#happy birthday sweetener

[catisdeadd]

🎂 happy birthday ariana grande !!

pls like or reblog if used/saved !!

[angyssunflower]

✨🌙

[justanonlinelove]

29 for the queen!

[astraystayyh]

The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

[forlix]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying? 

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES.  From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket. 

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge. 

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being. 

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair. 

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each. 

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[nonranghaes]

the weight of your body crashing against his is what wakes seungkwan up within seconds, and you're already pressing kisses onto his face. he groans only slightly at the semi-rude awakening (semi because your kisses always sweeten the deal, and he's not going to turn away your affection unless he's sick), and he wraps his arms around you.

you know the words that make his heart flutter. "my boo," you say, giggling as you continue to pepper his face with kisses. "happy birthday."

he wants to remind you that you woke him up at midnight to tell him. but he doesn't, instead pulling you back just enough that he can kiss you properly. "thank you." he can smell breakfast in the other room--what time did you even wake up? he's usually up before you are, but that's also because he has the longer commute to work.

"so," you fall into the space next to him, eternally designated as yours by him. "my boo," you say, teasing a little this time. "what's on the agenda?"

"work?" he pauses. "but..." he reaches up, cupping your face. "my friends wanted to go out to dinner tonight. i could ask if they're okay with you coming along..."

you shake your head. the two of you have always been clear about having time away from one another. "you know that lunch place near your work?"

he already knows what you're about to say. "it's out of the way for you. i don't want you to get in trouble with your boss because--"

again, you shake your head. "i already talked to her. so... lunch date?"

he just leans in and kisses you. "lunch date," he affirms.

[stargirlfics]

cherry cola | pedro pascal

Sweet and steamy, just you and him 🍒

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, RPF, woc!reader, established relationship, soft boyfriend!pedro vibes, fluff, smut: size kink, thigh riding, oral (reader receiving), biting kink, unprotected PiV

Word Count: 3.1k

Wrote this for @natromanxv as a very belated birthday request! I love how it turned out and hope you enjoy, bestie! All my love!

Stars gleam softly in your eyes, the kitchen table the only thing keeping your bodies from scooting impossibly closer in the evening light. 

Neither of you had to speak, not in this moment at least, simply content to sit across from each other while the fuzzy scratch of a vinyl played.

Cherry pie and fizzy cola sweetened the air. Ruffled hair then a pair of gentle brown eyes belonging to Pedro swept over you, bringing out the warmth in your cheeks. 

He’d come over for dinner tonight, and though you were distracted more than a couple times with the inevitable shoulder bump rotating around your kitchen as you prepped ingredients together, there wasn’t a moment you weren’t smiling—or in a fit of laughter, god only knows who started it by now. 

You liked these moments best, when it was just the two of you getting to enjoy each other’s company. Something about his presence was so deeply calming you could feel everything slowing down. 

There was no rush, no urgency to do or be anything but yourself around Pedro and it never failed to thrill you. 

That’s how you felt now, watching him clear space on the table, dessert plates and that bottle of his favorite wine moved out of the way, making room for your hands to stretch out, the tips of your fingers meeting his before you’re passing lazy circles over the warm skin of his knuckles.

“How are you so beautiful? I could look at you for hours.” Pedro sighs and you’re beaming. 

The look on his face is soft and warm and you want to curl up against his chest, stray thoughts sparking at the thought of his arms around you; how lately his hold on you, the grip, the heaviness of his hands was stronger and you were more enticed by it than you realized. 

So you shrug, trying to hide the way your chest feels flush at his compliment, “Guess I do it without even trying…I never get tired looking at you either you know.” 

You tease back but there’s a little suggestion in your tone, making him shift in the chair, head tilting to the side while you watch him cross his arms, hands clasped and resting on his chest. 

Now with more relaxed posture your attention was drawn to his lap instead of his hands, right to the way his shirt had ridden up. Just a peek of his tummy under the fabric reminding you of how badly you’d been thinking of and wanting him all day. 

“Nah, this face? I think I have the best view by far.” He scoffs but his steadily widening smile matches yours. 

“Yeah that face, which by the way is depriving mine of kisses right now and I think that’s kind of mean.”

It’s the fake huff and pout you do that really sells it. His grin turns playful before leaning in, warm and steady hands finding a familiar home against the curve of your jaw. 

His nose just barely brushes yours before your mouths meet with a soft hum and suddenly you’re getting swept up in the way his lips taste like sugar and wine and how it lingers even after he pulls back.

“Can I help you clean up and you can pick what we listen to this time?” He coaxes you sweetly but you don’t need any convincing, his words are snagged just a second behind in your mind, however, still occupied with thoughts of him and only him. 

“Yes, please! Hope you don’t mind a little Lust for Life.”

—

Now it’s Pedro’s turn to be distracted, watching when you weren’t looking as you dried and put away dishes, your “concentrated on the current task” face so endearing he can’t help but sneak side glances as he finishes up washing the last few plates in the sink. 

He was happy that you looked at ease and took note of all the things about you that took his breath away, a whole list unending. 

The slope of your nose and those brown eyes, brown skin, the sound of your laugh like an anchor in unsteady waters, nevermind the caress of your hands, your skin on his, always reaching for him, it all made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.   

It’s not hard for him to find things about you he adores and especially tonight, it all bubbles up in his chest and he wants nothing more than to press you against him and kiss you dizzy. 

Nothing compares, nothing and no one can light that fire that burns so molten just for you, flashes of sunset on your features and the aura of love everywhere feeling like home. 

There’s flowers in a vase by the window, the same ones he stopped by to give you earlier that week, just a simple effort to brighten your day when he knew you’d been stressed. Reds and oranges pop as the sun bathes the sweet smelling blooms in light and Pedro smiles again, reminded of how your eyes lit up when he showed up at your door, your body melting into his when he scooped you up for a hug. 

Now, you’re speaking to him again and his focus is renewed, indulging in your suggestions for things to do with the rest of your evening together, knowing already that it didn’t matter what transpired, as long as he was here with you, he was happy.

Afterwards, your head is in his lap and the rest of your body is curled up close while a movie plays but neither of you are really paying that much attention to what’s happening on the screen. 

Pedro’s fingers brush across your shoulder and down your back while his other hand was draped across your hip had you once again distracted and restless, his hold is gentle but the sureness of his hands and the weight of his arms only made your core ache. 

You wanted him so bad and weren’t sure if you could keep it to yourself any longer. 

The couch is almost too comfy underneath you to shift from the position you’re in but the sight of his hands gives you the final push that you need, turning so you were facing him, cheek resting on his thigh. 

Looking up at him steals your words, caving when he notices and glances down at you with the softest expression, the one that’s especially soft for you. 

You almost don’t register him whispering hello to you, caught up in the streaks of gray in his beard and the ones peppered in his hair that are your favorite, down to his neck that you can’t ever seem to stop yearning to leave a trail of love bites over and the broad edges of his shoulders that carry so much without wavering. 

A million things race through your mind and you’re flustered when you whisper back, hoping he won’t be able to feel the way your cheeks tingle with heat but the pad of his thumb is already sweeping over your temple. 

“You know I’m really impressed with how patient you’ve been tonight. I’m trying to keep up but, baby,” his amused hum brings relief, “You’re making that a challenge.” 

He knows what kind of mood you’re in and it’s been mutual the entire night and even you’re surprised at the thrill that runs up your spine at this realization and at his praise for your restraint. You want more. 

“I just wanted to savor it.” 

“And now how bad do you want me?”

“More than anything..” 

It sounds like a plea and you’re not ashamed to beg but you are a bit shy about having your desire so displayed. 

Though there wasn’t any need for worry, Pedro always encouraged and nourished any of your wants, so leaning into the tension felt easy, just as easy as it was for your heart to quicken automatically at the sound of his voice. 

Watching him then, breaths shallow and the very center of you aching to be touched before you’re holding back a gasp, big hands hauling you to sit up, then nudging you across his lap. 

“I need you too. C’mere.” 

You’re already pressed close but he says it with so much love that you wrap yourself around him further, not needing to be told twice. 

There’s hunger in this kiss, pulling you in, knocking something loose inside you that pushes you to sink right into the affection you knew had no end. 

Hands roam, his, sweeping down over your neck and shoulders and yours bracing against his torso. His tummy is soft and toned and you can feel the way he hums in his chest when your touches move further up, just itching to rest on those strong shoulders of his. 

Your living room felt like a hundred degrees with each well placed kiss to your lips and then across your jaw, so searing even when he’d given you a second to catch your breath. Not that it mattered because your next breath came as a whimper when his mouth found a sensitive sliver of skin at your neck. 

His responding grunt and laugh make you squirm without thinking, rocking against the thickest part of his thigh, both of you sighing in relief at the contact and you find yourself chasing that jolt of pleasure with another unconscious circle of your hips.

Pedro helps you then, both hands keeping a steady pressure on your waist to give you some leverage while you find the right rhythm. 

It made you whimper seeing how much he wanted you to do what felt good, encouraging you to go the pace you wanted which only drove the sound of your little whines and huffs of breath to desperation. 

Pedro can’t decide what’s better, those sweet little sounds or the sight of you riding him looking so grateful for it or if it’s how you’re clinging to his shoulders with the same desperation that’s laced in your moans. 

Either way you made him throb, god if you knew just how much you affected him on the daily. 

As if you could tell what he was thinking you reached a hand down to steady yourself against his waist and the low gasp you let slip said everything. 

He’s hard and his jeans are strained and it makes you smile to yourself proudly, working your hips down on him a little harder thinking about how deep he’d be if you were riding his dick instead.

“Yeah there you go…so fuckin pretty, baby.” he praised you again and again, leaning his head back against the couch so he could keep watching. 

He coaxes you to look at him too and you can barely keep eye contact with how adoring and filthy his gaze is but you try, for him you try and you swear you can feel just how soaked you are from this alone. 

“Please, I need more.”

It drives you crazy still having all these clothes on and you can tell he feels the same, helping you take his shirt off when you tug at it. His hands then find their way underneath the hem of yours and pull it up and over your head swiftly. 

You move off him with some reluctance after that but your skin is still tingling and you’re being spun around just seconds later to face his knees. 

Catching on is easy despite your state of arousal; it’s haziness. You follow his lead, bending over a little and sticking your ass out, waiting patiently for him to scoot forward on the couch and slip your bottoms off. 

He’d never make you wait long, even if the seconds feel like minutes. Your feet shift in anticipation when the last scrap of fabric drops to the floor, heart racing.

His breath fans across your skin and you bite your lip when he kisses the curve of your ass, thick fingers grabbing and kneading flesh before tugging you open so he could see. A hushed string of curses make their way to your ears and you’re arching your back just a little more, hoping he’ll do what you think he’s gonna do. 

You peek back over your shoulder and watch too, his eyes flicking up to yours and you notice the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lips like he’s making sure he really has your attention when he moves in to bury his face in your pussy. 

The resounding groan from both of you is loud, wanton and you’re already reaching back to slide your fingers into his hair while he tastes you further, his tongue dragging the sweetest circles over your clit, paying close attention to the way your body responds. 

If you were soaked before you’re a complete mess now. 

Prickles of heat skitter across your spine and settle in your abdomen with each pass of his tongue over your folds and his nose nudging against you unabashedly.  

It’s enough to bring you to your knees, you can feel the way your thighs start to tremble but you keep grinding back, your grip on his hair balancing the tilt of your hips while his hands keep you spread open for him. 

He’s obsessed with how you taste, how you shudder when his mouth closes around your clit, how he can feel you clenching when his tongue presses against your entrance, greedy only for what he can give you. 

You’re so good for him, always so good and he can’t help but reward you, spoil you, content to eat you out until you tell him otherwise. 

Savoring every bit of this, you don’t realize how worked up you really are until you’re whining, needing more, needing him to stuff you full and make you forget where your bodies begin and end. 

Chants of “please” leave your lips in whispers, until the words are choked out moans. “Please, please fuck me. I want you so bad, Pedro…just please…” 

“Mm I will, honey. Turn around for me, I want you right here.” his voice is deep rasp now and you’re moving immediately. 

The air feels charged now, your blood singing, every part of your body feeling every bit of the tension coursing through you. 

Your knees dip into the cushions and you tilt your hips up high again, laying your cheek on the back of the couch, smiling as you watched him position you how he wanted and then finally, slip out of his pants. 

Something about being on your knees, perched over the couch like this while he stands so tall and broad over you makes everything feel so much hotter, your hips swaying a little, trying to be seductive and inviting now that he was stroking his cock, coming closer and closer until the tip was sliding across the slick puddle between your thighs. 

“Is this what you’ve been wanting? Just wanna be fucked already, huh?” he grinds against you, slicking himself up and you’re nearly panting now, nodding your head. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

You reach down to help him find the right angle as he presses against your entrance, pushing in slow and steady, letting you adjust to the stretch with every inch he gives you. 

“Ohh…” the rest of your moan is muffled but he can hear it, the slight strain in the symphony of your pleasure when his hips sit flush with yours. 

Pedro takes in the sight of you again, grinning when you look back at him, craning your neck.

He knows exactly what he has to give you, making sure you can see the flash of his length shiny with your juices as he pulls back just to push into you again, not holding back as much now that he knew you were ready for more. 

He loves that you can’t help but watch, proud of you for taking him so well and begging for more already, a hand smoothing down your back, massaging the curve of your hips before he grips you tightly. 

Your eyes flutter closed when he leans down so you’re caged by his chest, the only thing you can see or feel is his body now, moving against yours just how he knows you like it. 

It feels so good, every bounce of your ass against his hips, the way he peppers kisses across your shoulder and over your neck, fucking you just a little deeper each time. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groans against your ear and you’re whimpering again, letting him hold you where he liked, taking what he gives you, gasping each time he knocks against that spot that makes your muscles tremble. 

“Oh my god! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” your breaths are strangled, pushed from your chest with deep thrusts.  

His lips graze over your shoulder again and you think he’s going to leave more kisses but this time you feel teeth graze over the soft spot between your neck and your collarbone, biting down gently but enough to make it ache. 

It makes you push your hips back into him, crying out when his mouth stays there on your neck. His hips drop to grind against you giving you nowhere to squirm to and you’re sure you’re seeing stars when he snakes a hand around to your front, first pressing against your tummy before his fingers are circling your clit in tight motions. 

“That’s it, baby. My good girl, go for it.” he encourages when he feels your walls start to clench around him, knowing you’re so close you can almost touch it. 

High moans and curses bubble up from your throat as you’re sent crashing into your orgasm, your mind already floating listening to him talk you through it, tethering you to him and grounding you in your body as you rode out the waves of pleasure racking your body, his thrusts only slowing but never stopping. 

It takes a second for you to feel like you can breathe again but as you look back at him, this time it isn’t so hard to keep your eyes on his, your mood even filthier now than before and you knew he was picking up on it too.

Slick sweat covers your bodies and you’re aching for more when you reach back to touch him, your fingers pinching his skin just as he started to pick up pace again, never tiring of the slap of skin and how you clutched at whatever part of him you could. 

He hoped you knew just how much he desired you and cherished you always and if you didn’t, he was about to spend every hour he could reminding you. 

Dusk was settling on the horizon now and you were buried in the cushions, telling the man you loved just how much you needed him, just how much you wanted to cream around him again and again and it is exactly where you want to be tonight and every night.

Right at home.

———

A/N: Peep the Lust for Life Lana album mention 🍒🥰 I was listening to Cherry and then Cola pretty much all throughout the writing process and well here we are! Also wanted to say that I approached this fic with it being RPF with as much respect for Pedro as possible and hope that comes through in my words. I wanted this fic to have a ~passionate and loving but hot and dirty~ feel to it and I think it’s giving that so !!! I had a lot of fun with this!

Thank you so much for reading <3

some no pressure tags! @moreofem @wyn-n-tonic @kittenlittle24 @kneelforloki @pipsqueakkitten @daddy-din @blkmorticia

[2-fast-2-curious]

do you have a master list of all the audios? i need one place to find them all 😩

Motorsport Audio Masterlist Albon - Lawson

Leclerc-Ocon

Perez-Zhou

Male Listener Audios

Alex Albon

[M4F] [Script Offer] Early Morning With Your BF

[M4F] Be My Good Girl?

Fernando Alonso

noche de lluvia

buen-dia-amor

[M4F] Déjame ayudarte a dormir

Marcus Armstrong

A Soft Morning at the Beach [M4F]

[M4F] [script fill] Study break

Teaching you how to drive stick

Exhibitionist in front of the window

[M4F] Flatmates [painting]

[M4F][Script Fill] All Wrapped up

[M4F] It’s been a while

Peter Bonnington

[M4F] [Script Fill] Laundry Day

[F4M] Thanks for a Great Race, Wanna Fuck?

Valterri Bottas

[M4F] You Love It When I Put On A Suit, Don’t You?

Jenson Button

[M4F] Breakfast In Bed

Perfect The Way You Are.

I talk about going down on you

Sweetening up a Single Father [M4F]

Angela Cullen

[F4F] Taking Time For Yourself

Nyck De Vries

[M4A] [Ramblefap] I have to start with something...

[M4F] I'd say it was a pleasure but...

[M4F] Some Comfort

[M4F] Some heavy petting

My roommate, my vam[M4F]Feral Friday Ramblepire

[M4F]Feral Friday Ramble

Jack Doohan

shall we share my sleeping bag?

[M4F][Script Fill] Impulse Control

Felipe Drugovich

[M4F] Ramblefap #2

Pierre Gasly

[M4F] Boyfriend Waited Too Long For You And Can't Hold Himself Back 

[M4F] Are you horny too?

[M4F] I do like your tits, speaking English can be hard fortunately I can do better things with my mouth

[M4F] Sleepy boyfriend wants you to come to bed to cuddle

[M4F] Helping you falling asleep

[M4F]The perfect gift

A Kiss, Or Two, To Wake Up

[M4F] Un réveil exceptionnel [FR]

[M4F] Unspeakable

[M4F] You and your crush have your first of many kisses

[M4F] Your beautiful breasts

[M4F][Improvisation]Sleepy boyfriend wants you to come to bed to cuddle

[M4F] Oh, you're studying? No, I'll just sit with you.

Lewis Hamilton

[M4F] Testing your strength against your boyfriend goes wrong... but very, very right

[M4F] Catching Daddy Playing

[M4F] A not-so-sneaky night of passion to cap off the week

[M4F] Fucking your brother's best friend.

[M4F][M4F(MMM)] You're my pretty little maid for game day. Won't you make my friends feel comfortable?

[M4F] You just can’t keep away, can you, Princess?

You're Safe With Me, My Darling

[M4F] Aw, is daddy's cock too big for you, princess? I don't care.

[M4F] Naughty Daddy fucks his little girl neighbour who's been teasing him for some time now.

[M4F] Distracting you from chores

[M4A][Improv] A needy "good morning" in the kitchen

[M4F] Needy Whore

[M4F][Script Fill] Honeymoon Swats

[M4A][OC] A sleeping gift for your overworked partner

[M4F][Script Fill] Shopping spree

[M4F][Script Fill] I saw what you did… Was that for me?

[M4F][Script Fill] Dominant friend needs an assistant

[M4F][Script Fill] Your Dom BF wants to make you cum while you game

Dennis Hauger

[M4F] I Will Hurt You, Princess

[M4F] Just Like That

[M4F] Warm Mushroom Soup

[M4F] Happy Ending Birthday

[M4F] Amateur Masseur

[M4F] A Farm by the Fjord

Christian Horner

[M4F] [Script Fill] The Sleepover DILF

Niko Hulkenberg

[M4F] Let’s see if you actually deserve more of my cum today

[M4A] You're Not Alone

[M4A] Unwind, and fall into relaxation with me

Callum Ilott

[M4F] You’re Sick, But It Doesn’t Bother Your Boyfriend

Michael Italiano

[M4F] Closing Time At the Gym

Liam Lawson

[m4f] Taking her virginity after a date

A Quickie with the fuck buddy

[M4F] Let Me Make You Feel Beautiful

Your doting boyfriend treats you to a night of relaxation and pleasure

[M4F] It’s been a while

[seelestia]

— 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄?

SUMMARY. zhongli never lies; he always says the truth as it is, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. or in which you realize you are not his greatest love and that is alright... right? (3.3k+ words)

CHARACTERS. zhongli.

GENRE. major angst, hurt with little to no comfort (sort of?).

CW. insecurities to a partner's past love and gradual acceptance (?), zhongli's past love is implied to be guizhong and uses she/her pronouns, use of pet names, possible sappiness. + read the alt text on zhongli's header for an extra summary!

THOUGHTS. i haven't written angst in a vv long time, so my sincerest apologies if i've become rusty! but i tried my best and writing zhongli always gets me sniffling <//3

EXTRA THOUGHTS. a gift for @medeaheartly! so, do you remember the "special privilege" request you sent me in this ask?? hehe, tadaaaa. happy birthday, jae! <3

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

THE VERY FIRST TIME you asked him that question was on a day like every other. In fact, there was barely anything special about that day that could've brought rise to such a forward question. Liyue was as calm as the ocean breezes from the direction of Guyun Stone Forest, the same as ever. You were sitting across from the man of your dreams with delicacies laid out on the table at Third-Round Knockout, the same as ever.

But it was no compulsion, no forcefulness either, just a need to reaffirm. For it still felt like a dream that you were here right now, sitting across from him.

"ZHONGLI, do you love me?" You asked.

He was a man of respectable virtue, a man whose knowledge knew no bounds, a man of perfectly sculpted features that you had to rub your eyes in a daze when you met him for the first time. Nothing could begin to describe how honored you felt to have him call you his lover and him yours after all those years of admiring him from afar.

Even now, it still felt surreal. So, so surreal that he chose you, just like how you'd choose him over any other on this land — but, you needed a confirmation, a reassurance that this was all true. And so, that was why you just had to ask.

But love might've been too strong a word for a mutual connection that had only sparked so recently. Maybe he, too, thought the same because Zhongli turned to look at you with an expression that spoke of surprise. For a moment, you felt conscious underneath his questioning gaze.

Goodness, why did you say that? Why did you act so impulsive? It was as if your mouth had a mind of its own and for a moment, you wanted to bury your face in your hands and never look up.

Perhaps, you should just take back that question—

"Let me put my thoughts into words," he hummed in response, the slight shock on his face subtly dissolving into gentleness. By doing so, your thoughts were grounded to a halt as he rested a hand on top of yours. Its warmth was familiar and you had to stop a bashful smile from blooming like a flower on your lips.

Zhongli was actually humoring you and your silly question, you realized.

"Well... oftentimes, I find myself staring at Silk Flowers, knowing that they remind me of your soft gaze and that I'd want to give them to you as a gift. Although, at times, that plan is unable to come to fruition if I forgot to bring a pouch of Mora with me," he mused, eyes closed.

You stifle a mirthful laugh with your hand at the last part, even more when you noticed that he was stating it matter-of-factly rather than saying it as a joke.

"And when I sit down to watch Ms. Yun's performance, there are times where a voice in my mind echoes to me, 'they would've loved this' as I listen. Slowly but surely, you begin to occupy my mind so naturally, as natural as the cycle of the sun and the moon," he added.

You were hanging onto his every word, his melodious voice, his beautiful amber irises, his everything. You knew why; because he was never the type to sweeten his words with sugar or honey, never with the intention to entice you into falling harder for him with speech. No, rather, it was because Zhongli was always honest. As if his words were gospel to your ears; anything he said, he meant it and this time was no exception.

If there was ever a moment that you wished you could capture and replay over and over again like a broken record, it would have surely been this one. It was only when his previously serious tone morphed into a fit of chuckles was how you realized you were spacing out. His eyes crinkled even more beautifully than the crescent in the night sky as he said, "Well, is that enough or shall I tell you more?"

"N-no, that's enough," you tried to hide your face behind your unoccupied hand, albeit horribly failing because Zhongli only seemed to laugh harder. His voice echoed like music in your ears and Archons, you just fell more and more for him.

He said it himself; that he was yours, yours, yours, finally yours.

(But at the time, you were yet to be made aware of the stories from the past.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

THE SECOND TIME you asked him that question was when you discovered that Zhongli, once, had a lover. At first, it wasn't surprising to you because almost everyone had a love that either wasn't meant to be or lost itself to time. In his case, it was the latter, or so you heard from the whispers of passersby.

"There is a tavern that puts a vase of Glaze Lilies on their tables when they open at nighttime and when the gentleman from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor visits, he stares at the flowers longingly while he sits. I think the flowers remind him of someone."

"Maybe it's Mx. [Y/N] he is thinking about?"

But you knew better, Zhongli said it to you himself; Silk Flowers were what reminded him of you, not Glaze Lilies. A trivial detail to some, but it meant a lot to you. You weren't mad nor angry but instead, you felt rather curious.

You never heard any of the stories from Zhongli himself, although you supposed you already knew why. It was either he never brought it up to shelter your feelings, or maybe even his own. They said curiosity was what killed the cat, but you still held on to this curiosity, whether that be for better or for worse.

When you finally came to the decision that you'd gather the courage to ask him about her someday, it was a time when the both of you were resting from the mundane routines of the day. Your head was on his lap and his fingers were tangled in your hair, courtesy of being gently pulled onto his lap after you complained about a headache quietly.

The desire to ask Zhongli about his previous lover was constantly knocking in the back of your mind, the words of it lost somewhere on your tongue. Was this a good decision? Why did you become so inquisitive as of late? But you finally managed to gulp down the boulder of hesitation caught in your throat.

"...What kind of person was she? The one before me?"

Your tone was doubtful, your question was vague — but still, his fingers that were just carding through your hair stopped. Halted in its tracks so abruptly that you felt an instant rush of worry coursing through you, you sat up from your position with a concerned frown.

"'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No," the man shook his head, his voice meeker than the usual certainty that you had grown used to. Your heart sank, had you crossed the line? As if your thoughts were written across your forehead, Zhongli placed his hands on your shoulders and laid you back onto his lap. "It's alright," he smiled.

You wondered if that smile was just a front to comfort you, but his gentle gesture was too hard to resist and you found staring up at his face with your head on his thigh. His gaze didn't meet yours, however; he wasn't trying to avoid you but rather, he was looking into the distance.

Looking at something, looking at a memory.

"She was wonderful," he uttered, a delayed answer to the question you asked him. The image of a fond smile had seemed to sew itself tight on his lips, you couldn't help but gape in awe at his beauty. Oblivious to your adoring gaze, he continued his story, "We used to chatter into the night, she more than I, about the present and future of Liyue with cups of Osmanthus Wine in our hands."

His fingers made themselves at home in between your locks again, smoothing out and counting the strands idly. You managed to note a familiar detail in his words as you hummed, "Osmanthus Wine? Like the one you brought home for us the other day?"

"Yes, dear, like the one I brought home for us that day," Zhongli chuckled at the sudden way your sharp memory decided to make itself apparent. "I used to drink the wine with her and my old friends," he added. Zhongli always had a fondness for that drink and only now, had he told you why.

But it invoked an unnamed feeling inside your chest, knowing that mellow yet sweet drink you once shared with your lover was actually a token from the past he used to share with another. ...Was this jealousy? No, you shouldn't. You felt guilty, terrible for feeling this way when he was speaking of nostalgic memories so beautifully.

"You must've loved her greatly," you tried to muster a smile, one that looked sweet from the outside but came from a bitter place deep down. "Yes, I did," Zhongli smiled too and the genuineness in that smile only hurt you even more.

Will he ever speak of you that way too? Will you be able to replicate the happiness that came with his previous lover and his old friends?

"Do you—" Before you knew it, you had already begun to ask yet another question that seemed to bubble up without a second thought. Your lips were dry as you carried on your sentence, "Do you love me too?"

As much as her? More than her? Less than her? Words unspoken.

All you knew was that you craved an answer from him. You didn't want reassurance, you just wanted the truth. But was it hypocrisy if you said that deep down, you were expecting yourself to be more special in his eyes? No, expecting wasn't the right word, it was hoping.

"Yes, I loved her and I love you," Zhongli smiled again, wistful. His voice was loving and his answer was said so clearly — but somehow, it only left you feeling even emptier than before.

You didn't know why, but something was just missing. Unsettled, an uneasy feeling that'd make your stomach churn like realizing that you left the door open or forgot something important at the tip of your tongue.

(Or maybe, you really were a hypocrite, after all.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

For the past two times, you realized that you had been asking Zhongli the same question, merely presented in different shades. First, it was: "Do you love me?" An innocence that was meant to be a confirmation that your dream to be his finally came true. Second, it was: "Do you love me too?" A question that derived from the insecurity of knowing that he once had a lover who clearly outshone you in every way.

It was only during THE THIRD TIME you asked him that question were you finally able to pinpoint that hidden void in your chest from last time — and it just so happened that this revelation descended as the two of you stood in front of an unnamed grave.

But the bouquet of Glaze Lilies in Zhongli's hands was already telling of whom the place of resting belonged to. The sheer longing in his gaze was a telling indication too, as painful as it was for you to admit.

For these past few days, Zhongli was kind enough to tell you stories about his former lover; of her bright mind, of her delightful demeanor, of her connection to a field of Glaze Lilies in his mind, of her memorable presence in his life. Even in this moment, he invited you to come alongside him to visit her grave, an intimate and precious place that he never disclosed to anyone before. But you knew that he made sure that your comfort was his priority, never speaking or telling too much unless you specifically asked.

"It's growing dark," the sigh that came with his words drifted away to become one with the wind. You assumed if it weren't for the time, the both of you could've lingered for a little bit longer here. Zhongli kneeled on one knee to place the bouquet on top of the grave, you watched silently as a sign of respect. There were a few moments of nostalgic silence as he stood up. He rested his hands on the back of his waist, a little habit of his, and he tore his gaze away from the grave to you.

"I must thank you for accompanying me here today," Zhongli regarded you with a sweet smile but somehow, this smile was much more feeble than usual.

"Before, I was only able to cherish memories of her alone by myself," he stated as he stared into the darkening skies above that was beginning to make way for the moon to shine. But he wanted to look at you in the eyes as he spoke, so the male pivoted aside to face you properly. "You've given me the opportunity to speak of her legacy. I know that this topic might not be the easiest for you to hear, so I just want to thank you. For understanding and for listening." The smile on his face as he spoke was growing wider this time, more earnest.

Words failed you, all you could manage was to return his smile with your own. Zhongli was kind, too kind, really... which only made the guilt upon your shoulders grow heavier, for you had one last question to ask of him.

"Let's go home, dear," he held out a hand towards you, fully expecting you to grab onto it so the two of you can make your journey back to Liyue Harbor — and you did, you grabbed onto his hand but you didn't move from your position.

Your feet were firmly planted on the ground at the very same spot. Your chest felt heavier than any metal bladesmiths could ever hope to get their hands on, but you told yourself multiple things: one, that this question will be the last one and two, that his answer will not change anything between you.

You just needed to know, was all.

"Zhongli," you croaked out his name. His amber eyes crinkled at the corners with concern as he replied, "Yes?" Archons, you couldn't bear the reality that you were the one causing him to feel that way, but you managed to force the words out of your mouth before you put this off any longer.

"...Do you love her most?"

Zhongli froze, just like the very first time you mentioned her name to him that day. His mouth opened then closed again, thinking of the right words to respond. What was happening?

He was always known for his ability to be straightforward and honest. Yes, that was what he'd normally do, but that was one of the concepts about love. Love makes you do strange things, love makes you stray from your usual self before it has yet to course through your veins, love is strange — and for the first time in forever, Zhongli hesitated.

You searched for his eyes for an answer and you couldn't help, but wonder: why was he hesitating now? "Tell me the truth, tell it as it is like how you always do. But if you don't wish to answer, I understand," you squeezed his head reassuringly.

You weren't forceful, you gave him a chance to refuse, but that look in your eyes; just how much you needed to know, just how much you needed an answer. Was this the matter that bothered you all this time? Finally, he was able to figure out why such a forlornly aura had begun following you ever since the day you asked him about her.

He'll do it, he'll give you an answer. Zhongli is never one to lie and this time, he wouldn't either. He repeated your question to himself in his mind: Does he love her the most? And the answer that trickled out of his mouth in a quiet whisper was... "Yes," he said.

Your eyes widened. Not in disappointment, not in expectation, but in disbelief upon finally receiving the answer to the fog that had engulfed you for so long.

"I would cross the ocean for her, I would sacrifice my last breath for her, I would wait a lifetime of solitude for her. Even until now, that has not changed," he murmured.

"I see," you smiled ruefully, but it didn't reach your ears. You weren't able to meet her, but just through witnessing the utter loyalty the man you loved had for her, she must've been as wonderful as he described her to be. Of course, she was his greatest love and that's alright. He had all the rights to love someone that wasn't you, that's alright too. At least, the truth was finally revealed, right? That was all you wanted, right?

Right, [Y/N]?

"Please do not cry."

Zhongli spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence where you were left consumed by your own thoughts. You didn't even notice the tears that were rolling down your cheeks until he pointed it out — the warmth of Zhongli's fingers as he tried to wipe away at the pearly liquids on your face was careful, but that gesture only seemed to bring forward more of them.

He averted his gaze, "It was not my intention to make you cry..." Here came that unfamiliar hesitation again, rendering his tongue into a jumbled mess. But Zhongli decided to push through, there was something he wanted you to know; "I've never lied to you," he said, his voice and gaze were firm.

"When I told you that looking at Silk Flowers reminds me of your gaze and I want to give them to you. When I told you that I loved her and I love you. When I said that I love her the most."

By now, your tears had stopped and the only traces left of them were the drying streaks on your face. The times where you had asked him all those questions came rushing back in an instant as he listed them amidst his musing.

"Those things, they are not lies," Zhongli encased your trembling hand with both of his own, causing your blurry eyes to look at him. "I love you. This is not a lie either," he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

You were silent and he could feel the worry swirling inside his chest. It was only several seconds after that your mouth began to move, yet he couldn't make out what you had said. With a frown, the tall brown-haired male leaned closer and only then did he hear the words falling from your lips: "I never doubted that at all," you whispered in between sniffles.

"That wasn't a lie either, in case you're wondering," you chipped in. He chuckled, mused that you used his words against him so quickly, endeared by your very existence before him. But most importantly, his voice was rid of the sadness that he had upon seeing your tear-stricken face prior.

"Let's go home, my love," Zhongli said those words softly, as soft as the way he tucked back a stray strand of your hair that fell from its original position.

You nodded.

It was during that fateful dusk where you learnt that you were not his greatest love and that's alright. It'll take time to fully register itself in your heart and that's alright too.

(After all, he said that he loves you — and Zhongli is anything but a liar. Everything is alright, right?)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @herdrops @lleoll — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

© SEELESTIA, dec 2022. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own. happy birthday, jae!

[two-white-butterflies]

wanting was enough | a. targaryen

Description: Aegon Targaryen falls for his father's caretaker. Loosely based on Knives Out. Rating: 16+

Aegon couldn't understand why his father loved everyone except his own children. He couldn't understand why Viserys' eyes would soften around his adopted children (namely Rhaenyra), but never around his trueborn ones. It was frustrating, but he knew that trying to fight against it was impossible. It was a losing game.

"How's dad?" Helaena inquires, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Everyone could hear Viserys' complaints of pain last night. Old age was a bitch. Aegon could only pray that his father dies soon - at least they'd be left with money - but alas, bad grass die slow.

"Don't know. Wasn't allowed inside." he answered, taking the mug out of the counter - stealing his sister's coffee before she could take a sip. "I'll ask (your name) then," Helaena replies - rolling her eyes as he takes a sip of her sweetened cup of joe.

His eyebrows bumped into each other.

"Who?" he inquires - unfamiliar with the name. "Dad's nurse, apparently he's paying for her uni. She wants to be a doctor." Aemond barges into the room, pushing his siblings away as he boils water for their mother's tea.

Aegon snorts.

"I wasn't aware that our father ran a fucking foundation." he complains. Why was Viserys paying for another person's education when he didn't want to pay for his?

"I don't give a fuck about it - but the nurse is kinda hot." Aemond ponders - a pout was on his lips, contemplating on whether or not he'd 'tap' that. "I'll see where it goes." he smirks, already imagining your lips around him.

"Disgusting," Helaena shakes her head - pouring herself another cup of coffee, making sure to add a lot of creamer in order to avoid the bitter taste. "Hel, everyone knows that you swing both ways - I'm pretty sure she's hot in a female gaze too." Aemond nods his head - like they were talking about a celebrity and not a fucking girl that was sharing the same room as them.

"I'll be the judge of that," her eyes narrowed, and the kettle began to boil. Aemond lets out a sarcastic chuckle, holding the pot in his left hand and stealing his sister's coffee with the other. "Thanks, Hel." he grinned, walking out of the kitchen before Helaena could hit his head.

Aegon clenches his jaw at the sight of you. Beautiful - that he almost forgot what his name was.

"Viserys is alright. He had a bit of a back pain last night." you smiled at his mother - eyes dazzling and joyous.

What did it feel like to be happy all the time?

Your eyes trail towards him - scanning his shirtless body with hidden intention. He didn't have abs or anything - his stomach was round and perfect. Enough to leave a lot to imagination. Aegon's eyes widen, realizing that he was just wearing his towel.

Alicent turns to look behind her.

"Umm mom, where did you put my clothes?" he scratched the back of his head. This wasn't a pleasant first meeting.

"They're in the laundry room, (your name). Can you get them?" Alicent tilted her head. You reply with a nod - immediately walking and retrieving his clothes.

He paces back and forth in his room, feeling the water drip down his body. He felt embarrassed that you saw him that way - but also slightly happy because he could see that he was your type.

A knock on the door breaks him from his thoughts.

He opens the door quickly, peaking his head through and meeting your eyes. "Here are your clothes! I ironed them, I'm sorry it took so long." you smile at him and his hand reaches to touch his shirt.

It was warm, that means that you weren't lying.

"That's okay," he kept staring at your eyes - finding himself drawn in by their beautiful hues. "Is there anything else you need help with?" you raise both of your eyebrows and he shakes his head.

"T-thank you," he stuttered - not used to saying that word.

It was the evening of Helaena's birthday. The young guests were drunk - and the old guests were either sleeping upstairs or home. Aegon couldn't find himself drinking alcohol - it was too familiar to his father - too familiar to feel safe.

His eyes drift towards the dance floor - where you were joyfully dancing with one of his ex-classmates.

He knows who that man is - Cregan Stark. A younger boy who was accelerated into his section. He hates him. Cregan was cocky, arrogant, and too sure of himself - basically a copy of Aegon.

His jaw clenches - seeing you grind against him like a whore in heat. He wanted that for him - he wanted you to do that to him.

"Close your mouth. You're inviting flies," Alys sits beside him - a small glass of champagne was on her hand. His eyes glance towards her - he was unaware that she was invited. After her messy breakup with Aemond - she was basically excommunicated from the entire family.

"New girl huh? Aemond told me that she's a nurse," Alys ran her finger around the rim of the glass.

Ah, they got back together.

"What about it?" he answered bitterly - keeping that wall high and unreachable. "According to my experience, nurses are good fucks. They're a little bratty though - since they were mean girls in high school." she teased, searching for emotions in his stoic face.

"She's from a foreign country. She doesn't look like the type to be mean." he replied and a small chuckle exits the woman's mouth. "Good, you know something about her." she slumped on the chair - looking at you while you stop dancing.

"You're welcome," she whispers in his ear - standing up as you began marching towards him. His eyebrows merged into each other for a moment, totally clueless of what Alys did for him.

"Who was that?" you ask cautiously - hands on your hips and staring at him with an accusatory glare. "Alys, and why do you care?" he tried his best to be hard to get. "I don't care, I was just asking." you reasoned - looking away from him.

There was a weird feeling inside your chest - like you wanted to stab someone and hide their body in the mountains.

"People typically don't ask unless they care," he pointed out, smiling to himself as you walk away.

Thank you, Alys.

You ignored him the following day. Cleaning around his room while ignoring his words of complaint. "Get that thirty bro," he yelled into the mic - prepared to render his cousin deaf with the screaming.

"Baela, I swear to fucking god - if that was a snake it would've bit you already." he cursed again - killing the enemy with ease. "Don't scream at me. I saw it but you KS'ed me." the girl replied in an angry tone.

"I didn't KS you. You were lagging - tell Uncle Daemon to buy better internet." he trashtalked. Staring at you while he belittled his cousin.

Was that a turn off?

Was he being icky?

"Bitch please, tell your ugly ass dad to stop subscribing to satellite network." Baela rolled her eyes, stealing her uncle's kill.

"You're the one stealing my kills, fucking hypocrite buy yourself a new personality." he groaned and his cousin turns her camera on - flashing him two middle fingers.

He rolls his eyes, seeing that Baela disconnected again.

"I swear to god," he mumbled - turning his gaming chair around, and his eyes meet with yours. You were holding a basket filled with his clothes. "Can I help you?" he frowns, still frustrated with the game.

A small laugh exits your mouth.

"Is something funny?" he takes the headphones off. "It's amusing to see you frustrated over Fortnight." you snort - still fighting off a round of laughter. "You wouldn't understand," he rolls his eyes.

"Oh simpletons will never understand fortnight. It is deeply profound and must be studied by scientists." you exaggerated.

He couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

@pearlstiare @sweethoneyblossom1@tinykryptonitewerewolf @cheri-ladyy @watercolorskyy @bellastwd @nyctophilicvitnir @fan-goddess

[weird-an]

Mrs. Richardson is one of these teachers that stare at Billy with a thoughtful look and ask him to stay after class to talk about his potential.

Billy brings home straight As, because failure gets punished with a belt and a tirade of insults Billy sometimes dreams about. Mrs. Richardson already sees him at an Ivy League school, ignoring how he owns like four shirts and fixed her husband's car at the garage just last week.

"What do you wanna do when you're 30?" She asks him. "If you could do anything with your life?"

Billy blinks. He doesn't think, he'll make it to 30. But he can't tell her that or she'll dig deeper and who knows what sad excuse of a town Neil finds - that might be worse than Hawkins.

"An apartment and a job that pays enough." is what he settles for.

She frowns at him. "What kind of job?"

"Whatever." Billy shrugs and he knows he should make up a stupid lie about how he's interested in tech or whatever shit, but he can't. He turns fucking 18 tomorrow and he won't get out of here, because Neil takes his paycheck whenever Billy gets it.

"I like working at the garage," he offers carefully.

She sighs. "I think you could go to college."

She hands him a bunch of flyers Billy throw away at home and starts a whole monologue about scholarships for kids that aren't well off. Billy chews on his bubble gum and pretends to listen while wondering if he should hide his next paycheck in a can of pringles.

After a few minutes, he's dismissed with a "Think about it! You're a really good student."

Harrington leans against the lockers, obviously waiting for him and stares at him with his big brown eyes reminding Billy of toffee. Billy isn't in the mood to fool around today. But he's kinda scared that Harrington will lose interest as soon as a busty girl hits on him, so he can't really afford to leave it be. Billy gives him a tiny nod. Their ... well, not so secret sign, but no one is around to see it anyways.

They drive to the quarry separately, like they always do when Harrington's parents are at home and they have to swap his waterbed against the backseat of their cars.

Billy is faster. Because Harrington is a pussy and sticks to the speed limit. Billy's halfway through his cigarette when Harrington slides on the passenger's seat next to him.

"What did Mrs. Richardson want from you?" He sounds genuinely interested. Harrington is good in getting what he wants. Tells Billy he's hot and good in bed to keep him in mood. Gives compliments without sounding dishonest. Billy eats it all up. Sweetener that tastes like sugar.

"She asked me what I wanna do when I'm 30." Billy watches the faint orange glint of his dying cigarette.

"And what do you want?" Harrington's gaze presses Billy a bit harder down in his seat.

Billy opens his mouth to tell Harrington the same stuff he told her, but instead he hears himself say "To not be dead and maybe even fucking happy."

Well. There goes the chance of getting fucked until he forgets about birthdays of any kind.

Harrington's hand is a bit cold against his own. His thumb presses against Billy's wrist.

"I'll never get out of here," Billy chokes out and the ash from his cig falls on his jeans. "He's... he's going to fucking kill me."

It's so overwhelming. It's like the end is already written and no matter what book Billy grabs, it's always the same shit on the pages.

One day Neil will get too drunk and Billy will die. One day Neil will get his gun and Billy will die. One day Neil won't do anything and Billy will die.

Billy doesn't want to die. He wants to fucking live and he can't. Not here in fucking Indiana.

"I'm moving out," Harrington says slowly. "Next month."

Billy blinks the tears away and wonders what the fuck Harrington is talking about.

"There's only one bed...," Harrington's voice is unsure, like he's afraid of... Billy's answer? "You would be welcome any time."

Billy stares at Steve and sees the same tears Billy tries not to cry in his eyes. What the fuck is Harrington on about?

"I want you to be fucking happy, too." Steve rubs his nose. "I... could get a second key."

"What about ... if you're like... hanging out with a chick?" Billy asks, surprised that he only sounds half as strangled as he feels.

Steve laughs wetly. "You're the only one I'm seeing."

Billy flicks the cigarette out of the window. He's only doing what all his instincts tell him to do. He cups Steve's face and his heart beats way too fast.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Harrington." He wouldn't survive that. To be offered a… way out and its all turning out to be a joke.

"It's Steve," Steve corrects and buries his hand in Billy's hair.

He isn't sure who is kissing who first, but they are kissing and crying and sobbing all at once.

"So will you come over?" Steve asks, a bit breathless.

"Until you kick me out," Billy says.

Maybe Billy will turn 30. Maybe he's got a real chance - a chance that walked into his life dressed like a preppy asshole, but Billy never had a good taste in men.

@harringroveweek

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

In the dream, Dean walked through the bunker, or a facsimile of it, the hallways' angles not quite true, the rooms not quite plumb. His hands were bloody the first time he looked down at them, dusty the second time. It took him long minutes to walk up the metal staircase because there were twice as many steps as usual, with a curling ascent that made him a little dizzy. The heavy door was hard to open. With his weight against it, it opened with an echoing thunk; he fell into a field of knee-high grass and chicory as blue as Cas's eyes.

An empty field. His palms were still ashen.

The sorrow that tore through his body woke him more than the fall did. He blinked up at the wooden beams hatched across the farmhouse bedroom ceiling and tried to catch his breath. A tear slid down into his right ear and made him flinch. After a few swallows, he sat up and stretched. Rubbed his eyes dry. Noticed a strange brightness flaring around the perimeter of the bedroom's window curtain and let the ache behind his ribcage fade.

His feet registered the chill of the floor before the rest of him did and he skipped over to the window on tiptoe. With the curtain open the source of the light proved to be dawn illuminating the skim of snow atop everything in the yard – a powdered sugar dusting, surprising only because 24 hours ago it'd been 60F degrees outside.

He was gargling mouthwash when elsewhere in the house it sounded like someone was fighting off ninjas with a cookie sheet.

"You okay?" Dean asked at the kitchen doorway.

Cas, startled, dropped a metal pie plate (again) and groaned. "I'm sorry." He picked up the wayward pan and inspected it for dents before putting it firmly on the counter. "I didn't mean to wake you." He turned to give a more settled smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean snuck in and wrapped Cas up in a hug before he could move away. "Good morning," he whispered into Cas's soft hair.

"Happy birthday," Cas said, his voice still smiling. He pulled back enough to look up at Dean, typical earnestness all over his face. "I guess my surprise won't be much of one now."

Dean blinked as the pie plate suddenly made sense. "Are you making me pie?" Delight bubbled up in his chest as Cas mouthed yes; Dean let his hands slide to Cas's waist and held on, anchoring himself there. 

Cas ducked his head. "I was going to try." He glanced at a cookbook cracked open on the nearby table where they usually drank coffee and watched the sun rise, and beside it a bowl, a stick of butter, the canister labeled 'flour' and the canister labeled 'sugar', three loose eggs, a big wooden spoon, and a bag of nutmeats.

"Pecan. My favorite." Dean kissed the side of Cas's head. "Would you like some help?"

After a pause, Cas said, "No." He didn't sound sure of the answer. "It's your birthday. You should take the day off. I can manage." His hands on Dean's chest were another anchor.

"It is my birthday, so I think I should get to choose how to spend the morning." Dean quirked an eyebrow the way Cas often did when he was being bossy. "And I would like to help you make the best pecan pie either of us has ever eaten." He let his expression sweeten as a flush crept across Cas's cheeks. "Please."

Cas nodded, eyes shining. Dean gathered him into his arms again because he could. He was 45 years old and holding the love of his life in their tiny kitchen with the oven ticking, with snow sparkling through the windows. They were living their small, precious lives together in freedom, in peace (what 45 years had taught Dean the hard way: they could have both) and there was nothing empty about it. 

They stood swaying sleepily for a couple of minutes before the desire for pie, and other things, started to eat away at Dean's brain. Low at Cas's ear, he said, "You know, pecan pie is best served room temp. We'll need to let it cool down after it's out of the oven before we can cut into it. Might take an hour."

"We haven't even started–"

"I'm just saying," Dean continued, "we'll need to find something else to do with ourselves in a little while." He cleared his throat. "Some way to pass the time."

Cas tipped his head up. "I don't think figuring that out will be an issue," he murmured, and pressed closer.

[ghiradellidarkchocolatebrownies]

STORYTIME: DO NOT FEED YOUR CLOWNS THIS!!

I volunteer a few days a week at a clown shelter. Earlier this month, a Teacup-Birthday mix named Kiki was adopted by a (seemingly) very nice middle aged couple, and we were very happy to send yet another clown to a good home. But disaster struck this afternoon when the couple returned to the shelter, wanting to surrender Kiki back to us. Their reason? She was not performing any tricks and had been biting them nonstop for weeks now. I was of course very shocked and confused by this. Kiki was one of the most playful and least temperamental clowns I had ever cared for.

I asked them if she had the proper environment, if they had changed her costume or markings in any way, if they were feeding her the proper diet. They said that they were doing everything right, and were following the care instructions we had given them. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, but their story just wasn't adding up. And they were shifting nervously, and talking quietly to each other when they thought I wasn't looking. I told them to wait while I took Kiki for a checkup. As I took her to the vet's office, I couldn't help but notice that she seemed to lack any energy at all. When I tried to tickle her stomach (something that she normally loves), she snapped at me (Luckily, I jerked my hand away before she could bite).

When the vet examined Kiki, it was revealed that she was suffering from malnourishment and a button infection. I went back out to talk to the owners, and they continued to deny any mistreatment. After some more questioning and prying, they finally broke down and admitted what they had been doing.

They had been feeding Kiki a mix of mice and small bones (no problem there). But for her candy intake, they had been feeding her SUGAR-FREE candy. My heart sank as soon as I heard those words. No wonder Kiki had been so sick.

Every clown owner should know that (in general) Clowns need a healthy mixture of raw meat and sugar in their diets. Feeding them sugar-free stuff can be very bad for them and cause a LOT of problems.

For one, they will not be getting their much needed sugar intake. A sugar deficiency will lower their mood, make them more easily agitated, make them sick, and can even be deadly for some clown breeds (such as Birthday and Circus). As Kiki is a Birthday clown, she might not have survived another week without sugar.

Another thing to keep in mind about sugar-free products is that they often have artificial sweeteners in them. These sweeteners are not ideal for clowns, as most clown breeds have sensitivities or allergies to them. Simply put, most clowns' digestive systems are not properly built to process sugar-free foods. Feeding your clown artificial sweeteners over time can even weaken their immune system (This is likely what contributed to Kiki's infection).

The owners claimed that they had no idea that sugar-free candy was bad for clowns (very unlikely since the care instructions specifically list sugar-free foods under the "DO NOT" section). My boss suggested to them that we take care of Kiki for a few days, but they told us they weren't coming back. As soon as they left, we informed other local shelters about them and even posted on internet forums about it, as they may go somewhere else and find a different clown to mistreat. They clearly only see clowns as entertainment and nothing else.

We gave Kiki some cotton candy, and she's already starting to return to her old self. Unfortunately, though, this means that she's back in the system. There's no telling how long until she's adopted again.

Before anyone asks, we make sure to look into anyone who's interested in adopting one of our clowns. We run background checks, call character witnesses, make sure they have the proper environment for a clown and have the money to support one, etc. Overall, the process takes about a month or so. Sometimes it can take even longer if we have a waiting list. It is extremely rare that a clown adoption goes wrong. In fact, this is the first time it's happened in the year I've been volunteering here.

TL;DR

Don't feed clowns sugar-free foods! It can make them very sick and cause a lot of complications.

[shibaraki]

OUR NORMAL ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI

tags: GN reader, older pro hero bakugo, reader and bakugo are in their late thirties, bestfriends to life partners, no sexualities stated, queerplatonic relationships, discussions of the future, fluff and casual affection

wc: 1.2k

Everything is warm. The early morning breeze as it skims your cheek, lighter than the heavy blanket strewn across your lap, cooler than the thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

Bakugo Katsuki felt like an extension of yourself. You loved him intensely. Not familial, not romantic. A little out of the norm, his father would say. This thing between you had never been clarified; it never needed to be. More than a best friend and not quite lovers. Your relationship wasn’t a case of one or the other, there was no part of a map that your finger could fall and detail the journey.

It just was.

Only an hour ago you had crawled out of bed and padded into the kitchen with the pillow case still impressed on your face, rubbing at the swell of affection ballooning behind your fourth rib. Side stepping toward the coffee maker, he’d met your eyes with the beginnings of a tired smile in the short moment your bodies mirrored one another.

Plates in hand, without words he would ask, Balcony?

Decaf with sweetener, light on the milk. You, holding a pair of matching mugs, will nod. Yes.

Breakfast eaten in quiet contentment, you sink back into the cushioned porch swing and enjoy the gentle swaying motion. Now an integral part of your daily routine, it is big and gaudy and not at all suitable for the space. Even still, he had let you buy it.

Hands entwined in your lap, your head lolls onto his shoulder. Katsuki’s breathing doesn’t change, nor do his sights flicker to the movement. Peering up at him from his angle provides you with the generous opportunity of drinking in his aging features.

There’s light stubble shading his jawline, which has softened over the years. Cutting through his right eyebrow to his temple is a jagged line of scar tissue, and another, fainter, diagonally over the bridge of his nose. The crows feet by his eyes deepen when he smiles, when he bares his teeth, when he laughs; as do the lines by his mouth.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you murmur. A grin tugs at your lips. “The big three nine. I can’t believe you’ll be forty next year”.

He snorts, jostling you slightly. “Speak for yourself. Hell, I can’t believe you’ve been bothering me for nearly two decades”.

“Like a rash,” you exhale an airy, pleased sigh as you solemnly nod. “You like it”.

A younger Katsuki would have forcefully pushed the swing chair back and sent your body reeling with a loud cackle to distract from the answer written so plainly on his face. Now he simply turns his lips to your temple and says, “Debatable”.

You hum contentedly, a deep sense of belonging settling in your bones. It would strike any other person watching as unusual — for years now your relationship with Katsuki had been built up by small intimacies and intense commitment that most only ever attributed to romance, yet still the two of you insisted it was nothing of the sort.

And it wasn’t. There had been plenty others; some of which you still talk to from time to time; those who parted ways with you amicably wearing a sad, knowing smile; others that pointed an accusatory finger and fled. You cared for Katsuki in such a way that it intimidated the people around you, and drove them off.

They all told you the same thing verbatim: Friends don’t act like that.

Your nails strum nervously against the ceramic mug as you watch the young family in the complex across from you gather on their own balcony to eat breakfast. The interlocked hands in your lap feel that much heavier.

“So. What’re we gonna tell your parents this year?” you cautiously prod, knowing he had never been a fan of these conversations. “Your mother still thinks you’re lying to her about us out of spite”.

“There’s nothing to tell them. S’not like we’re a proper couple,” he replies with a shrug, cadence smooth and low, as if it were just an inoffensive truth. As if he had never thought anything more of it.

Usually you’d laugh it off and agree. Because Katsuki was right in a sense — you were not a couple. Yet you ask, “Aren’t we?”

The sunlight pools in his iris and it glows when he glances at you from the corner of his eye. Izuku once admitted that he thinks you make Kacchan softer but you’re more inclined to believe the reverse. A simmering, constant source of warmth. Katsuki has always been synonymous with comfort.

“That isn’t a discussion I recall having,” he rasps, still a little sleep worn.

You huff a laugh, knocking your head against his shoulder, “I know. I just… we are. A pair, I mean”.

A small sound of contemplation rumbles in his throat as his gaze returns to the bruised horizon. A crease forms across the bridge of his nose and you quell the urge to touch it. One, two, three, your attention is drawn to the rhythmic tap of his finger against his empty mug. “A pair?”

“Yeah. We go together,” you feel a smile curling at the corner of your lips. “You’re important to me, and you’re my partner. We practically spent our lives together. What else would you call it?”

You watch the emotions pass over his face as he processes your answer. “Dunno,” he eventually breathes. “There was never a label to stick on it. We were always just us”.

You feel yourself simper, ducking to tuck your cheek closer to his shoulder, nuzzling into him. The gentle scent of body wash and fabric softener clouds your senses. “Just us,” you repeat quietly. “…Do you ever see that changing?”

His jaw clicks shut and he shakes his head in disagreement. The stubble on his chin rubs against your skin. Emboldened, you continue, “So why not just spend what’s left of our lives together, like this?”

His thumb slides over your third knuckle and idly skims the empty space on your ring finger. Even the media had been bugging him about 'proposing' to you, despite never confirming a relationship in the first place. At some point he had simply given up on correcting them.

“We can’t. It’s not…”

“Normal?”

Katsuki grunts. The wrinkle between his brow deepens with his frown, and there are faint dimples in his chin that are only ever visible when he pouts. “It’d be our normal,” you offer lightly. “We already share an apartment. A life. Nothing would need to be different”.

“I really don’t see myself caring about someone romantically as much as I care about you, Katsuki”.

When Katsuki feels embarrassed his entire body announces it. He scoffs harshly, shifting in his seat as he turns his head away from you to hide the pale flush of pink staining his cheeks. You fall into a comfortable, albeit pensive silence. Now was the time to back away and allow him time to file through his thoughts. Despite having mellowed out in his later years, he still struggled with finding the right words from time to time.

Clink. He sets the empty mug down on the small glass table, free hand returning to pick at the seam of his sweatpants. The porch swing begins to move again. Pushing the heel of his foot to the ground, Katsuki languidly rocks your bodies back and forth.

“The old hag wouldn’t get it,” he murmurs.

The knots of anticipation slowly untangle from your ribs and breathing comes a little easier. “She doesn’t have to,” you reply. “But I think she’ll be happy to know we have each other. Your dad, too”.

Those sharp, carmine eyes meet yours once more. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod, “Yeah”.

[emailblog]

Birthday Blues (J.S.)

A/N: I’m back! My laptop has been broken for awhile, and while I haven’t bought a new one, a friend is letting me have her old one until I do. I have so many ideas to bring to you guys, and it’s great to be back :)

You are fuming. 

You gave Jake the benefit of the doubt this morning when he mentioned nothing about your birthday because maybe he was too blinded by being tired, but when he left for class without saying anything, you realized he had forgotten. At first, you tried to understand. He had a lot on his plate with the death mission he could be sent on, but when he said he had to stay later at the Hard Deck because he and Rooster planned  a pool game today, you were wondering how he forgot your birthday but not a pool game to show up Rooster. 

“Hey, Jake? Where are you?” You ask into the phone, and you can hear the loud music playing in the background along with the laughs of Jake’s friends.

“I’m still at the Hard Deck, Baby. Is something wrong?” You know Jake. While he’s trying to still seem like the calm and cool guy his friends know, you can tell he’s concerned. You can see him leaning against the wall while watching Rooster take his turn in your mind. 

“Just wondering because if you’re waiting to tell me happy birthday until the exact time, you’re thirty minutes late.” You look out the window and at the beach, hoping his face is covered in shock. It’s silent for a few minutes, but you swear you can hear whispering. Then, there’s laughing, but not from Jake. It’s Rooster. Dude! I can’t believe you forgot her birthday! Haha, I hope she beats your ass, man. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I got caught up in this whole mission thing and–”

“But you remembered your game with Rooster?” Again, it’s silent for a beat. He sighs into the phone, and he says a goodbye to the gang before the music begins to fade from the speaker. 

“No, no, Jake. Go back inside and finish your game. I’ll just call my mom and dad so I can have a little celebration.” You threaten because you know that he knows your parents will give him hell for this slip up. They will never let it go. 

“God, no. Look, I’ll come home, and we can do whatever you want. We can watch that god awful remake of Footloose you like even though the original is so much better.” Jake groans which gets you to laugh a little bit, and so does he. 

“I’m still mad, Jake.” You mention when the laughter dies down. 

“I know. Why don’t you come down to the Hard Deck and tell Penny all about my disrespectful attitude and get yourself a free drink?” The offer is tempting, but you know that if you go down to the bar, he’ll just try to sweeten you up to forget his mistake. Then again, the hundreds of dollars that he’ll have to spend at a packed bar on the weekend seems very tempting and a good punishment. 

“Fine, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You grumble, and he lets out a small cheer with a short I love you! Walking over to your closet, you wonder what you should wear. You know that you’ll want to go to the beach at some point when you’re there so you decide to go for the “shorts and bikini top for shirt” look, but to rub it in Jake’s face more, you wear one of Rooster’s hawaiian shirts he lent you after someone spilt their drink on you at the Hard Deck. 

Once you arrived, it was oddly quiet for the bar even if it was a slow day. There’s no music or chatter, so you slowly walk up to the doors with your guard up. Just as you pass you walk through the door, the entire bar jumps out and yells Surprise!

“Jesus wept!” You cry out, hand over your heart. Jake walks over to your hunched over form with a beer in his hand. 

“Happy birthday, Baby.” His smile is infectious, and you wonder how lucky you are to have tied down Jake Seresin. Though, his original “charm” still lingers as his eyes stay glued to your chest until you start walking over to his group, the bar returning to its original environment. 

“Now, that is a look, Sweetheart.” Rooster comments when he sees his shirt slowly falling off your shoulders from the surprise. You smile at him as he comes over to you for a hug. His strong arms wrap around you tightly, and he whispers a wish of happy birthday in your ear. 

“Wait, that’s Rooster’s shirt?” Jake questions, holding the collar of the fabric in his hands. You give a smug smile to the rest of the group as Jake continues to stand behind you. When you turn around, you slide the fabric the rest of the way off of your body and hold it in your hand. 

“Let me take it off if it bothers you so much.” Your voice is smooth as you hear the rest of the group cheer behind you. Slowly, you turn back around to place the shirt on Rooster’s shoulder. Now standing in only shorts and a bikini top, you lean back on the pool table staring directly at Jake whose jaw is now tense. 

“Don’t you think you tortured me enough?” He whines. Jake Seresin whines. You laugh and walk back up to him and hug his waist. He places a kiss on your head as Fanboy fake gags. 

“I can’t believe Jake’s gone soft.” Coyote teases, and Jake shakes his head. 

“I’d do anything for this woman, but she definitely doesn’t make me soft.” You all groan at the innuendo, and you are tempted to walk away into the ocean. 

“I’m leaving. Bye, Roos.” You wave to Bradley before running out of the bar with a call of Thank you, Penny! You hear Jake’s footsteps pick up behind you, so you let out a squeal when you reach the sand, taking off as fast as you could. Just when you think you’ve gotten away from him, he grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder. 

“Jake Seresin, you put me down right now!” You punch at his back with a laugh, but he just squats down a bit as if he’s going to drop you. 

“You really wanted me to feel bad about forgetting your birthday, huh?” He smiles as he stares at the pier. You take in the silence and close your eyes. Even though he forgot your birthday, you take in his body on yours, his smell, the coolness of the night, and you relish in it. You open up your eyes and see the wooden floor of the pier, and Jakes puts you down.

“I asked you out here.” He states, leaning over the railing. You remember that night. You called him a dick for throwing Pete off the railing that first night and left to check on him. Once you saw he was okay, you took a walk to the pier. Once he found you, he apologized to you about how he can act around his friends. 

“That you did. I thought you were such an asshole.” You mirror him and lean over the railing. He scoots over and lays his head on your shoulder. 

“And now?” He asks, but you stay silent with a grin on your face. Jake looks at you with fake hurt. He puts his hands in his pockets before looking down at the ground. 

“I am really sorry I forgot about your birthday.” He sounds like he could cry. Your heart feels for him, and you start to feel really bad for the things you’ve done tonight. 

“Just because I forgot doesn’t mean I didn’t get you a present, though.” He walks back up to the pier and takes a small box out of his pocket. Because the box has a lid that slides on, you think it’s earrings. Giddy, you open the box and see a diamond ring inside. Your breath hitches. 

“I bought that the morning after we met, and I thought about giving it to you when I saw you again. That seemed too forward, though.” He lets out an awkward laugh. You take the ring out with shaky hands and place it gently on your finger. 

“...If I say no, do I get to keep the ring?” You look up at his nervous face becoming serious with the tilt of his head. 

“Baby..” He warns and you just close the box and hand it back to him. 

“I would’ve said yes if you gave it to me that day.” You mention as he stares at the ring on your finger. He holds the hand and kisses it. 

“I know. You’re obsessed with me.” You shove him away. He just laughs and pulls you in for a hug. It’s different now, but a good difference. He sways you two slightly and hums a random tune you’ve never heard. A part of you wants to run into the Hard Deck and yell that you’re engaged, but another part wants to keep this moment to the both of you. 

“This means you can’t be going on deathly missions every year. When you left to save Pete and Bradley last year, I was so worried.” You squeeze him tighter, pushing your face into his chest. 

“This means you have to stop doing your weird flirting with Rooster.” You can feel his chin on your head, his hands rubbing up and down your back.

“But then how will I rile you up?” He pinches your hip, and you yell out, smacking his chest. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

-

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