly tragic reliance on last-minute efforts.”

he hummed in response, glancing at his student who wouldn't stop looking at you.

"i can help your students, you should use this time to look at the tablets and papers on your desk."

anaxa tilted his head, regarding you with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something more inscrutable. “how generous of you,” he murmured, fingers idly tapping against the untouched stack of work. “but tell me, dear, are you implying that my guidance is somehow… lacking?”

his tone was smooth, laced with that ever-present air of self-assuredness, but you knew him well enough to catch the teasing edge beneath it.

you merely raised a brow. “i’m implying that your penchant for procrastination is as legendary as your intellect. i don't wish to wake from slumber to you scribbling and muttering to yourself. ”

he exhaled a dramatic sigh, finally deigning to glance at the tablets and papers before him. “so cruel, yet so efficient,” he mused. “very well, if only to spare you the tragedy of watching me scramble at the last moment.”

anaxa retreated to his paperwork, leaving you with the student he was previously helping. you glanced down at his report, seeing unique sketches of chimeras.

"oh!" you exclaimed in excitement, leaning over the scholar's shoulder. "chimeras, i know a decent amount about them. i used to frequent the garden of life," before meeting anaxa, you wanted to add on, knowing he hated whenever you mentioned okhema.

the student perked up at your enthusiasm, eyes wide with curiosity. “you’ve been to the garden of life?” he asked, glancing between you and his sketches. “i’ve only read about it in records. is it true that some of the creatures there can work for hours?”

you nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “some can, yes. their adaptability is remarkable, and they are super friendly!”

watching the student scribble things down, you continued. "even though they have a small and cute appearance, chimeras are very intelligent, understanding human speech despite not speaking it themselves."

anaxa smiled gently as he overheard your conversation, finding comfort in your voice. until he overheard another, more annoying conversation.

"[name] really is smart, no wonder professor keeps her to himself."

"yeah, it's a shame, if i had someone like [name]-"

anaxa stood up abruptly from his desk, the chair making a loud screech against the floor.

the sudden noise startled both you and the student, cutting your conversation short. you turned to see anaxa standing with an air of composed irritation, his pretty eyes sharp as they swept over the room.

“fascinating,” he drawled, his voice carrying just enough bite to make the offending students stiffen. “i wasn’t aware my assistant’s intelligence was up for public discussion—nor that any of you had the credentials to make such evaluations.”

a tense silence fell over the room. the scholars in question looked away, suddenly engrossed in their own work.

anaxa hummed, satisfied, before adjusting his cuffs with deliberate elegance. “i’d suggest you redirect your academic curiosity to something more productive. unless, of course, you believe gossip will earn you a place in my lectures?”

you sighed, rubbing your temples. this wasn’t the first time anaxa had taken offense on your behalf, though his methods were as dramatic as ever.

“professor,” you said, voice edged with both exasperation and amusement, “i believe your paperwork still requires your attention."

he hummed, completely ignoring you.

as he returned to his desk, you exhaled, shaking your head before refocusing on the student’s report.

still, you could feel anaxa’s gaze lingering—not on his paperwork or the students, but on you.

“professor,” you murmured without looking up, “if you’re going to stare at me all afternoon, at least pretend to be grading.”

[wonsiwon]

a crown between us. y.jw

synopsis: in the halls of the palace, where secrets are dressed in silk and love is the greatest betrayal, a maid finds herself caught in a dangerous entanglement with the crown prince, jungwon. though bound by duty and royalty, their stolen glances and whispered promises bloom into something neither can escape. but when the queen announces his arranged marriage, everything shatters.

pairing: prince! heir to future throne! jungwon x maid! reader

genre: historical royal romance, angst, forbidden love, smut

content warning: forbidden love, royalty vs. heart, emotional betrayal, class divide, political manipulation, dramatic confrontations, sacrifice, smut.

a/n: hii, i was finally able to upload this small project on which i have been working for several weeks (maybe months). i often run out of ideas or have a mental block to continue writing, so it usually takes me a few days for that inspiration to come back with more ideas. i want to clarify that I tried as much as I could and tried as much as possible that the dialogues had that style of royalty, noble, old-fashioned or dramatic. i hope you enjoy this it really took me long time and I hope you at least like it a little.

i. the garden kiss

your plans that night were simple. finish polishing the candelabras in the east wing, drop off the basket of white linens in the laundry, and finally retreat to your quarters to rest. nothing unusual. nothing that hinted you’d end up with the prince’s lips pressed against yours, hidden behind a bush covered in blooming hydrangeas.

but here you are.

your heart racing, his highness’s fingers barely resting on your waist like even the slightest touch might shatter you. his breath is warm, scented faintly with jasmine tea and unsaid promises, and his eyes… those eyes that never stop looking at you like you’re the most treasured secret in the kingdom.

“milady…” he whispers, pulling back just slightly, his fingers still on your cheek. “do you know how long i’ve longed for this?”

you can hardly answer. because even though it’s been weeks of sneaking off to see him, you’re still not used to how it feels to be kissed by a prince, the prince jungwon, who looks at you like you’re anything but just a servant.

your dress hem is dusty with soil, your hands still a little rough from the day’s work, and your hair is poorly tied with a frayed ribbon. but he never seems to care. he never has.

“my lord… if we’re caught…”

his brow furrowed. just a little. that gesture he made whenever something bothered him, even though he tried not to show it.

“milady…” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i don’t care if we get caught. i couldn’t find you all morning. where were you?”

your hands tremble slightly at how close he is, how being with him like this feels both terrifying and perfect.

“i was… working.” you whisper, eyes falling to the flowers near your feet. it’s hard to look at him when he speaks with that kind of gentleness. “as i’m supposed to.”

he lets out a soft sigh, low and quiet. then his hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin with such delicate care that your breath hitches in your throat. his touch is gentle, too gentle for someone of his status. a prince shouldn’t touch a servant like that.

“working?” he repeats, raising a brow. “don’t you know that seeing you is far more important than any royal duty?”

he makes a dramatic little face, pretending to be offended, but his eyes sparkle with softness. his thumb gently brushes your cheek, and that stupidly charming smile of his doesn’t budge.

“i was about to launch a kingdom-wide search. or worse… interrogate every guard in the castle. do you know how bad that would look in the official records?”

you giggle softly, shaking your head, heat blooming on your cheeks.

“you missed me that much?”

“that much?” he echoes, smirking. “i almost wrote you a tragic letter and slipped it under your pillow. in golden ink, of course. signed: his royal highness, the hopelessly desperate prince.”

you cover your face with both hands, laughing while he leans closer, clearly proud of himself.

“what was the letter going to say?” you ask peeking your eyes through your fingers.

“something like… ‘my heart beats only for you, my radiant flower from the northern wing of the castle.’” he says, lowering his voice with mock seriousness, pressing his forehead against yours. “though… i still have time to write it. maybe it’ll convince you to sneak off with me more often.”

you bite your lip, heart fluttering like crazy. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re enchanting, milady.” he says without missing a beat, whispering so close you can almost feel the smile on his lips. “now give me five more minutes before duty drags you away again, will you?

“actually… “you murmur, glancing toward the dark path. “i’m done for the day. i was on my way to my quarters.”

“to sleep?” he asks, with a look of mild betrayal, like you just insulted him.

you nod, a bit amused, and he immediately steps ahead, subtly blocking your way like it’s a royal obligation.

“milady, i’m afraid i cannot allow that.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow, trying not to laugh.

“i spent the whole morning without seeing you.” he says, bowing dramatically like he’s putting on a show. “and now you want to simply… go to sleep? without letting me steal at least a few smiles?”

“jungwon…”

“yes, milady?” he responds with that face. that impossibly sweet, infuriatingly charming face.

he takes your hand and gently lifts it to his lips without breaking eye contact. his mouth brushes over your knuckles in the softest kiss imaginable, warm and lingering.

“just five minutes.” he whispers. “i’ll let you go after. though… i can’t promise i won’t steal one more kiss first.”

“just one…” you say, lifting a finger.

“one very long one.” he corrects with a mischievous grin, and before you can protest, he’s already pulling you in, his nose brushing yours, his voice soft enough to make your knees go weak. “i can’t help it, milady. there’s something about you that makes me want to break every rule in the kingdom.”

you fall silent, heart thudding faster than any royal horse could gallop. he leans in a little closer, and just when you think he’s about to kiss you, he murmurs.

“besides… i can’t let you go to sleep without wishing you sweet dreams”

“you’re going to wish me sweet dreams with your lips?” you ask, trying not to giggle. you bite your lip, and of course he notices, he always does. his eyes drop to your mouth, and he smiles again.

“of course.”

and then he does. it’s a soft kiss, sweet, so tender it feels like it was stolen out of a fairytale. and in that moment, you forget the castle walls, the titles, the fact that he’s the crown prince and you’re just a servant.

because right there, between bushes and whispers, he’s just jungwon. your jungwon.

after your encounter with the prince you made your way to the shared servants quarters, tucked away in the quieter wing of the castle. far from the golden halls and polished staircases that royalty walked. your room was small, simple, and lit by a few flickering candles. stone walls surrounded you, cold and silent, but the soft glow and warmth of your friendship with gisselle made it feel almost safe.

the candles were still lit, though dim, their wax spilling over the edges of their holders, pooling like forgotten time. the room was quiet, save for the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath your bare feet. your nightgown brushed against your ankles as you opened the door slowly, breath still uneven.

as soon as you stepped inside, gisselle sat up in her bed, eyes wide.

“finally!” she whispered sharply, sheets rustling as she motioned for you to come closer. “i was about to sneak out and find you. where on earth have you been?”

you closed the door gently and padded across the floor, not to your bed, but to hers. you dropped to your knees beside it, heart thumping, face flushed.

“i saw him, gisselle.” you whispered, breathless.

she clutched your arm immediately, her eyes even wider now.

“was it him? the prince?” she nearly gasped, then caught herself and slapped a hand over her mouth. “good god, what if someone had seen you?”

“no one did. i ran into him on my way back to the quarters. he came to see me.”

“oh my—” gisselle fell back onto her pillow, clutching it to her chest. “tell me, was it tender? did he call you milady?”

your heart skipped at the memory, his voice so gentle, like you were something delicate in his hands.

“yes..” you whispered, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “he called me milady. and… it was like a dream, gisselle. i don’t know how to explain it. everything just felt… perfect.”

her eyes sparkled with excitement. she leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper, like she feared the walls might lean in too.

“i can’t believe it. you’re really living a fairytale.” she grinned. “did he… did he kiss you? like..” she paused, eyes flicking around the room. “like a prince would?”

you swallowed hard. the memory was still fresh, still warm. your fingers brushed your lips without thinking.

“he did.” you whispered, shy. “it was soft. gentle. like he thought i might break if he wasn’t careful.” a laugh slipped out, light and breathless. “i never thought i’d feel like that… with him.”

gisselle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth again like she physically couldn’t contain her joy.

“oh my stars..” she breathed. “you’re not just some servant anymore, are you? you’re the prince’s secret. this is madness. pure, beautiful madness.”

you chuckled, glancing toward the soft candlelight flickering on the nightstand. shadows danced across the stone walls, quiet and warm.

“he’s royal, gisselle.” you murmured, your smile faltering. “if anyone finds out… it could mean trouble. for both of us. for everything.”

gisselle’s expression softened. she reached out and took your hand in both of hers, her touch grounding.

“i know.” she said gently. “but it’s his choice, isn’t it? if he wants to be with you… then who’s to say no? he sees you for who you really are. not just some servant girl.”

you bit your lip, her words comforting, but the worry still lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind.

“but i am just a servant.” you whispered. “and he’s the prince. his family, his kingdom… they’ll never accept it.”

gisselle squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer.

“forget them, y/n.” she said with quiet conviction. “you’ve got a love story worth telling, and no crown or title can take that from you.”

you sighed, the weight in your chest easing a little. just enough. for a moment, everything felt simpler. you closed your eyes, thinking of him. the way his lips had brushed yours.

“i don’t know what will happen.” you murmured. “but for now… i’ll treasure it. i’ll treasure him.”

gisselle leaned back into her pillow, her eyes warm with affection as she looked at you.

“you’re so hopelessly in love.” she teased, voice soft and fond.

“am i?” you smiled, resting your head against the edge of her bed, gazing up at the flickering candlelight.

she giggled, nudging you gently with her foot under the blankets.

“yes” she said. “and somehow, you’re going to make it all work. i just know it.”

you smiled, squeezing her hand once more. her warmth, her words, made everything feel a little less impossible.

“thank you, gisselle..” you whispered. “for everything.”

she smiled softly, voice like a lullaby.

“always.”

ii. lavender hands

the scent of lavender clung to the air, subtle and clean, as you stood in the linen room, carefully folding pressed sheets into perfect thirds. it was quiet, peacefully, so save for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves that lined the walls. sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting golden beams across the room like soft ribbons of light.

you didn’t hear the door at first. not until the latch clicked gently, then closed again. your head lifted quickly, heart stuttering when your eyes met his.

“your highness—”

“shh.” jungwon grinned, finger to his lips as he stepped inside. “i should scold you for calling me that.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “you shouldn’t be here. if anyone were to see—”

“they won’t.” he said simply, voice soft as he approached you with featherlight steps. “you fold these sheets too quickly. i hardly have time to catch a glimpse of you.”

you sighed, turning away to keep your hands busy. “i have work to do.”

“and i am only here to assist, mylady.” he said, lifting the edge of a sheet beside you, mimicking your folds with little success.

you tried not to laugh, but the way he fumbled the corners and stared at the linen as though it had offended him, it tugged a smile from you.

“you’re hopeless.”

jungwon beamed. “and yet, you are the one who’s hopelessly pretty.”

you turned, sheet half-folded in your arms, eyes narrowing with a blush warming your cheeks. “that’s improper.”

“so is sneaking in here to see you.” he murmured, stepping closer. his voice dropped, lower now, just for you. “and yet, i can’t seem to stop myself.”

his fingers brushed yours as he took the linen from your arms, folding it with surprising care this time. his eyes didn’t leave your face.

“every hour i’m away, i wonder where you are. what you’re doing. if you think of me.”

you looked away, heart racing. “you should be with your court. preparing for—”

“a future that bores me endlessly.” he finished for you. “i’d rather be here. with you. in rooms that smell like lavender. watching you tuck corners.”

you turned back to him, brows furrowed. “jungwon…”

“may i hold your hand?” he asked softly, like it was sacred.

you hesitated. then slowly reached for him, your fingers slipping into his like puzzle pieces long separated.

he let out a breathless smile, as if he’d just been handed the world.

“forgive me.” he said, raising your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “but i find you so terribly lovely.”

you couldn’t speak. not with the way his eyes looked at you, like you were something precious.

“you make it so difficult to stay away.” he whispered, his hands moving from your waist to gently cup your face.

he took his time, studying your face with such intent that it made your heart race. his thumb traced along your cheekbone, and you caught the small, soft gasp that escaped him when his fingers brushed a lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

you laughed under your breath, cheeks still warm where his hand had been. “you’re ridiculous.” you whispered, voice barely louder than the fluttering in your chest.

jungwon grinned, the boyish kind, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your heart stumble. “ridiculously in love with you, perhaps.”

you nudged his shoulder, trying and failing to look stern. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“but it’s true.” he leaned against the shelf beside you, hands tucked behind his back, as if resisting the urge to reach for you again. “besides, you blush every time. it’s very rewarding.”

“you’re impossible.” you muttered, turning to the linen stack again, but you smiled, and he saw it.

you pretended to be busy continuing folding, but he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing yours lightly.

“do you ever think..” he said, voice low. “about sneaking away? just for a day. no titles. no expectations. just you and me and the world outside the gates.”

you tilted your head, the idea painting soft, wild colors in your mind. “what would we even do?”

he brightened. “we’d eat sweet bread from the baker’s cart. get our boots dirty in the fields. maybe i’d pretend not to know how to ride a horse just so you’d help me.”

you snorted. “you’re an excellent rider.”

“then maybe I’ll pretend to get lost. that way you’d have to find me.”

“jungwon—”

“and when you do..” he continued with a playful grin. “i’d thank you with a kiss.”

your hands paused, eyes flicking up to meet his. the air between you filled with something golden and warm.

“i think you just want an excuse to kiss me.” you said softly, smile tugging at your lips,

he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like a secret. “i don’t need one.”

your heart flipped. and maybe it was the sunlight or the lavender or the way he was looking at you like the world had slowed down, but you didn’t stop him this time.

his lips brushed yours in the gentlest of kisses, barely there, like a promise.

when you opened your eyes again, he looked dazed, a little stunned with happiness. “i’ve been wanting to do that since the first time i saw you in this room.” he admitted.

you smiled, shy but radiant. “then you should’ve come to fold linens sooner.”

he laughed, full and bright, the sound echoing off the shelves.

“i’m never missing a laundry day again.” he said solemnly.

you giggled, swatting lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and twirled you in a slow, clumsy circle, right there in the middle of the linen room, amidst half-folded sheets and sunshine.

“what are you doing?” you laughed breathlessly as you stumbled into him.

“practicing for our secret royal ball.” he said with a wink. “it’ll be just the two of us. dress code: aprons and laundry dust.”

you rested your forehead against his, still laughing. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you love it.” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

“i might.” you admitted, so softly he nearly missed it.

he stilled.

“say it again..” he murmured, his voice suddenly shy, like he couldn’t believe he’d heard right.

you looked up at him, eyes round and warm. “i might love you.”

his breath hitched. and then he kissed you again, this time giddy and just a little clumsy, like he couldn’t believe you were really there, saying things like that.

you both dissolved into giggles when your teeth bumped. he kissed you again to make up for it. and again. and again.

“you taste like honey.” he whispered against your lips.

“it’s probably the tea from the kitchens.” you replied, cheeks aching from smiling.

“no.” he said, nose brushing yours once more. “it’s just you.”

and there, in a room filled with nothing but fresh linen and sunbeams, jungwon kissed you like the world had finally gotten something right.

iii.

the room was too quiet.

you could feel it in your fingertips as you poured tea into a cup. your movements steady, but not calm. there was no one else in the chamber. no guards, no attendants. just you… and prince ri ki.

ri ki was the second-youngest of the royal line, born into silk and sharp expectations. where jungwon carried the warmth of spring, ri ki was winter, graceful, exact, and difficult to read. his words always seemed carefully chosen, his presence always perfectly composed. he was the kind of boy who wore velvet like armor and wielded silence like a sword.

he sat at the far end of the long table, posture flawless, gaze unreadable. his gloves rested beside his untouched plate, fingers steepled beneath his chin as if the entire room was waiting for his permission to breathe.

you bowed politely. “will there be anything else, your highness?”

“sit.” he said.

you blinked.

“…pardon?”

he nodded to the chair beside him, not unkindly. “i asked you to sit. not as a command, but a courtesy.”

after a heartbeat of hesitation, you obeyed, lowering yourself slowly into the seat. your hands folded in your lap, your breath held.

the silence stretched.

ri ki turned his head, studying you, not cruelly, not unkindly. just… watching.

“you’ve been spending time with my brother.” he said at last.

your pulse stuttered.

you answered carefully. “he sometimes visits the servants’ quarters. he’s friendly.”

ri ki tilted his head just slightly. “you think i’m such a fool?”

you stayed quiet.

“i’ve seen the way he looks at you..” ri ki continued, voice like polished stone. “i’ve also seen the way you look at him.”

your throat tightened. “i never meant—”

he cut you off raising a hand, not accusing, just tired.

“for it to become something real?” he finished, arching a brow. “it already has. and that’s the danger.”

he leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “i’ve lived in this palace long enough to know the rules, even the unspoken ones. who’s allowed to look at whom. who’s allowed to want. and who’s not.”

you stared at your hands in your lap, fingers curled too tightly.

he sighed. not cold. not even annoyed. just… older than he looked. like someone who had been watching too long from behind a wall of gold.

“i’m not here to threaten you..” he said finally. “i came because jungwon trusts me. and i trust him. but love, especially his, is no small thing.”

you lifted your head.

“he’s always been brave.” ri ki went on. “but lately, i see something more in him. something… reckless. like he’s standing too close to a fire and smiling anyway.”

you breathed. “and you think that’s me?”

“no.” ri ki looked at you calmly. “i think it’s both of you.”

you swallowed, hard. “so what are you going to do?”

“nothing.” he stood, slipping his gloves back on one finger at a time. “at least… not yet.”

you rose with him. “why?”

he paused, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “because for once, it doesn’t look like a scandal. or a game. it looks like something real. and if it is… you’ll need more than each other to survive it.”

he met your eyes one last time.

“you’ll need to be strong. careful. and above all… silent.” ri ki nodded once. “take care.”

you stood as well, heart still pounding. “your majesty, you’re not going to tell anyone?”

he turned for the door, then paused. “like i said, im not going to do nothing. but be careful.” he said over his shoulder. “not everyone in this palace will be as kind as i am.”

and then he was gone.

you stood there in the quiet, hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the truth that had just been laid bare.

because now, you knew someone else had seen the flame.

iv. mylady

the ballroom was packed.

music swelled from the golden chamber like waves crashing against your skull, strings, trumpets, voices, clinking glasses, laughter that didn’t sound happy, not really.

you didn’t belong there. you were just passing through the corridor when you saw him bolt.

jungwon.

a blur of dark blue royal suit, hair combed back too perfectly, expression unreadable as he walked fast, then faster, then ran. no one stopped him. they were too busy bowing.

you didn’t think. you followed.

and now you were here. in the stables. the royal stables, to be exact. where the scent of hay and saddle leather replaced perfume and wine, and moonlight poured in through high wooden slats.

jungwon was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, crown gone, his white undershirt wrinkled beneath layers of discarded uniform.

his knees were drawn up. his elbows rested on them.

he looked…small.

like a boy.

not a prince.

not someone with the weight of the entire court on his back.

“you’re not supposed to be here.” he said softly, not even looking up.

“you’re not either.” you whispered.

he looked up then. his eyes were red. not crying, but close. his jaw tightened when your gaze met his.

“did they send you?”

you sat beside him slowly. your skirts rustled. “no. i just saw you leave.”

he didn’t answer right away.

you watched his hands. they were shaking. he kept flexing his fingers like he couldn’t get the feeling back into them.

you swallowed. “what happened?”

jungwon let out a humorless laugh. “what han’t happened?”

he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the beams above, silent for a moment.

“my uncle’s drunk..” he started. “my mother’s furious because i didn’t want to dance with the viscount’s daughter. the duke from glenmare asked me what my plan was for international strategy, and i—I’m eighteen.”

you glanced over. he looked so tired.

“i just wanted to breathe..” he muttered. “but then they said i needed to smile more. and shake hands. and bow. and act like i give a damn about any of it.” he turned his head to you suddenly. “and i couldn’t even find you.”

your throat tightened. “me?”

“you always find me when i need air..” he whispered. “but you weren’t there. i couldn’t see you anywhere in that room.”

you were frozen. you never realized he looked for you like that. you thought you were invisible most of the time.

“i was in the west wing..” you said softly. “cleaning.”

he nodded slowly. “of course.” he sighed and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.

silence again.

but not uncomfortable. just…settled. after a moment, you reached over and touched his hand. he tensed. then relaxed. your fingers stayed there and jungwon stared at them for a second, then intertwined his with yours without looking at you.

his hands were warm now.

“sometimes i wish i wasn’t the prince..” he said quietly. “sometimes i just want to be jungwon.”

you didn’t say anything. instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder. his breath caught. he looked down, stunned at first, but then his whole body seemed to settle. like your touch reset something inside him.

“you feel like peace..” he whispered.

you shut your eyes. he was still holding your hand. your pinky was twitching because of how close he was. you were just a maid. you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to comfort him like this.

but you were. and he was letting you.

“do you ever think about leaving?” he asked. “just…running off? starting over somewhere they don’t know your name?”

you nodded. “all the time.”

jungwon turned to look at you, really look this time. his lashes were long in the moonlight. his eyes soft.

“would you go with me?” he asked.

you blinked. your chest tightened. “what?”

“if i asked..” he said. “would you come with me?”

you wanted to say yes. god, you wanted to scream it.

but instead, you whispered. “is that what you really want?”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped to your lips. his face was close, so close you could count every texture of his skin.

“no.” he said finally. “what i really want is to kiss you. right now.”

your breath caught.

“but i won’t.” he added. “not unless you want it too.”

your fingers squeezed his, you looked up at him and you nodded. that was all it took.

jungwon didn’t hesitate. his hand came up to your face, gently cupping your cheek like he was scared you’d vanish if he touched you too roughly. his lips found yours, warm, slow at first.

then he kissed you again. and again, deeper this time.

you moved closer without thinking, climbing into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs, skirts bunched around you. his hands settled on your waist, gripping like he needed something to hold onto.

he pulled back just barely, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. “tell me if this is too much..” he whispered.

“it’s not..” you said, voice shaky but sure.

his mouth found yours again, more desperate this time. you felt his fingers slide up your back, warm under the fabric of your dress, holding you tighter. your own hands moved up into his hair, finally messy, the way you liked it, the way no one else was allowed to see.

he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. like he didn’t care about the kingdom or the rules or the titles.

just you. just this.

when his lips left yours, they found your jaw, then your neck, slow, hot kisses that made your breath hitch. you felt dizzy. not from fear, not from nerves. from how real it all felt.

his hands roamed, careful but curious, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the bare skin where your dress had slipped just slightly off one shoulder. you gasped quietly when he kissed there, slow and lingering.

you rolled your hips slightly, testing the tension between you. he groaned, quiet, breathy, right against your collarbone, and you felt it, the proof of his want pressing up into you through layers that suddenly felt like too much.

“milady..” he muttered, voice low and rough. “are you.. sure about this?”

you nodded, hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

jungwon let out a short breath that could’ve been a laugh, but he was too busy dragging his mouth down your throat, kissing a slow path over your skin. your fingers finally got the last button undone, revealing more of his chest, pale, warm, already flushed. he looked up at you as your hands explored him, watching your face like every move you made was the answer to something he’d been aching to know.

“are you quite certain?” he asked again, one hand slipping up your thigh, pushing your skirts higher. l.

you nodded, breath catching where your fingers brushed his chest. “yes… are you?”

a flicker of colour bloomed on his cheeks. “i’ve never… not once. not with anyone.”

your eyes met his, wide and surprised. “nor have i.”

for a moment, neither of you moved.

the stillness between you felt reverent, sacred. not rushed, not impulsive, just two souls baring themselves.

jungwon exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing your cheek. “then we take our time..” he murmured. “we learn… together.”

your lips curved into the smallest smile. “alright.”

his kiss came slowly, deliberately, with every ounce of care he could give. his lips ghosted over yours as though you were something fragile, something royal in your own right. your hands slipped into his hair, anchoring yourself to him as the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

you helped him undo his pants, fumbling a little with the fabric, both of you shaky and flushed. by then he was free, hard and flushed and already throbbing against your thigh. your underwear came off too, discarded somewhere behind you, forgotten in the soft hay.

“i’ve no notion what i’m doing, mylady.” he admitted softly, flushed and breathless.

“nor i…” you whispered back, a nervous laugh escaping. “but i trust you.”

“may i…?” he asked, voice catching.

you nodded. “slowly.”

and he did. you took him in carefully, inch by inch, both of you holding your breath. it stretched and burned a little, but it wasn’t bad.

his fingers gripped your hips as though anchoring himself. “you’re alright?”

“yes.” you breathed. “just… give me a moment.”

“say the word, and i’ll stop.” he whispered.

but instead, you kissed him.

your bodies moved in soft rhythm, unsure but willing, each motion a question answered with breath and touch. his head rested against your shoulder, his voice a quiet sound of wonder each time you rocked into him.

there was no bed. no privacy. just the hay, the moonlight, and the way he held you like this moment might break him.

“sweet mercy...” he groaned, head tipping back against the stable wall.

you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you could do was move, slow at first, easing yourself into the stretch, the fullness. his hands gripped your hips, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“mylady, look at me.” he whispered.

and when you did his eyes burned into yours.

“jungwon..”

you moved together, slow, grinding, chasing the edge like it was the only thing that mattered. each roll of your hips dragged a whimper from your throat and a quiet curse from his. he kissed you through it, messy, desperate, open-mouthed kisses as your bodies met again and again.

you felt him throb inside you, knew he was close.

“mylady..” he begged.

you came together quietly, holding each other close, his breath mixing with yours. and a moment later, you followed, falling apart against him, your face buried in his shoulder.

neither of you moved for a long time. you both stayed there, tangled in silence.

his breathing was still uneven, lips slightly parted as he buried his face in your hair. one of his hands lay over your back, fingers twitching gently.

your heart thudded slow but steady, matching his. it felt like the world had paused around you. no court. no crown. just sweat-slick skin, shallow breaths, and the press of two people who shouldn’t have had this, but did.

you exhaled first. and then, softly, barely audible, you speak. “ri ki knows about us.”

jungwon didn’t move. he blinked once. then again.

slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were puffy but his brows drew together with concern.

“…what?” he whispered.

you swallowed. “your brother knows about this.”

jungwon was quiet. his expression didn’t twist into panic, he just leaned his head back against the wooden beam behind him, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling.

“don’t worry about him.” he murmured. “he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

you nodded slowly, fingers still resting lightly on his chest. “i know. but he’s also loyal. to the crown.”

jungwon looked back at you. there was something unreadable in his eyes now. something sharp beneath the softness. “he’s loyal to me.”

you held his gaze. “are you sure that’s enough?”

he didn’t answer right away. outside, a horse shuffled in its stall. the night breeze creeping through the cracks in the stable walls.

jungwon reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers.

“i’ll protect us..” he said quietly. “i swear it.”

and you believed him.

v.

the morning sun had barely crested the hills when jungwon stepped onto the practice grounds.

his boots sank slightly into the soft earth, dew still clinging to the grass. his tunic stuck to his back with sweat, already, though it was barely past dawn and the guards who usually assisted him were dismissed.

jungwon exhaled through gritted teeth, blade locked against ri ki’s. both brothers stood at the center of the courtyard, boots planted firm on cobblestone slick with dew.

“you’ve gone soft.” ri ki muttered, pushing back with a smirk.

jungwon twisted his wrist, parried, and stepped aside. “i’ve not.” he grunted. “you’re just insufferable this early.”

“speak for yourself, your highness.”

their swords clashed again, fast now, the rhythm sharp, prince to prince, brother to brother.

jungwon’s movements were aggressive. sharp turns. no hesitation. each strike carried more than just training, it carried frustration.

“you’re distracted.” ri ki said after another parry. “again.”

“and you’re irritating.” jungwon bit, swinging low. ri ki dodged, barely.

“not the first to say so.” they paused, swords crossed, faces close. ri ki studied him. “it’s her, isn’t it?”

jungwon’s jaw tightened. “say it again and i’ll knock your teeth out.”

ri ki lowered his sword.

“you truly believe you’ll keep her hidden forever?” he asked, more serious now. “you’ve always been daft when it comes to consequence, but this, this is foolish beyond reason.”

jungwon stepped back, sword still in hand.

“you think i do not know that?” he snapped. “you think i do not wake with dread in my gut each morn, wondering if mother’s already caught wind?”

“then why continue?”

jungwon looked away, silent for a moment. “because she’s the only thing that feels… honest.”

riki scoffed lightly. “how poetic. write her a sonnet then, not an obituary.”

jungwon turned to him sharply.

ri ki’s tone darkened. “she could die.” he said bluntly. “you know what mother is. you know what she’s done. you’ve seen it.”

a silence felt and jungwon’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. he was breathing hard, but not from the drills.

he stared down at the sword.

ri ki continued, his tone cold. “if word of this reaches her, if she senses even a breath of rebellion, she will not speak of it. she will act.”

jungwon’s jaw clenched. “she would not dare harm her.”

ri ki’s gaze did not waver. “she would. and has. you are heir, jungwon. you were not raised to love. you were bred to rule.”

he felt it then. the doubt.

for the first time.

like rot in his lungs.

he’d always believed he could protect you. that if he loved hard enough, held you tight enough, it would be enough.

but what if it wasn’t?

what if he was dragging you into a fire, blindfolded and barefoot?

what if loving you was a death sentence?

ri ki sighed. “mother wants you ready for tomorrow’s.”

jungwon turned his head. “what is it now?”

“you leave by carriage this afternoon. the royal instructors have been summoned. they are to accompany you by carriage through the northern route.”

jungwon looked up sharply. “i was not told.”

“you’re to meet the princess. she’ll be seated beside you during supper.” ri ki said flatly.

jungwon’s heart sank.

“it begins.” ri ki added. “whether you like it or not.”

he gave jungwon a long look before he left.

vi.

the hour was far past decent.

moonlight stretched pale across the marble floors, and the long hall you crossed seemed to echo with silence. torches flickered low in their sconces, their flames casting golden shadows that danced across your path.

your skirts whispered with each step, arms tired from scrubbing, apron dusted with ash from the hearth. your hands were smudged faintly with soot, apron crumpled, hair tucked back loosely.

you moved quietly through the corridor, long and dimly lit, you just wanted to reach your chambers. you rubbed your arms absently, your shoulders aching. only a few more steps until a hand caught your waist.

you startled, breath caught in your throat, but before you could speak, a second hand came around, pressing gently over your mouth.

your back was against the wall in an instant.

warm breath touched your ear.

“hush.” the voice was low, familiar. your eyes widened as jungwon stepped into view.

his tunic was open slightly at the throat, the royal crest gleaming faint beneath the fabric. his hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running fingers through it all evening. he said nothing at first. just looked at you.

you blinked at him. “you scared me.”

“forgive me.” he murmured, brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “i did not intend to, i only… gods, i could not wait.”

your back pressed further into the stone as he closed the distance, eyes still searching his.

he looked tired.

“i’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

you straightened. “leaving?”

he nodded once. “just for a few days.” he reassured, his voice quiet in the empty corridor. his fingers curled gently at your waist. “nothing dangerous. just business. royal duties.”

you looked up at him, trying to read past the calm in his tone.

he was dressed simpler than usual, his dark tunic a bit wrinkled from rushing, the crest at his collar half-buttoned, and his hair messier than you’d ever seen it. like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times.

“will you miss me?” he asked, his head tilting slightly.

you shrugged, arms crossed loosely. “a little.”

he huffed a laugh. “liar.”

his arms came around you then, slow, deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it. like he needed to be sure.

but you didn’t move away.

you let him hold you.

his arms slipped further around you then, drawing you in. slower this time, gentler. his head dropped to your shoulder, warm breath brushing your skin.

you didn’t move away.

his hold tightened a little, just enough to pull you closer. he didn’t speak right away, just stayed like that, forehead against your neck, fingers curling at your lower back.

“you’re tense.” you said quietly, hand brushing through his hair.

he hummed low in response, then leaned back just slightly to look at you. his eyes searched your face, soft, a bit heavy-lidded.

“am i?” he said with a small smirk.

you raised an eyebrow. “you look like you haven’t slept.”

“maybe i haven’t.”

his gaze flicked to your lips.

you felt your breath catch, just barely, and when he leaned in, reflexively you turned your face, shy, cheeks warming before you could stop it. not out of rejection, but out of memory. of that night. of how close you had been. how bare.

he noticed.

“ah..” he said under his breath, a small, knowing sound.

his hand simply moved to the back of your neck, thumb gently rubbing along your skin as his forehead came to rest against yours.

“you’re shy now?” he whispered, teasing.

you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, eyes refusing to meet his.

jungwon hummed, gaze dropping to your lips, and he leaned closer. murmuring near your ear. “you weren’t shy last time. you—”

“don’t say it.”

“you begged, dove.”

“jungwon!”

he burst into quiet laughter, pulling you in with both arms now, clearly too entertained.

“you’re never seeing me off again.” you grumbled into his shoulder.

he smiled against your hair.

“too late. i’m already leaving with a memory i’ll take to my grave.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him, only for him to steal that kiss after all, quick and soft, catching you off guard.

your breath caught and he smiled smugly.

“miss me properly, yeah?”

vii. just for a minute.

the days moved on like they always did.

your mornings began early, before the bells rang. you helped prep the main halls, swept ash from the fireplaces, and kept the west wing windows polished so the steward wouldn’t complain.

gisselle was the one who kept you sane.

she cornered you in the linen room two days after his departure, arms full of folded sheets and suspicion in her eyes.

“you’re quieter.” she said bluntly, dropping the stack on the shelf.

you blinked. “i’m tired.”

“tired, huh?” she echoed, clearly unimpressed. “you’re always tired. this is different.”

you didn’t answer, and she didn’t press. just gave you a look and passed you a basket of fresh towels.

“well, whatever’s keeping you up, tell it to let you sleep. you look like a sad candle.”

“a sad candle?”

“yes. all dim and droopy. it’s tragic.”

you huffed a laugh despite yourself.

afternoons were filled with errands, refilling water jugs, delivering notes between staff, helping the kitchen girls carry bread loaves up to the great hall.

nights were quiet.

gisselle snuck you extra biscuits from the kitchen. you returned her hairpins when she left them scattered across the vanity table. and sometimes you’d crawl into her bed with a sigh and ask if they feed him properly out there. gisselle could only said that he was a prince. he’ll survive.

one week passed. then another.

you did your duties. you kept your head down. you kept that folded parchment beneath your pillow. untouched.

no letters came. but you kept waking before the sun. just in case.

you found yourself, as always, in the same places. tidying the east wing, sweeping the hallways, delivering messages to the royal chambers. and yet, you carried on.

then, one evening as you were passing by the library, before you could even turn, hands were at your waist, lifting you from your thoughts and pulling you.

you barely had time to process it.

“what—jungwon?” you managed, though his name came out more like a question, a gasp, and you couldn’t quite place the confusion or the shock, both because you hadn’t expected him to be back and because, honestly, you hadn’t heard a thing.

he didn’t immediately speak, though his presence alone was enough to unsettle you. you finally turned your head to face him, your eyes searching his.

“when did you return?” you whispered, a bit breathless from the unexpected turn of events.

jungwon’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in them. the usual spark was gone, replaced with something deeper, unease, maybe?

“this morning.” he said, his voice quieter than usual. he took a small step back, but his hands never left your waist.

you frowned, noticing the way his brows were furrowed, the tension in his jaw. he was acting different, too still, too careful with every movement.

“you seem…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “what’s wrong?”

he gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “nothing’s wrong.”

but it didn’t sound convincing.

you tilted your head slightly, studying him, feeling the quiet pull between you as he remained unusually distant.

you watched him carefully, he couldn’t keep his gaze on you. instead, his eyes flicked around, scanning the corridor.

finally, after a few moments of silence, he met your eyes again, this time with a softer look.

“i missed you.” he said simply, already pulling you by the hand, into the familiar hush of the library.

it was quiet. lit only by candles. he let go of your hand then, and you rubbed your wrist out of habit, though it wasn’t sore. just warm. still tingling.

you turned away first, pretending to examine the nearest shelf. “you know i’m still working.”

“then consider this… an unauthorized break.”

you glanced over your shoulder. “what if someone finds us?”

he raised a brow. “then we’ll lie. you were dusting books, and i was brushing up on agriculture.”

“you hate agriculture.”

“exactly. no one would believe it. they’ll leave us alone.”

you snorted, crossing your arms and leaning back against the railing of the spiral staircase. “you’re impossible.”

but your heart was already thudding. you hated the way it did that, loud and reckless, whenever he looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

god how much you’ve missed him.

“you like it here.” he said suddenly.

your eyes flicked to his. “the library?”

he took a step closer, hands tucked behind his back. “you always slow down when you walk past. i’ve noticed.”

“…maybe.” you shrugged, turning back to the shelves. “it’s peaceful.”

jungwon moved slowly then, careful, like he was testing the weight of every step. the candlelight hit the side of his face, softening the sharp lines. making his eyes look warmer than you remembered.

“you looked absolutely beautiful, mylady.”

you shake you head. “i looked completely horrendous.”

his hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your cheek. gentle. slow.

“i mean every word when i speak to you.” he said.

you looked away, but he didn’t let you. his hand was careful, lifting your chin just slightly until your gaze met his again.

your lips parted. the breath caught in your throat. and then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. turned away. his shoulders shifted as he exhaled. he moved to one of the velvet armchairs near the tall window and sat down without another word.

“come here.” he said quietly, patting the armrest beside him.

“jungwon…” you hesitated.

“just for a minute.”

you sighed but walked over anyway, sitting beside him. your knees bumped lightly.

it was quiet again. the kind of quiet that felt private. heavy.

he looked at you, something thoughtful in his expression. something almost… hesitant. but he didn’t say anything. he didn’t say what he came here to say.

instead, his gaze fell on the shelves again. “read something to me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“pick anything. i want to hear your voice.”

you gave him a strange look, but reached for a nearby book anyway. you flipped through the yellowed pages until you found something legible and started reading, something about a royal banquet that had ended with someone’s wig catching fire.

he laughed and you glanced at him, smiling without thinking. you didn’t even notice how close his hand had gotten until your fingers brushed against his.

his fingers were long, soft, a little cold. yours were rougher, calloused from cleaning floors and silverware.

he liked your hands. he noticed they always shook a little when you were around him, and he’d never say it out loud, but it made his chest feel warm in a way that almost scared him.

you didn’t dress like the other girls he saw in the ballroom. no jewels, no silks. you wore a faded apron, scuffed shoes, sleeves rolled to your elbows. but somehow, you looked more beautiful to him than all of them combined.

and tonight, as you stood beside him under the library chandelier, face lit softly in candlelight, he couldn’t stop staring.

“why’re you looking at me like that.” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

“you’ve a smudge on your cheek.” he said, his hand reaching up your cheek to clean it. and when he did you looked away first, flustered.

he always looked at you like that, like you were something he wasn’t supposed to want, but did anyway.

it was confusing. it made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t understand.

jungwon stepped away slowly, pretending to inspect the books. his hair was slightly messy, soft brown strands falling into his eyes. he was always clean-cut, always neat in public. but in these stolen moments, he looked real.

less like a prince.

you stood in place for a moment, heart hammering, unsure of what to do with the space he’d left behind. the room still felt like it belonged to him, even when he wasn’t touching you.

you turned back to the book, pretending to read. you weren’t following the words. you were listening to him move behind you. the quiet creak of the floorboards under his boots. the way he breathed a little slower now.

“i didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” you murmured.

“neither did i.”

you glanced at him over your shoulder. he wasn’t looking at you, just tracing the spine of a dusty volume like it held something important. like if he focused hard enough, it would tell him what to say.

“did something happen?” you asked, voice low.

he paused. only for a second. but you noticed.

“no.” he said simply. “just… plans changed.”

you tilted your head, confused. “you’re usually kept longer when you travel with the council.”

jungwon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but not a real one. more like something tired.

“turns out, not everything goes according to plan.”

you nodded slowly, still watching him. his voice was steady, but something in it felt… off. and he still wasn’t meeting your eyes.

you didn’t ask more. you should’ve. but you didn’t. instead, you took a step toward him.

“well… i’m glad you’re here.” you said and grab his hands with a smile across your face.

and that’s when he looked at you. fully. his eyes soft but guarded, like he was memorizing something.

“don’t say that.” he murmured.

you blinked. “why not?”

he didn’t answer at first. just glanced down at your hands joined like he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

but he didn’t let go.

“you make it harder.” he said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you frowned.

he shook his head. “forget it.”

you opened your mouth to ask again, but then he kissed you. thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“you talk too much, mylady.” he said softly, teasing, even if his voice sounded far away.

“that’s new.” you muttered, trying not to sound breathless.

he smiled faintly. “you’ve always talked too much.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you’re so strange lately.”

“am i?” he murmured, like he wasn’t even listening anymore.

you paused, leaning your forehead lightly against his shoulder. “you sure everything’s alright?”

his hand slid gently down your spine.

“yeah.”

he didn’t look at you when he said it. but his arms stayed around you like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

you didn’t ask again.

and he didn’t say anything else. just held you because maybe he wouldn’t get to again.

viii. the promise that wasn’t for me

the days passed, but jungwon was quieter than usual. he didn’t come around like before, didn’t seek you out like he did in the library that night. you heard his footsteps less often, his voice rarely reached your ears. sometimes, when you passed the great hall or the council chambers, you caught glimpses of him in the distance, always alone, always serious.

you kept yourself busy, going about your chores like always, sweeping floors, polishing silver, and running errands for the steward. it was easier to focus on work when your mind was crowded with questions you didn’t want to ask.

gisselle noticed, of course. she teased you less and watched you more, like she was waiting for you to say something anything about jungwon’s sudden silence.

you wanted to say something. you wanted to ask why he came back only to disappear again, why his eyes looked tired and distant the last time you saw him. but you didn’t have the words. maybe he didn’t either.

sometimes, when the palace was quiet and the sun was low, you found yourself standing near the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. but he never appeared. the empty space beside you where he used to stand felt heavier than any silence.

tho this morning the palace was louder than usual.

you had barely tied your apron when the head maid grabbed your arm and thrust a tray of covered dishes into your hands.

“to the golden parlour. now. her majesty is having a private breakfast with a guest.”

“a guest?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the tray. “shall i prepare tea, or—”

“princess navina of esthrene.” she cut in. “do not speak unless spoken to. and mind your posture.”

you offered a tight nod and made your way down the corridor, trying not to roll your eyes.

another one.

prince jungwon had been “introduced” to more noble daughters than you could count. you’d seen dozens. each one laced in foreign perfumes and draped in their kingdom’s finest silk. each one trying, and failing, to draw a smile from him.

jungwon never smiled at them.

you balanced the tray and made your way to the parlour. your chest felt calm. you had nothing to worry about.

he was yours.

even if no one knew it.

the doors to the golden parlour opened with a soft click, and you stepped inside, careful not to let the tray wobble.

the room was warm with gold accents, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. the queen sat at the head of the gilded table, elegance in every movement. across from her, a young woman, presumably princess navina, adorned in seafoam silks and delicate pearls. her poise was flawless. she looked composed. polished. untouched.

but it was jungwon who made your breath falter.

he sat beside her. straight-backed in his ceremonial robe, the one with black and gold threading reserved for national announcements or courtships.

when he saw you enter, tray in hand, something shifted. his eyes widened just slightly, lips parting as though caught mid-thought. he hadn’t expected you. not here. not now. and definitely not like this.

he looked down, then back up, expression unreadable again, face settling into calm.

but he wasn’t calm.

you bowed low, eyes on the floor. “breakfast is served, your majesties.”

“set it down.” the queen said evenly.

you obeyed, fingers steady, until you reached him. you didn’t look at him. but you felt him. he didn’t speak. didn’t move. but his eyes found yours. not cold, not warm. something in between. something stuck.

then, as if remembering where he was, who he was, he looked away.

you quickly stepped back to your post. hands clasped behind your back with posture perfect.

“well princess navina” the queen began. “we’re grateful your family agreed to the shortened engagement. a summer ceremony will be most fitting.”

your stomach dropped.

“indeed, your majesty.” navina answered softly. “my mother preferred a spring celebration, but i insisted. i would rather stand beside my husband from the beginning of his reign.”

jungwon didn’t say a word.

“the royal tailor arrives tomorrow.” the queen continued. “the wedding colours shall be gold and seafoam. the announcement will go out by week’s end.”

your heart fell to the ground before the silver tray.

because yes, you dropped it and the porcelain dishes shattered on the marble floor.

the entire room went silent.

you dropped to a bow without thinking, heart thudding against your ribs. “f-forgive me, your majesty.“

the queen didn’t answer right away.

you stayed in position, knees pressed to the floor, hands trembling slightly. the sound of the broken cup still echoed in your ears. it was foolish. you knew better. you were trained better.

but you hadn’t expected that.

you hadn’t expected her.

princess navina sat gracefully at the table, one gloved hand resting in her lap, the other holding a silver spoon just above her untouched plate. she didn’t flinch. didn’t look startled or annoyed. only concerned, the type of calm concern taught in finishing schools and royal drawing rooms.

she was beautiful, of course she was.

her dark hair was swept back into an intricate twist, not a strand out of place. her eyes, soft and almond-shaped, were framed with kohl and intelligence. her dress shimmered faintly with seafoam thread, and the pearl comb in her hair caught the light whenever she moved.

she looked like she belonged there.

next to him.

and that made your stomach twist.

you heard the queen shift in her seat. “get it cleaned.” she said sharply. “then leave us.”

you bowed lower. “yes, your majesty.”

you scrambled to gather the broken porcelain, careful not to cut your palms. jungwon didn’t move. not a muscle. but you felt his eyes on you.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t.

as you stood, you caught a glimpse of princess navina watching you. her expression unreadable. curious, maybe. or amused. or nothing at all.

you turned and walked out, heart pounding, cheeks burning, pieces of porcelain rattling on the tray.

you hadn’t cried.

not yet.

but gods, your eyes stung.

you set the tray down in the scullery with shaking hands. no one was there and the silence pressed in around you like a second skin. you stared at the shards, white and delicate, now ruined. like something else you couldn’t name.

you pressed your palms flat to the counter, trying to steady your breath. your reflection in the tarnished silver tray stared back, eyes red-rimmed and wide, lips parted like you might speak if you only had the strength.

you didn’t see jungwon for the rest of the day.

you kept your head down, kept busy, scrubbed the kitchens until your fingers ached. you avoided the golden parlour. you avoided everyone.

even gisselle, who cornered you by the laundry with furrowed brows and folded arms.

“you’re not made of stone.” she said, not unkindly. “you can talk to me, you know.”

but you couldn’t.

that night you lay on your straw mattress, the thin blanket barely keeping the chill away. the quiet was comforting — except for the absence of giselle, who was supposed to be nearby. she had left a few minutes ago saying she needed a bath before bed, wanting to wash away the day’s dirt and tension.

then your door creaked open and you saw him. soaked in rain, his cloak dripping onto your stone floor and hair flat against his forehead. you sat up fast, heart leaping,

your breath caught in your throat. “you can’t be here. someone will—”

“why?” he stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him. “because if anyone finds out i’m marrying someone else, they’ll know i’ve been sneaking into a maid’s room at night for months?”

“you lied to me.”

“i didn’t lie.”

“you didn’t tell me.” you snapped, rising to your feet.

“i was going to tell you.”

“when?” your voice cracked, raw. “when, jungwon?”

“i didn’t think they’d agree to the shortened engagement.” he rushed out. “it was supposed to be discussed, just discussed. i was going to tell you, but not like this—”

“so you were just going to keep lying to me.”

“i wasn’t lying!” he said, louder now. “i wasn’t ready.”

“you weren’t ready.” you echoed bitterly.

“i was trying to protect you.”

you stared at him. “by marrying another woman?”

“i’m not choosing her. you know that. you think i’d stand at an altar with someone else, knowing what we have?” his voice sounded tired. defeated.

“you already are.” you whispered, voice breaking. “you sat beside her today. you let them plan your wedding.”

“and what would you have me do?” his voice rose. “declare my love for a servant before the entire court? bring scandal to your name? put a target on your back?”

“you already have.”

his face crumpled. “y/n…”

you looked away, blinking hard, throat burning. your voice came quieter this time. “you should go.”

“please don’t do this.” he stepped closer but you backed away quickly.

“go.” you whispered and crossed your arms, not to defend yourself, but to keep from shaking.

jungwon stood in the middle of the room like a storm himself, unwelcome, uninvited, and yet impossible to look away from.

he didn’t move.

he pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly, as if trying to wipe the weight of it all away. “i thought i could buy us time. i thought—i thought if i kept things quiet, i could figure it out without hurting you.”

you turned away, gripping the edge of the small wooden table near your bed, trying to steady yourself. “you should go before giselle comes back.”

he stayed where he was.

“jungwon..” you said again, softer now, tired. “please.”

he looked at you like he was memorizing you, the distance between you was breaking something inside him. he opened his mouth, then shut it. and then, finally, he nodded.

“i’ll fix this.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t look back when the door creaked open again. or when it shut behind him.

your knees gave out the second the door shut behind him.

you dropped to the floor, hard, hands hitting the stone as you caught yourself. and then it all crashed in.

you cried.

you cried like it hurt to breathe, like the ache in your chest might never leave. the tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks, dripping onto the floor. sobs tore through you, quiet but wrecking, the kind that left your whole body trembling.

because you loved him.

you pressed your forehead to the floor, eyes squeezed shut, wishing the stone would swallow you whole-wishing you could go back to before, when it was just you and him and a library full of stolen moments.

but those moments were gone.

ix.

the days following were torment. not just for him, but for you too.

the palace didn’t sleep. there were whispers in every hallway, servants sprinting across stone floors with velvet fabrics, golden plates, and endless flowers. everyone preparing for the arrival of the royal guests.

and you?

you kept your head down, hands busy, ears deaf. or at least, you tried. but every time someone said lady navina, it felt like someone dug their fingers into your chest and twisted.

you spoke only when spoken to.

and when you did, you called him, my lord.

the first time it left your lips, the pen slipped from his hand like it had burned him.

now jungwon was looking for you all over the palace.

in the marble corridors, in the garden, in the library where you used to sort the books by color just because he said he liked it like that.

but you were no longer in any of those places.

you had asked to be transferred to the kitchen.

away from the east wing.

away from him.

and still, jungwon kept looking for you.

through the hallways.

through the art gallery.

he even asked about you in the laundry room.

but you ignored him. more firmly each time.

you were never under any illusion, it was never meant to last. you knew he would come. and so he did. three days later, the doors burst open with such force, the very knives upon the table trembled in their place.

the kitchen fell still. not a word, not a breath.

even the head chef, midway through stirring, froze in silence. only the soup dared to continue its boil—blissfully.

“leave. all of you.” jungwon’s voice rang out—clear. commanding. no one moved at first. until he lifted his gaze. “i said leave. now.”

the cook dropped her knife. the helpers rushed to remove their aprons. one by one, they left, confused. you did the same. left the board, turned toward the back door, but his voice reached you before you crossed it.

“not you.”

you halted. and slowly, so slowly, you turned to face him. he came closer, closing the door behind him.

“my lord.” you said, with a curt nod. “if you’ll excuse me—“

“is that it?” he bit out, stepping forward. “are you truly going to keep pretending you don’t know me? that you don’t know what’s between us?”

“i’m not pretending anything, my lord.” the coldness in your voice was worse than any slap.

“don’t call me that. not you, for god’s sake.”

“but that’s what you are now. my lord.”

“no!” he took a step closer, his voice breaking with anger. “not after everything. not after the way you looked at me. not after those nights we spent talking about the world beyond these walls, dreaming of something more than

“that was before your engaged.”

his eyes softened for a second, like your coldness tore him apart. he walked toward you, slower this time, like he was unsure, like every step hurt.

“don’t look at me like that. not you.” he whispered.

“how am i supposed to look at you?” you asked, not with anger, just resignation. “like nothing happened? jungwon, you knew this was going to happen. you chose it.”

“they chose it for me.”

“but you accepted it. and i don’t blame you. you’re the prince. you have a duty.” your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. “i already knew my place. i’m just… a mistake in your story.”

“you were never a mistake!”

“but it seems like one. doesn’t it?”

he breathed heavily. you remained unmoved.

“you don’t understand.” he murmured, turning away and running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand how hard it’s been to pretend i don’t care about you. how i ache every time i see you and can’t touch you. you don’t understand what it’s like to smile at a woman i never chose while thinking about the scent of your lavender-covered hands.”

you didn’t cry. you wouldn’t give him that.

“i love you..”he let out, almost a desperate secret. “don’t you get it? i’d do anything to give you the truth back, to turn back time. tell me you still believe me.”

“believing you isn’t the problem, jungwon.”

you looked him straight in the eyes, finally.

“the problem is that none of this matters anymore. because you have a duty. a kingdom. a crown. and i’m just a stone in the path to all that.”

“you’re not.”

“yes, i am. and you know it.”

jungwon lowered his gaze. he looked tired. his jaw was tight, eyebrows drawn like he’d been clenching them all day. but it was his eyes. red, a little swollen, like he hadn’t slept right in days. they kept flicking from your face to the floor, like he couldn’t decide where to settle.

“i didn’t expect to stay with you. i’m not that naive.” you added. “but i did expect you to be honest with me. after everything… i thought at least that much, you owed me.”

he closed his eyes, like your words were blades.

“i tried..” he murmured. “i tried to find a way out. i thought that if i postponed the announcement, if i delayed the ceremony… i could find you, explain everything myself. but things moved faster than i imagined.”

“it wasn’t your duty to delay it.” you said softly, eyes down. “your duty was to become king. i was just the mistake you made along the way.”

that broke him. you knew it because he stepped back, like he needed space to breathe.

“you weren’t a mistake.” he said again, firm, with a mix of pain and anger. “don’t say that. you were… the only real thing.”

jungwon looked at you as if hoping you’d interrupt him, say something, anything, but you just stayed silent. the kitchen was heavy with tension.

“say something. anything.” he pleaded, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“what do you want me to say?” you finally asked, still not looking at him. “that i understand you? because i do. that i forgive you? i do that too. but none of it changes what you are now.”

“you talk to me like i betrayed you on purpose.”

“i don’t blame you, jungwon.” you repeated calmly, but it was the kind of calm that only hides exhaustion. “i really don’t. i just… didn’t expect to find out while serving bread and tea.

jungwon shut his eyes tightly. “it hurts when you talk to me like this.”

“and you think it doesn’t hurt me?” you said, finally looking at him, eyes wet but no tears falling. “you were the only thing that didn’t make me feel invisible in this place.”

he stepped toward you again, desperate.

“i don’t want this to end like this. i don’t want you and me to…” his voice broke.

“but it already ended, jungwon.” you interrupted. “it ended the moment you signed the papers. the moment you swore loyalty to someone else.”

he looked at you with a mix of sorrow and fury. not at you, but at himself. for not protecting you. for losing you. for not having the courage to break from what was expected of him.

“if i could go back…”

“but you can’t.” you said, and this time you smiled, a sad resigned smile. “this was your destiny. i was just a pause in the middle of your duty.”

the silence stretched.

“and still, i love you.” he murmured.

that made you tremble. you lowered your gaze. you didn’t want to hear that. not now. not when you had already forced yourself to let him go.

“don’t say that to me, jungwon.” you whispered.

he stared at you for a long time. too long. and for a second, just a second, you wondered if he might say screw it. if he might reach for your hand. pull you close. risk it all.

but he didn’t.

he just looked down. his shoulders dropped a little. then he nodded, once.

“i’m sorry.” he said quietly.

you didn’t answer.

and this time, when he turned to leave, you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even look.

and maybe that’s what hurt most.

x. the bells said I died

the palace glowed as if it were already celebrating a fairytale you never asked to be part of. white flowers climbed the windows, golden velvet curtains hung from every arch, and a thousand scented candles waited to be lit once night fell. the grand ball in honor of prince jungwon’s engagement to lady navina was just hours away.

and you… you walked through it all as if you were just another piece of furniture. invisible. as if you hadn’t woken up before dawn for months to prepare the tea he always said he preferred when no one else was paying attention. as if you hadn’t memorized the sound of his breathing while pretending you were the only one in love in silence.

it was the day before the royal ball. the celebration in honor of the prince’s engagement to lady navina was already filling the palace with decorations. the halls overflowed with white flowers and golden ribbons, and every servant was rushing from one end to the other with trays, fabrics, crowns of leaves, while you just… walked through it all with your head down, pretending it didn’t affect you.

“more to the center, dear, that table must be perfect. the princess wants everything to look flawless.” ordered one of the ladies-in-waiting, adjusting her headpiece with a handheld mirror.

you were about to answer, but gisselle ran up to you, breathless.

“prince jungwon…” she said in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else might hear. “he hasn’t gotten out of bed. the physician was called. they say he has a fever.”

you froze. “how bad is it?”

“i don’t know. no one is allowed near him. his mother isn’t letting anyone in except for her most trusted staff.” she lowered her voice again. “but he hasn’t eaten. hasn’t spoken. it’s been all day.”

“and navina?”

“she hasn’t even gone to see him. she’s too busy choosing the flowers for the banquet.”

you walked away without a word.

that night, as the sun finally disappeared behind the palace towers, you sat in your chambers pretending to sew. the thread slipped from your fingers more than once, and your stitches were uneven—your mind too loud, too far from the needle in your hand. you hadn’t truly been focusing, not for hours, but you kept your posture straight, lips pressed into a line, like you’d been taught.

across the room, giselle slept curled beneath a soft wool blanket. her back rose and fell in steady rhythm, face turned toward the window.

the only light came from a single candle on your desk. shadows danced along the walls, and every creak of the old stone outside felt louder than usual.

you were about to put down the needle when someone knocked on the door twice. you turned your head slowly, not wanting to wake giselle, you rose quietly, crossed the room, and opened the door just a crack. and when you opened it you weren’t expecting to see him.

prince ri ki was there, slightly out of breath, as if he had run all the way. you slipped into the hallway before he could speak, closing the door gently behind you.

“your highness?” you quickly bowed, trying to keep your voice steady.

he shook his head, glancing over your shoulder, making sure you were alone.

“no time for formalities. pack your things.” he said quietly but firmly. “only what’s necessary.”

“what?” you blinked. “i don’t understand.”

“it’s an order.” he repeated, gentle but serious.

you didn’t ask anything else. you didn’t have the strength to. with trembling hands, you stuffed what little you had into a small bag. giselle was still asleep, unaware of what was happening. you didn’t have time to say goodbye.

you paused for a second at the door, glancing back toward the bed where giselle was still asleep under the thick blankets, her breathing calm.

“don’t worry about her.” ri ki said quietly when he saw you hesitate.

as you followed him, you passed through corridors you were usually not allowed in. ri ki walked quickly but with ease, greeting every guard naturally, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“can i know where we’re going?” you whispered, trying not to sound scared as you stepped through a back door into the garden.

ni ki didn’t answer. he just kept walking, circling one of the old fountains in the back.

and then you saw him.

jungwon. standing beside the oldest rose bush in the palace. no sign of fever. not a trace of illness. his back straight, his face lit by the moon, and his eyes fixed on you like he had never stopped watching.

“what is this…?” you asked, confused, dropping the bag at your feet.

“no time, milady.” jungwon said, walking toward you. his voice was urgent, different, like he knew every second counted. “we have to go.”

“go?” you frowned, stepping back. “what are you doing?”

“i’ll explain later.” he said, taking your hand. his palm was warm, steady, and that only confused you more.

“there’s a carriage waiting further down, at the north path,” said ri ki giving his brother your bag. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

ri ki looked at him for a long second, like he wanted to say something else. then he simply pulled him into a hug. strong, one arm across his back, the other hand resting on the back of jungwon’s neck.

“you’re going to be okay, alright?” ri ki murmured into his ear, voice trembling. “i’ve got it. you just… live, okay?”

jungwon nodded, biting his lip as he pulled away.

“thank you, brother. for everything.”

ri ki grabbed his shoulders and gave him a small shake, eyes glistening.

“don’t thank me now. thank me when you’ve got a home far away from here, a new name, and… her by your side.” he looked your way briefly before turning back.

you stood frozen, feeling the air shift. you still didn’t fully understand what was happening, just that it was big. too big.

“take care of him, will you?” ri ki said quietly, almost pleading.

before you could reply, he turned and walked back into the garden, disappearing into the mist and shadows of the palace.

jungwon didn’t wait another second.

“quickly.” he said, tugging your hand.

“what—? jungwon— where are we going?”

“trust me.” he said simply, and then started running.

your steps were clumsy at first, stumbling a little from the pace. the mud clung to your shoes, and soon the edges of your white gown were completely stained. the hem dragged dirt, leaves, branches. the cold bit at your skin, but jungwon didn’t stop.

and neither did you. because he didn’t let go.

the bells started ringing before you reached the carriage. one, then another. their echo sliced through the air violently, making you shiver.

taaan!

taaan!

taaan!

the sound spread through the valley, from the highest towers of the palace. it wasn’t any ordinary bell. it was the mourning call. the one they rang only when someone of royalty had died.

and then, you heard it. a distant scream from the east wing of the castle.

“prince jungwon is dead!”

epilogue.

the sky had that soft color that appears when the sun starts to set but hasn’t quite decided to leave yet. a shade between gold and peach slipped through the light curtains of the small country house they now lived in. it was one of those afternoons when everything felt calm, like even time itself had decided to pause for a few more minutes.

the kitchen smelled like freshly baked bread and mandarins. lots of mandarins. your daughter, barely five years old, was sitting on one of the high chairs with a wrinkled apron and sticky cheeks from juice. she had peeled four, or maybe five mandarins with more enthusiasm than technique, leaving a messy pile of peels on the wooden table.

“mom, look at this one, it’s weird.” she said with a smile, holding up a slice that, in her eyes, looked like a heart.

“it’s because it has love.” you replied, gently brushing her hair, feeling that warmth that only simple moments can give you.

the back door was open, letting in the sound of the wind, rustling branches. your youngest son came running down the stairs. barefoot, holding a stick he insisted on calling his “royal sword”.

“i’m going with dad!” he yelled, his giggles being contagios.

you barely managed to say “put on shoes” but he was already gone. you watched him run across the garden, where the grass was still wet with dew.

and there was jungwon.

his back turned. hair longer, tied with a leather strap. his body stronger, broader. arms marked by daily labor, broad shoulders under a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. chopping wood like he’d done it all his life.

the prince he once was, now just a man. a husband. a father.

“daaad!” the boy yelled, running toward him, barefoot and with mud-stained pants. jungwon dropped the axe instantly to lift him into the air, spinning once as they both laughed.

you stepped onto the porch holding your daughter’s hand. she kept eating mandarins while you tried to wipe the juice from the corners of her lips.

the image stayed with you like a painting: the sunlight filtering through the trees, your daughter playing with mandarin peels, your son clinging to jungwon’s neck, and him, looking at you from the garden as if he didn’t need anything else in the world but that.

you.

jungwon looked at you, and kissed your forehead when you got close. his hand was rough from working the land, but warm. real. your fingers laced with his almost without thinking, like your body did it on its own.

“today’s a good day to go to the lake.” he murmured.

“yeah… today everything feels right.”

you looked around. there were no carriages, no jewels, no titles. there were winters by the fireplace with everyone huddled under a blanket. there were summers running through flower fields, and laughter that disappeared into the wind. there were nights when jungwon held your hand in silence, saying nothing, but with eyes full of gratitude because you chose him. because you saved him.

the sacrifice.

the lie.

the freedom.

all to get here.

the kingdom you built together had no castles. but it was, without a doubt, the happiest one.

[damselneedssaving]

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

[echo-writes-letters]

[This letter is difficult to read. Nonsense scrawls of text litter the page, all written over each other a million times. Luckily, the real message is glowing, so you can distinguish the words from the rest of the nonsense.]

SORRY

DIDN'T NOTICE YOU. TOO MANY EYES

DONE FOR NOW. RETURNING BOTH. AWAKE SOON.

GOODBYE

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[nilla03]

“𝐴 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖！

It’s been months since you first wrote to him—your sweet, careful words scribbled onto paper, like you didn’t know exactly what kind of man you were writing to. At first, he only responded for the hell of it, something to pass the time. But then you kept writing. Kept calling. Kept sending little pictures, telling him about your day, about the way you thought about him before bed.

Toji leans back against the cold wall of his cell, rolling his shoulders as he cracks his neck. The dull hum of prison life drones on around him—men talking, footsteps echoing, the occasional distant shout—but his mind is elsewhere.

You’d written him last week, said you were thinking about visiting. He didn’t take it seriously at first—figured you’d get cold feet, get spooked by the idea of stepping into a place like this just to see a guy like him. A big, fucked-up ex-hitman locked away with nothing but time and too many bad thoughts in his head.

But then his name got called today. Inmate Fushiguro. Visitation.

And now? Now he can’t sit still. His fingers twitch, jaw tight, every muscle wound up.

He thinks about the pictures you’ve sent—just little things, nothing too much, but enough to get his mind working. The way you look, soft and sweet, like you don’t belong anywhere near a place like this. Like you sure as hell don’t belong anywhere near him.

And yet, here you are. Coming to see him

Dressed up all pretty, he bets. Maybe in one of those little dresses you told him about, the kind that clings to your curves. Maybe with your hair done all nice, lips glossy and pouty. He swears he can already see the way you’ll fidget, the way you’ll tuck your hands in your lap, playing shy under his stare.

He’s been sitting in this hellhole with nothing to do but think—about you, about all the things he’d do

Got him hooked before he even realized it.

And now, here you are, stepping right into his world, like some dumb little thing with no sense of self-preservation.

“Fushiguro,” a guard’s voice snaps through the bars. “Visitation.”

Toji exhales through his nose, cracking his neck before stepping forward, offering his wrists up for the cuffs. The cold metal clicks around them, snug but not tight.

His patience is running thin by the time they lead him out, his mind already painting a picture of you. He knows you dressed up for him. Knows you probably checked yourself in the mirror a dozen times, playing with your hair, biting that glossy lip, wondering if you looked good enough.

Sweetheart, you don’t even know what you’re walking into.

By the time he’s escorted into the visitation room, his eyes are already scanning for you. And when they land on you—standing there, all soft and nervous in that little dress, eyes wide and pretty—his lips curl into a slow, dark smirk.

The visitation room is loud—voices overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor, the occasional bark of a guard reminding inmates to keep their hands visible. But none of that registers to you. Not when your eyes finally land on him.

Toji Fushiguro.

You’ve seen his handwriting for months now, memorized the way he talks through his letters, the teasing, the way he calls you sweetheart like you belong to him. You’ve heard his voice over the phone, deep and slow, taunting when you’d get shy, amused when you’d get flustered. But nothing—nothing—prepared you for seeing him in person.

He’s big. Bigger than you thought. His broad shoulders stretch the seams of his prison-issued jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, veiny forearms. His hair is a little messy, longer than you expected, and his sharp green eyes are locked onto you the second you step forward, looking so out of place in this cold, gray room.

You tried to dress sweet for him—nothing too much, just a little sundress, soft fabric hugging your curves, hem flirting with your thighs when you walk. Pretty sandals, glossy lips, your hair done up all nice. You wanted to look good for him, and judging by the slow smirk stretching across his face, you succeeded.

“Damn,” he exhales, leaning back in his chair as his eyes drag over you, slow and heavy. “They really let an angel like you in here?”

You bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as you take a seat across from him. “Wanted to see you,” you say softly, tucking your hands in your lap.

Toji tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Yeah? Came all this way just to sit across from me? Thought you’d be braver than that, sweetheart.” His voice is a little rough, edged with something dark, something that makes your stomach tighten.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, playing with the smooth surface. “I—I didn’t know if I should…”

“Toji.” A guard’s voice cuts through the tension. “Hands on the table.”

He huffs out a laugh but obeys, resting his forearms flat, fingers tapping against the surface. His eyes never leave yours. “They’re real strict about that kinda thing,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Means I can’t touch you the way I want. Shame.”

You swallow, shifting in your seat, and his gaze drops to your thighs when your dress rides up just a little.

“You nervous, baby?” His voice is taunting, but there’s something deeper behind it—something that says he likes it. That he likes the way you fidget under his stare, the way your thighs press together when his voice drops an octave.

You nod, and his smirk turns sharp. “Should be,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to yours. “Been readin’ your letters, hearin’ your voice, thinkin’ about all the ways I’d handle a little thing like you if I ever got the chance.” He leans in just a fraction, voice thick with something dangerous. “You really think it’s smart to come here dressed all sweet, sittin’ all pretty, actin’ like you don’t know what you do to me?.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers twisting in your lap. “Didn’t mean to tease,” you whisper.

Toji chuckles, low and deep, the sound curling around your spine. “Nah, sweetheart. I think you did.” He shifts in his seat, his legs spreading under the table.

Your cheeks burn, and you can’t find it in yourself to deny it—not when he’s looking at you like that, like he could devour you whole if given the chance.

“You just wait,” he murmurs, voice rough with promise.

Toji is pissed. Not at you—never at you. But at the fact that the second he got a real taste of you, it was ripped away.

He sits on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together as he stares at the concrete floor of his cell, jaw tight, muscles tense. His body still hums with leftover frustration, the kind that no amount of pacing or deep breathing is gonna fix.

All sweet and shy, sitting across from him, your little dress hugging your body just right, knees pressing together every time he spoke low, teasing. He saw the way you played with the hem, the way you bit your lip when he leaned in just a little, voice dripping with everything he wanted to do to you.

And the worst fucking part? The way your thighs squeezed together when he talked to you all sweet.

He saw it. Saw the way your breath caught, saw the way your fingers twitched in your lap. You liked it—the promise in his words.

And then the guards had to cut it short. Had to remind him where he was, who he was. Had to take you away before he could see just how much further he could push you.

Now, he’s stuck here, wound up so fucking tight he could snap.

And you? You’re probably outside now, getting into your little car, all flustered and worked up because of him. Probably staring at your phone, debating whether to call him, whether to send him another picture just to fuck with him like you always do.

Toji exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Fuckin’ little tease,” he mutters, stretching out on his cot.

[pinkmirth]

thinking about s/o who likes to dress up their vampire bf (yes i'm talking about adrian) and they always make sure that he likes the outfit too. he's just so pretty i can't 🥺

𝜗𝜚 ࣪ ˖ 𓈒 “DOTE” FT. ADRIÁN ‘ALUCARD’ ȚEPEȘ! ⸻ ( 2k+ ) words of ⨾ fluff + suggestive/nsfw, alucard x fem!reader ( black-coded ), canon-divergent, set in the set in the 15th century (1400s), established relationship, lowercase intended, explicit language, minors shoo!

my love letter! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ oh my goodness luna, i adore this!!! doting on adrian and clothing him sounds like a dream! it’s moving enough for me to want to put it into words . . . i ended up writing this out to be a teensy bit sentimental, if that’s okay! i feel like he’d be hesitant to receive affection but eventually ends up reveling in it because it’s just what he needed! adrian truly deserves some loveee, and i’m here to give it to him >.< please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! ❤︎

there’s something you and your lover like to call the ‘ echoes, ’ simply put, for any noise that bounces off the walls resounds throughout the entire castle. it’s a reliable system, and adrian’s able to use it to call your attention from anywhere within it.

“darling,” there goes his soothingly silken voice, ringing out all the way from the east wing. at times, you’re amused at how it can reach you from this far. “would you come over and give this a look, please?”

at his plea, you’ll be there. so you settle down the leatherback-book you’d been reading, slinking the pad of your finger beneath a page to fold it by the crisp outer corner.

“coming!”

you’re sure he feels you nearing, courtesy of your shallow-heeled footsteps thudding upon the wine-red shag of his home’s romanian rugs. he acknowledges your presence by swinging open the door to the primary bedroom.

you didn’t think you’d have to tiptoe around mountain-sized heaps of clothing upon entering adrian’s chamber— his closet’s practically ravaged. although, living with a dhampir was never known to be an experience short of surprises.

in the midst of all the madness is where he stands, still adorned in his cream nightgown. he’s got a garment clutched in one hand and a pullover tunic in the other. the subtle veins running along his slender hands makes his grip look exasperated. alucard appears to be having one of those days— where nothing feels just right.

“what’s all this, dear? thought you’d have been dressed by now,” you call out, making your way around a stockpile of trousers to approach him. gently, your delicate hands come to settle upon the broad expanse of his clothed chest. just as he figured it would, your touch immediately soothes him.

the man sighs before he speaks. “i apologize,” adrian peers down at you from where he stands, dropping both items to rest his hands on either side of your hips, “i’ll make sure to clean up afterwards.”

“no worries,” you hum, offering him a warm, sweet smile. when he tends to grow reckless, you know what he needs most is a dash of affection. “you wanted me to take a look at something, yes?”

“i did,” he mumbles, sunny eyes flitting over to his plundered closet, “though now i’m seriously reconsidering every single piece that i own.”

you don’t make a point to say it, but you know it isn’t about the blouses or the pants or any of those things. it’s his mind that tends to run rampant on all that’s been and all he’s lost. at tines, it manifests into agitation, a period of overstimulation where one thing makes him shirk and another gets him withdrawn. despite it all, he’s consoled that you’re here to reel him back in and distract him from himself in that dreamy little way that you do.

“show me the one you were last contemplating on, adrian.” you do it with such ease, pulling him out of his own head and bringing him back into the moment. for a good second, he thinks of just how lucky one man could possibly be.

“go on,” you pat his chest, and his lips flit up into a subtle grin. now more content, adrian scours for it and eventually plucks it off an embroidered chair situated in the corner; only God knows how it got there.

pinched between his index and thumbs, alucard holds up the top, exaggerated sleeves and all, presenting it to you; a simple chestnut colored option that shares the same wood-like hue as the bedpost.

“my twelfth option of the day,” he snidely notes. his sarcasm pries giggle from you. “what do you think, love?”

“it’s quite pretty,” you tilt your head, inspecting the piece with sparkly, concentrated eyes. he admires the way a wispy strand of hair falls along to drape against your face. just precious, he believes.

“it’s a little puffy at the sleeves, though.”

“i knew it,” adrian attests, “this is too . . . flouncy.”

“oh, forget what i said! it’s the perfect amount of flouce.”

“no no, it’s far too much. it’s practically screaming at me.” to that, you chuckle a bit. he can be ever so keen to such minute details.

theatrically, adrian mounts the nearby bed and flops atop the tousled sheets, an exhale leaving the depths of his chest upon impact. “i suppose this is just an ‘only-underwear’ sort of day.” you nearly add that he might as well free himself as a whole and go naked, but the poor man would flush so badly that you choose to refrain.

“you know, adrian,” you scan over his collection, eyeing the finest of silks, puffed shirts and ruffles. his wardrobe practically looks fitting for that of wallachian royalty. “i could make it easy, choose an outfit for you.”

its sudden, how he sits upright and turns to you. his eyes blink just a bit wider, a little slower. alucard’s mouth strikingly quirks upwards in a way that makes you believe he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea— almost as though you’d been meaning to treat him like a child.

“you’d . . . dress me up?”

you retract in the slightest, “only if you’d like. it isn’t a must—”

“please,” he ultimately responds, tone soft and low, “by all means.” it had just been the thought of the sheer intimacy that dazed him. you selecting what would fit him best through your eyes, pulling himself free of his clothes, revealed unto you as you’re dolling him up . . . it all sounds so touching and right now, he wants nothing more.

he can feel palpable relief roll off of you in waves as you beam, “sounds perfect, then.” he calms himself and fixes his countenance, gracing you with a sincere smile. rosy pigment scatters itself upon his face. you catch onto that hopeful glimmer in his eye, one that shows he’s pleased though you can’t quite place it. he’s too softened to say that gratitude has overcome him.

your back is facing him as you rummage around and take your pick, “undress while i put something together, alright?”

“bold request,” adrian characteristically quips. you merely laugh, “you should be bare once i turn around, you hear?”

he hums in acknowledgment, although he opts for tidying up the room first. you can’t see him with your back turned, yet you know he made use of his vampirian speed to grab and fold all his clothes that’d been thrown-askew, including the night attire he’d already been wearing. it amazes you that it only took him a solid eight seconds to complete it all.

“i’m sure that’s convenient,” you muse, turning his way with your selections in hand. alucard’s bare now, adorned in nothing other than his undergarments. a plain and skimpy pair of beige-white breeches shouldn’t excite you so— but god, they hang so low on his hips it’s like they’re barely even there. and how could you possibly ignore the way the cloth clings to his thighs? his arms look strong and coiled like wire, and the chiseled lining of his lean torso is embellished by the fleshy-pink scar that runs past his abdomen all the way up the center of his firm chest.

adrian can only hold your gaze for so long before realizing that you’re drinking him in. consciously, he pivots his head the other way as though to escape it, allowing his lengthy hair to drape down and cover the flushing of his fair cheeks.

you inch up to him, setting the clothes on his bedside. you find his larger hand to interlace with your own, and he only grows redder. there’s an indescribable pride that comes with being capable of riling him up.

“oh, don’t tell me you’re shy,” your hum is sugary like marmalade, “i’ve seen you before . . . you’re beautiful.”

“oh my god,” he whispers, pressing a palm to his heated face. sometimes adrian finds you to be too sweet. he isn’t sure how you haven’t yet succeeded at killing him with all your flattery. he bashfully smiles, cheeks warm as you stand high on your toes to peck them. “you and that mouth of yours.”

“i’ll leave you alone before you overheat,” you tease, halting your affections to return to the task at hand. “you love to toy with me,” he breathes out, and your giggle confirms it. you then display your choices; fitted pants of black leather paired with a warm-tan blouse, one that brings out the shine of his sharp eyes and adds a flush of vitality to his fair skin. interestingly enough, it resembles the color of his golden hair. you’d gone with something similar to his typical style so that he’d feel comfortable wearing it; though you know he’s been rather picky today.

“is it okay?” the way you await his approval makes his heart throb right within his chest. if only you knew that you handpicking anything for him was enough to make him fall in absolute love with it. it had never really been the outfit— he’s sure he just needed you all along.

“more than okay.” he smiles up at you, lips soft and pale-pink. you wonder if you’d end up altering the mood if you leaned down to kiss him. “well chosen, dear.”

“i know just what you like, don’t i?” you sound quite delighted, and it warms him up inside. “but of course. it’s my closet, after all.” the both of you share a knowing laugh that makes you feel so wholesome, so bound. you’ll be sure to commit the feeling to memory.

he then rises to his feet, standing a solid foot above you as he works his way into the bottoms you chose. a pout overtakes you, pretty lips pursed as you whine, “i could’ve done that!”

“you’ll get to fix the blouse. sounds fair, yes?” adrian knows if you were to have worn his pants for him, the hard-on he’d sport would’ve been more than embarrassing. you’ve seen each other vulnerable a good amount of times, and made love even more than what could be counted, but during a moment like this would only sully the mood, he’s sure.

with a hum, you give in. “fine,” your fingers trace against the threading of his shirt, “sit back down for me. you’re too tall for me to dress you from here,” alucard’s always found the contrast in size between the both of you to be endearing, especially whenever you go on to mention it. you’re surprised he decides to choose obedience instead of poking fun. he takes his place upon the bed and makes room for you to settle atop his lap. it’s instinctive, how quickly his hands reach for your waist. he rubs them along the patterning of your corset.

“arms out,” you’re a little less content when his touch leaves you, though you adore how well he listens. you ease the top over his head, onto his arms and finally onto the rest of his frame, tucking away the mussed locks of wavy blonde hair that fall array.

“i’ll brush it out for you later, adri,” you murmur, smoothing down the frizz before bringing your hands to cradle his cheeks. his face looks simply ethereal this close; flawlessly structured, handsome yet elegant. once again, his hands find their rightful place upon your sides. you watch him melt in your very hold when you coo, “my pretty boy.”

he whimpers a lowly call of your name. “thank you . . for all of it.” you know these sort of pocketed moments mean so much to him. his gentle pitch wavers with the subtlest hint of desire; you’d know the sound of it anywhere. still soft-spoken, though the slightest bit deeper. raspier, even. he only reserves such a tone for you.

your response is hushed, just about breathless, “always, adrian.” the pair of you are so close that the straightened tip of his nose grazes against your own. when the tension grows too thick and you can no longer escape his lips reeling you in like magnets, you finally lean into him and let your mouths slot, warmth blooming between you. his lithe fingers roam and you suckle at his bottom lip, prying a soft groan out of him.

alucard kisses you with longing, the span of his fangs subtly clashing against the pearly white of your teeth as he works at prodding his tongue inside, nipping at your lips and tasting of you. he frees out soft, little ‘ i love you ’ amongst all the licking and sucking.

you both wind up toppling down onto the bed, with his back to the mattress and your squished breasts to his heart. making out with a man such as adrian always gets so heavy; you’re panting into each other's mouths, swallowing up the other one’s sounds, and you just can’t seem to help but slowly roll your hips into the stiffness of his crotch. a handful of minutes with him already has you entirely soiled.

“this is becoming something else,” alucard breaks away with a huff, fighting himself not to rip off the clothes you just adorned him in.

but fuck, you aren’t helping. “allow it, then . . .” is your solution, bringing the plush surface of your lips to suckle along his jaw, against the column of his throat, right down his neck . . . no point in refraining now. you eased him of his worries, and he only wants nothing more than to repay you.

“quite a shame, dear.” it truly is— especially considering that you put together such a stylish assortment for him. “now everything must be undone.”

© 𝒫𝐼𝑁𝐾ℳ𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐻! ⸻ all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ❤︎

[thepencilnerd]

Echo

pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: Under the bright lights of a fundraising gala, what began as polite smiles and veiled jabs unravels into something far more intimate. Between rooftop confessions, quiet grief, and a night neither party can take back, something buried for years finally comes undone. warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, f!reader), blood and trauma in a hospital setting, description of medical procedures and deaths genre/notes: slow burn, frenemies to lovers (much banter), robby cameo + being a father figure, heavy angst + heavy fluff, hurt/comfort, emotionally repressed idiots in love, non-linear timeline, one (1) very touch-starved man, abbot down bad for his s.o. and def has a pain kink, balcony sex + confessions, pwp word count: 9k a/n: love letter to grief, rooftop confessions, and all the things left unsaid (+ shameless, self-indulgent smut), basically i saw this dress on pinterest and i—

The hospital’s annual fundraiser was all overpriced wine and board member schmoozing—the kind of thing Jack Abbot usually avoided. He and Robby had spent the better part of the week arguing with Gloria about why they really didn’t need to be the ones attending.

“But who better to represent the emergency department than its finest?” Gloria had smiled with teeth. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer we reallocate your trauma bay supply order for next fiscal quarter?"

Abbot had muttered something under his breath. Robby had called it extortion. Gloria had walked away victorious.

“If she reassigns our trauma supply budget one more time, I swear to God I’m quitting,” Robby had muttered, though they both knew he wouldn’t.

“Right there with you, brother,” Jack had said dryly.

Which was how he ended up in a suit, lingering by the bar with his tie already loosened.

The gala was obscene in its extravagance. A live string quartet played near the grand staircase. Crystal chandeliers caught every glint of champagne. Rich donors floated from one hors d'oeuvre table to the next, laughing politely and stuffing their faces with canapés that probably cost more than a full day of supplies for the ER.

It made Jack sick.

Not the donations—he appreciated those. Hell, the hospital needed them. But the tone of it, the way money moved through the room like perfume: thick, cloying, and designed to mask something rotten underneath. The people here didn’t know what a trauma bay smelled like at 3 a.m. They didn’t care. They were here to write a check, slap their name on a wing, and pretend it made them saints.

Jack took a sip of his club soda and stared at the bottom of his glass.

He wanted to gouge his eyes out. He just wasn’t sure which fork to use.

Scanning the room, his eyes landed on Robby across the space, mid-conversation with a bejeweled donor who looked like she’d never set foot inside a hospital ward. Robby’s eyes caught Jack’s for the briefest second and widened—just enough to scream help me. Jack raised his glass and shot him a wink.

Then he saw you. He'd recognize your stride anywhere. 

What he definitely hadn’t expected was the red satin dress.

Floor-length, plunging back, slit high at the left thigh, the kind of fabric that caught the light like it was trying to start a fire. When you walked into the room, it was almost as though time stopped. You were across the room, charming some rich donor, laughing politely as he fumbled through a question about pediatric trauma outcomes.

Jack didn’t hear the question. He didn’t hear your answer either.

As you turned away from the donor, your bright smile dropped like a mask torn off. Your jaw clenched. You let out a tight breath through your nose, barely more than a sigh. It was the kind of reaction only someone who’d seen you under a hundred different kinds of stress might catch.

Then you looked up and locked eyes with him. You froze.

Goddamn did Jack Abbot look good in a suit.

Salt-and-pepper curls styled just enough to look deliberate, not overdone. The tux hugged his frame perfectly—sharp at the shoulders, tailored at the waist, cutting the kind of silhouette that belonged on a magazine cover instead of an ER floor. He’d even opted for a close shave, his normally stubbled facial hair absent. And his tie—loosened just a touch too much—left a sliver of his throat visible, collar open like he’d tried to behave and gave up halfway through the evening.

You didn’t smile. Neither did he.

But neither of you looked away.

The first time you met Dr. Jack Abbot, you were fresh off your fourth twelve-hour day shift that week. For the first two years of your residency, you’d been under Robby’s wing—solid, day-shift training, plenty of first-time experiences, and a support system that kept you steady. But when it came time to switch rotations, it was Robby who recommended you move to nights.

"More fast-paced," he’d reasoned. "Higher stakes. They could use your skills. You’re ready."

You’d heard about Jack Abbot by then. Everyone had. Ex-military. Brilliant. Demanding. A damn good trauma attending, and an even tougher mentor. You were equal parts intrigued and warned.

The ED hallway was buzzing, but you didn’t miss the way Jack paused as you approached. He glanced at your badge, then at your posture—upright, composed, betraying none of the exhaustion you carried—and finally at the trauma board.

“Hope you’re fast,” was all he said, voice low and dry, like a test he didn’t expect you to pass.

Turns out, you were more than fast. You were precise. Efficient. Clinical.

When a GSW came in thirty minutes later—a young man with a single penetrating wound to the upper abdomen—you and Abbot stepped in together. He hung back just enough to supervise, giving you space to lead the resuscitation while staying close.

You scanned the vitals: hypotensive, tachycardic, altered mentation. “GSW to the upper abdomen, likely mesenteric involvement. Initial BP was 80/40 with HR in the 130s, GCS at 13 but trending downward. Type and crossmatch. Two units O-neg. Prep for a laparotomy?” you asked, assessing quickly as you reached for gloves. Abbot nodded once, already handing you a sterile gown without a word.

He didn’t stop you, but he didn’t let you coast either.

“What’s your plan if the pressure doesn’t stabilize after the second unit?” he asked as you both finished gowning up.

“Call for a third, reassess fluid responsiveness, consider vasopressors if no improvement,” you replied, already focused.

“And if there’s massive hemoperitoneum?”

“Prioritize source control. Suction, pack, find the bleeder.”

Jack gave a small, approving hum. Then you glanced back at him, sharp, poised. He was holding out the handle of a blade to you—steady, without fanfare.

“I’m not handling it,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are.”

You blinked once, then reached for the blade. Gloved fingers curled around the handle as the rest of the room faded into peripheral noise. It was your show now—and he was trusting you to lead it.

The team moved quickly. You made the incision, suctioned blood, clamped the bleeder—a mesenteric vessel torn clean. Laparotomy pads soaked in seconds. Abbot kept an eye on the monitor, watching your hands. You found the source and controlled it, methodical and focused, with Jack’s quiet presence steady behind your shoulder.

Jack nodded once, the faintest glimmer of something like approval in his eyes. After the patient was wheeled off to the OR, gloves off and adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin, he tossed you a saline flush and a towel. The rest of the team was still moving in organized flurries, cleaning up the bay, resetting trays, pulling down blood-streaked drapes. You peeled off your gloves slowly, breath catching up to you now that the adrenaline was fading.

The smell of antiseptic, blood, and sweat clung to everything. Your scrub top was damp with effort. And still, Jack hadn’t said anything else. Just watched you like he was recalibrating something in his head. Taking the measure of you.

“Not bad,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Not bad?”

He smirked. “Guess we’ll keep you. Though I should probably check the return policy with Robby before the trial period ends.”

Then, lower—just for you: “Though going nipples to navel on that first cut? That’s no man’s land. Bit too risky of a procedure for me to do myself.”

You blinked, thrown off your axis, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or sincere—or both. “What?”

But Jack was already walking away, gloves off, like he hadn’t just left you standing there like a deer in headlights.

You weren’t expecting to see him either.

Jack Abbot in a tux. Sharp lapels. Cuffs neat. Hair styled but slightly tousled like he hadn’t quite figured out how to look formal without messing it up on purpose. Heat rose to your face, tinting it the color of the rosé being served tonight. 

Turning around, you reached for a flute of champagne to occupy your thoughts. He’d just crossed the room, weaving past a pair of donors discussing their latest golf fundraiser, his eyes never leaving you. The clink of glass and silver faded just enough for you to hear the soft brush of his dress shoes stop beside yours.

“Red,” he said, nodding toward your dress. "Didn’t think it was in your rotation." He caught the soft trace of your perfume just as you inhaled the quiet warmth of his cologne. 

You arched a brow. “Tux? Let me guess—last worn at prom?”

He huffed a laugh. The corner of his mouth tilted. "Wouldn't you like to know."

“Not really,” you smirked.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. "How’d Gloria rope you into this mess?"

You took a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before replying, “She said the hospital needed a pretty face for the press photos.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you volunteered willingly, I assume?”

“I did. She said she wanted someone who wasn’t going to mention sock puppets in his opening speech.”

Jack tilted his head. "So you pointed her to literally anyone but me and Robby."

You smiled into your glass. “You and Robby are very pretty. Just not ‘donate-millions-of-dollars’ pretty.”

He cracked a grin. “Fair enough.”

You both leaned back slightly, falling into a rare pocket of easy quiet.

“If I'm being honest,” he said after a breath, “these things make my skin crawl. Donors patting themselves on the back for saving lives they’ve never seen.”

“Agreed,” you murmured. “It’s like they want the moral gold star without the 2 a.m. trauma call. Or the third straight shift without sleep.”

Jack glanced sideways at you. “Or the resident paycheck that barely covers rent.”

You let out a dry laugh. “And definitely not the part where we spend a decade training, rack up six figures of debt, and still have to fight for safe staffing ratios.”

He nodded once, quiet. “But hey, at least they get their name etched onto a plaque of a hallway they'll get lost in.”

"God," you sighed. "I'd love to switch places with them for a day." 

Jack snorted. “Five minutes in a trauma bay and they’d be crying into their cufflinks.”

You were about to take another sip when you paused. “You realize you’re wearing cufflinks.”

“Which is why I’m drinking soda instead of champagne. Keeps me grounded.”

A quiet breath escaped you, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Your commitment to moral superiority is truly inspiring.”

He gave you a narrowed look, not quite smiling but close. “Someone’s gotta keep the place honest.” 

You smiled to yourself, looking down and shaking your head, before excusing yourself to go charm another cluster of donors. “See you around—Jack.”

You’d only ever said his first name once before.

He noticed.

Jack stood there a second too long, stunned, watching your retreating back like he wasn’t sure what just happened—or why it mattered so much.

The patient was coding. Jack was tied up in Room 3 with a liver lac. You were alone when Trauma 2 rolled in—blunt trauma, hypotensive, bleeding out.

You didn’t wait. “I need two large-bore IVs, rapid sequence intubation kit, and thoracotomy tray—stat,” you barked to the team, already moving. “Start the MTP now.”

You slid the laryngoscope in cleanly, tube placed with practiced precision.

“Vitals are dropping,” a nurse called out.

“I know,” you forced out. “Keep pushing the units.”

The tray snapped open beside you. You didn’t hesitate. Just in case.

Abbot walked in right as you pulled your hands back, already prepped.

His eyes flicked from the open thoracotomy tray to the line placement to your gloved hands, bloody up to the wrists. He froze mid-step.

Then, without missing another beat, he stepped in beside you. “What the hell?” he muttered, voice low and calm. He didn’t raise it. He never did when it really mattered.

His presence was immediate—like someone flipping a switch—and suddenly the entire bay adjusted to him, calibrated around the two of you.

You didn’t look at him. Just adjusted your grip and said, “Vitals holding. Pressure’s up.”

“Balloon’s a little high,” he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear over the hum of monitors.

You didn’t flinch, but your pulse jumped. “Adjusted,” you said, fingers tightening slightly on the handle as you recalibrated, eyes glued to the screen.

A beat passed. Then another.

The pressure crept upward. Slowly. Steadily.

The patient stabilized.

You exhaled quietly through your nose, trying to ignore the chill of adrenaline threading down your spine. Jack was still watching you—too closely. And you couldn’t tell if he was impressed or pissed or both. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

When you finally looked up, his eyes locked with yours—steady, unreadable, searching like he was still deciding how angry he was allowed to be.

“You never should’ve done that without approval from an attending,” he said quietly, the words measured but firm, laced with something heavier beneath the surface.

You nodded, jaw clenched. “Understood.”

Jack stepped closer. Lowered his voice.

“But that was pretty badass. You just saved a life. Good job.”

Then he turned and left the trauma bay. The moment lingered—his words echoing in your ears louder than they should have.

Every pair of eyes seemed to shift away once he left, the noise of the trauma bay gradually returning to its usual rhythm. Monitors beeped. Carts wheeled past. Gloves peeled off with a quiet snap and hit the bin. Hands—steady during the crisis���now trembled faintly.

Pride lingered. So did fear. And you weren’t sure which feeling was winning.

Outside by the nurses' bay, Jack was leaning against the wall, one foot braced behind him, chart in hand but not moving. His gaze was distant—somewhere far beyond the clipboard. A crooked smirk ghosted across his lips, then faded as quickly as it had come. He was still thinking about what you'd done. How steady your hands had been. How much you'd grown.

He’d been impressed. He’d also been scared.

That kind of procedure… it wasn’t something he’d ever do lightly. And you? You hadn’t hesitated. Not out of recklessness, but because you’d known it was the right call. The only call.

"Ballsy," he muttered under his breath. "Damn near reckless."

But his chest swelled—quietly, privately—with something that felt a lot like pride.

The third time you ran into each other that night, it wasn’t by accident.

You were leaning against a balcony railing, champagne nearly gone. One glass hadn’t been enough to drown out the unbearable jargon and vapid conversations—but you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go overboard tonight. Just enough to appear socially well-versed. 

The night had cooled, the breeze brushing goosebumps along your bare arms. Jack found you there, hands in his pockets, jacket unbuttoned, eyes catching on the subtle shiver that moved through your frame.

“You always hide from donors this early?” he asked.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. You’d heard those footsteps enough times to recognize the rhythm—the soft, sure cadence of someone who never rushed but never wandered. A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it. Subtle. Reflexive. Familiar.

“Only the boring ones.”

He smirked and stepped beside you, pulling his jacket off with one fluid motion.

Before you could say anything, he draped it over your shoulders—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed your bare arm on the way down. The heat of him lingered even through the fabric. And then there was the scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, and grounded by something warmer beneath it. The scent made your chest ache with something unnameable—familiar, steady, a little too easy to lean into. It curled in your lungs, lingered in the back of your throat. Your knees dipped slightly, an involuntary response you buried with practiced ease. You’d never admit that, of course. Not even to yourself.

“You’ll freeze,” he said, voice quiet, almost an afterthought.

You didn’t correct him. Just glanced up. He was already looking at you.

“You look good,” he said finally.

Your brow raised.

“In red,” he added, softer this time.

You didn’t say thank you. Just looked at him. Let it sit there for a moment—heavy, a little too charged to touch.

"If you keep being nice to me, people are going to start wondering if the sodas were spiked."

That earned you a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in that infuriatingly subtle way he smiled when he actually meant it.

"Guess I'll have to ruin it with a sober insult later," he said.

You gave him a dry stare. "Looking forward to it."

The air between you tightened, warm and brittle. He shifted just slightly closer, like something unspoken pulled him there.

You shot him a sidelong glance, trying to smother the tension with humor. “Don’t you have some attractive widows to go butter up?”

His lips twitched. “Already secured donations from all of them,” he said, only half joking. Then, quieter, with a faint shrug: “None of them were interesting.”

That gave you pause.

“I prefer women with poor work-life balance and sharp comebacks.” He looked at you again, the curve of his mouth bordering on a real smile now. "You?"

"Hm," you hummed to yourself. "I prefer women with competitive streaks and sharp eyeliner. And men with stress-induced insomnia, commitment issues, and the emotional availability of a damp dishrag."

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. "Bold of you to describe my entire personality like it's a turn-on."

"If the shoe fits," you murmured, toying with your empty glass.

He looked at you then—really looked. Head tilted just enough to feel like he was trying to read something between the lines.

"It’s always the sharp ones," he said. "Cut deepest, don’t they?"

Your lips twitched. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about emotionally repressed men in positions of authority."

"Touché." 

But neither of you moved further.

Jack’s voice lowered, something quieter threading through. “You know, for what it’s worth… I notice. How hard you work. How much you give.”

That caught you off guard. The words settled in your chest, raw and warm. You swallowed around them.

“Then I hope you notice how often it gets overlooked,” you said, voice softer now. “By everyone else.”

His eyes flicked toward yours, something unreadable in them. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he would.

“Hey!”

Robby’s voice cut through the air like a 10-blade.

You turned, blinking back to the present. Robby's head was poking out of the curtains, waving a hand. “Sorry to interrupt your… mood lighting, but I need to help charm this silver fox donor who won’t stop talking about his golf handicap and yacht collection. Won’t stop asking for the 'hot doctor with attitude.' So naturally, I assumed he meant you.”

You glanced back at Jack, reluctant.

He gave you a nod, but didn’t say anything. Just watched you go.

Before you turned to leave, you slid the jacket from your shoulders and held it out to him. Jack stepped forward to take it, but his fingers brushed yours—warm, lingering, just a second longer than necessary. 

His jaw tightened for half a breath—barely perceptible—before he masked it, reaching to take the jacket with a small nod. His fingers brushed yours again as he pulled it into his arms. The warmth still clung to it—so did your scent. Subtle, familiar, something floral and grounding. It curled in his chest as he inhaled, slow and quiet, like he didn’t mean to. As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze follow you—sharp, lingering, impossible to shake. Like he was still holding something back—he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

Once you were gone, he allowed himself to bring the jacket up to his face and breathe in lightly, letting the remaining trace of you settle in his lungs. It lingered—clean, unmistakable, and quietly devastating.

With each year, the line between rivalry and familiarity blurred just a little more.

It wasn’t just that you were the senior-most resident anymore—it was that you were his senior-most resident. The one who matched him pace for pace in trauma bays, who called out orders with the same clipped authority, who rolled your eyes at his sarcastic one-liners only to throw them right back at him.

Jack gave you a hard time. You gave it right back.

It started as cold professionalism. Then it turned sharp. Competitive. Then somehow... comfortable.

“Think you can manage this without slicing through the aorta this time?” Jack murmured once during a late night thoracotomy.

“Only if you don’t pass out from blood loss first, old man,” you replied smoothly.

“Old man,” he repeated under his breath. “Remind me why I let you lead in my trauma bay?”

“Because I’m the best.”

He didn’t respond. Just passed the next instrument with a soft, resigned smirk.

There was a night Shen caught you both bickering over a chart like a married couple.

"The guy had a fever and a murmur—of course I’m thinking endocarditis," you said, exasperated, scribbling into the margins.

"And I’m saying we still need to rule out pulmonary embolism first," Jack shot back, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.

"I’m writing the note," you reminded him.

"Are you going to type it up for me too?"

"If you want it to be legible."

Jack scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

That’s when Shen passed by, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, "Just kiss already."

Neither of you responded. Jack’s pen stilled in his hand. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

But later that night, as you leaned against the med station reviewing labs, he passed behind you, fingers grazing your lower back as he brushed by.

Casual. Too casual. And yet, your breath caught anyway.

You didn’t talk about it.

You never talked about it.

But it was there, all the same.

Back inside, the ballroom lights felt too bright. You smiled at a passing donor, glass still in hand, but your mind was still outside—on the breeze, on his jacket, on the way Jack had looked at you like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

You found yourself drifting toward the edge of the room, eyes scanning unconsciously. Jack had disappeared into the crowd.

Or so you thought.

“Looking for me?”

You turned to see him at your side again, now holding two drinks—one club soda, one bubbling glass. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get me trashed on overpriced spirits, Dr. Abbot?”

“I would, if this were alcohol.” He offered the glass to you. “It’s ginger ale.”

You eyed it suspiciously, then took it anyway. “Classy.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching. “You called me Jack earlier.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” The bubbles soothed your stomach, uneasy from all the talking and dizzy heights of empty small talk. 

The quiet pressed in, heavy and hesitant, neither of you quite ready to fill it—but neither willing to walk away. 

“Well, Dr. L/N,” he said, tone dipping into something light but curious, “how do you plan on spending the rest of your evening?”

You gave him a half-smile. “Getting some sleep. Or trying to.” You looked back out across the ballroom, then added, “I talked to Robby earlier—offered to be on-call for day shift tomorrow. Filling in for Langdon.”

Jack’s brows lifted. “Aren't you supposed to be off?”

“Yup. So are you,” you said, glancing at him.

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t deny it. You both knew the pattern by now—same days off, same shifts. Neither of you had ever pointed it out.

“What else would I do on a Friday?” There was something brittle in the joke, something quieter under it. “Work keeps me occupied.” 

Jack watched you for a second longer, then said, softer this time, “You shouldn’t have to keep yourself occupied. It's okay to take a breather.”

You let out a dry breath of a laugh, the edge of a smile curling—biting, but small. “That’s rich coming from the only other person who works as many shifts as I do.”

Jack didn’t answer. He just stepped a little closer.

“You could’ve said no to being on-call,” he said. “Could’ve said you had plans.”

“I do,” you retorted. “Sleep for three hours. Chug coffee. Go back.”

Jack tipped his head, like he was trying to read more into your tone than you meant to give away. “Y/N—”

The name stopped you cold. You took a half-step back before you could think better of it, reflexive and immediate, voice clipped and low. “Don’t.”

That caught him off guard.

“I—sorry,” he said, brows furrowing slightly. “I just—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, too quickly. 

Jack looked at you then, something close to understanding flickering in his eyes. As though he remembered, too. How could he forget? 

The first time he'd said your name.

Blood on your scrubs. Tears in your throat. A patient you couldn't save.

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, slowly, and let you go.

Then, just as his mouth parted to say something else—

“Dr. Abbot!” Gloria’s voice rang out from the other end of the ballroom, hand ushering him to come over. “The donor from Penn wants a word before he leaves!”

Jack clenched his jaw. His eyes lingered on yours.

“Rain check,” he said, voice low.

You didn’t answer, just gave a small nod as he walked away. And for a long moment after, you stayed where you were, ginger ale sweating in your hand.

You didn’t know it at the time, but this was the moment you’d remember whenever someone asked when medicine stopped being just medicine.

The trauma call came in: car accident, two parents and a child, maybe 8 or 9. The parents were in rough shape but still awake, still responsive—moaning through cracked ribs and splintered glass. The kid, though—blunt force, GCS 3 on arrival. Completely unresponsive. You felt it in your gut before the vitals even came in. 

Jack was across the bay when the doors opened. He looked up once—nodded at you. “You’re lead. I'll stabilize the parents." 

You didn’t hesitate. Airway, trauma labs, two large-bore IVs. Portable chest. Fast scan. You called it all before the stretcher stopped moving.

The child’s body was limp. Small. Already pale. The pressure in your chest felt like a dam ready to burst. 

You intubated with steady hands, but your voice faltered—just slightly—when you called for epinephrine. Jack appeared beside you somewhere around the second round of compressions, gloves on, silent. Watching. Present.

“Vitals still unstable,” someone called from behind you. “BP 62 over palp. Pulse weak. We’re pushing TXA now.” At least he'd stabilized the parents, you thought. If he could save them, you could save their little girl. 

Four bags of blood and 18 minutes of chest compressions. The monitor stayed flat.

Still, you kept going. Pushing meds. Calling for another round. Someone offered to take over for compressions, murmured that you needed a break. You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

Then again, more firmly. “I’ve got it.”

No one tried to argue. You were lead. You had it.

Even as your arms began to ache. Even as the blood kept pooling, the compressions rhythmically jarring through your bones. You wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. The team was moving around you, quiet, reverent.

Then Jack stepped in closer.

“Monitor hasn't picked up a rhythm in 12 minutes,” he said gently. “We can't keep up with the blood loss. There's too much internal damage. You know this.”

You shook your head, barely perceptible, and kept going. Compressing, counting, calling for another round of epi.

Jack’s voice stayed level. “Anyone else would’ve been pronounced dead at the scene.”

You ignored him. Just a few more compressions and transfusions and she'd come back. 

Then—

“Y/N.”

That made you freeze.

Your name. His voice.

Your hands were still trembling against the child’s chest.

You looked at the monitor. Heard the continuous tone. Flatline.

No pulse.

“Call it,” Jack pleaded softly.

Your voice was quiet. Hoarse. Cold.

“Time of death, 03:17.”

You stepped back, stripped your gloves off slowly. Fingers stained with blood you couldn’t stop from spilling. Jack said nothing. He didn’t leave.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the tears down. To breathe through the break in your chest.

Jack didn’t touch you this time. He just stood there.

Let you fall apart, silently.

Then you ripped off your gloves and threw them hard into the bin, the sound louder than it had any right to be. You turned and stormed out of the trauma bay without looking back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

That was the first time he said your name.

And it pulled you back. You never forgot it.

Sometimes you wished you had.

Back inside, the music had changed.

You’d barely rejoined the crowd when the lights dimmed and the emcee called out for the first dance of the evening.

Across the ballroom, Jack saw you before you saw him. You were standing near the edge of the crowd, nursing the last of your drink, the weight of something invisible pressing into your posture.

But you weren’t alone. A tall man—one of the younger donors—had his hand on your arm, leaning in to say something. He offered you his hand.

Jack’s jaw tensed.

He didn’t move—at first. Just watched as you smiled politely, took the man's hand, let him lead you to the dance floor.

It was brief. Chaste. Just a dance. But Jack hated the way the guy's hand lingered at your waist. Hated how close he stood, how you nodded along to something he said, even if your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

A minute later, you gently swapped out with Robby, excusing yourself from your first partner. Robby took your hand with a flourish and spun you once like a game show host. You smiled for the first time in hours. 

"You okay?" he asked gently, settling into a slower sway with you.

You shrugged. "Long week."

Robby gave you a dad-look. "Anything in particular on your mind, or just the usual existential dread?"

A quiet laugh escaped, softer than you meant for it to. "Just the usual, I guess."

For a while, the two of you swayed in silence. Robby’s gaze stayed soft. "You’ve been a little quiet lately. Even more than usual. You sleeping okay? Eating?"

Instead of answering right away, your eyes drifted to his shoulder. "I’m fine."

"You always say that. Doesn’t mean I believe it."

A small, grateful smile curved your lips. Robby always knew how to make space—never too much, never too little. He left the door open without pushing you through it.

"You know I’ve got your back, right kid? You ever need to talk, about anything, even the stuff you think you’re not supposed to say out loud—come find me."

"Thanks, Robby. I mean it."

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you do."

A voice cut in—low and smooth.

"Mind if I cut in?"

You turned.

Jack stood there, one hand extended. He didn’t look at Robby. He didn’t need to.

Robby chuckled under his breath and stepped aside. "She’s all yours."

Jack’s eyes met yours, steady and unreadable.

“Dance with me?” he asked, softer than you'd expected.

For a second, you didn’t answer. Your breath caught, mind still echoing with the last time you’d heard him say your name.

But then you nodded—slow, tentative—and slid your hand into his.

He guided you gently into step, the rhythm of the music slower than your pulse. His hand settled against your waist, warm and sure, like it had always belonged there. The other laced with yours, a silent tether.

You moved together with a surprising ease, like muscle memory forged in proximity, not practice. It wasn’t just a dance—it was a conversation. A quiet exchange, careful and cautious. Every shift of weight, every brush of fingers was a sentence neither of you dared speak aloud.

You didn’t look up right away. Couldn't. The proximity was dizzying. It wasn’t the champagne. It was him.

Jack’s voice came, low and even. “You always this good at pretending everything’s fine?”

You finally glanced up, something caught between a smile and a flinch playing on your face. “Only when I’m trying to impress a colleague.”

His mouth twitched, barely. “That why you always pull it together when I’m around?”

You didn’t answer.

Gliding across the floor, you felt like you were floating. And still, the weight of his hand at your waist grounded you.

You weren’t sure which was more dangerous: the silence, or the closeness.

“I used to think if I kept moving, I wouldn’t have to feel any of it,” you said, voice barely above the swell of the music. “But some things catch up to you anyway.”

Jack’s grip shifted slightly, not tighter, just… more present. “Running works—until it doesn’t.”

A beat passed.

“I don’t run,” you said quietly.

He met your eyes. “No. You bury it. Same result, different damage.”

You exhaled through your nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Funny. Thought we were dancing, not diagnosing.”

“We can do both,” he said, dry but not unkind. “I go to therapy. You slow dance at charity galas.”

Your gaze flicked to his lips, then away. “Guess my way is cheaper since I'm not paying for any of the wine or dine.”

Jack’s hand at your waist didn’t budge. If anything, it steadied you more.

“Y/N,” he said after a moment, voice gentler now. Like he was handing something over. Like he wanted you to take it.

Your shoulders tensed. Jaw muscles flexed. 

He noticed.

You looked up, met his gaze, and said, quieter than before but with unmistakable weight, “Jack, you’re walking on thin ice.”

He didn’t flinch. But something flickered in his expression—something equal parts affection and surrender.

You only used each other’s names when it mattered.

The only difference was: he loved it. You hated it.

The hospital had quieted for the night, but the kind of quiet that screamed underneath.

You assisted on his last case—another loss, but this one had cut deeper than usual. Maybe it was the way Jack had gone cold, all clinical control and efficiency… until the voice crack. Just a flicker. A tremor. He’d kept going, ordering transfusions, calling vitals, his tone even until it wasn’t. You saw it—behind the focused eyes, there was fear.

You were the one standing next to him when he finally called it.

You found him up there—on the roof—where the city lights couldn’t quite wash out the weight in his shoulders. Jack was staring out past the edge, hands in his coat pockets, the wind catching just enough to make his scrubs flutter at the hem.

You didn’t speak right away. Just stood a few paces behind him, letting your presence fill the space before your voice did.

“I figured I’d find you up here.”

Jack didn’t turn. “Shouldn’t you be home?”

“I had to wrap up some charting.”

A beat.

“They were a veteran,” he said. “Had a daughter who just got into college.”

You took a step closer. “That wasn’t your fault.”

He let out a quiet, humorless sound. “I know. Doesn’t help.”

You hesitated, then moved beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

“I must have had a reason at one time to keep coming back," he murmured, “but I can't think of it right now."

You didn’t have an answer.

But you said his name.

“Jack.”

It was the first time you’d said it out loud. Not Dr. Abbot. Not anything guarded. Just him.

He turned then, slowly.

“Don’t shut down on me,” you said. “Not tonight.”

The wind carried your words away, but he heard them. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders dropped just slightly.

“I don’t know how to stay,” he said, voice rough. 

“You don’t have to stay alone.”

He glanced at you then—just briefly, like eye contact might split him open.

You searched his face, thinking back to the moment in the trauma bay where he called it. Where his voice cracked but didn’t waver. Where his gloved hands were steady even though his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen him look like that before—so composed, so clinical, and still, so unmistakably human.

The memory stuck to your ribs.

“I know it’s not fair,” you said, voice low. “That we carry the worst of them home. That we never get to know if we were enough.”

Jack didn’t speak. But he didn’t move either. That was something. So you added, a little too soft, “But you are. You are enough.”

A long silence.

Then, to break it—because it felt like too much—you rolled your shoulder and said, “Robby’s gonna kick your ass if you jump off during his shift.”

Jack huffed, the sound barely audible but real.

“Come on,” you added, nodding toward the stairwell. “Let’s get off this roof before someone reports us for loitering.”

You didn't move.

Not yet.

Just stood there in silence, waiting—not because you needed him to follow, but because you weren’t going anywhere without him.

And Jack came. Eventually. Quiet and heavy and slow, the shuffle of his shoes steadying against the roof's concrete.

He didn’t say anything. Just stepped beside you, close enough to share warmth but not break space.

Then you walked. Together. Not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel it. Close enough to stay.

The night had grown heavier.

Somehow, you and Jack had found your way back to the balcony—again. It was quieter out here, the city humming beneath you, wind tugging softly at your hair. Your skin still held the memory of his hand at your waist. The music inside was muffled now, like the two of you had stepped out of the narrative entirely.

Jack leaned against the railing, but his gaze never left you. Something about the way he was looking—like he’d been holding back something for far too long.

You crossed your arms, more to anchor yourself than anything. “You’re staring.”

“You said my name,” he replied, voice low.

Your throat tightened. “You started it.”

He pushed off the railing, slow and deliberate. “You know what I mean.”

You didn’t back away. But your voice came sharper this time, more breath than warning. “Don’t. Don’t start something neither of us can come back from.”

That gave him pause. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe everything—but bit it back. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Jack said. “But I can't keep pretending this is nothing.”

With a quiet breath, he confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart tripped.

“I try,” he continued, voice cracking. “God, I’ve tried. But you show up in every shift. Every damn quiet moment. I hear your voice when I walk through those doors. I look for you at every trauma call. And when you’re not there, it’s worse.”

You didn’t speak.

“I’ve been through hell,” he went on, stepping closer, “seen things I still don’t have names for—but none of it scares me the way you do. Because this?” He gestured between you. “This is real. And if I say it out loud, I don’t get to pretend anymore.”

Your breath hitched. “Jack…”

He looked at you, eyes tired and wide open. “Say something. Please.”

Your voice came out thinner than you meant. “You're my attending, we’re not supposed to—”

“I don’t care.”

The silence cracked wide open between you.

You let out a breath—shaky, exasperated.

"Fuck," you said, voice breaking. "What do you want me to say? That I can't stop thinking about you either? That I see your eyes every time I close mine—your smile, rare as it is, stuck in my head like a damn echo? That I come home and swear I can still smell your cologne because it’s the only thing that brings me any sense of comfort?"

Your hands were trembling now. You didn’t stop—couldn't.

"Pretending this means nothing is easier than risking what happens if it actually matters. Because if it does—Jack—"

Jack caught you before you could even get the words out. His mouth was on yours, rough and unyielding, and you didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. You kissed him like you meant it, because fucking hell, did you mean it. 

When your back hit the wall beside the balcony doors with a quiet thud, he pressed closer, hands framing your jaw like you were something to be memorized.

There was nothing polite in the way you touched each other now. Just years of tension, unspoken things, and the desperate need to feel something real.

You didn’t let go.

Neither did he.

His lips trailed lower, brushing the hinge of your jaw before nipping gently at your neck. The sound you made—half breath, half shock—only seemed to spur him on.

“Then don’t pretend,” Jack whispered against your skin, voice rough and reverent. “Let yourself have this. Let us have this.”

Your hands cradled the sides of his face, fingers brushing across his cheekbones. All these years spent by his side and you hadn’t taken the time to admire his freckles.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his—slower now, deeper. One of his hands slid down your back, splaying across the small of it as if anchoring you in place. The other tangled into your hair, careful but needing.

You gasped when his hips met yours again, your breath catching between kisses. He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

"I need you," you finally said.

And that was all he needed.

He rushed to close the curtains on the inside and lock the balcony doors before returning to you. 

Your world narrowed to the way his mouth reclaimed yours, the press of his body, the heat building like a fuse lit too close to the end. Somewhere in the distance, the city kept moving. But here, in the quiet shelter of the balcony, there was only this.

Jack dropped to his knees, the motion fluid. You sucked in a breath as his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, coaxing one leg upward until your heel hooked over his shoulder. Your foot pressed gently against the curve of his back.

He tugged at the hem of your dress. You were already holding the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips with practiced ease. The lace of your underwear was delicate, barely in the way—he hooked a finger around the side, sliding it with a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.

You were already soaked, and the way his eyes flicked up confirmed he knew it. He looked up at you once, eyes dark and unwavering, before leaning in.

His mouth was slow at first—exploring, learning you. The way your breath stuttered when his tongue found a sensitive spot, the way your fingers clenched in his hair. “You taste just as incredible as I imagined,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. When he inserted a finger and curled towards himself, you nearly buckled.

You didn’t mean to cry out, but it slipped past your lips, helpless and raw. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, which made him smirk. He caught your elbow with his free hand, gently but insistently, pulling your hand away and intertwining your fingers into his hair. You gave his curls a tug and were met with a moan. It was impossible to hide the smug grin that painted your face.

“I want to hear you,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. His voice dipped lower, rougher.

You felt the press of the marble wall cool behind you as your back arched. One hand flew to the wall, the other gripping his shoulder as he kept going—steadfast, focused, like you were the only thing that existed. Like this was something he'd been starving for.

And maybe you had been too. Because every sound, every gasp that left you was honest.

You hiked your knee higher, anchoring your heel along the dip of his back. The dress had long since stopped mattering.

Jack’s grip tightened, one hand digging into the curve of your ass as he anchored you against the wall. His other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding inside you with precision, curling until your legs nearly gave out.

"Jack, I'm—" You moaned into your clenched teeth, the sound too loud, too needy—but he wanted it, taking it in like oxygen.

Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as your breath came in shallow, stuttering waves. He didn’t let up. The rhythm was relentless, mouth and hand working in tandem, dragging you closer to the edge with every sweep, every flick, drinking you like water from a desert oasis. He stopped only when you tapped his cheek twice, silently begging for mercy. 

Your skin glistened, painted with heat. Before he pulled away, Jack leaned in again, his tongue tracing the trails of your release up your inner thigh with slow, savoring strokes. Each pass of his mouth made you twitch, gasp, overstimulated but unwilling to stop. He kissed the soft skin in their wake.

When he finally looked up, his face was just as wrecked, jaw set and glistening with you. And the look in his eyes when he glanced up—hungry, worshipful—was enough to ruin you.

His lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. “God, you’re perfect.” His eyes lifted to meet yours with something close to divine awe.

It came out quiet—like a confession he'd finally allowed himself to say out loud.

You leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He let out a low, contented sound against your mouth, one hand tightening around your thigh, the other still steadying your hip. You could feel the tension in him—tender, aching—as if the moment might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold it close.

Your fingers slipped into your dress, pulling free a small foil square tucked just inside the cup of your bra. Jack blinked down at it, then back up at you, clearly caught off guard.

He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

You shrugged, breathless. "Was holding it for a friend."

Jack smirked, eyes dragging down your body. "Sure you were."

You made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his pants down just enough.

“He talks too much,” you muttered, smirking.

You looked down.

And stopped.

He was perfect. Cut, trimmed, thick, just the right length. The kind of sight that made your breath hitch. Your hand slid along his length with a few firm pumps—just enough to make him hiss between his teeth.

You couldn't resist. Lowered to your knees, gave him a few languid licks, savoring the taste. He whimpered, his hand gently gripping your hair—but not pulling, not yet.

After a few more pumps, Jack pulled you up by the chin with a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasp.

“I’m not coming anywhere but inside you,” he growled against your lips.

You smiled, teasing. “Maybe next time, then.” Your fingers trailed down the front of his dress shirt, feeling the heat of his body even through the fabric—muscles taut and firm beneath your touch.

Then you turned, facing the wall—cheeks hot, breath short. One hand braced flat against the cool marble, the other gathering the bunched fabric of your dress. You looked over your shoulder, eyes dark with want.

Jack swore under his breath. He moved behind you in a blur, hands rough on your hips as he lined himself up. The heat of him pressed against you, teasing, maddening.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice lower than gravel.

You pushed back, just enough for him to sink in, slow and deliberate. He filled you up inch by inch, warm and hot and perfect, making you gasp as your forehead pressed to the wall.

His hands wrapped around your hips as he bottomed out, his mouth dragging along your neck, teeth grazing your skin until he whispered a sharp, broken "fuck"—more to himself than to you. Like he was trying not to explode.

You tried to move, just a little forward, a little back—restless with need—but his hands tightened.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “Just—just give me a second. You feel fucking incredible.”

“Jack,” you whimpered.

If he clenched his teeth any harder, he might've popped his jaw. "Fuck, I love when you call me by my name."

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please.”

That undid him.

He gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your supple flesh—just shy of bruising. The pain was delicious, grounding you to every thrust, every second of connection, hips rocking forward, slowly at first—deep, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of you from the inside out. Each thrust sent a spark up your spine, your moans echoing softly. His mouth returned to your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark, his breath hot against your skin.

"You feel too good," he muttered, almost like it hurt. "Too good."

You tried to respond, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat as his pace picked up—harder, deeper, everything building.

Your hands flattened against the wall, bracing yourself as your body rocked with his rhythm. It was dizzying—overwhelming—in all the best ways. Every drag of his hips made your knees tremble, every grunt and growl in your ear pushed you closer to unraveling.

Without warning, he turned you around to face him. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, chest heaving. He lifted your left leg with his right hand, supporting your thigh against his side as he surged forward again.

The angle had you seeing stars—vision spinning as he hit that spot inside you with maddening precision. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your head dropped forward against his.

Your hands clasped behind his neck, holding tight, desperate to keep him there. You raked your fingers through his curls, tugging hard enough to make him moan—and dragged your nails lightly down the back of his neck, leaving a faint trail of heat in their wake. His mouth found yours again—tongue hot, hungry—kissing you like he needed it to breathe. His left hand anchored you by the hip, grinding you against him as his rhythm deepened, pulling another cry from your throat.

There was nothing left but heat, hands, breath. And the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wanted—needed.

"I'm yours," he whispered, forehead resting against yours, voice ragged. It wasn’t a declaration—it was a truth. Raw and full and real.

Your lips brushed his, trembling. “And I’m yours.”

The moment cracked open between you. You kissed him—desperate, hungry, chasing the high you were both barely holding onto.

You felt yourself teetering, the peak just within reach. Jack looked like he was holding back, focusing on keeping every muscle drawn tight with restraint—putting your pleasure before his. But you needed him there with you, completely.

You leaned into his ear, breath hot. “I need you to cum for me, Jack.” His fingers dug deeper into your hip. "I need you to fill me up."  Your knee wrapped tighter around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as you held him to you, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. You bit the curve of his neck, sharp and claiming.

That was all it took.

He let out a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he came undone, pulling you with him into a release that felt like freefall—earth-shattering and unrelenting.

Your release crashed through you moments after his, drawn out and all-consuming. Every nerve lit up, your body shaking with the intensity of it. It wasn’t like anything else—no drug, no high. Just him. You. This.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Your breath came in broken gasps, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in the aftermath. Sweaty. Beautiful. And quiet.

Jack’s hand smoothed up your spine, grounding you. His lips brushed your temple, and the world finally began to settle back into place.

He gently brushed strands of damp hair from your face, fingers tender where they swept against your skin. The breeze caught a few pieces, but they clung to the sheen on your cheeks. When you finally let your leg down, your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you without hesitation—arms strong, sure, keeping you steady as your weight shifted. You clung to him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. When you finally loosened your grip, he didn’t let go right away—his arms still braced around you like muscle memory, like instinct.

Pulling back, you realized what a disheveled mess the two of you were. 

You reached up and smoothed down the front of his shirt, fixing the lapels of his suit, tugging the hem of his jacket into place. Thankfully whatever hair gel he used was bulletproof, only a curl or two out of place. He brushed his fingers along your hairline, gently tucking back strands that had come loose, then adjusted the strap of your dress where it had slipped off your shoulder.

There was a beat of silence—comfortable, but heavy.

Clearing your throat, you tried to gather your thoughts. “I, uh…”

Jack’s eyes remained a little dazed, as if he was still anchoring himself to the moment.

A breath escaped you—half-laugh, half-exhale. “Tea. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back to mine for tea.”

He blinked once, then his lips quirked.

“Tea?”

“Yeah,” you said, half-smiling. “Or, like… whatever. Just to wind down. You don’t have to.”

Jack shook his head once, slow. “Only if you’re not just holding it for a friend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “You’re welcome anytime, Jack. You know that, right?”

His gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

You nodded once, awkward and earnest. “Cool. Good. Great.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You always this smooth after balcony sex?”

You shot him a glare filled with playful menace. "Depends. You always this cocky after someone invites you over for tea?”

He smiled—one of those rare ones, small and sideways. “Only when it’s not just for the tea.”

You groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “But I’m yours, remember?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Return policy on that is… nonexistent, right?”

His smile widened just a touch. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Careful, Jack. That almost sounded romantic.”

He chuckled, then sobered just enough to meet your eyes. “Maybe it was.”

The breeze danced around you both again, brushing cool air against warm skin. Still, the embers between you remained.

“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his hand. “Let’s go before someone realizes we’ve been out here defiling the sacred balcony.”

He followed without hesitation. Fingers laced with yours.

This time, neither of you looked back. 

<3

[luna-azzurra]

Write Tension that isn't just Yelling or Guns

Listen, not all tension is someone holding a knife or screaming “I’ve had enough, Derek!” at a dinner party. Real, edge-of-your-seat tension can be quiet, slow, awkward, and still make your reader grip the page like it owes them money. So here are my favorite ways to sneak tension in like a gremlin under the bed...

╰  Unanswered Questions (That the Character is Actively Avoiding)

Tension isn’t always about what’s said—it’s about what’s not said. Let your character dodge questions, interrupt, change subjects. Let readers feel the silence humming between the lines. + Great for: secrets, internal conflict, emotional gut-punches.

╰ Time Pressure Without Action Pressure

A clock ticking doesn’t always mean bombs. Sometimes it means waiting for a test result. A letter. A phone call. A knock on the door. Tension = knowing something’s coming but not knowing when. + Great for: psychological suspense, horror, relationship drama.

╰  Small Talk That’s Not Really Small Talk

When two characters are talking about the weather, but both are secretly screaming inside? That’s tension. Give one character a goal (say the thing, don’t say the thing) and the other a defense mechanism. Now sit back and watch the discomfort bloom. + Great for: slow burns, rivalries, “we’re not talking about that night, are we?”

╰ Two Characters Who Want Opposite Things But Are Pretending They Don’t

Someone wants to leave. Someone wants them to stay. Someone wants to confess. Someone is acting like nothing’s wrong. Make your characters polite when they want to scream. + Great for: emotionally repressed chaos, family drama, enemies-to-lovers.

╰ One Character Realizes Something The Other Doesn’t

A power shift = instant tension. One person knows the truth. The other’s still talking like everything’s fine. Let that dread slow-cook. Readers love being in on the secret. + Great for: betrayal, secrets, foreshadowing plot twists.

╰ Body Language That Contradicts the Dialogue

They say “I’m fine,” but they’re picking their thumbnail raw. They laugh too hard. Their smile doesn’t reach their eyes. Show the cracks forming. Let the reader sense the dissonance. + Great for: all genres. Especially emotionally loaded scenes.

╰  Echoed Phrases or Reused Words That Hit Differently the Second Time

When a character repeats something someone else said—but now it’s laced with bitterness or grief? Chills. Callback dialogue is your best friend for building subtle dread or emotional weight. + Great for: heartbreak scenes, arcs coming full circle, psychological unraveling.

╰ Characters Performing a Role to Keep the Peace

Pretending to be “the good sibling.” Faking confidence in a boardroom. Playing therapist when they’re not okay themselves. Tension thrives when someone’s holding it together with duct tape and fake smiles. + Great for: internal conflict, layered characterization, slow unravelings.

[ilovedinodino]

Wanna bet?

synopsis: You and Haechan weren’t acquainted, but both of you were widely popular across the university—though for different reasons. Haechan was known as a fuckboy and a partygoer, changing girls every two weeks and being rude to everyone except his friends. You, on the other hand, were his complete opposite. Kind-hearted and distant, you had no relationships at all, turning down every confession and remaining unattainable. And so, it happened that you and Haechan unknowingly made a bet on each other. Where will your bets lead? Will you discover the truth? And, finally, who will win the bet?

pairing: haechan x f!reader

genre: slightly enemies to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive

warnings: mentions of trowing up, haechan is insecure sometimes, idk what else..

playlist: conan grey - the cut that always bleeds

wc: 15,931

na: my first fic ever and I’m so scared ngl. any feedback in anon or here is appreciated😌

“Haechan, why didn’t you accept my gift?” a loud female voice echoes through the hallway. You, Ningning, and Karina watch as a girl runs after Haechan, clutching a box in her hands. The three of you roll your eyes and sigh, witnessing yet another dramatic scene.

It wasn’t the first time you had watched university girls chasing after Haechan. And it wasn’t the first time he had been seen with a new girl. Every two weeks— a new girl, a new fan, a new romance. And it annoyed you.

It’s not that you paid attention to him on purpose, but he always seemed to appear in front of you, making it impossible to ignore.

And what annoyed you the most was his rudeness to everyone at this university. More than once, you had heard him arguing with other students and irritating people. Jisung, your best friend, told you that he was actually kind and normal with his friends, but you didn’t believe it—you thought Jisung was just covering for him.

As Haechan walks past, the girl rushes between you, trying to catch up, but suddenly stumbles and falls to her knees. You quickly leaning down to help her up.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

She lifts her head and reaches for the contents that spilled from the box— a letter, an assortment of candies, and a bracelet. Karina and Ningning kneel beside her, helping gather everything. Once you all stand, you steady her so she doesn’t lose her balance.

“Thank you so much!” she says with a grateful smile.

You gently pat her back.

“Be more careful…,” you say, glancing at the now-crumpled box in her hands before looking back at her. “And honestly? Forget about that jerk. He doesn’t deserve sweet and beautiful girls like you.”

She stares at you for a moment before letting out an awkward laugh, nodding slightly.

“Maybe you’re right… I stayed up all night writing this letter…”

You reassuringly squeeze her hand, but your eyes catch a movement behind her. A little farther away, a guy stands watching her intently, concern clear in his expression.

“More than that,” you continue, “I’m sure there’s someone far more deserving—someone who’s truly in love with you.”

The girl looks at you, startled.

“Who?”

“He should be the one to tell you that himself,” you say with a soft smile. “We’ll get going now. Toss the letter and keep the sweets for yourself, okay?”

She nods quickly, smiling at you. You and the girls walk away, leaving her alone—but not really alone. Someone is already waiting for the right moment to step forward.

“That idiot didn’t even bother to turn around. What do people even see in him?” you say irritably, crossing your arms.

“He’s handsome, comes from a wealthy family, part of the popular boys, a partygoer. I think that’s enough”, Ningning replies.

You sigh heavily.

“And he’s also rude, changes girls like clothes, does poorly in studies, drinks too much, and, honestly, he’s an idiot.”

“Does he really do badly in studies? I thought he had good grades?” Karina joins the conversation.

“He used to, but this semester he’s been terrible. I don’t know what happened, but he dropped in the rankings and basically gave up on studying”, Ningning explains.

You stop in your tracks and look at her in confusion.

“How do you know all this?”

Ningning blinks, momentarily stunned, then quickly starts rambling:

“Uh… Aren’t these just the rumors going around campus? I just heard about it! I mean, he is popular, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously but eventually nod and keep walking.

“Whatever. Let’s forget about him and all of them. Today, we’re finally going to that café we’ve been wanting to go.”

“Oh, right!” you and Ningning say at the same time.

Laughing, the three of you hug each other as you leave the university.

“Ah!” Haechan bursts into the room and flops onto the couch with a loud sigh. Chenle and Mark look at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?..”

“Some girl has been chasing me all day with this box! I already told her this morning that I’m not interested and asked her to leave me alone, but she didn’t care! Because of her, another girl rejected me, thinking she was my ex!” Haechan flails in frustration, aggressively hitting the pillows.

Chenle and Mark sigh heavily and stop paying attention to him. They are already used to Haechan constantly complaining about the people around him, even though he doesn’t realize how annoying he can be himself.

“Why are you silent?” Haechan looks at his friends in surprise.

They don’t respond and simply take out two controllers.

“Hey!”

“What?” Chenle glances at him irritably. “We’re not interested in your stories.”

Haechan watches as his friends sit down next to him, shoving him aside, and turn on the TV.

“I am your best friend?”

“Unfortunately. Now, can you leave? We want to play.”

Haechan blinks, gets up from the couch, and heads to his room.

“Alright.”

But in reality, he wasn’t mad. He knew he often talked too much about himself and his experiences in excessive detail, so he understood his friends.

He also understood how irritating he was to everyone. But that was his choice—after a bad experience, he was afraid to open up to anyone and decided to create a completely different image when he entered university.

At first, his friends noticed his changed behavior and tried to talk to him, to bring him back to his senses, but it was all in vain. Haechan convinced them that everything would be fine.

Nothing was fine.

His friends didn’t even realize how much he was changing, how often he was going out partying. Back in school, Haechan had been the most level-headed among them and never did anything reckless—but that had all changed. What shocked everyone the most was that he started dating people left and right and sleeping with different girls.

“Haechan, why are you doing this?” Renjun asked one day while they were playing together.

“What? You just said you’d beat me here, and now—”

“I’m not talking about the game. Why do you drink so much and change girls so often?” Renjun turned to him, but Haechan just blinked dumbly.

“Isn’t it fun? I mean, I’m a guy and a student—it’d be weird if I didn’t do it.”

“But none of us do that.”

“Jeno does,” Haechan replied, and Renjun rolled his eyes.

“He just goes on dates—he doesn’t dump them after a few days like you do.”

Haechan just laughed.

“Let’s get back to the game.”

“Haechan, if—”

“Let’s just play, Renjun.»

After that, Renjun never brought it up again. But everyone knew Haechan had problems expressing himself—he was just scared that no one would like him for who he really was. And proving him wrong was difficult… and pointless.

The entire next day, Haechan walked around like a ghost, trying not to draw attention to himself, hiding under his hood. And he was doing a good job at it.

Lately, he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted he had become—both physically and mentally. He blamed it all on uni and partying, but in reality, the problem was within himself. He was draining himself with thoughts and stress. Mark, his closest friend, told him that it was all because he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, but Haechan thought that was nonsense.

Nonsense, right?

There was only one last economics lecture left, and unfortunately, he was running very late. He rushed through the hallway, searching for the right classroom. Lately, he didn’t care much about studying, but economics was an exception—he didn’t even have any grades for it. That meant he had to be there today and ask for extra assignments to save his own ass.

He was almost at the classroom when he crashed into someone, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Looking at the floor, he saw spilled coffee—clearly from the person he had bumped into.

His hood was up, and his bangs covered his eyes, making it hard to see anything in front of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Slowly, still dazed, he looked up, ready to thank the stranger.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Haechan hears a sweet, melodic voice and blinks, lifting his head—only to see you staring back at him.

“You?! Oh my God, you idiot! Watch where you’re going! You almost killed me and spilled my coffee!” you shout, shoving him hard.

Haechan stumbles back in shock, eyes widening at your reaction.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t see—” he tries to explain, but you cut him off immediately.

“Maybe if you took off your hood and actually cut your damn bangs, you’d be able to see! Now my favorite sweater is ruined!”

What?

“Well, maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway glued to your phone, this wouldn’t have happened!

You blink in surprise, staring at Haechan as he suddenly raises his voice right back at you.

“I have every right to stand here! But can you even run through the hallways like that in a university?”

“I was late! And now, thanks to you, I’m even later! So just move and let me—”

“What’s going on here?”

Both you and Haechan freeze and turn toward the voice. Walking toward you from the right is Professor Kwon, the economics lecturer, his expression stern and unamused.

“Classes are in session. It is completely inappropriate to be yelling and causing a scene in the hallways right now.

“Sorry,” you both mumble at the same time, bowing slightly.

Professor Kwon’s gaze shifts to Haechan, narrowing in suspicion. “Lee Donghyuck? Why are you not in my lecture right now?”

Haechan straightens up, quickly trying to save himself. “I was on my way, but I—uh—bumped into her! Sorry, but she’s the reason I’m late!”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief before you smack his arm. “Are you kidding me?! You ran into me, you liar!”

“Enough,” the professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Lee Donghyuck, get inside before I decide not to let you in at all. And you, miss, stop walking near the classrooms. If you have no more business here, go home.”

Neither of you dares to argue, quickly doing as you’re told. But before leaving, you and Haechan exchange one last heated glare.

“Idiot,” you both mutter under your breaths at the same time before finally going your separate ways.

“She was the one standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at her phone with her coffee, and then she blamed me for it. Is she insane?”

Haechan walks into friends dorm with Jisung, Mark, and Chenle. After kicking off their shoes, they head straight to their shared room.

“You spilled coffee on her. I’d be pissed too,” Chenle replies, making Haechan click his tongue in annoyance.

“It wasn’t my fault! I was in a rush. And she snapped at me the second she saw my face. She even has a weird name—Y/N? What kind of name is that?”

“Y/N?! She was rude to you? No way, she’s the nicest person in the entire university,” Mark says, making Haechan scoff in disbelief.

“Her? The nicest? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

He tosses his backpack next to the couch and flops onto it. Chenle climbs on top of him, and Haechan instinctively wraps his arms around him.

“Wait… Y/N? Hold on, that’s my best friend from my group.”

All three of them turn to Jisung in unison. Haechan immediately shoves Chenle off and sits up.

“She’s your best friend? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious!”

“Why do we never know about your other best friends?” Chenle exclaims, while Mark nods in agreement.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I just never had a reason to bring her up, so I guess I forgot.”

“And by the way, Haechan, I highly doubt she was rude to you. She’s an angel—she wouldn’t snap at anyone for no reason.”

“But she—”

“Isn’t she literally known for rejecting everyone. Mind you, she even turned down Sungchan! SUNGCHAN, HAECHAN!!!” Chenle practically shrieks, grabbing Haechan by the shoulders and shaking him violently.

“Alright, alright, I got it! Let go!”

Haechan shoves him off, and Chenle flops dramatically onto the pillows.

“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen her with a guy. Maybe she’s just into girls?” Mark asks as he walks over and sits beside the others.

“No, she’s into guys,” Jisung replies casually, while Haechan furrows his brows.

“If she’s so popular, why don’t I know her? I literally know everyone in this university.”

The other guys burst into laughter.

“What?”

“You two live in completely different worlds, Haechan. You only know people from your own crowd, and as you’ve probably noticed, she’s nothing like you,” Mark explains.

“So what? She’s probably just another typical nerd who stays home and is nice to everyone. Boring.”

“Hell no, she’s fun, and she loves parties. She’s just careful and doesn’t do the stupid shit you do,” Jisung corrects him, giving Haechan a pointed look.

“Then why is she still single? Was Sunghchan not good enough?”

Jisung simply shrugs as he reaches for the bathroom door.

“Maybe she has high standards. Or maybe she’s just waiting for the one. She’s never told me,” he says before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The sound of running water fills the room, and Haechan chuckles at his words.

“So picky? Ridiculous. I bet if it weren’t for the coffee incident, she’d be chasing after me like all the others. She’s nothing special—just putting on an act.”

Chenle suddenly freezes, and Haechan immediately notices, giving him a questioning look.

“You sure about that?”

Haechan remains confused.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna prove it?”

“What?”

“You really think you could get her if you tried?”

“All girls are the same—of course I could!”

“Wanna bet?” Chenle smirks, and Mark immediately frowns.

“Chenle…”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to make her fall for me and actually date me?” Haechan raises a brow.

“Haechan, she’s never dated anyone in this university—”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Mark stares at him in shock, while Chenle’s grin stretches even wider.

“You’re going to lose, Haechan. I’m serious. She hates you, especially after—”

“My tactics have never failed me before, Mark. Don’t worry. I’ll even buy you your favorite meal with my winnings,” Haechan pats Mark on the shoulder before heading to his room.

—

“Then he called me an idiot! I heard it!”

You sit in the apartment you share with Ningning and Karina, recounting yesterday’s situation to them and Jaemin. A whole day had passed, yet you were still fuming. It had taken forever to get the stain out of your sweater, and even then, a faint mark remained.

“That’s insane,” Ningning says—before bursting into laughter.

“It’s not funny,” you pout, leaning onto Jaemin’s shoulder.

“How do you even friends with him, Jaemin? He’s awful,” you complain, taking a sip from your mug.

“He’s actually nice to us. The sweetest, even,” Jaemin shrugs.

“Then why can’t he be like that with everyone?”

“He’s got his issues,” he says, grabbing your drink and taking a sip himself.

A couple of hours later.

“No, but seriously, Y/N, he’s the worst player I’ve ever seen. No one lasts more than two weeks with him. It’s impossible—”

“Ningning, he’s just a dumb boy! I’m sure it’s easy to keep him around for longer than two weeks. Besides, it’s me. Don’t you believe in me?”

For the past hour, the four of you had been discussing Haechan. What started as casual gossip had quickly turned into a playful challenge—could you really date him for longer than two weeks? They all doubted you. But you insisted it would be too easy. And no matter how hard they tried to talk you out of it, you weren’t budging.

“Are you guys scared you’re going to lose?” you smirk, leaning back against the couch.

“Scared?” Ningning scoffs, glancing at Karina and Jaemin.

“You two should be talking her out of this. Why aren’t you?”

“She does whatever she wants,” Jaemin sighs, smiling. “There’s no stopping her once she sets her mind on something.”

Ningning clicks her tongue before shaking her head.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s bet on it. But just so you know—we’re playing for big money. This is Lee Donghyuck we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” You stretch out your hand toward Ningning, who looks at the two beside her in disbelief.

“Am I seriously the only one betting against her?”

“I believe in her,” Jaemin says with a shrug.

“I just don’t want to waste my money,” Karina adds, making Ningning roll her eyes.

“Fine.” She finally shakes your hand, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

The bet was on.

After searching the entire university, you finally spot Haechan. This whole plan of apologizing just to get closer to him annoyed you, but it was necessary. So here you were, wandering through the campus, determined to find this idiot.

You step into an empty classroom, only to see a familiar figure sitting with his back to the door. The sound of your footsteps makes him turn around, his brows slightly raised when he sees you.

Without hesitation, you walk up to him and sit down.

“Hey.”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you. Sorry” you say, putting on your best attempt at sincerity. In reality, you’d much rather punch him in the face.

Haechan looks genuinely surprised before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault—I spilled your coffee and ruined your sweater.”

You force a smile, though just thinking about your favorite sweater and that damn stain makes your eye twitch.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was planning to replace it anyway.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

«…What?» You blink in confusion.

«I ruined yours, so I’ll get you another one. Just send me the one you want.”

You freeze for a moment, processing what just happened. Why was he suddenly being so… nice? Was this really the same Haechan?

Then it hits you—this is actually perfect. You were going to need his number eventually, but now you had the perfect excuse to get it without waiting another week.

«Ah… okay… Can you give me your number? I’ll send it to you.»

Haechan nods, and you take out your phone to save his contact. You’re about to leave when he suddenly adds:

«No need to rush. Pick something you like and don’t worry about the price.»

He smiles at you, and you feel like something is definitely off. But you quickly brush off the thought, nodding at him before walking away.

xxxxx: link

idiot: good taste😉

xxxxx: thanks ☺️

idiot: are you sure you really like it? You didn’t check the price?

xxxxx: yeah, I love it

xxxxx: why? What about the price?

idiot: I just expected it to be more expensive. I could’ve bought you something pricier if needed

xxxxx: no, it’s fine, I really like this one. Thank you

idiot: don’t thank me, I had to

idiot: by the way, you looked really beautiful today

xxxxx: huh? Thanks…

idiot: sorry, I just couldn’t hold back from saying it

xxxxx: haha, you’re cute

idiot: me? I’m cute?

xxxxx: honestly, yeah

idiot: I’m glad you think so :)

«Is she really that dumb?» Haechan scoffs, tossing his phone onto the bed.

«Who?» Chenle, lying on the bed across the room, glances at him.

«Y/N. She’s so naive. How did she reject every guy? It’s so easy to gain her trust.» Haechan turns onto his side, watching Chenle play on his phone.

«I don’t know, maybe she rejected them after some time. I’m sure you’ll be one of them.»

«No. She’s already falling for it, and I haven’t even done anything yet.»

Haechan turns onto his back, closing his eyes.

—

«Your beautiful sweater, miss.»

Haechan hands you a bag, and you take it from him. Only two days had passed, and he was already handing you your new sweater.

Did he get close to all his flings before dropping them like this? You wondered.

«Wow, you actually bought it.» You peek inside and smile at him.

«How could I not?» He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You both tried hard to pretend to be sweet to each other. But because of the rumors about one another, you couldn’t help but wonder—what was wrong with the two of you right now?

«By the way… to be honest, Y/N, I’d really like to get to know you better.»

You flinch slightly. Why is everything happening so fast and so easily? You know he probably just wants to sleep with you and then disappear, but without this turn of events, your plan wouldn’t work. So you have no choice but to take the risk and let him do what he wants.

«Me? Really?»

Haechan nods. «Yeah, and if you don’t mind… would you like to go on a date with me? This Sunday?»

You smirk. This is going to be way too easy.

«Oh, um… if you’re sure about it, then yeah, I don’t mind!» You pretend to be flustered, lowering your gaze to the floor.

«Then I’ll text you what time to be ready, okay?»

You nod, and he waves at you before walking away.

«So dumb.» You roll your eyes and head in the opposite direction.

—

Sunday.

After that day, Haechan texted you the time and let you know he’d come to pick you up. You told the girls everything, and…

«You do realize he just wants to use you like he did with all the others, right?» Ningning trails behind you while you get ready.

«I know, but it’s only temporary.»

«Y/N.» She grabs your hand and pulls you closer. «Let’s call off the bet? I’m worried about you.»

You smile at your friend and hug her.

«Ning, this isn’t about the bet. I want to teach that rude guy a lesson myself. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s just dumb, that’s all.»

«Are you sure?»

You nod, and she hugs you again.

«Just be careful.»

«You look really beautiful,» Haechan says as you approach him and his car.

You’re, to say the least, surprised to see that he actually owns a car, though it makes sense considering the family he comes from and what he can afford. Ningning even managed to tell you that he used to live with Mark, but after his parents gifted him an apartment for his 21st birthday, he moved out and has lived alone ever since, but he often stays over at Mark’s place.

You feel a little flustered and quietly thank him.

«You look good too.» And it’s true. In all your years as a student, you’ve never seen Haechan dressed like this—even at events. Actually, have you even seen him at any uni events? Since he’s a partygoer, he never really cares about how he dresses, but this time, he actually put in effort. He’s wearing a cardigan over a button-up with black jeans, and you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that he’s really attractive.

Haechan opens the door for you, and you get in, already anticipating a night at some basic café where you’ll sit through the embarrassment of his conversation.

Haechan was surprisingly a great conversationalist. He wasn’t acting silly and talked calmly—you didn’t even know he was capable of that. To be honest, you always thought he was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to handle relationships, which is why he had so many almost-relationships with different girls. But it turned out that wasn’t the case.

He told you about his family, his friends, and just his life in general. How he once dreamed of becoming a musician but later decided it was a bad idea and chose to study IT instead. How, despite being good with computers, he was terrible at video games and so on.

The whole evening was filled with a good atmosphere, to the point that you almost forgot why you were really here. Haechan seemed like a genuinely kind and good person, making you momentarily forget about his real personality.

Now, the two of you were walking through a park, breathing in the fresh air, and continuing your conversation.

Haechan walks beside you and says, “I’m still surprised that Jisung never mentioned you. You’re not someone people should keep quiet about.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You’re pretty. You’re kind, beautiful, and sweet. A good person. If you were my friend, I’d be telling everyone about you.”

You blush, but this time, it’s real. A part of you hopes he’s being honest, but this is Lee Haechan—he couldn’t be.

“Thank you. You’re a good person too, but I don’t get why you have such a bad reputation. Everyone calls you rude.”

Haechan flinches slightly. “I just… I just don’t trust people.”

“You don’t trust people?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Yeah. I only trust my friends and family. I had bad experiences with others, so I decided to be this way.” Haechan didn’t even know why he was telling you this right now, especially since it was so personal.

“But have you ever thought that if you gave others a chance, you might be able to trust them too?”

Haechan stays silent for a moment, and you decide to drop the topic. You continue walking in silence until you reach your apartment.

“Thanks for tonight. I hope we can do this again if you don’t mind,” he says.

“I’d love that,” you say with a bright smile. He smiles back, just as warmly.

You say goodbye, and he watches you until you disappear inside the building.

“Such a weirdo,” Haechan mutters under his breath before turning back to his car.

—

idiot: are you in the cafeteria?

xxxxx: yeah, why?

You stare at your phone, waiting for a reply, but instead, a hand on your shoulder startles you. You look up and see Haechan.

“This is for you.” He places a cheesecake and your favorite juice on the table. Your friends watch the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just want to keep you in a good mood during class. So, enjoy.” He pats your shoulder and walks away.

“What did you do to him?!” Karina hisses at you while you stare at the cheesecake, just as confused.

“I… have no idea? Maybe my charms are working.”

Ningning bursts out laughing.

“No, but seriously, this is weird. He never does stuff like this. Look around—the whole cafeteria is staring at you now!”

You glance up and, sure enough, every table seems to be drilling holes into you with their eyes.

You quickly look away and stab your fork into your salad.

“Damn, I didn’t want this kind of attention.”

“You’re already popular.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be famous just for being Haechan’s next girl!”

“Oh, baby, believe me, this is a completely different case,” you ignore Ningning and continue eating, letting everything else fade into the background.

“You’re trying so hard, it’s hilarious,” Chenle says, settling into a seat at the kitchen table, eyes locked on Haechan.

The guys had gathered at Jeno and Jaemin’s place after university. Jaemin was still at the gym and Jisung still at uni, but the rest of them were here.

“What’s going on?” Jeno asks, while Renjun also looks over with curiosity.

“He made a bet with Chenle that he could date Y/N.”

Renjun laughs hard, nearly falling over onto Mark.

“Y/N?” He laughs again, and Chenle joins in. “She rejects the most popular guys, and you think she won’t reject you?”

“We went on a date!” Haechan shouts.

“So what? She goes on dates with guys, then it’s over. No one ever makes it to the final stage, Haechan. And you, of all people, definitely won’t.”

“Wanna bet on that too?” Haechan challenges, smirking.

Renjun scoffs but is still grinning. “I don’t waste my time on childish things like this.”

“We bet $800.”

“What?” Renjun exclaims, eyes widening. “Well, damn, I’m in!”

Laughter erupts around the room, and Mark sighs before adding, “If Jaemin finds out you guys are betting on Y/N, he’s gonna kill us. And for the record, I’m totally against this.”

“Everything will be fine, Mark. Just… please, no one tell Jaemin or Jisung.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

—

Your second date takes place at an amusement park. You mentioned that you love them a lot, and Haechan couldn’t miss this chance.

“It’s so beautiful and fun here,” you say as you walk through the park. It’s Sunday, and there are a lot of people around. Haechan stays close to you, making sure not to lose sight of you and to keep you from tripping. He frequently places a hand on your back and gently guides you forward. You feel a bit flustered by it but don’t show it. The same goes for Haechan.

“Do you want to go on that one?” you ask, pointing at a ride that spins people around.

Haechan gulps. In reality, he’s a bit afraid of extreme rides and often gets nauseous from them. He does like amusement parks, but he tries not to go on too many rides—one or two at most. He thought you’d be the same and that he wouldn’t have to endure too much.

But how wrong he was.

“Haechan, let’s go there!” You grab his hand and pull him toward yet another ride.

Haechan wants to cry. He can’t handle another one—his stomach is churning, and he’s holding on for dear life, all for yo- for the bet. And you’re too happy, too excited, too adorable today for him to say no. Besides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you when he’s the one who invited you here.

And yet, he’s at his limit. If he gets on one more ride…

“Y/N, wait.” He stops you, pulling you toward him, breathing heavily from running. You look at him, starting to worry.

“Are you okay?” You place a hand on his cheek, and he flinches at your touch.

“Yeah, I just… I’m tired. Can we just eat now?”

You pout—you really wanted to go on that ride.

“Just once? I’ve always wanted to try it, but I never got the chance. Just one time?” You smile sweetly, holding up a finger. He sighs in defeat and nods.

One time. He prays he won’t throw up.

“Haechan, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” You rub his back as he hunches over the toilet, trowing up. The moment you got off the ride, he suddenly clutched his stomach and muttered that he was going to be sick. Acting quickly, you rushed him to the public restroom.

“I didn’t want to say no to you,” he finally says, wiping his mouth and sinking down to sit on the floor.

“Huh? I’m not a kid; you could’ve just refused.”

“You looked too cute, and I wanted to make you happy.” He chuckles, but you glare at him.

“Happy? Are you happy now?”

Haechan sighs and lowers his head.

“I’m thirsty…”

“Thirsty? Wait, I’ll go get you something.” You stand up, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

“Stay here. We’ll go together later.”

“You sure? You look awful.”

He looks up at you and smiles.

“You make me feel better.”

You freeze.

This is all for the bet… right?

It was a dark evening, and you were sitting on a bench near the park. Haechan felt better after drinking some water and getting fresh air. Naturally, you didn’t go on any more rides or walk anywhere else. You just sat there quietly, watching the bright lights shining from the amusement park.

“Why didn’t you tell me that rides make you sick?” you break the silence.

“I… You were having fun, and I was the one who invited you, knowing I’d feel bad. I just didn’t know you liked riding them so much.” Haechan chuckles, but you stay silent. He notices and wipes the smile off his face before continuing.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it either. The last time I threw up at an amusement park was when I was eighteen.”

You turn to him.

“Because after that, you stopped going on rides?”

Haechan is surprised by your tone and slowly nods.

“Yeah.” He smiles again, trying to make it seem like a joke.

“You really are an idiot. Don’t lie to me again.”

He nods and turns back to the view.

“To be honest, I do go on rides, but only once or twice. I didn’t expect you to love them this much.”

“I’m scared of them.”

“What?”

“I’m really scared of them, but sometimes I push through my fear and force myself to ride, reminding myself that I only live once. And I thought you enjoyed them too, so I kept going, even though I wanted to stop after the third one.”

Haechan suddenly laughs—loudly, throwing his head back.

“What’s so funny?” you frown.

“We both forced ourselves to do something we couldn’t handle… for each other. It’s funny and kind of stupid.”

You scoff, and he grins.

“Want some ice cream?”

You nod, and he stands up, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go.”

And you take it.

—

You quickly step into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against it. You stand there for a few minutes, staring blankly ahead, until Ningning comes out of her room and looks at you with questioning eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Nings, is Haechan always this open with his partners?”

“Open? What do you mean?” Ningning sits on the couch and gestures for you to join her. You give in and flop down beside her with a heavy sigh.

“He told me about his fears… and some personal things.”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah.”

“I—”

“He never shares personal stuff with anyone.”

A sudden male voice interrupts, making you turn toward the sound. Jaemin walks in with a grin and sits down next to you.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

“Came to play with Ningning,” he says casually as she nods and turns on the PlayStation.

“So… my plan is working, and he’s starting to like me,” you lean back, smiling widely before bursting into laughter.

Ningning looks at you in horror, then shifts her gaze to Jaemin, but he only shrugs and smirks before turning back to the game.

—

“Why is he doing this? Jaemin could easily see them,” Mark clicks his tongue as he, Chenle, and Renjun watch from the corner of the cafeteria. You were standing there with Haechan, who had just walked up to you like usual and handed you your juice. You had told him to stop because it was awkward, but he didn’t care.

“Especially now—rumors will spread, and everything will definitely go downhill.”

“Mark, stop stressing so much already,” Chenle laughs, nudging his shoulder. Mark had always been the voice of reason, constantly stopping his friends from getting into trouble. So it wasn’t surprising that he was desperately trying to put an end to this, especially knowing that you were Jisung and Jaemin’s best friend.

“What is he doing?”

The boys jump as Jaemin suddenly approaches them. He doesn’t react to their startled faces, just keeps his eyes fixed on you and Haechan.

“Why is he talking to Y/N?” Jaemin’s intense gaze burns into the two of you, and the boys start panicking. Chenle scrambles to come up with an excuse and is about to say something when Haechan starts heading back toward them.

Halfway there, he spots Jaemin and stops in his tracks. They stare at each other for a moment before Haechan decides to keep walking, approaching the group.

“What were you doing with her?” Jaemin asks directly, and the air around them tenses.

Classes had already started, and they should have all left by now, but no one moved.

“I was just talking to her.”

“About what?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to her?”

“I don’t see any situation where you would need to talk to YN, Haechan.”

Haechan freezes at the coldness in his friend’s tone, swallowing hard as Jaemin continues.

“If you’re planning to make her just another one of your girls for a few days, you better stop now.”

“I’m not planning that, Jaemin. She’s different for me.”

Silence hangs in the air as Jaemin completely ignores Haechan’s words.

“Don’t do anything stupid, and if you dare hurt her, I don’t care that you’ve been my best friend since childhood, Donghyuck.”

With that, Jaemin brushes past him, bumping his shoulder slightly before walking away, leaving Haechan standing there, staring at the floor, unsure of what to feel.

—

Idiot: hey, wanna go for a walk?

angry princess: rn? I don’t mind :)

You were strolling through the park, talking about everything and nothing. You still secretly annoyed each other, but your relationship had shifted slightly. Haechan used to think you were just a nerd and a weirdo, but over time, he realized you were completely different—just as Jisung had said. He didn’t have feelings for you, or so he told himself, but for some reason, he wanted to do everything for you. He convinced himself that he was only putting in so much effort to win the bet and rub it in that annoying Chenle’s face.

The weather was nice at first, but without you noticing, it started to change—dark clouds rolled in, and soon, it began to rain. Haechan took off his jacket and draped it over you.

“Sorry, I didn’t know the weather would be like this today.”

You had planned to spend the whole day outside, even wearing a skirt and a top, but luck was not on your side. As you made your way toward Haechan’s car, the rain turned into a downpour, and you both started running. Completely drenched, you jumped into the car, laughing at the situation you found yourselves in.

As Haechan settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door, you watched him closely. Feeling your gaze, he turned to face you. You stared for a long moment before reaching out, brushing his wet bangs from his eyes. He froze under your touch, his gaze locking onto yours.

Slowly, you started leaning toward each other. Haechan’s eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back again, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slow nod.

Without wasting a second, he leaned in, pressing a soft, testing kiss against your lips before pulling away to gauge your reaction. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the neck and kissed him properly.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, both of you moving in sync as you melted into each other. Haechan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. In this kiss, it felt as if he was finally doing something he had wanted to do for a long time, and you didn’t hold back either. After a few minutes, you both pull away, breathing heavily. You look at each other, and in his eyes, you see either the reflection of the streetlights outside or his own shimmering gaze.

“Wow…” That’s all Haechan manages to say, clearly at a loss for words. You laugh and lean back against the seat. A brief silence follows before he speaks again.

“I guess I should be grateful for not checking the weather. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten a kiss from you.”

“Yeah, but we’re probably going to get sick—especially me.” You gesture to your skirt, and Haechan lowers his gaze.

“Oh, wait a second.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls out a black hoodie. Without hesitation, he drapes it over you and turns on the heater, making the car warmer. You look at him, surprised.

“Isn’t this the hoodie you always wear?”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence fills the car again until Haechan breaks it.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You smile and nod, and just like that, you spend the rest of the rain-soaked night kissing in his car until the storm finally passes.

Haechan walks into his apartment, where his friends are already lounging on the couch, watching a movie. Mark had a spare key, and they had texted earlier about coming over in the evening, so it wasn’t surprising to see them there.

As soon as Chenle notices him, he practically yells, “Haechan! How was the date?”

Haechan stiffens at the question, his steps slowing as he heads toward his room.

“Nothing special, just the usual,” he mutters, trying to sound nonchalant. He quickly disappears into his room, leaving his friends staring after him in confusion.

The moment he shuts the door, he leans against it, pressing his hands to his cheeks. A huge grin spreads across his face, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I kissed her.”

Realizing how loud he was, he slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting toward the door as if making sure no one heard him. He could’ve gone out there and told them everything, declared his victory in the bet right away—but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. This moment wasn’t about the bet anymore. It was something just between the two of you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

After changing into something more comfortable, he falls onto his bed and grabs his phone. He types out a quick message before drifting off to sleep.

idiot: goodnight 💖

idiot: let’s meet somewhere private tomorrow, I need to tell you something

idiot: sleep well :)

Haechan offered to be your boyfriend.

At the start of the day, you both agreed to meet in an empty room, and there, he asked you to be a couple. Of course, you said yes, silently praying that your relationship would last more than two weeks.

The first few days were quiet—you didn’t hide, but you didn’t flaunt it either. But then, one particular day turned into chaos. Rumors about your relationship spread like wildfire. Whenever you or Haechan walked through the hallways, people stared and whispered. You didn’t like the attention, but you had expected it, so you quickly accepted it.

What shocked everyone wasn’t just the fact that someone was dating—it was who was dating. Two complete opposites. Most of all, people couldn’t believe that you, the infamous untouchable, had given a chance to the university’s biggest player. That’s why the gossip was louder than ever.

Then, on the university’s website, someone made an anonymous post about you two. It gained tons of likes and comments. You didn’t care much about people’s opinions, but one comment managed to get under your skin.

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;)

“What?” You frowned and clicked on the comment. It already had three dislikes, making you scoff. “Right, of course.”

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;) (0 likes, 4 dislikes)

“Haechan! Why didn’t you tell us you two were dating?!” Chenle burst into the empty classroom where Haechan and Mark were sitting.

Haechan smirked and lazily lifted his gaze, noticing that Jisung and Renjun were following closely behind.

“Isn’t it more fun to find out this way instead of hearing it directly from me?” he grinned.

Chenle scoffed and sat on the desk in front of him.

“I can’t believe you actually won the bet,” Renjun said, making Haechan freeze. His eyes darted to Jisung, who stood silently next to them—his best friend, the one person he didn’t want to find out.

Renjun noticed Haechan’s panic and quickly reassured him.

“He knows. Chenle told him.”

“Why?” Haechan shot a glare at the younger boy, who only shrugged.

“He asked. He already had suspicions.”

Haechan hesitated before looking at Jisung carefully, his voice cautious.

“Are you mad?”

Jisung chuckled.

“Of course I’m mad, Haechan.”

Haechan lowered his gaze, but Jisung continued before he could spiral.

“I just hope you either end this without suspicion… or do what I actually want you to do.”

Before Haechan could ask what that meant, Chenle suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, you need to prove that you two are actually dating.”

Everyone turned to him with questioning looks.

“What? Everyone already knows we’re dating,” Haechan said, frowning.

“Only by words, right?” Chenle glanced around before hopping off the desk.

“You could’ve just convinced her to play along and split the winnings with her.”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“I don’t buy that she rejected Sungchan but agreed to date you.” Chenle crossed his arms. “I need pictures or at least to see a kiss myself.”

“Hey! You pervert!” Renjun smacked him, making Chenle hiss in protest.

“I’m not! Just think about it—it’s really weird that we haven’t seen them up close! I still don’t believe it, and I need photos,” Chenle grinned, making Haechan roll his eyes.

“Fine, you’ll get your pictures. But after that, you give me my money immediately.”

Chenle nodded but then added, “Actually, you know what? I need a video of you two doing it, because you could just do a quick peck, and that doesn’t co—”

Renjun smacked him again, this time harder.

Haechan laughed, grabbing his bag as he got up to leave.

“I’ll send them tonight.” And with that, he walked out.

“Tonight? That fast?” Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe they actually are dating… Well, at least for Y/N, it’s real.”

Jisung watched Haechan leave, biting his lip in frustration.

—

idiot: babe

idiot: wanna come over tonight?

idiot: I’ll order pizza, and we can watch a movie.

angry princess: come over? to your place?

idiot: yeah

angry princess: oh um

angry princess: I guess yeah, sure. Will you pick me up?

idiot: of course, when does your last class end?

angry princess: 5:45 PM

idiot: I’ll be waiting at the gate.

You sat on Haechan’s couch, waiting for him to return from the kitchen. The fact that he had invited you over to his place still caught you off guard. You had even texted your friends to ask if he did this with all his girlfriends, but Jaemin had quickly replied, saying no—he only let in the closest people. That made you uneasy.

You couldn’t figure out whether Haechan actually had feelings for you or not. But you quickly pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the most important thing—keeping this relationship going for as long as possible. You weren’t even sure what you felt about him. In fact, you had forbidden yourself from feeling anything more than hate.

Speaking of which—you don’t really hate him now. And it pissed you off.

He was too kind to you. Too attentive. He even remembered little details about you, which was surprising, to say the least. You felt lost in this whole situation but reassured yourself that it would all be worth it soon, and you’d spend your winnings on new clothes.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.”

Haechan walked in, placing two glasses and a plate of snacks on the table.

“I’ll order us some food now. What do you want?”

He sat down next to you—so close that your heart skipped a beat.

“I’d like a double-cheese pizza and a large fries.”

He smiled, nodding, and for a second, you caught yourself thinking that his smile was really cute.

—

Some time later, you were both sitting there, eating, watching a horror movie. Neither of you liked romance movies, though your reasons were different and understandable. So horror was a fair compromise.

The truth was, you loved horror movies. But you were also terrified of them. You expected to flinch and scream during the jumpscares like you always did.

The movie you picked was creepy and unsettling. You were doing your best to keep quiet, but—

“AHHH!”

You jumped as Haechan suddenly grabbed onto you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Haechan?…”

You hesitantly touched the top of his head. He slowly peeked up at the screen, clearly embarrassed.

“God, sorry, I wasn’t expecting that jumpscare.”

“That wasn’t a jumpscare?”

Haechan awkwardly leaned back, pulling the blanket over himself. You both continued watching in silence until a real jumpscare popped up. This time, he didn’t just grab your hand—he completely wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. The TV blared with horrifying sounds, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he only held on tighter.

“You know, if you wanna cuddle, you can just say so.”

Haechan pulled away slightly, looking at you. But before he could respond, another loud scream came from the TV, and he flinched right back into your shoulder.

You laughed, patting his arm.

“Okay, so you’re actually scared.”

“Aren’t you scared too?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I am jumpy, and yeah, I’m scared. But you’re freaking out so much that I don’t even get a chance to be scared first.”

You laughed even harder. Haechan pouted.

“I just didn’t expect it to be this scary… Let’s turn it off, please?”

He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes, and you widened yours in disbelief.

“What? Then what are we gonna do? I actually like the movie.”

“Kiss?” Haechan replied instantly, leaning in closer. “I missed you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. And he took advantage of your hesitation, pressing his lips to yours.

Right then, another horrifying scream erupted from the TV, scaring both of you. Haechan groaned, pulled away, and angrily turned the TV off. Then, he immediately returned to you, shifting positions—pulling you onto him.

That’s when you realized—he wanted you to sit on his lap.

“Come on, sit on my lap, please.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, adjusting yourself onto him. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing soft patterns on your sides. He kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, more intoxicating.

Your hands moved up to his neck, pulling him even closer—though there was barely any space left between you two.

When you finally pulled away, you both just stared at each other, soaking in the moment.

“I wanna capture you on camera right now.”

You said it without much thought—Haechan just looked so good, lips swollen, cheeks slightly flushed. But the second those words left your mouth, something clicked in his mind.

A perfect opportunity.

“Then do it. My phone’s on the table behind you.”

You stared at him, shocked.

“Seriously?”

“Why not? We barely have any pictures together, and right now, you look really beautiful—especially after our kisses. I want to remember you like this.”

You blush but still reach for his phone, turning on the camera.

“Should I stay like this?” you ask, and Haechan nods.

You lift the phone, adjusting the angle to find the perfect shot. Both of you pose, and you snap a few pictures.

“Let’s take a kissing photo,” Haechan suddenly suggests, tilting your face toward him with a smirk before leaning in.

You freeze for a second but quickly press the shutter button as he kisses you. Afterward, he grabs the phone, scrolling through the pictures. They looked straight out of Pinterest—effortless, natural, and breathtakingly intimate.

Haechan grins victoriously, but more than anything, he’s ecstatic that he now has proof for Chenle—and even better, the photos turned out genuinely stunning.

“Wow, these are really pretty,” Haechan says, showing them to you.

You don’t react immediately, just staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

You snap out of it, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just send them to me too.”

The rest of the evening is spent taking more photos and sharing kisses.

“Here, damn it.”

Haechan tosses his phone onto the table in front of Chenle, who instantly snatches it up, scrolling through the pictures. Mark and Renjun lean in from both sides, trying to get a look as well.

“So, does this mean I won the bet?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, grabbing a fork and digging into a salad that was already on the table.

“Hey! That’s my salad!” Renjun yells, shoving him off the chair.

Chenle, still scrolling, raises a brow. “Why did you take so many pictures?”

Haechan just shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“So you’d be absolutely sure. Besides, she loves taking pictures—I couldn’t say no.”

Haechan takes his phone back, scrolling through the gallery again with a satisfied smile.

“Did you send her the pictures?” Jisung suddenly asks.

Haechan hums in response, nodding. “Every single one.”

Jisung chuckles quietly, shaking his head.

“WHAT?! He never allowed anyone to take pictures with him! At least I’ve never seen any posts with his girlfriends!” Ningning practically yells, staring at your pictures along with Karina.

“Right!” You announce proudly, snatching your phone back. “And seriously, what do you mean he didn’t let people take pictures with him? Is he some kind of idol or something?” You scoff.

“Hey, I wasn’t done looking!”

“Wait, seriously?” Karina asks, narrowing her eyes.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yep, weird, right?”

“Super weird.”

“Yeah, but honestly, I don’t care. I already won the bet, so Ningning?” You tilt your head at her with a smirk. She huffs in frustration.

“It hasn’t been three weeks yet.”

“Well, it’s almost three weeks, so get your money ready.”

“Wait—he followed you?”

She clicks on his profile, checks his following list, and sure enough—your username is right there.

Ningning looks up at you with a shocked expression, and Karina covers her mouth in disbelief.

Meanwhile, you just stand there, confused. ”…Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

—

“Are you going to Johnny’s party?” You walk beside Haechan through the cafeteria, talking about your weekend plans. Johnny threw two huge parties every year, and this time, the date happened to fall at the end of the semester.

“Not sure. I don’t really feel like going this time. What about you?”

You and Haechan had been holding hands the entire time, and people still stared at you both. Of course, the rumors had died down a little, but they still lingered. Not that either of you cared anymore—probably.

“I can’t miss it, and I wanted to go with you this time,” he says with a smirk. “We’d be like the ultimate power couple there.”

You laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand. “I’ll think about it.”

And in the end, you agreed.

Haechan offered to pick you up so you could go together, but you wanted to go with the girls. He then suggested driving all three of you, which made them ecstatic—especially Ningning, who was already planning how she would interrogate Haechan the whole way.

“No, Ningning, stay quiet, or I’ll tell him not to drive us.” You point a finger at her while getting ready.

“Ugh, so boring! I need to make sure everything’s real!”

“I literally showed you our pictures!”

Karina laughs as you two argue.

“What if it’s AI? You know, technology is getting crazy nowadays.”

You click your tongue and shove her lightly. “Just be quiet the whole ride, okay?”

“Fiiine.”

Still, you had a feeling she wouldn’t last even five minutes in the car.

“What do you like about her?”

Fine.

“Everything? I can’t choose just one thing.” Haechan answers uncertainly as he drives you all to Johnny’s house.

You, Ningning, and Karina are crammed into the backseat because you refused to sit away from the girls—mainly because you wanted to keep an eye on Ningning. Unfortunately, she’s sitting on the other side of Karina, making it difficult for you to reach her. Not that it stops her from breaking her promise—she started interrogating Haechan the moment you got in the car.

“Not even one thing? That’s kind of suspicious…”

“Ningning!” You hiss at her, ready to smack her, but then Haechan suddenly says—

“Her voice.”

All three of you turn to him.

“My voice?” You echo quietly.

He nods, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “You have a really beautiful voice. I’m in love with it.”

Karina and Ningning share a look, and you feel your face heating up. But before you can say anything, Ningning strikes again.

“Okay! The real question. Do you see a future with Y/N? Like, marriage? Kids? Dogs? Cats? A house on an island?”

“Ningning, shut up!” You practically yell at her, smacking her while Karina gets squished in the middle.

Haechan laughs loudly as he stops at a red light. You expect him to brush it off or joke around—after all, things between you two weren’t that serious.

But then he surprises you.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is calm, like he’s just stating a fact. “I don’t know about kids or pets, but living with her and getting married? I’d like that. But we need to finish university and get jobs first.”

You stare at him in disbelief. The girls exchange shocked glances, but Haechan just keeps driving like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.

The rest of the ride is completely silent.

“Be careful, and call me if you need anything, okay?” Haechan adjusts your bomber jacket on your shoulder, smiling at you.

You’re still stuck in your thoughts, processing what he said in the car. You just stare at him, too stunned to react.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you if anything happens, yeah. Go to your friends.” You mumble quickly before hugging him and practically running off to find the girls.

Haechan watches you go, completely confused.

—

“I’ll transfer you the money tomorrow,” Chenle says, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“Money?” Haechan turns to him, confused.

“The bet. The money you won from the bet.”

“Oh… that money…”

“Did you seriously forget?” Chenle raises a brow.

“Looks like he’s actually in love,” Jeno comments, smirking.

Haechan flinches like he’s been doused in boiling water. “What? No. I don’t need her, and I’m not in love.”

“Then why have you been staring at her all night?” Jeno teases.

“I’m not staring.”

“Sure.”

Haechan frowns, sinking into his drink.

“You even let Y/N post the pictures?” Chenle suddenly asks, making all the guys grab their phones.

Confused, Haechan takes his out too and opens Instagram.

There it is—your post from that night, tagged with his name.

“With Donghyuckie💕”

His breath catches.

No one called him Donghyuck. He never let anyone do that.

He scrolls to the comments, and people are freaking out.

“Haechan finally let his girlfriend take pictures with him?”

“I was starting to think he was a virgin pretending to be a player.”

“Y/N is so brave for doing this.”

Oh yeah. You were very brave.

Haechan suddenly stands up and storms off to find you.

“Haechan!” Renjun calls after him.

Chenle watches him leave, sipping his drink. “Guess he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t like sharing his personal life.”

Jisung hides a small smile from the corner of the room.

You wanted to go home. You didn’t know what happened, but you had drifted apart from all your friends, and everyone went in different directions. It had been exactly three weeks since you were with Haechan, and Ningning had given you the money after car incident. So, you finally decided to get back at Haechan for your hoodie and post your photos. He was known for not taking pictures with girls, and that bothered you more than anything. Besides, he had allowed you to take pictures and even sent you. He shouldn’t be against it, right? And honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You just wanted to end it once and for all, so you hit the “post” button.

“Someone liked your post!”

You smiled and leaned back on the couch. Then, a guy sat next to you. You opened your eyes and sighed. It was the guy who had been bothering you for a while. He kept trying to flirt with you, and you just stayed silent, praying he’d leave you alone.

“Leave Haechan. I don’t even get why you’re with him. Did he give you money? I can give you more! I have more than he does!” he says, moving closer and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Move away from her,” you hear a rough voice from above, and you see it’s Haechan. The guy, seeing him, slowly pulls his hand away and turns fully to face him.

“Who are you?” the guy squints, then recognizes him. “Ah, it’s Lee Haechan!” The guy stands up and extends his hand, but Haechan ignores him and pulls you by the hand towards him. He places his arm around your shoulder, clearly protecting you, and glares at the guy across from him.

“You know, I’ll just wait until you break up with her like you always do, and then I’ll have my chance,” the guy winks at you and walks away. Haechan wanted to follow him after hearing that, but you stopped him.

“Forget it. That idiot has been chasing me for a year, and he won’t stop.”

“If he bothers you again, tell me immediately, okay?” You nod, and Haechan suddenly grabs your hand and leads you out of the house.

“What are you doing?” you scream, frightened, but Haechan’s strength is greater, and you can’t break free from him. As you walk, someone from the crowd shouts:

“Oh, it’s that girl of Haechan, Y/N, who posted their revealing photos!” The crowd turns toward you, and everyone starts screaming and whistling. Haechan stops and stares into space. You look around and see a crowd of drunken students. Then you turn to Haechan and hear him swear before finally pulling you out of the house.

Outside, he lets go of your hand and stands with his back to you.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s your deal?” he finally looks at you, and you get scared. He was serious, and his tone was harsh. “Why did you post the photos?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m your girlfriend. I wanted to do it.”

“You should have asked me for permission.”

You laugh. “You sent them to me. That’s permission.”

“Y/N…” He sighs and messes up his hair with his hand.

“Just delete them, okay?” He didn’t want to get angry at you, but the situation threw him off balance, and he didn’t know how to react. He felt exposed right now, like he was completely vulnerable.

“I don’t want to, Haechan.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to. It’s my profile.”

He stays silent, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Are you a star, a K-pop idol or something?”

“It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable when your girlfriend posts pictures with you?”

“It makes me uncomfortable when everyone sees me.”

“What? You’re literally popular in…”

“I know, and it pisses me off, Y/N!” You flinch as he snaps.

You flinch at his shout, not expecting such a sharp outburst of emotion. Haechan breathes heavily, looking at you, and you see his jaw clenched tightly.

“You don’t understand,” he continues, but now in a quieter tone, almost exhaling his words. “I hate it when people invade my life. My relationships. Me.” Haechan felt like everything he had built was falling apart and everyone had seen the real him. He created the bad boy image to keep everyone away, but then you came into his life and ruined everything.

You roll your eyes. “You’re acting like a child. It’s just a photo, Haechan, stop dramatizing.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation and looks away. “It’s not just a photo. It’s… I don’t want everyone talking about me and you.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Too late. They’re already talking. So what now? I’m not going to delete them just because you suddenly decided you’ve got star syndrome.”

Haechan looks at you again, but now his gaze isn’t just angry — there’s something in it that’s almost disappointment.

“Do you want to piss me off on purpose?”

“No, I just want to do what I want. Like you always do.”

You both fall silent, and the tension between you seems almost tangible. He doesn’t move, but you see his fingers clenching into fists.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

He looks at you for a couple of seconds before suddenly turning and walking away, leaving you standing alone.

You watch him walk to his car, but you didn’t want to leave things like this. You told yourself you would finally let him go, but something held you back. You believed he was truly in love with you, and you had treated him this way. You ran after him. You grabbed his hand and turned him toward you.

“Haechan,” you see his glassy eyes, and your heart breaks.

“Sorry, I’ll delete the photos,” you say, and he suddenly hugs you tightly. You feel his tears on your shoulder, and you hug him back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You flinch, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. He looks at you, and then you both kiss.

Can I come to your place?” you unexpectedly asked, and Haechan, already forgetting everything, looked at you in surprise.

“To mine…?”

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone today, especially since Karina and Ningning might not come either.”

“Yeah, of course.

You don’t know how it happened, but as soon as you entered the apartment, you and Haechan immediately started kissing and he pressed you against the wall in the hallway. Everything was calm and quiet until the door closed and you attacked each other. It’s surprising that you were thinking about the same thing all the way and now you were devouring each other.

You screamed when Haechan abruptly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There he laid you down and hung over you without tearing off the kiss. You stroked his whole body with your hands and pulled him towards you. Then he pulls away from you and, breathing heavily, looks you straight in the eye.

"You.. Haechan seemed scared and very embarrassed, which surprised you because it seemed to you that he was always confident in such situations.

"Yes, very much." you answer and pull him towards you, but he moves away again.

"Are you sure? If something is wrong, will you tell me?" You're taken back by his behavior

"Yes, I will," he nods and kisses you again.

Haechan’s Room. You open your eyes and see the ceiling of Haechan’s room in front of you. You slowly sit up and try to remember what happened last night. Without realizing it, you start kicking your legs and smiling, then lie back down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

“Oh my God, we did it. We were really together all night. Oh my God!” You shake with happiness on the bed but then suddenly sit up again.

“Wait, where’s Haechan?” You look around the room and listen carefully, wondering if the water in the bathroom is running or if he might be in the kitchen, preparing something. But there’s complete silence. You sigh, and suddenly a notification pops up on the phone—not yours, but Haechan’s. You look at it, then turn away, lying back down and wrapping yourself in the blanket. The notification comes again, then again, and again, and again.

“Oh my God!” You throw off the blanket and grab Haechan’s phone to turn off the sound, but then you see a message from some chat, and you notice Mark’s photo profile.

big (small) chenle: hey, are you both done fucking? It’s morning already.

big (small) chenle: we saw you two kissing by the car ;)

my boy: I’m pretty sure they’ve done, chenle…

big (small) chenle: so why isn’t he answering??

renjunnie: If they did, I would be so shocked that he went this far with the bet.

The bet?

Your heart drops, and you hear another notification.

big (small) chenle: Me too, dude. I didn’t want to lose money on him.

The bet.

The fucking Lee Donghyuck did the bet on you.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your head and start shaking. You drop the blanket and grab your clothes off the floor as quickly as possible, trying to escape this place.

Haechan enters the apartment, places a bag on the floor, takes off his shoes, and walks into the bedroom with a smile.

“Y/N, you’re awake…” but you’re not there. He looks around for your things, but they’re gone. Did you leave? That fast? He approaches the bed and looks for at least a note from you, but there’s nothing. Haechan grabs his phone, and there isn’t a single message from you. Instead, there are tons of messages from his friends’ group chat. He sits on the bed and scrolls through the messages on the lock screen.

He reads what his friends wrote with some irritation because he didn’t want to call your relationship a bet, especially not after last night. Once he’s read everything, he puts the phone back on the nightstand and lies down on the bed. He lies there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, wondering why you left so quickly without warning him. Did he do something wrong? Was everything bad? Did he annoy you? Did you realize you needed to break up with him? Or…

Fuck no.

Haechan suddenly sits up and grabs his phone. He rereads the messages and it hits him.

You saw their chat. You found out it was a bet. You fucking found out that he made a bet on you.

Haechan quickly dials your number and calls, but your phone is off.

“Shit…” He rushes to the coat rack, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. When he opens it, he sees his friends Mark, Chenle, and Renjun standing there.

“I’m sorry, I tried to convince them not to go to you,” Mark says.

“Y/N at home?” asks Chenle, and then Haechan explodes.

“No, she fucking left because of you idiots!” The guys look shocked, and Haechan continues.

“She saw what you were writing about. She now knows we made a bet on her.” Haechan starts shaking, and tears fill his eyes. The guys quickly react, pushing him back into the apartment while closing the door. Haechan can’t hold it in anymore and starts crying, falling to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hands. The shocked guys sit beside him, and Renjun hugs him to comfort him while Chenle runs to the kitchen to get water.

“Haechan, calm down…”

The guys don’t understand why he’s reacting this way to your departure, considering he did it all for money. They were sure he felt nothing for you and that he was doing all these strange things just to make sure you’d stay with him. But now, seeing him like this, they start to rethink everything.

Chenle brings the water and hands it to Haechan. He takes it with trembling hands and drinks it quickly. Renjun gently strokes his back, and Mark sits opposite, watching him closely, waiting for him to speak.

“We… we slept together yesterday…” No one answers, and Haechan continues.

“I didn’t think she’d agree to it… I didn’t understand why she even agreed to be with me… I never understood it, and it hurts that I used her, even though I actually have feelings for her.” Everyone freezes. Haechan never loved anyone since school, and he never admitted it. That’s why he changed so many partners. He wanted to love and finally find the one, but every time he felt like a failure. He was convinced he would stay alone for the rest of his life, that he would never meet anyone, so he gave up on himself and everyone, becoming someone he wasn’t. Only his friends knew how soft and kind he really was, but the fear of being himself ate him up, so he created a completely foreign image for himself.

This bet was supposed to be just another distraction and source of entertainment for him. But somewhere along the way, something changed, and from the very first date, he began to genuinely like you. He started doing things for you sincerely, not for the win, even though he denied it to himself and refused to acknowledge it. After the first kiss, he didn’t even want to tell his friends about it, because for him, that moment wasn’t a bet—it was something much more important and personal. He finally felt love.

The guys listened to him in silence, and they hugged him for a long time, comforting him.

“He used me.”

You sit down on the couch in the empty apartment. The girls weren’t home yet, so you sat there alone, letting your emotions take over as you talked to yourself.

“Fuck,” you groan, leaning back and covering your face with your hands.

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I used him too. I made a bet on him too. I’m no better than he is.”

You stand up and head to the kitchen to get some water to calm yourself down. As you pour the water, you mumble under your breath again.

“I knew what kind of person he was. I should’ve guessed he would do something like this.”

You bring the glass to your lips, but as soon as you feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks, you quickly wipe one away with your hand.

“Damn it… he used me this whole time!”

You slam the glass down on the counter and rub your face with your hands, trying to pull yourself together, but you can’t.

This whole time, you wondered why he treated you differently. Why he acted like you were special. You believed he was truly in love with you, but in the end, he only treated you that way because you were a challenge.

You grab your phone, ready to text Ningning and Karina, but you hesitate.

“If they find out he had a bet on me… I’ll lose my own.”

No. You can’t tell them.

Your tears fall again as you sit back down on the couch, curling into yourself. Just then, you hear the soft click of the door opening.

You flinch and quickly wipe your tears away.

It’s Jaemin.

“Y/N? What happened?”

You hide your face, but Jaemin moves quickly, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, just bury your face in his neck as he gently strokes your back.

“He used me.”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. At the very least, you needed to tell Jaemin, knowing he would keep it a secret.

Jaemin freezes, his movements stopping as he hears your words.

“What do you mean…?”

You pull away slightly, looking at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jaemin feels his heart almost shatter.

“Haechan made a bet on me. I found out this morning when I was at his place.”

You wipe your tears while Jaemin stays silent, his hands gently rubbing your arms.

“But you know… I shouldn’t even be mad because I did the same thing. I used him too. It’s just… he acted so different. I actually believed it…”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jaemin asks quietly.

You hesitate before finally speaking.

“We slept together last night.”

Now Jaemin’s heart completely breaks. He knew how hard physical touch was for you, even with friends. And now… an entire night with Haechan, who had only used you.

“That asshole,” Jaemin mutters, but you cut him off.

“Please don’t tell the girls. I at least want to get the money out of this.”

Jaemin nods, and for the rest of the day, he stays by your side, doing everything he can to distract you from the situation.

Two weeks had passed since that day.

You and Haechan hadn’t seen each other or texted even once. It was strange—there had been no real fight, no dramatic confrontation, yet you both silently agreed to ignore each other.

For you, it was a choice. You didn’t want to see him. For him, it was shame.

Before dating you, he had been in a dark place. During your relationship, he had felt healed, lighter, like a better version of himself. But now? Now he had fallen even lower than before.

He stopped talking to everyone. Stopped going to university. Stopped responding to his parents. Stopped gaming. Stopped leaving his room.

Stopped living at all.

His friends tried to pull him out of it, to get him to go outside, to do something, but he wouldn’t budge.

And you? You had tried to forget. Or at least to pretend you had. You went on with your normal life, spending time with the girls, keeping yourself busy. The money was still untouched, and they still didn’t know the truth. You had told them you and Haechan had a huge fight—because of you—and that’s why you broke up.

They believed you and left you alone.

Jaemin told you he wasn’t talking to Haechan either.

You were both suffering.

One Saturday evening, Haechan sat in the living room watching a drama. A romance, of course. Lately, that was all he could watch, imagining the two of you in place of the actors.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he buried himself deeper into his blanket. Then he remembered how you had once lain here beside him, wrapped in the same blanket.

His tears fell even harder.

Then, a knock at the door.

At first, he ignored it, assuming it was Mark or Chenle again. But the knocking grew louder.

“If that’s you, Mark or Chenle, just leave me alone. I’m not opening the door,” he called out, already turning away.

But then, a voice.

“It’s Jaemin.”

Haechan froze for a few seconds before slowly turning back. His hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant, before he finally opened it.

Jaemin stood there, smiling.

Haechan blinked, confused. “Jaemin? What are you doing here…?”

“Can I come in?”

Haechan nodded, stepping aside and shutting the door as Jaemin walked in.

“I—”

“I know about the bet,” Jaemin interrupted.

Haechan stiffened, his head dropping as Jaemin stood with his back to him.

“She must’ve told you everything…”

“No. I knew from the start.”

Haechan’s eyes widened as Jaemin finally turned to face him.

“From the start…?”

“Yeah. Jisung told me.”

“But… he was in the shower when we talked about it,” Haechan mumbled.

Jaemin just shrugged and sat down on the couch.

“Are you mad?” Haechan asked, still standing near the door.

“At first, yeah. But then I found out Y/N had made a bet on you, too. So I wasn’t too worried—you weren’t the only one playing games.”

…What?

“She what? What are you talking about?” Haechan finally steps closer, standing directly in front of Jaemin, his face filled with confusion.

Jaemin smiles widely and lets out a small laugh.

“Haechan, did you really think you were the that only one?”

Silence falls between them, the tension in the air growing thick.

“What? Jaemin, what’s going on? Did you make a bet with her?”

“No, but I was the one who suggested it to her.” Jaemin sits down on the couch. “She didn’t know about your bet, and when Jisung told me, I was so pissed off that I wanted to go straight to you that day. But then I thought—why not make you taste your own medicine? She actually won, but she doesn’t even know it. You really fell for her, didn’t you?”

Jaemin stands up, looking directly at Haechan. Haechan doesn’t know how to respond. He just stands there, frozen in shock. Did you really do this? Did you go that far for a money?

“Do you think she would have posted your pictures if she didn’t mean it? She barely even posts herself.”

Tears start to stream down Haechan’s face again. He lowers his head, finally realizing that he deserved all of this. But at the same time… he feels relieved. Relieved that you didn’t suffer as much as he did.

“This all started because of you, Haechan. Because of your ego.”

“I’m sorry… I know I was an idiot.”

Jaemin steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re a good idiot. We all know you can be better than this. And Y/N is suffering too, so instead of locking yourself in this room all night, maybe it’s time you go fix this mess.”

Haechan pulls away, looking at him in disbelief.

“Y/N is suffering? Why?”

Jaemin sighs. “You really are dense. I’m telling you—go to her and figure it out yourselves.”

—

Haechan came to the university.

That was all you heard throughout the morning, from every corner of the campus. Everyone was talking about it as if a god himself had descended upon this place. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much—if only people didn’t keep coming up to you with endless questions about your relationship.

“Where is Haechan?”

“Did you two really break up?”

“Do you actually love him?”

You clenched your jaw, your patience wearing thin with every passing second.

“Oh my god, can you all just back off? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The entire hallway turned to look at you after your outburst, eyes filled with curiosity and shock. You froze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine—until frustration took over again.

“Stop meddling in other people’s lives!” you shouted, voice firm and unwavering. “Whatever happens between us is none of your business, even if we are insanely popular. Mind your own damn lives, and don’t ever bring this up to me or Haechan again!”

Your sharp gaze swept over the stunned crowd. No one dared to speak. The silence was deafening.

Feeling the weight of their stares suffocating you, you turned on your heel and rushed into the nearest restroom.

Even after you left, no one moved. The air was thick with the shock of your words.

At the end of the hallway, Haechan stood still, watching everything unfold. His heart clenched. He wanted to run after you—to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone in this. But he stopped himself. You needed space. And he refused to make things worse when he was the reason you had to spill your emotions like that in the first place.

Haechan entered the cafeteria, and as soon as he did, Chenle jumped on him.

“Haechan, I missed you!” He hugged him tightly, and Haechan laughed, hugging him back.

“I missed you too, Chenle.”

Still, Haechan couldn’t bring himself to approach you the whole day. He spent the day walking around alone, sitting with his friends during lunch. He told them every detail Jaemin had shared with him.

“So, I actually won the bet?” Chenle exclaimed, and Renjun smacked him on the arm.

“No, you lost. The bet was about dating her, and Haechan went further,” Renjun replied, and Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to agree? You lost too.”

“Yeah, but for me, my friend’s happiness and mental health matter more,” Renjun responded.

Chenle frowned and turned away.

“You’re making me look like the bad guy.”

“And besides, Y/N wouldn’t have slept with him just over a regular bet,” everyone turned to look at Jisung, who had been quiet throughout the conversation. After Haechan explained everything, no one judged him for telling Jaemin about this. They understood that you were their best friend, and what he did wasn’t that bad. He could have just told you directly. Jisung was always honest and couldn’t lie, especially to who was close to him, which his friends really appreciated.

“Really?” Haechan asked quietly, and Jisung nodded.

“Moreover, she wouldn’t even have kissed you. She’s too uncomfortable with physical contact from guys.”

Everyone sat in silence, and Haechan smirked, simply nodding.

It was evening, and the whole university was heading home. You said goodbye to your classmates and walked to the exit. As soon as you stepped outside, a heavy downpour began, and all the students were running in different directions, making noise. You stood under the porch, sheltered from the rain, unsure of what to do. You didn’t even have a jacket with you. You looked around to see what others were doing. Some people, being smart, walked out with umbrellas, others draped their jackets over themselves, while some lifted their backpacks over their heads. You sighed — it seemed like you’d have to walk out and just pray you wouldn’t catch a cold the next day. But deep down, you kind of liked it. You loved the rain and being in it, especially during your sad periods.

You took a step forward, preparing to get completely soaked, but suddenly, you noticed that nothing was dripping on you, even though you were already outside. You looked up and saw a transparent umbrella, then noticed a hand and…

Haechan.

You both stood there for a few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him again after such a long time. He looked so handsome. His eyes were sparkling — you couldn’t tell if it was because of the rain or if they were naturally that way. He wore a hoodie, and his bangs didn’t fully cover his eyes, so you could see his face clearly. You even noticed the raindrops on his cheeks.

Wait, raindrops!

“Hey, you’re going to get soaked!”

You grabbed the handle of the umbrella and rushed to him, bumping into his chest. Now, you were both standing under the umbrella, and neither of you would get wet anymore.

“Do you want to get sick?” you looked up and met his sweet smile.

“Why are you… why are you silent?” you stuttered, not knowing how to react to your closeness, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want him to get wet, and you didn’t want to get wet either.

“I missed you and your sarcastic tone.” Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. It was a little hoarse and quiet because of the rain, but you could still hear it. Around you, there was no one else left; everyone had run off, leaving just the two of you.

“Let’s talk, please,” he said again, and you hesitated, nodding.

“Hey!” you heard a male voice from afar and turned around.

“Is it you two again? Why are you standing in the rain? Go home faster! Lee Donghyuck, if you get sick, I’ll still wait for you in class, even if you’re will be dying! So don’t even think about asking for a sick note!” It was Professor Kwon. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud, covering your mouth, while Haechan just stood still and didn’t move.

He shouted back, “I promise, Professor Kwon, I won’t miss another one of your lectures!” Then, he grabbed your hand, and you both ran to his car.

When Haechan gets in the car and closes the door, an awkward silence falls. You don’t dare to look at him and focus on what’s going on outside. He, on the other hand, sits still for a moment and then breaks the silence.

“Sorry.”

“Hm?” You turn to him, and he remains still, continuing:

“Sorry for betting on you. And sorry that you found out in the worst way.”

You remember that day and can’t help but smirk. You weren’t mad at him; you were mad at yourself, because you fell for someone you shouldn’t have. You were the one who got involved in the bet, you agreed to everything. You let him take you.

“You don’t need to apologize, I was the one who used you.”

You decide to tell him the truth, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“No, this bet started because of me. If it weren’t for me, and my idiot friends, especially Chenle, none of this would have happened. Jaemin wouldn’t have made you do all of this.” He finally looks at you, and you see his eyes glistening, but what concerned you more was this: does he know?

“You know about me?… How?”

He nods. “Jaemin told me everything. He made you the bet after hearing from Jisung that Chenle bet with me on you. So, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

You turn your gaze to the windshield, trying to process everything he just said. You zone out for a moment, and Haechan patiently waits, trying to control his own feelings.

“I guess it’s also my fault,” you say quietly.

Haechan looks at you. “I could’ve kept my distance from you and not gotten too attached, but… I got too involved. I even kissed you, and what’s worse, slept with you. I made that choice because I fell for you, but honestly, I hoped you felt the same, so I freaked out.”

“You fell for me?” Haechan’s eyes widen, and you do the same, both of you staring at each other in shock.

“I-I… damn, isn’t it obvious?!” You curse and suddenly yell at him.

“I don’t know! Don’t yell at me, I’m just shocked!” he shouts back.

“Wasn’t your plan to make me fall for you? So don’t be shocked and accept your win.”

“Actually, it was your plan to make me fall for you, and it worked, so just accept the consequences.”

You both fall silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“My god, we’re idiots,” you cover your face with your hands, and Haechan leans back against the seat.

“At least I know you like me, that’s all I need.”

You stop laughing, and he feels your gaze on him.

Haechan sits up straight, his eyes falling on your lips. You do the same, slowly leaning forward. He takes the initiative and kisses you. You grab his neck, pulling him closer. He hesitantly places his hands on your waist and back before you break away.

“Why are you so shy now?”

“I don’t know… It’s my first time kissing a girl I like after confessing to her.”

You’re surprised.

“But you’ve had so many girlfriends.”

“They didn’t mean anything to me.” He kisses you again, and you respond.

“Y/N. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Haechan deleted all his posts!”

“What?! Where?”

“What’s going on?” you asked Karina, and she showed you Haechan’s Instagram. Instead of his 23 posts, there was only one group photo with his friends. And he added one of your photos from your walk together.

You took Karina’s phone and blinked.

“Why did he do that?”

“I think the only answer is you,” Ningning answered with a sigh.

“Nonsense. Why would he do that for me?”

“I want only Y/N to watch me,” Chenle appeared and threw his arm over Ningning’s shoulder. She pinched him in the side, and he yelped.

“He said that, and you know, he had such lovesick eyes, it was even annoying.”

“Does it annoy you when your friend is happy?” Ningning asks.

“What? Of course not! Why are you all making me out to be a terrible person? I was just joking…” Chenle pouts, and you all laugh.

“You know, Nings, I knew from the beginning that something was off when you were telling information about Haechan’s friends and him.” You glance at her, and she blushes.

“I knew too! Who would’ve guessed that you’re Chenle’s girlfriend?” Karina supports you, but then Ningning exclaims.

“In my defense, I wasn’t his girlfriend yet! I even ignored him! He was just running after me around the university and telling me everything. But about the bet, he didn’t say a word!” She gives an accusing look to her boyfriend.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say anything! Especially to a near stranger.”

“A near stranger?!”

They stop, and Ningning hits him. You and Karina laugh, but then you hear someone’s voice.

“Y/N!” A person suddenly jumps on your back, and you realize it’s Haechan.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” he hugs you, and you sigh. Since you started dating, he hasn’t left your side. He literally follows you everywhere and always texts you. No one had ever seen this side of Haechan. He even started doing really well in studies and rose in the rankings, which amazed not only you and his friends but the entire university. He also became much closer with Jaemin again, even more than before. It made you happy to see the two your favourite people being together. He was still one of the most popular guys and in the spotlight, and after everyone found out that you two were back together, the rumors only grew. You became almost the most popular couple. But sometimes this brought problems. His fan girls would approach you and almost threaten you, but Haechan quickly found them and made sure they wouldn’t bother you again. And indeed, they stopped bothering you.

“Why did you delete all your posts?” Haechan tilts his head.

“Posts? Ah, why do I need them?”

“Um, I don’t know? You posted them before, so I thought they were important to you.”

“I posted them for attention, but now I don’t need that. Well, except from you, but I can just send you my photos privately. And it’s way better than Insta posts,” he winks at you, and you roll your eyes. You take his hand, and you both walk down the corridor. By now, you’re alone, since your friends went to their classes, and you two have a shared one.

“You know, I can’t believe I didn’t notice you before. It actually makes me angry,” Haechan says, and you smirk.

“You were obsessed with yourself.”

“No, I just hated that subject so much that I kept sleeping through it.”

“Yeah, and now you’re not sleeping, but staring at me.”

“How can I not look at the best and most beautiful girl in the world?”

“Okay, enough, this is getting too corny.”

“I don’t really care, you know.”

You sigh but laugh quietly. You reach the door, and he opens it for you, letting you pass.

“After you, milady.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” you walk into the classroom, and Haechan smiles and follows you in.

You both won something better than the bet.