#i also try to keep themes going between fics

[cameliawrites]

ranking all 32 of my kanej fics lol

I’ve never seen anyone do this, and the idea of ranking all my own fics kind of cracked me up, so here we go. (I’m excluding the 2 collaborative fics I’ve written on because that doesn’t feel fair.) I also think it’s valuable to be able to take a step back and be self-critical about my work. I would LOVE to see other people do this with their own fics.

Are these going to be hot takes? They definitely aren’t going to match the order of my most popular fics on ao3. I’d be curious to hear if anyone has wildly different opinions or thinks I’m dead wrong. It’s always interesting how a writer’s personal favorites or the stories they think are “best” don’t necessarily track with what an audience thinks. I have a hard time believing that very many people have read all 32 of these fics, let alone remember most of them, so I think it would be hard for anyone else to have a super in-depth opinion on this lol. But do reply and let me know if you DO have a favorite fic of mine, and if so, which one! (Also, all of these fics are linked if you click the title.)

Without further ado…

Going from the bottom (my worst or least favorite) to the top (what I think are my best or favorite):

32.) let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments - Literally the first fic I ever wrote, so of course it’s going to be flawed. This one makes me cringe and I hardly ever look back at it because I just want to heavily revise it. It’s one of my most popular, but I think age has a lot to do with that, because it’s had more time to garner hits/kudos/whatever. 

31.) see it in your face, i'm relief - It’s pretty short, so in hindsight, it should’ve just been shoved in the Sea Glass anthology. I think Kaz is a little too sappy in this one, and nailing characterization is always hard, but I hate when I feel like I’ve made the characters cringy.

30.) Sea Change - The first multichap fic I wrote. I hardly ever revisit this one. I feel like it’s definitely a bit overwrought and could use some harsh pruning. But it’s kind of the blueprint - a lot of the metaphors and themes are ones that I’ve continued to explore over and over again in the last three years of fics. Everyone has to start somewhere, but I wish it were better executed.

29.) Minor Miracles - Again, it’s short, and should’ve just been added to Sea Glass. And it’s too saccharine. But I still like the detail about the bonelight fish - I think the imagery of that is really pretty. Otherwise, nothing in this ficlet is treading new ground, nor is it treading old ground particularly well.

28.) Something Tender - Overly soft Kaz strikes again!! I know it’s a little out of character; I just can’t help it, apparently. Also, there have been a million kanej hair brushing fics, and many of them done much better than this.

27.) Second Chances - It’s short and plotless, which cuts against it. But I do like that it’s a glimpse at older kanej, which we don’t see enough of. I think it’s hard for me to write kanej at an age I haven’t reached.

26.) In the Wild Soft Summer Darkness - I think it’s a little disjointed. Like, it didn’t do a great job toeing the line between silly and serious. It starts off with ridiculous thirsty Inej, but tries to end on a more sincere note, like it’s trying to have a deeper meaning than it actually does. I should’ve just let it remain silly. I think this fic WANTS to be what “honey, let me be your bodyguard” ended up being. 

25.) secretly, between the shadow and the soul - I think I was trying to be a little bit more poetical and whimsical in this one and experiment more with tone, but again, not sure the execution was great. It ended up a little bit too saccharine and overwrought as well. A frequent problem I have!

24.) someone to watch over me - Another super old one that could certainly benefit from some editing! I think I managed to keep this one light enough for it not to be too cringy now, but I’m not sure. Haven’t revisited it in a while.

23.) Fear Talking - It’s an interesting enough premise, but I think I ended it a little hastily and didn’t explore the issue as fully as I could have. It could have been darker and deeper, but I was just skimming the surface of the concept. And I’m not very satisfied with the ending.

22.) and there’s a drawer of my things at your place - It’s cute, but it’s trying to reheat the “softly sleeping” nachos. Can I say it? Can I say it? Maybe a little too saccharine. Overly. Soft. Kaz. Strikes. Again. Damn me!

21.) Lingers Sweetly on the Lips - I do love a fade-to-black moment. Call me a tease.

20.) in hope, yours - Baby’s first historical au! I’m proud of myself for branching out and trying something new. And it was fun to play in someone else’s sandbox. Unfortunately, it’s got nothing on the fic it was inspired by, so it’s always going to have to live in its Better Older Sister’s shadow.

19.) the heart heeds helplessly - Can I say it? It’s the blueprint for “collision course” that nobody wants to acknowledge. I think this is the first time that I really got into my prose-poetry bag. It’s not amazing, but it absolutely walked so “collision course” could run.

18.) Dirty Talk - I like the premise, but I do have reservations about the execution.

17.) Mirror Talk - The characterization isn’t perfect, but I think the topic is important. Newer fics (this one and the last one) are hard to rank since I haven't had a lot of time to reflect on them in comparison to the rest of my catalog.

16.) Sea Glass - It’s an anthology fic, so it’s a huge mixed bag of things! Some of them are super cringy. Some of them are pretty decent. But I love having this be my perpetual soup of a fic. It puts less pressure on me to publish certain things when I know I can just throw them in here. 

15.) A Proposition - I give it points for being pre-canon, which I don’t usually write because I worry too much about getting the pre-canon characterization right. I don’t think I fared too badly with the characterization here?

14.) Devotion - Another historical au! Points for creativity. I was being lazy and trying to capture a vibe while glossing over the nitty gritty details of the setting, so it loses points for that.

13.) To Give, Then to Receive - Am I allowed to say that it’s a little overrated? Still, I think it has some unique and memorable moments that a decent number of people have adopted into their own personal headcanons. I like when I’m able to come up with specific cute details to flesh out a fic rather than the more generic “they kiss, they hug, they pine over each other.” This fic is all about showing love through action, and “show rather than tell” writing is always a step up from merely telling, so it sort of succeeds on that front. Not perfect though! I think it should’ve been one single oneshot instead of split into 4 chapters, but I was posting as I wrote it, and I was too impatient to wait lol.

12.) give me more than just some butterflies - It’s a silly good time, just like its predecessor. I did like the DeKappel bit, but otherwise, it’s nothing too groundbreaking. 

11.) Sorrow in Company - The philosophy major in me loves having a chance to explore Kaz Brekker’s dubious ethics and the inevitable friction between Kaz and Inej on that front. But I think “the muscle cut from the bone” is the better angsty offering from me. 

10.) (and you know that I'd) swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches - The most personal fic I’ve ever written, so it’s hard for me to rank. I’ll just say that I really needed to write it, and I think maybe a few people needed to read it, and I’m thankful that they did.

9.) love is not love which alters when it alteration finds - A rare case of a sequel being much better than an original lol! I wrote it a year later, so I think my skills had sharpened by then. It’s still in the “tooth-rotting fluff” category, but I think it’s less cringy and tropey than the first installment.

8.) softly sleeping, here in the deep end of someone who loves me - It loses points for an overly long lyric title. It wins points for spanning a timeline all the way from pre- to post-canon and showing the relationship developing gradually over time. It’s super fluffy, but I think it’s fluff done pretty well. I think this is my most popular oneshot by hit count!

7.) sea to the shore - The shortest little follow up to “collision course,” but I think she’s UNDERRATED. Sometimes succinct and purposeful is better than long and meandering (and I’ve certainly done long and meandering my fair share of times). 

6.) The Demon Under the Bridge - Another instance of me challenging myself to write an au! One of my more experimental creative ventures with a dark fairytale aesthetic. I’m proud of this one!

5.) the muscle cut from the bone - Baby’s first breakup fic! A little angstier than my usual fare. I think I’m biased toward it because I love the title (and the poem the title comes from). 

4.) what a mother wants - So proud of this one, and so proud of the longfic it inspired. Kanej kidfic isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but this fic was really more about Inej's relationship to herself than anything. I did some research on post-partum depression for this one, and I hope there’s someone out there who reads this and maybe feels less alone in their own experiences.

3.) honey, i could be your bodyguard - This might be the most fun I’ve ever had writing a fic, so that makes me partial to it. Is it super in character? Probably not. Was it super fun to write this version of Inej? Oh yeah. I hope it’s fun to read too. I think I'm hilarious sometimes.

2.) what a mother was - My underrated fave. The longest fic I’ve ever written, and I am SO proud of this one. Mostly original character work, which was totally new for me. I’m so glad I took up this challenge, because it really stretched me as a writer, and it made me believe that if I ever wanted to write an original novel someday, I might be able to. 

1.) collision course - My magnum opus, I fear. Deserves the hype. Writing this was like capturing lightning in a bottle. I was like a woman possessed as I wrote it, and I still don’t know where the words came from. I almost feel guilty taking credit for it, because I feel like I was more of a vessel than an agent writing it. And maybe that sense of separation I have from it is why I’m able to appreciate it more than other fics. However, I also have a complex about being considered a “serious” writer and not just a silly little fluff writer. Because of course genres that traditionally cater to women (romance, fluff) can’t be taken as ~seRiOusLY~ as more literary fiction. I wish I didn’t feel pressure to analyze my own writing through that lens. But regardless, I am really proud of this fic.

If you've made it to the bottom of this list, thank you for indulging me!! This was a fun little reflective exercise. As always, more fics coming soon. :)

[screechingfromthevoid]

So about that cape scene

[meowrimo]

happy wednesday and good morning friendz <3 ! ! we are halfway thru the week so let’s get into some shenanigans ! ! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ have a great day ! !

[eightmakesonebraincell]

and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 39.7k

c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.

you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.

in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.

“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.

yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.

rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”

“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”

the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.

“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”

you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”

“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”

the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”

from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.

“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.

you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.

san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”

“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”

piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”

“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.

“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.

seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”

it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”

but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.

“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.

“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.

yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.

just another normal day.

“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”

at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”

the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.

there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.

“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.

seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.

the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.

slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.

san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.

it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.

there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.

to see his lovers.

yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.

your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.

in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.

as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.

but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.

it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.

and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.

but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.

for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.

“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”

his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”

“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.

“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”

“and if he does?”

mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”

“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”

“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”

you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.

mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.

“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.

you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”

“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”

you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.

“m’lady,” he beckons inside.

you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational. 

“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”

at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”

“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.

prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.

not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.

a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.

as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”

“but hongjoong–”

“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”

you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”

“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”

he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.

into kq hospital.

boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.

seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.

you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.

somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.

a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”

the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.

only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.

“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.

your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.

everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.

just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”

you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.

he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”

you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”

“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”

“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”

he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.

as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.

you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”

“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.

“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”

“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”

dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.

“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.

“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”

you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”

unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”

“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.

“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”

the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.

it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.

“patient history and current status?”

selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.

dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”

“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.

“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”

you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”

the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.

the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.

“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”

“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.

seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.

you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”

immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”

“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.

“are you talking about me?”

seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”

“hello, my snowflake.”

you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.

when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”

he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.

seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”

“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.

“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.

for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”

you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.

“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.

seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–

“a sticker?” you ask.

“for doing a good job,” she giggles.

you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.

you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.

“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.

“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”

“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”

“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.

the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.

seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”

seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”

you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”

on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.

"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."

dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.

"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."

seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."

"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.

she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."

from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”

mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.

because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.

you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.

“what are you thinking about?”

yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.

you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"

“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”

his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.

"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."

your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."

“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”

a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–

–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”

wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."

you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”

wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.

wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”

the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.

even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.

you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.

seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.

“doctor snowflake?”

you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”

seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”

the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.

it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.

you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.

seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”

the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.

“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”

“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”

not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.

seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”

you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”

the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.

seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.

“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”

her eyes light up. “you promise?”

christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”

this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.

“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”

you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.

“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.

you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.

all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.

unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.

this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.

it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.

your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.

jongho.

for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.

“doctor nam is looking for you.”

you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.

as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.

you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–

“–take on an extra intern?”

your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.

it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.

what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”

the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”

‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.

fuck nepotism.

gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”

the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”

and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.

“doctor lim,” you call out.

“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.

“yes.”

dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”

and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”

not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.

“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”

after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.

the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.

you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.

dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.

your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight. 

“y/n.”

the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.

your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.

san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”

seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.

when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”

your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.

seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”

when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.

“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”

as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.

his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”

“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”

there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”

“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.

seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”

you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”

her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”

of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.

she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.

the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.

you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.

so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.

you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”

“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.

the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”

“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.

“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.

“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”

you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.

there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'

the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.

"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"

(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)

your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.

you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.

however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.

you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.

dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.

you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.

“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.

dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”

“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”

positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”

the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.

“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.

outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.

he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.

you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.

it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.

when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.

“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”

you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”

scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”

he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.

you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.

and he is right.

“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”

dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”

“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.

you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”

“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.

you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”

“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”

“yes.”

dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”

despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.

as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”

“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”

struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”

dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”

from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”

and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.

your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.

you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.

seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.

the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.

you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”

“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”

“what about doctor choi?”

“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”

seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”

you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?

seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.

you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.

“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”

your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.

“here, you try.”

at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.

“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”

“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”

you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”

“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.

you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”

“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.

“from general surgery?”

you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”

“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”

“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”

seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.

“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”

she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”

“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”

“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.

you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”

wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.

by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.

you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.

no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.

he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.

this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.

you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.

you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.

but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.

keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”

you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”

it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.

“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.

hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”

wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”

your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”

“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”

it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.

jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.

something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.

your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.

the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.

the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.

you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.

you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.

she is alive.

there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.

only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.

you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.

“i thought i was going to die.”

those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”

“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”

despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”

“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”

but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”

“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.

sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.

her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.

your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.

and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.

“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”

whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.

yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”

your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.

it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.

you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.

by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.

instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.

where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.

seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.

for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.

you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.

“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.

you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.

the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”

time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.

for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.

that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.

you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.

“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”

there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”

overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.

you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”

“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”

it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show. 

“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.

“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.

the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.

you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.

a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.

that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”

you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.

the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”

“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.

“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.

you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.

mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”

“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.

“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”

the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”

your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.

unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”

a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”

“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.

“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”

“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”

your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.

“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.

you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused. 

wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.

with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”

wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.

“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”

you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.

it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.

you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.

whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.

“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.

san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”

you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.

“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”

you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.

“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.

yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”

you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.

“no, i–”

“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”

san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”

a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.

“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.

he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.

but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”

your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.

“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”

pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.

“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.

you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.

only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.

“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.

at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.

“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”

“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.

“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.

“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”

everything.

“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.

he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”

“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.

he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.

“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”

“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.

“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”

you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”

they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”

you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”

although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.

you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.

“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.

“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.

“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”

“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”

his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.

hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.

at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.

you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–

it is your own.

the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.

your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.

the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.

you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.

the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.

you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.

there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.

“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.

you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.

jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”

you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.

“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.

the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”

there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”

yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”

“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.

the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.

it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.

the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously. 

there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.

they gave you a choice. you simply made one.

the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.

restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.

it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.

gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?

but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.

and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.

seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.

“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”

“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”

yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.

you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.

jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”

“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”

your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.

“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”

as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.

“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.

seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”

“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”

san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”

“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.

you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”

“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”

you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.

“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”

your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.

the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”

there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.

having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?

you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.

your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.

fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.

you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.

time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.

when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?

they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.

you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.

the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.

there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.

he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”

you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”

mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.

you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.

the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.

it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”

he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”

once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.

“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”

then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.

mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.

when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.

he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.

finally, he asks, “is it work?”

you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”

“is it us?”

the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”

you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”

“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”

“i’m not sick,” you deny.

your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”

it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.

“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”

mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.

“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”

he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”

mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”

you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.

when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.

“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”

mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”

so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…

and move out.

“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”

the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”

seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”

at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.

a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.

yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”

he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.

your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”

she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.

yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”

“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.

seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.

her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.

you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”

seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”

you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.

“what changed?” you probe curiously.

despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.

“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”

you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.

“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”

the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”

seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”

the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.

“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”

“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”

your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.

it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”

her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”

“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.

she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.

seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”

for the first time in his life, jongho is late.

his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”

san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”

“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”

“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.

jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.

“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”

and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.

nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.

hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”

he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.

hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.

it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.

“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.

wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."

“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”

“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.

“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”

and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.

“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.

mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”

the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”

when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.

mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.

later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.

the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.

yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.

a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.

but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.

nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”

from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.

you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.

it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.

the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.

this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.

forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.

“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”

your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”

nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.

for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.

“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.

you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”

only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.

just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.

sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.

even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.

you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.

using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.

the night seems colder than usual.

you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.

just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?

did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.

perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.

a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.

however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.

but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.

and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.

sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.

you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.

you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.

you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.

by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.

it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.

“...hwa?”

“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”

you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”

you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”

blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.

he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.

“it’s seolhee.”

the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.

your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.

something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.

the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.

“y/n!”

you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.

he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.

“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”

“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”

he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.

mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.

you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.

the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.

“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”

nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”

your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.

around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.

it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?

“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”

you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”

hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.

“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”

your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.

you cannot stay here any longer. you run.

you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.

there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.

your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.

you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.

they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.

you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.

but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.

“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”

because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”

your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”

seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.

“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”

your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”

you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.

the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.

the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.

more than you can count the stars in the sky.

you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.

shit, what time is it? i have work.

the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.

hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.

that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.

groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.

wait.

your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.

and then it hits you.

it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.

you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…

your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.

that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.

but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.

“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”

it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.

“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.

the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”

wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”

“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.

wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”

you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.

something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”

he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”

“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”

while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.

so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.

yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”

you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”

a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.

“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”

the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.

you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.

“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”

from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”

“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.

“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.

yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”

“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”

jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”

both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”

“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.

but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”

“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”

yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”

your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.

“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”

wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.

the older flips him off. on both hands.

now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”

the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”

you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”

once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.

at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”

and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.

“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.

“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”

you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.

he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”

there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.

“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.

“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”

from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.

but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”

a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–

“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”

–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.

as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.

there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.

“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”

you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.

ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.

hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.

his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”

your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”

“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.

“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.

“coming!”

you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.

as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.

you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.

“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”

hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”

voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”

“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”

san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.

it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.

the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”

yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”

yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.

“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.

just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”

you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.

if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?

highly unlikely.

“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.

there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.

you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.

it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.

“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.

your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”

the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”

dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”

you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”

“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.

you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”

the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.

wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.

you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.

“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”

you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.

of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–

they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.

with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of  “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”

“in the snow?”

he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”

“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.

seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”

the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.

“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”

only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.

you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.

“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.

hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.

a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.

“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”

the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.

with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.

you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.

one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.

you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.

it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.

in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”

your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.

he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”

you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.

and so if it stops snowing?

“then count the stars in the sky.”

[espressheauxs]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 || 𝐈 || 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

summary : the “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

pairing : jack abbot x f!reader

words : 2.2k~

themes/warnings : MINORS DNI/DNR. Loads, and I’m talking LOADS of hurt before the comfort that follows, Age gap relationship (reader starts off in her 20s & jack in his 30s, progresses to late 20s/early 30s & jack in his 40s), implications of power imbalance, inappropriate workplace feelings, heavily implied emotional infidelity, actual infidelity (not from Jack or reader), mentions of grief/death/being widowed, religious/mythology references & allegory, mentions of mental/emotional health issues, jealousy, misunderstanding because two idiots are in love with each other, miscommunication because said idiots do not communicate with each other, mentions of therapy and medication, conflicting feelings about having/wanting children and being married, jack is so down *bad* for you like he just wants to give you the world, eventual smut maybe idk yet, Shen is a bestie ™ , reader has some specific / non North American characteristics / cultural references, but anyone is welcome to read!

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

note : wow a mostly fully outlined fic is in the works. So far I’ve messily outline 5 parts. Thank you sosososososo much to @slyyywriting @celestianstars for proof reading. Also, @abbotjack you made a post asking to be emotionally endangered with anything jack related…okhereyougobyeeeeee

Jack never really had to think about the phrase “right person, wrong time”.

He thought he had “right person, right time” figured out, until life decided it wasn’t really going to be fair and vanish the floor out from under his feet.

The grief still keeps up with its daily appointments, reminding him it still exists with each prescription and psych appointment he has.

That he, after losing more than just part of his leg, now has to learn how to exist as only himself with his heart missing as well. It still is, or was, some days. He was still trying to figure that part out.

Medicine was his only purpose now. Has been for a long time. Only the chaos is different now – more controlled, predictable.

The “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

His life decides he needs it now– the chaos night you start shifts with him; you transferred starting in your last year of residency, some 400 something miles east of Pittsburgh, chasing a purpose, a challenge, an ideal.

Dana loves you instantly, and much to Jack’s chagrin, you find a camaraderie in Dr. Shen in between iced coffee runs and bad jokes while charting.

Jack often sees you arrive a little while before he does, chatting it up with the nurses in the break room over the latest episode of British Bake Off, or huddling over a shared plate of pansit on the nights no one ever dares to call it the Q-word. Other nights, it’s steamy plates of your carbonara on the nights no one ever wants to label the S-word.

You’ve always offered when he walks by, but he simply shakes his head and mumbles a gentle thank you.

It fascinates him, the way you’re close with everyone. He’s close with Dana and Robby, but you are something else entirely different to him – professional, and enthusiastic to learn from anything Jack had to say keeps a safe enough distance from either of you reaching for anything more than an easy going working relationship.

The distance also exists as the ring that he wears, and so do you, in a necklace tucked under your scrubs – as the love he’s afraid will die a second death if he doesn’t hold on to the last memory he has, and the one that had just been borne to you.

He’s easily got at least a decade and change on you. It’s not appropriate, he knows. He’s pushing forty something, your attending, and you’re his newly minted resident in her twenties. Barely having started living life.

Jack thinks you’re too sweet sometimes. A lot of the time, really. It’s the way your face warms up when he looks directly at your eyes when he asks you why you make a decision or a give a dosage, or the way your nose sweats a little when he compliments you on a job well done.

Yet he admires it all the same, especially when he sees how you are with the oldest and the smallest patients.

Especially with the smallest ones that came in crying and left happy after dealing with a hair tourniquet on a nine month old’s little thumb. The parent thanks you with a watery laugh and a smile, and the baby squawks happily when you magic a small toy from the hospital’s gift shop from your scrubs pocket and pretend to make it sing.

He does not, can not, let himself dream about something far more dangerous than being shot at. It felt like a betrayal to the memory of a life and a love he barely got to live.

—

He doesn’t remember exactly when it happens or what you said, but you had opened up his chest in a pseudo emotional thoracotomy and burrowed yourself into his heart just by being you, if only to mend whatever he had left of it from the inside.

Night by night, case by case, guidance on your research in exchange for the good protein bars from Shen’s secret snack stash only you knew about.

Jack feels it ardently when you’re performing an actual thoracotomy under his guidance. Lithe fingers slicing and examining a bloodied heart.

His throat just aboutdries up when you look at him - not because it disgusts him (he’s seen far, far worse) , but seeing how you maneuvered someone’s thoracic cavity and their heart was like feeling it in his own, slowly being fixed by you, being examined for further damage that could be fixed.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he says after the patching up is done and he looks at you with blood smeared all over his gloved hands.

“Yeah, you think so, Doc?” You ask in a hushed tone, eyes glistening with enthusiasm and adrenaline.

His heart knows he shouldn't like it, the way it looks when you’re coming down from the high of saving a life while blood is smeared all over you.

Jack huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and looking at you with admiration and disbelief at your own fearlessness when breaking someone’s chest open, “Take the win. Besides, it was far too risky to do it by myself.”

You don’t immediate catch the way the timbre of his voice drops as he says it, but the look in his eyes gives it away mostly, and it leaves you feeling baffled by his praise for the first time.

“..what?” Your lips tug awkwardly, not knowing how to react or what to do, especially not with bloody PPE that has definitely been soaked all the way through.

—

Somehow, there’s a closeness between you that follows. Of things left unsaid yet understood. Often silently working like a well oiled machine, a singular unit perfectly in sync while caring for a patient, affirming your decisions and you wordlessly predicting what he needed in the ER.

When Robby had asked Jack who he would recommend as a fellow out of your group, he didn’t think twice when he said your name.

“She’s the smartest one out of all of us,” he’d once said to Robby while nursing a doordash order on the roof , “this hospital would be stupid not to keep her.”

He’d certainly be for not advocating for the best resident he’s had in years.

Robby had recommended Shen. Not because he didn’t like you or because he didn’t think you were capable. But reading Jack’s glowing recommendation about you only affirmed what he suspected. Time would only tell if Jack himself could see beyond his own words.

Shen stretches out a hand, blindly sipping on his coffee as Robby and Dana slip him a $50 bill each the next time they’re in front of the betting board.

—

Jack finds himself lingering, feeling a little more, without knowing how or when – only that he does, and you exist in him long after the sun has gone up and the moon has gone down.

The corners of his lips tug in a secret smile, as his nose is able to catch the whiff of your perfume and your own smell whenever he helps tie your surgical gown and you help with his.

He tries, he really does try to ignore the feeling that burrows itself deep whenever you pat his back after helping him tie on the surgical gown.

Your hands always lingered a little longer than they should, like a balm to soothe his aches, as if to tell him - “I have you. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Jack finds it easier to sleep in his bed on the days that you do, as if your touch carries him all the way to safety, away from sand & heat and the phantom burn he still felt in his leg.

On those nights, he dreams of a feeling that only wakes when he’s not.

—

The two of you never, ever fought. Disagreements? Sure. Difference of opinion only to arrive at the same answer? Definitely.

Jack knows that that’s what he likes about you since you came on several months ago. You’re definitely the favorite out of all the residents he’s taught. The prodigal resident that was never afraid to ask why decisions were being made.

It’s what makes you an excellent doctor in his eyes, noticing things that people often don’t. It was easier for him to teach a resident that was self confident but not arrogant, and unafraid to get their hands bloody.

But your fearlessness was something he didn’t like if it involved you making a decision that put you at risk.

Sure, he’d sometimes find it funny when you were the only one to vocally tell Gloria to fuck off when she knew fuck all about being on the front lines after she denied yet another increase in security (until then, no one had ever heard you drop so many f-bombs - Jack couldn’t not laugh when he was there to witness Robby’s eyebrows all but fly to his hairline when it happened). No one but Robby ever did that (less riddled with cuss words), everyone else simply ignored what she said.

Hell, you’d even ignore what Jack would say sometimes in light hearted, less life or death situations.

But this? It was never, never this – making a decision of this magnitude without consulting him on something you’d ever only seen him do once.

“You should’ve never, ever done that by yourself.” His eyes are full of bewilderment at the mess that he had walked into as the patient is rushed to OR 1 upstairs.

“Yeah, well, I did what you taught me to do – if I waited any longer for you to tell me what to do the patient would’ve fucking bled out!”

It’s the first time the two of you ever got into an argument. The two of you never, ever argued especially not in the middle of a literal bloody mess where everyone could see and hear. But your patience was worn past thin and your fucks had long flown out the window.

“I’m your attending, that’s not the kind of decision a resident gets to make on their own!”

Jack isn’t prepared for the way you all but stomp your foot on the pedal of the biohazard bin, practically shoving your bloodied scrubs and gloves into the damn thing. Nor is he prepared for the way you point at him furiously with your left hand, where he sees the thin band of silver taunting him.

He is not a religious man, but in that moment he knows he became a martyr for a love that could never be worshipped like he used to know how to do.

“You do not get to pull rank on me!” Your voice is loud, and you’re well past the point of giving a fuck after the way your life in and out of this hospital has been lately. “I may be younger than you, Dr. Abbot, but I’m not fucking stupid!”

“That was not the standard of care.” His voice drops, full of warning as he looks directly at you. For the first time in years, the tinnitus in his ears re-emerges as his eyes flit between your face and your hand. “You’re lucky that it’s something I’m not reporting.”

He regrets it the instant he sees the way the shock on your face melts into disenchantment, and the bile burns at his throat when he sees the way light leaves your eyes.

It's the first time in a long time he wished he’d rather fall on a sword, rather than ever see that look again.

The look that told him what everyone else could see between you – that you were to Jack what Psyche was to Eros.

That you cared about him and what he had to say in a way that was more than appropriate.

Your chest heaves as you look at him, eyes riddled with a rage that squeezes in his heart. His eyes zero in on the ring again as you rub your face, hair wild in all directions from the braid it was in.

“Well fuck the standard of care, and fuck you for making me feel like shit.”

The smallness and the vulnerability in your voice hits Jack squarely where it hurts, in the places where you had started to carefully stitch the broken pieces of him back together.

“Take a bre–”

The words die on his lips as you shoulder past him, shoving the door open and knob rattling as you let it go to storm your way out and past the nurses station and down the hall.

That night, a patient’s heart was saved at the expense of two.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

[rosemariiaa]

~Off the Rails ( And into my head)~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚- w/c: 5.6k

𐙚- rosie’s note: suprise + happy gameday! i was def supposed to be working on my stalker fic buttt this was too cute not to play around with, if u guys enjoy this one i’m happy to write another part <3, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚- themes: au, fluff, gay being gays

Azzi is pretty sure the city is trying to kill her.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but between dodging aggressive taxi drivers, the sensory overload of Times Square, and her hotel room’s heating system making threatening noises at three in the morning, she’s convinced New York is testing her.

Which is fine. She likes a challenge (sometimes).

Her days are structured enough that she doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it. Wake up, drink expensive hotel coffee that tastes like disappointment, go to fittings, castings, brand meetings — smile, nod, pretend she isn’t internally cringing at people aggressively poking at the clothes on her body. It’s exhausting but manageable.

The castings are the worst part.

The first one seemed easy enough — a sleek downtown studio, all glass windows and marble floors. She felt okay at first, just another model in a sea of long legs and sharp cheekbones. But when it was her turn, the woman in charge — someone with wire-rimmed glasses and a voice like nails on glass — squinted at her like she wasn’t quite sure why Azzi was there at all.

“Smile,” the woman had said, and Azzi did.

“No,” she snapped, “not like that. Softer.”

Azzi tried again.

“No, softer. Relax your face.”

Azzi wasn’t sure how to relax her face when she suddenly felt like her whole body was being dissected under a microscope.

By the end, she walked out feeling like a mannequin someone had forgotten to put away properly.

“Don’t take it personally,” her agent had said over the phone. “They just want to see how you handle pressure.”

Right, Azzi thought bitterly, because nothing screams ‘grace under pressure’ like being told you’re smiling wrong.

She hated that it got to her — that her ex’s voice kept creeping into her head after things like that.

You’re too uptight, he’d say. You need to stop caring so much about what people think.

Like he wasn’t the one constantly picking at everything she did. Like he wasn’t the one who could ruin her whole day with a single passive-aggressive text.

She knew he was out of her life now — had been for months — but sometimes it still felt like she was waiting for the next thing to go wrong. Like if she let her guard down for too long, something bad was bound to happen.

Honestly, at this point, she wouldn’t mind if a woman chased her for a year or two.

Azzi immediately freezes at the thought.

Jesus Christ, you sound insane. Get it together.

(But also…she’s not wrong. It’s true.)

The only part of her routine that feels normal is the train.

For some reason, she’s taken to riding it instead of calling for a car like most models do. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like feeling babied, or maybe it’s because she just enjoys the quiet anonymity of it. No cameras, no managers, no overly chatty PR people. Just her, her music, and a bunch of exhausted New Yorkers trying to get from point A to point B.

And then there’s her.

Tall. Athletic. Platinum blonde, but not in a fake way — it looks like it actually belongs to her, like she was born to be blindingly golden.

The first time Azzi sees her, she doesn’t think much of it. Just another stranger on the train, another person she’ll never see again.

The second time? Okay, weird coincidence.

The third?

Alright, what the hell is going on.

Azzi doesn’t mean to stare, but she’s a model — her job is literally to pay attention to details, to notice symmetry and proportion, and — oh god, is she actually justifying this to herself right now?

Still, she keeps catching herself analyzing the girl before she can stop it. The slight shift in her posture, the way she spreads her legs a little too wide like she’s claiming space (gay?), the loose sweatshirt hanging off her broad frame like she just threw it on without thinking.

And her face.

Azzi thought she was intimidating at first. The sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes — classic I could beat you in a fight energy. But then she looked closer.

She wasn’t intimidating at all. If anything, she looked like an adorable golden retriever who was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t.

The kind of girl who could probably bench press Azzi without breaking a sweat, but would also apologize profusely if she accidentally bumped into someone.

So, yeah. Weirdly interesting.

But Azzi isn’t a weirdo. She’s not about to obsess over some random subway stranger just because she happens to exist in her general vicinity every morning.

…Except the next day, she catches herself checking the train doors, waiting to see if she’ll walk in.

And she does.

Of course she does.

Azzi tells herself she’s just being observant. That’s all.

And then the blonde glances up, makes direct eye contact, and —

Smirks.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a particularly cocky way. Just this tiny, amused flicker of a smile. Like she knows something Azzi doesn’t.

Azzi immediately looks away. Get it together, Azzi, what is wrong with you.

The train stops. She doesn’t think — just moves, bolting out of her seat like she suddenly has somewhere incredibly important to be.

She does not look back.

Definitely not.

…Okay, maybe just a little.

—

Azzi tells herself she’s not thinking about her.

She’s not.

She’s thinking about work — about that weirdly aggressive casting director who kept telling her to “soften” her face, like Azzi’s somehow been walking around looking like an axe murderer this whole time.

She’s thinking about her schedule — her agent’s endless texts about last-minute fittings and branding meetings that always seem to run twenty minutes longer than anyone expects.

She’s thinking about dinner — the overpriced sushi place she keeps passing by but can’t quite convince herself to go into because eating alone at a fancy bar feels way too much like one of those sad girl in a movie moments.

She’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl.

Except she kind of is.

Not on purpose! It’s just — her brain keeps circling back to her like a song stuck on repeat. Like a stray thread that Azzi can’t quite stop tugging at.

It’s just because she keeps showing up on the train, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

New York’s massive, but the subway isn’t. People stick to patterns, routes, habits — it’s not that weird to see the same face a few times.

(But why is it always her face?)

It’s annoying, honestly — how the thought of her keeps creeping in when Azzi’s trying to focus.

Like this morning.

Azzi had been walking down 5th Avenue, mentally rehearsing her introduction for a big casting — something charming but casual — when she caught herself thinking, I bet the blonde girl’s never nervous before big things. I bet she just shows up and — boom — owns the whole room.

Or last night, when Azzi had tried watching a movie in her hotel room, only to completely zone out halfway through because she was too busy replaying that stupid smirk in her head.

What was that even about?

And God, it’s embarrassing — how her brain won’t let it go. She’s barely said two words to her! She doesn’t even know her name!

She’s just interesting, Azzi tells herself. That’s all.

And it’s true. She’s interesting the way a puzzle is — a bunch of pieces that shouldn’t really fit together, but somehow do.

Azzi hates that she notices things like that. Hates that she keeps wondering what her voice sounds like — if it’s sharp and dry like her smirk or if she’s secretly one of those people who laughs too loud without meaning to.

It’s just curiosity, Azzi thinks. Just passing time. It’s not a crush.

…Right?

—

Azzi’s morning is already off to a chaotic start.

She overslept (her phone alarm somehow managed to betray her), her hotel room’s shower took forever to heat up, and her only clean outfit is one of those weirdly fancy streetwear fits that somehow manages to look like she’s either trying way too hard or not trying at all.

So when she stumbles onto the train — hair still damp, blazer oversized enough to swallow her shoulders — she’s not exactly feeling her best.

And, of course, that’s the day the blonde girl’s already there.

Sitting in her usual spot, legs stretched out way too wide, one arm casually draped over the back of the seat like she’s been living on this train her whole life.

Azzi thinks about walking to the next car — just avoiding the whole situation altogether — but the doors are closing, and she’s already been spotted.

Too late now.

She sits across from her, tries to act normal. Looks down at her phone, pulls up Instagram like she’s definitely not thinking about the blonde girl sitting four feet away.

Except the blonde clears her throat, and Azzi glances up before she can stop herself.

“You again,” the blonde says, voice low and a little scratchy. Her mouth curls up in that familiar half-smirk. “‘M starting to think you’re following me.”

Azzi snorts — way louder than she means to — and immediately wants to disappear.

“Oh yeah,” she deadpans, “I moved to New York just to ride this train and stare at you like a creep.”

The blonde’s smile spreads wider. “Hey, you said it. Not me.”

Azzi rolls her eyes but can’t help the laugh that slips out. It’s too early for this. Too early for that smile and the way her blue eyes practically sparkle when she’s teasing.

The train jerks to a stop, and a new wave of people crowds in. One of them shuffles too close, nearly stepping on Azzi’s foot. She shifts, tucking her legs in a little.

“Here.”

Azzi looks up just in time to see the blonde motioning to the empty seat beside her — like it’s no big deal, like it’s just common sense.

“Oh,” Azzi says, too startled to play it cool. “Uh… thanks.”

She squeezes into the seat, awkwardly aware of how close their shoulders are now. The blonde smells like something fresh — clean laundry, maybe, with a hint of expensive cologne (Valentino?). It’s stupidly attractive.

Azzi stares straight ahead, willing her brain to stop overthinking.

“You always this quiet?” the blonde asks.

“Depends,” Azzi mutters. “You always this talkative to strangers?”

The blonde barks out a laugh — short and rough, like she wasn’t expecting it.

“Woww,” she drags out, still grinning. “Alright, cool. So we’re throwing insults now?”

Azzi shrugs. “Just calling it like I see it.”

The blonde hums, like she’s deciding whether or not to be offended. Then —

“Book club,” she says suddenly.

Azzi blinks. “…What?”

The blonde nods to the book tucked under Azzi’s arm — The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. “Didn’t take you for the book club type.”

“It’s actually just me, Azzi to be exact,” Azzi corrects, a little dry. “No club.”

The blonde’s head tilts like she’s intrigued. “Hmm. Pretty name.”

Azzi doesn’t register it right away — not until the blonde’s eyes flicker away like she hadn’t just casually called her pretty (well her name..but still!).

“Oh,” Azzi stammers. “Uh… thanks?”

The train starts to slow, and the blonde stands, tugging her bag over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, pretty girl.”

Okay, now she called her pretty. Azzi freezes. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just sits there like an idiot while the blonde steps off the train and disappears behind the closing doors.

Pretty girl.

See you tomorrow, pretty girl.

Azzi’s face burns all the way back to her hotel.

Later that day, Azzi’s sprawled on her hotel bed, pillow half-smothering her face.

“This is stupid,” she mutters into the fabric. “I’m being stupid.”

Because — what is she even doing?

She’s barely spoken to this girl, first “conversation” and yet here she is — half-convinced she’s developing some kind of pathetic subway crush. It’s not like her — she’s never been one of those people who fixates on strangers like they’re characters in a rom-com.

But there’s something about her.

The way she carries herself — so casual, so comfortable in her own skin. The way she always looks so put-together, like her hair’s been freshly done and her sweatshirt just happens to fall perfectly over her frame.

And okay, fine — the way she called her pretty girl.

Azzi groans into the pillow.

You’re not in high school, you freak, she tells herself. Get it together.

But later, when she’s brushing her teeth, she catches herself mumbling, “How do you even ask someone out when you’ve barely had more than one conversation?”

And she doesn’t have an answer.

Azzi leans over the sink, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth, staring herself down in the mirror like her reflection might have answers.

“Okay,” she mutters around the foam, voice muffled. “Let’s think about this.”

She spits, rinses, and braces her hands on the counter.

Pros:

first: The blonde’s obviously into her. Right? You don’t just call someone pretty girl and not mean something by it.

second: She’s funny — annoyingly funny — in that teasing way that makes Azzi want to roll her eyes and smile at the same time.

third: She’s hot. Like, objectively hot. The kind of hot that makes you stupid, apparently, because Azzi can’t seem to stop thinking about her.

fourth: They take the same train. Built-in excuses to see her without seeming desperate.

fifth: She’s probably not a serial killer. (Azzi pauses — yeah, that one’s more hopeful thinking than fact. Moving on.)

Cons:

first: What if she’s not actually into her? What if pretty girl was just something she says to random strangers like it’s her thing? Some people are just effortlessly flirty like that. (God, imagine how embarrassing that would be.)

second: Even if she is interested, what if she’s straight? Straight girls are so naturally flirty. Or worse — what if she’s got a girlfriend? (Or a boyfriend? Or a situationship? Or some weird on-again-off-again ex who’s still lurking in her life?)

third: What if she’s just messing with her? Like… some kind of elaborate joke that Azzi doesn’t get because she’s new here and clearly out of her element.

fourth: What if they do go out, and it’s terrible? Awkward silences, forced small talk, maybe the blonde’s whole flirty-train-persona is just her best material and there’s nothing else underneath.

She groans and drags her hands down her face.

“This is so dumb,” she mutters to her reflection. “You’ve had, like… one conversation. Chill.”

But her brain doesn’t let it go. Because honestly?

The cons are all just hypothetical. Possible, but not certain.

The pros…

The pros feel real.

The blonde’s smile, the warmth in her voice, the way she’d leaned in just a little closer when she called Azzi pretty girl — none of that had felt fake.

And even if it’s just a harmless crush, even if this whole thing turns out to be nothing…

What if it’s not?

What if she’s funny and charming and sweet in that slightly annoying way? What if she’s someone Azzi could actually… like?

Azzi leans closer to the mirror, narrowing her eyes at herself like she’s trying to read her own mind.

“You’re being insane,” she says flatly.

And yet… she’s still thinking about it.

And tomorrow, she knows she’s going to be checking those train doors again.

—

Azzi wakes up to the faint glow of sunlight spilling through her window. For once, she doesn’t feel like her skull is being crushed by exhaustion. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Two hours until the shoot.

Nice. Enough time to shower, get ready, and maybe even clean her disaster of a hotel room.

The shower’s warm and steady, and for a moment, Azzi stands there with her eyes closed, letting the heat loosen her muscles. Her thoughts wander — first to her shoot, then to her growing laundry pile, then… well, then to her.

The blonde.

Azzi doesn’t even know her name, yet here she is, fully thinking about her in the shower like some kind of weirdo. She groans and steps out, grabbing a towel and trying to push the image of that stupid smile out of her head.

She throws on a cropped long-sleeve top and matching Fenty sweats — perks of the brand deal — then tidies her room. By the time she’s packing her purse and slipping her phone inside, she’s feeling accomplished. Productive. Grounded.

And then she promptly ruins it all by walking straight into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Azzi blurts, instinctively reaching out like she can somehow fix it.

The other girl’s gripping her forehead, wincing. “It’s okay,” she mutters, voice strained. It takes Azzi half a second to recognize it — that voice. Her stomach flips before she even looks up.

No way. No way is this happening right now.

Sure enough, when the blonde pulls her glasses off with a grimace, there she is — same platinum hair, same sharp jawline, same frustratingly charming smile… except this time, her eyes are squinted in pain.

Azzi freezes. Why does she look even hotter with glasses? Focus, Azzi. You just hurt her. Stop being weird.

The blonde blinks a few times like she’s still adjusting to the light, then — somehow — smiles.

“Oh, book club,” she says brightly, still pressing her fingers to her forehead. “You staying here too? What a coincidence.” Her grin widens like she’s genuinely delighted by this.

Azzi’s eyebrows furrow. Coincidence? What was so exciting about that?

Then she feels her face warm — her whole body warm, actually — and quickly nods. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, again. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” the blonde assures her, still smiling. “But…” She pauses, tilting her head. “I think you kinda owe me now.”

Azzi snorts before she can stop herself. “Yeah, right.”

The blonde’s face falls into an exaggerated pout. “Wow. Really? You’re just gonna assault me in public and not even try to cheer me up?”

“Oh my god,” Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Fine. What do you want?”

The blonde taps her chin, like she’s seriously thinking about it.

“I don’t have all day, blondie,” Azzi warns, but she’s smiling now too.

The blonde lights up like that’s exactly what she was hoping for. “Sushi,” she announces. “I skipped breakfast and i’ve also been wanting to try that new fancy sushi bar up the street.”

Azzi sighs. “Fine. But my driver’s off today, so we might have to take the train.”

“No problem,” the blonde says easily. “You can drive my car.”

Azzi stops mid-step, turning to stare at her. “Wait… you have a car?”

“Yeah.” The blonde shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Then why have you been taking the train?”

The blonde’s smile falters for a second, like she hadn’t expected the question. But then she shrugs again, casual as ever. “I like it.”

Weird, Azzi thinks, but she decides not to press. Instead, she just gives a skeptical look. “You seriously want a stranger to drive your car?”

“You’re not a stranger,” the blonde insists. “We’ve had — what — two conversations now?” She pauses, grinning. “Well, one and a half, I guess.”

Azzi huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Real deep connection we’ve got here.”

“You did just give me a concussion,” the blonde points out. “I think you’re legally responsible for me now.”

“Oh my god.” Azzi rolls her eyes, fighting a smile.

“You know,” the blonde adds, eyes glinting. “I think you have to hold my hand while we walk, though.”

Azzi turns to her, unimpressed. “You don’t have two legs?”

“Well…” The blonde drags a hand dramatically down her face. “You did ruin my eyesight, I don’t wanna be hitting poles left and right..sooo…” She trails off, shrugging innocently.

Azzi can’t help it — she laughs again, quietly, and she hates that it makes the blonde’s smile widen like she’s just won something.

“Fine,” Azzi sighs. “Let’s go.”

She grabs the blonde’s hand, warm fingers wrapping easily around hers.

It’s supposed to be casual, practical — just an excuse to get her moving — but then the blonde’s fingers slide between hers, lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi swears she feels her heartbeat stutter.

She tells herself she’s imagining things — that this girl is just the type to be annoyingly comfortable with casual touch. But then she feels the blonde shift a little closer, their arms brushing as they walk.

Azzi doesn’t say anything. She’s not even sure she wants to.

And maybe she’s imagining it, but she swears she can feel the blonde’s thumb trace over her knuckles — slow, deliberate — like she’s testing the waters.

Azzi bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile.

Yeah… she definitely has a crush.

—

Azzi never pictured herself like this — sitting in the driver’s seat of someone else’s car, navigating unfamiliar New York streets, her hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

She glances at the blonde in the passenger seat —wait.., she reminds herself — but then realizes… no, she’s still not actually sure of her name.

They’d had two conversations — well, one and a half as the blonde stated — and Azzi still hadn’t asked. Not that it mattered. Except now it kinda did.

It’s quiet. Not uncomfortable exactly, but still… quiet.

Azzi turns her eyes back to the road, trying to focus. This whole situation feels surreal — like some bizarre fever dream. She didn’t move to New York thinking she’d end up driving a complete stranger to a sushi bar. She came here to focus on herself — her career — to hit reset after… everything.

“You’re a pretty good driver,” the blonde says suddenly, like she’s genuinely impressed.

Azzi laughs under her breath. “I think you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re scared for your life.”

The blonde grins. “Nah. If I was scared, I’d be giving you directions like my grandma — you know, all ‘slow down, watch the curb, both hands on the wheel.’”

Azzi smiles despite herself, relaxing just a little.

“So…” the blonde draws out the word. “Why’d you move to New York?”

Azzi shrugs. “I guess it just felt like the right place for me.”

“Yeah?” The blonde leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out comfortably. “And what do you do, exactly?”

“I model,” Azzi answers. “Not full-time yet, but… working on it.”

The blonde’s eyebrows lift. “Ohhh, so you’re like one of those people who always looks good without trying?”

Azzi scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I totally woke up gorgeous this morning.”

The blonde laughs softly, then her tone shifts — still casual, but more curious. “Okay so… why’d you really move here?”

Azzi hesitates, debating how honest she wants to be. “Honestly?” she says finally. “I needed a change. And… a getaway.”

“From what?” The blonde’s head tilts. “Or who?”

Azzi exhales through her nose. “Weird ex,” she mutters.

The blonde makes a face like that’s all she needs to hear. “Understandable,” she says easily. “So… what’d your boyfriend — I mean, ex-boyfriend — do?”

Azzi’s grip tightens briefly on the steering wheel. “How do you know it was a guy?”

The blonde shrugs. “I just assumed. I mean… you don’t look gay for real.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

The blonde grins like she’s been waiting for that reaction. “Whattt?”

“I take offense to that,” Azzi says, flicking her shoulder without thinking.

The blonde gasps dramatically, clutching her arm. “Oh my god — did you just hit me? I’m already injured!”

“Oh, please.” Azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning now too.

“So” The blonde pauses, eyes still sparkling. “You like women?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah.” Then, narrowing her eyes playfully, “You?”

The blonde snorts like the answer’s obvious. “I thought everyone could tell.”

“Oh, they could,” Azzi quips.

The blonde lets out a laugh — loud and unrestrained — and suddenly, the tension that had been lingering between them slips right out the window. The air feels easier now, warmer somehow.

As they pull up to the sushi bar, Paige hops out first, casually rounding the car just as Azzi locks the doors. Before Azzi can even think about it, the blonde’s fingers find hers again — no warning, no hesitation. Just warm skin sliding against her palm, fingers lacing like they belong there.

Azzi glances down at their hands — Paige’s hand in hers. The blonde doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t even look her way — just keeps walking like this is the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi doesn’t say anything either. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

Inside, the sushi bar is small and cozy — warm lighting, soft music, and the faint scent of soy sauce lingering in the air. They slide into a booth by the window, Paige stretching her legs out comfortably while Azzi flips through the menu.

“I’m just getting the spicy tuna rolls,” the blonde announces, tossing her menu aside like she’s done this a hundred times before. “Easy choice.”

Azzi snorts. “That’s boring.”

“Okay, model, what’s your go-to?” the blonde challenges, grinning.

Azzi hums thoughtfully. “Salmon sashimi… and tempura shrimp rolls. Oh, and gyoza.”

“Damn,” the blonde laughs. “Ordering the whole menu?”

“You literally said your ‘easy choice’ like you’ve never eaten anything else in your life.”

“Maybe I haven’t,” the blonde shoots back, grinning wider.

They both end up ordering a mix of everything — the blonde insists on adding edamame, claiming “you can’t not order edamame,” and Azzi doesn’t argue.

“So…” the blonde leans her elbows on the table. “You’re a model, huh?”

Azzi nods, fiddling with her chopsticks. “Trying to be.”

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” the blonde says thoughtfully. “Are you, like… famous?”

Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Not even close.”

“Well…” The blonde shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Azzi smiles despite herself. “Guess so.”

“What about you?” Azzi asks, leaning back in her seat. “You just hang out on trains and get concussions for fun?”

The blonde grins. “Nah… I’m kinda retired.”

Azzi frowns. “From what?”

“Basketball,” the blonde says like it’s nothing. “I design sometimes, though — clothes, mostly.”

“You’re a designer?”

“Sometimes,” the blonde repeats, like it’s more of a side project than an identity. “I moved here ‘cause I know some people working in fashion. Some models too.” She gestures vaguely, then pauses. “Guess I know one more now.”

Azzi smiles, but there’s something tugging at the back of her mind.

“You know,” she says slowly. “I still don’t know your name.”

The blonde freezes, blinking once like she’s surprised.

“Oh,” she says, like she just realized it too. “Paige.”

Paige. The name settles in Azzi’s mind like something she’s supposed to remember — something important.

“Nice to meet you… Paige.” Azzi smiles.

“Likewise.” Paige’s smile is lazy, soft — like she’s already known Azzi for years.

Their food arrives, and the conversation drifts between light teasing and easy conversation. Paige’s smile never seems to falter — it’s so constant that Azzi wonders if her face just naturally sits like that.

The sushi plates were nearly empty now, chopsticks scattered across the table like forgotten utensils in a game of pick-up sticks. Paige was still talking — something about her old basketball days — but Azzi wasn’t really listening. Not properly, anyway.

She was too distracted.

By the way Paige’s fingers danced along her water glass. By the way she smiled — wide and easy, like she didn’t have a single thing to hide. By the way those blue eyes — god, those blue eyes — kept flicking back to her between sentences.

Azzi barely noticed her own phone screen lighting up beside her. She figured it was just a reminder or some random email.

“Wait, hold up,” Paige said suddenly, interrupting herself. “You keep checking the time — you got somewhere to be?”

Azzi blinked back into focus. “Shit,” she muttered, checking her lock screen properly for the first time. “Yeah… I’ve got a shoot soon.”

“You’re working today?” Paige’s eyebrows lifted. “Damn. Busy woman.”

Azzi snorted. “Something like that.”

“Oh, wait,” Paige said suddenly, snapping her fingers like she’d just remembered something important. “I ordered dessert.”

Azzi blinked. “Dessert?”

“Yeah.” Paige grinned. “Figured I’d earn some extra points in case you tried to knock me out again.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, leaning back with a smug smile. “But you laughed, so…”

Azzi tried to fight her smile but failed

By the time they left the restaurant, Azzi was running late.

“You sure you’ll make it in time?” Paige asked as they walked back to her car.

“Yeah,” Azzi sighed. “Just gotta take the train since my driver’s off today.”

“I can take you,” Paige offered like it was nothing.

Azzi frowned. “I thought you weren’t feeling good enough to drive?”

“I’m feeling better now,” Paige said with a grin that Azzi didn’t fully trust.

“Uh-huh,” Azzi muttered.

“Look,” Paige said, twirling her keys around her finger, “it’s for safety measures.”

Azzi shot her a look. “Safety measures?”

“Yeah,” Paige said like it was obvious. “Gotta make sure you actually make it inside.”

“You’re weird.”

“I get that a lot.”

When they reached the building, Paige stayed parked at the curb, one hand still on the wheel.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re inside,” Paige said casually.

Azzi gave her a look. “For safety measures, right?”

Paige grinned. “Exactly.”

Azzi smiled, grabbing her bag before heading to the door.

She turned back once more before walking inside, just in time to see Paige driving off.

Azzi reached for the handle — and nothing.

She tried again — still locked.

“What the hell…”

Peering through the window, she saw dim lights and empty chairs. The place was closed.

Her phone? Dead.

“Of course,” Azzi muttered.

With a sigh, she fished out her portable charger from her bag — dead too.

“Perfect.”

Azzi paced for a second, chewing her lip before finally deciding to call her agent from the nearby payphone — something she hadn’t done since, like… middle school.

“Azzi?” her agent answered almost immediately. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the building,” Azzi said. “No one’s here.”

“Because the shoot’s postponed, remember?”

Azzi froze. “Wait… what?”

“I texted you earlier,” her agent explained. “You didn’t see it?”

Azzi closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. No, she hadn’t seen it — because she’d been too busy sitting in that sushi bar, watching some blonde idiot grin her way through stories about terrible basketball injuries and spicy tuna rolls.

“My phone died,” Azzi muttered. “I didn’t see it.”

“Well… you’re off the hook for today. Go do something fun, I guess.”

“Yeah… okay.”

They hung up, and Azzi stood there for a moment, still processing everything.

Now she was stuck outside this empty building. Paige was long gone. And the last thing Azzi felt like doing was walking all the way back to the train station.

She groaned under her breath, leaning against the cold brick wall.

This is what you get for thinking with your heart — or worse… your hormones.

With a sigh, Azzi turned toward the pay phone again, fumbling for some change in her bag. She figured calling a cab was her best bet now — walking to the train station in this heat felt like some cruel punishment she didn’t deserve.

She’d just fed a quarter into the slot when she heard the familiar rumble of an engine — low and steady, like the sound of a car that had seen some things but still ran perfectly.

Azzi turned her head — and there it was.

That same black Jeep pulling into the parking lot.

The same freakishly tall blonde stepped out, holding a small paper bag and looking around like she was lost. Paige’s eyes landed on Azzi, and she grinned, jogging over like this was just a casual meetup and not the second time she’d shown up unannounced.

“Hi there,” Paige said, all smug like she knew something Azzi didn’t.

Azzi let out a soft laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“I forgot to give you this.” Paige held up the bag. “I actually ordered the dessert for you and yeah.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and I locked my keycard in my room, sooo…” Paige winced. “Yeah.”

Azzi snorted. “Dumb blonde things?”

“Dumb blonde things,” Paige confirmed with a grin.

“What about you?” Paige asked. “Why’re you still out here, shoot over already?”

Azzi sighed. “My phone’s dead, so I didn’t see my agent’s text. The shoot was postponed, and I was too busy listening to you talk my ear off to even notice. Then you drove off, so I was stuck here debating whether to walk to the train or just call a cab — but my driver’s off today, and it’s so hot and I—”

“Whoa, whoa.”

Paige grabbed her hands — actually grabbed her hands — and Azzi froze mid-ramble.

“Calm down,” Paige said softly, her fingers giving a gentle squeeze. “Just… breathe, kay?”

Azzi exhaled shakily, her pulse still racing for a reason that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Better?” Paige asked, her eyes searching hers.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah… better.”

Paige smiled. “Good. Now c’mon — I’ll take you back to the hotel. No problem.”

Azzi blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Paige grinned again, a little softer this time. “Besides… I owe you for the amazing sushi date.”

Date? Date. Oh..a date.

Azzi masked the nervousness with a laugh under her breath. “Yeah, fair.”

Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Paige’s waist in a quick hug.

“Thank you.” She said.

Paige went rigid at first — like she hadn’t expected it — but then her arms lifted, curling loosely around Azzi’s shoulders.

“‘S no problem, Az,” Paige murmured, her voice lower now — softer.

Azzi froze, pulling back slightly. “Az?”

Paige’s face went pink. “Oh… uh…” She scratched the back of her neck. “I mean… I just figured… I dunno, is that okay?”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah… it’s okay.”

“Cool,” Paige said, scratching the back of her neck. “Cool, cool…”

Azzi shook her head, turning toward the car.

She wasn’t sure what was more surprising — the fact that Paige had called her Az, or the fact that Azzi kinda hoped she’d say it again.

Az.

[caterpillarskimono]

Netflix & Chill

summary: set at the start of season two of Animal Kingdom; you moved to Oceanside, California six months ago, renting an apartment above an old bar that you were also hired to tend to full-time. in that time, you met Andrew Cody, and whatever this is between the two of you is finally reaching the point of no return.

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MDNI, fem! reader, slight age gap (reader is 29, Andrew is mid to late 30s), suggestive themes, NSFW (just barely), kissing, Andrew Cody pleading with you, sexual tension, intense eye contact

author’s note: this is JUST a snippet of a series I’m working on. this is also the FIRST reader fic I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with me ❤️ I truly hope you enjoy this. you may have questions, but all will be answered once I start posting the different chapters in order. just kinda testing the waters with this one.

Your stomach tightens, an unfamiliar warmth stirring in your abdomen.

Well. Not entirely unfamiliar, you suppose. It’s become routine since you met Andrew. But it’s different this time. This time it pulses, it pounds. It slithers further down, resting heavy between your legs. You can practically feel the blood pumping there, and you press your thighs together as tightly as you can to stave off the growing ache between them.

If Andrew notices, he says nothing. Briefly, you look his way, at the intensity of his focus on what’s happening on the television in front of you both. A shiver races down your spine and back up again as you recall the many times you’ve felt the intensity of that stare on you. It’s a curious thing, the way you can feel his green eyes on you before you even notice he’s in the room. The way the air between you two always feels so charged when you meet his gaze. Countless moments passed between you fill your mind’s eye, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep the moan that threatens to leave you at bay.

Suddenly, he’s looking at you, and his eyes are dark with… concern? You’re not sure. All you know is that his pupils are blown so wide all you can see is black. And there’s something behind them you’ve only seen glimpses of before now. Something primal. Hungry?

“Are you ok?” he says, and your face is suddenly very hot and you know your eyes are wide as saucers because holy fuck, did you just moan out loud?

You clear your throat and turn your gaze back to the television. “I’m fine, just something caught in my throat, it’s fine.”

“Fine…” Andrew repeats, as if he’s testing the word, repeating it back not so much as a question, but more like he’s trying to really dig into the meaning behind it.

“Yup,” you say, your lips making a popping sound for emphasis. You lean forward for your glass of red wine. You chug it in one go, slamming it back down on the coffee table unceremoniously. “Totally fine.”

A moment passes, long and heated and heavy because you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s staring. Studying you. Like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, but is trying desperately to make sense of.

Finally, he looks away. You watch the scene unfolding in the Netflix Original you selected (and what the actual fuck is 365 Days about anyway) and you try your absolute damndest not to look at the handsome man to your left again.

The female lead is… definitely enjoying herself, her lover’s head barely visible between her legs. She reaches down to grip his dark hair, gripping hard by the looks of it, yanking and pushing his mouth deeper against her. She throws her head back and begins to cry his name over and over, in tandem with the way she’s bucking up into his mouth. He groans loudly, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

That’s enough for Andrew to turn his attention back on you, and instantly, your cheeks redden with embarrassment. You try not to look into his eyes, those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes that you’ve dreamt about every single night since he first walked into your bar six months ago.

But you fail in your efforts, just like every single time before when you’ve tried to hide from the weight of his stare. One look into those eyes, and you almost gasp.

You were right earlier. He does look hungry. And he looks as if he wants to devour you.

And you want him to. God, you want him to ruin you.

“Are you okay?” And his voice comes out so soft that it almost sounds like there’s a nervous tremor behind the words.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to stammer out. You suddenly want to hide, to take cover and not face him. Because you know what you’re about to confess, and try as you might, you can’t stop the words spilling awkwardly from your lips.

“That’s just… I’ve never… not that, anyway.”

A beat. And then Andrew crooks up an eyebrow. “You’ve never?…. What, exactly?”

“I mean,” and an exasperated huff passes from your lips. You throw your head back against the couch, squeezing your eyes shut. “That… All of that. What he’s doing, how he’s making her feel, I’ve never felt… that.”

He frowns. Quickly snatches the remote from the coffee table, pausing the film. The sudden silence is like a record scratch, and you lift your head up and stare ahead.

A shot of the female lead is frozen onscreen, her body arched like a cat stretching in satisfaction. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes slammed shut. You can’t stop looking and memorizing this shot of pure ecstasy. Wondering what it’s like to feel that. Wondering what it would be like to feel it with the handsome - albeit dangerous - man beside you.

“You’ve… never had an orgasm?”

You force yourself to look at him then, and you fight to maintain a poker face. You shake your head in response to his question. Your hands, the tips of your fingers begin to twitch, your veins seemingly trembling beneath the surface of your skin. You’re nervous, why the fuck are you nervous? What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Andrew no longer looks as if he wants to devour you. No, there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. But you feel your heart begin to race, you feel the ache between your legs grow so heavy, pulsing in tandem with the quickening of your breathing, and you become aware of one thing and one thing only.

He… he wants you. You think he wants you just as badly as you want him. Maybe even more.

And, God, you just wish he’d take you already. Make you his. You’ve never wanted to belong to someone else before. It’s strange and all-consuming in the way it weighs on you, rattling your bones

Your eyes fall to his mouth, and you bite your bottom lip again out of nervous habit. Every mouth that’s ever been on yours has been uninvited. But this man? You’ve already invited him in without even realizing it. You want this man to press his lips to your flesh and make you his home.

Maybe a second goes by, but it’s a second too long where neither of you says anything, and you just know you’ve misread his expression entirely. You tear your eyes from his, sitting up slightly, shaking your head. You don’t know where to put your hands, so you clasp them together and tuck them tight between your now bouncing knees.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I think it’s the wine and I’m just - I’m really tired, today was long, and just please forget -“

“Hey.” His voice interrupts you softly. Gently. It’s the same soothing tone you’ve heard used on frightened animals, and it cools the flames of your skin, calms the almost painful beating in your chest. You go quiet, but you don’t dare look at him. You don’t need - can’t handle - the confirmation that you’ve read him, read whatever this is between you two, completely and utterly wrong.

You hear the shift of his body as he sits up, too, mirroring the way you’re sitting. Then silence. One beat, two beats, three.

And then his hand is on your knee, squeezing it. Your body stills, and you gasp as he begins to smooth his hand up higher, fingers digging so slightly into your inner thigh, grip tightening the higher his touch travels. Instinctively, you part your legs, just enough for him to slide his fingers further between. He pauses his touch at the middle of your thigh, above your knee, but too far from where you’re dying for his touch. A whimper almost passes between your lips, but you bite your inner cheek just in time to keep it at bay until you can swallow it down.

It doesn’t register that he’s moved as close as he can to you, hard chest pressed at your side, mouth at your cheek. He gives you the gentlest kiss, the second kiss he’s ever given you and much more chaste than the first. His mouth slowly travels to just beneath your earlobe, and your body almost melts against him.

“Do you want to?” he whispers. “Feel that, I mean?”

Finally, your eyes meet his. His mouth hovers at yours, grazing your lips with the promise of a kiss. You want to say yes, you want to say it so fucking badly that the words sting at the tip of your tongue. But Andrew reaches up, thumb at your bottom lip, and all you can manage is a nod of your head.

Suddenly he exhales, the sound heavy. As if he’s been holding his breath so long that it’s a relief to breathe out. He presses his forehead to yours and gives you the ghost of a kiss. Light, quick, so quick you don’t even have time to kiss him back. His hand starts moving again, higher and higher up your thigh until he’s right there.

And then he stills. He doesn’t move. Just keeps his very large, hand, his calloused fingers pressed firmly at the heat between your legs. “Andrew…” you moan out, squirming into his touch, trying anything to get him to keep touching you.

“I need to hear you say it. Use those pretty lips and tell me what you want. Can you do that for me? Say the word, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so hard on my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Fuck, I just wanna taste you, please just say it, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

He takes your breath away with his words, with the way he goes back to kissing your cheek, nipping your earlobe between his teeth, all the while begging you. “Please, please, baby…” Over and over again like a song, like a prayer. Like he’s found salvation, and salvation is you.

“Yes,” you moan out. “Please just make me feel good. That’s all I want. Please, Andrew.”

Anyway, that’s that for now! Please let me know what you think in comments and reblogs; they motivate me and help me so much. Thx for reading! 🫶🏼❤️

[ifyoucandaniel]

favorite fics of 2024/basically just batfam fic rec list

It's that time of year guys, here is my favorite fics of 2024 in no specific order (aka my master batman fic rec list bc that's all i read this year with some spider-man thrown in there lmao). most of these have been in my previous rec lists, but this is just like one big frankenstein’s monster of a fic rec with all of them in one place <3

starting off strong, anything @bluelotuswrites's hands have touched is pure gold. Red is the Color of Sinners placed post UTRH where after being hit by bruce's batarang and now mute, jason decides to leave gotham and go to hell’s kitchen for a fresh start, but he keeps running into daredevil both in and out of costume. this is possibly the best jason of all time i rotate him in my mind like a microwave all day

The Hellblazer's Apprentice is an all blades jason fic where instead of continuing his lost days world tour, he meets john constentine and decides to learn magic to piss of bruce. blue added some lore to jason’s character in this that to this day makes my brain vibrate with excitement and the dynamic between john and jason is just ?? so good. both of these fics haunt me, they follow me wherever i go, i love them. read everything she's written, trust me

going with the theme of my favorite authors i read this year, @cdelphiki wrote my favorite read of the year and possibly all time Life Happens a fic that hit me like a sucker punch where tim and damian are both sent to a different dimension where everyone they know are comic book characters. with no other choice, they have to start a new life in this world while they wait for rescue. words just dont do it justice, please please read this fic. it’s the most beautiful story on growing and life

their other fic Jason and the Three Terrors crosses my mind at least once a day if not three times. jason is still with the league when talia charges him with getting damian, his cousin mara, and his secret sister athanasia to bruce safely from ra's. the rest of the fic is jason going from "i cant wait to get rid of these kids" to "these are my kids, i need to provide for them and keep them safe and i would die for them" 100/10 jason's character development is some of my favorite in any fic.

The Time Before is another of my favorites where jason is sent back in time to when he was 9 and goes to bruce for help and realizes maybe his memories of bruce maybe aren't all accurate. just read everything cdelphiki has ever written, trust me <3

Split by @wolfsbanesparks i have never been hooked on a character i previously did not know much about faster than when i read this fic. Billy and shazam are forcefully separated into separate bodies by black adam and then they have to try to keep billy's identity secret somehow while working with the justice league to fix them. the end of this fic had me sending paragraphs and 5 minute voice notes to my friends, trying to explain why i was so absolutely distraught and obsessed.

also by wolfsbanesparks, From the Shadows is basically everything you could ever want from a billy batson joins the batfam fic. it's got plot, it's got identity shenanigans, it's got badass magical billy, what more could you possibly need! seriously idk what is up with everything wolfbanesparks writes, but the endings are always so fucking good, 100/10.

Something in the Static by @bonerot19 is one of my favorite jason series ever, i go back to it constantly and think about it all the time. this is a series where jason's mom doesn't die and his dad isn't in prison, instead he's 17 working nights at a convenience store when everything changes and suddenly batman won't leave him alone. this is my favorite jason & steph best friends fic ever and the way this fic is paced scratches an itch in my brain, the flow of the story is just perfect

Buy Back the Secrets by @vinelark is the only ship fic on here and it deserves a place of honor. every time i get an email that it's updated an angel gets it's wings and my friends all get texts in all caps. Timkon fic where kon still doesn’t know tim’s civilian identity, but tim keeps calling for superboy when he's in trouble which leads to kon meeting him as a civilian. the identity shenanigans are just so top tier, its a 5 + 1 fic so every chapter is just just a new world of fun tropes. the chapter with tim's fake uncle and jason is actually probably my favorite chapter of a fic ever its so dear to me. as far as i'm concerned, this fic is the only timkon ever <3

Honoring Promises by LananiA3O is the shortest fic on this list and is the most important jason & dick post UTRH fics i've ever read. this fic both scratched an itch and created an itch because i need 100 more chapters and for it to never end. set post UTRH when dick starts to rethink his opinion on a note jason left him and realizes it was jason reaching out and decides to find him and fix things. this goes up there with RITCOS in the post UTRH fics where jason decides to just fuck off and do his own thing, i love them

Adopting a New Plan by A_Silly_Gander is yet another fic where jason winds up with an adoption problem when he first comes back to gotham. however, my favorite part of this whole fic is how the author writes jason making mistakes and being flawed and how those mistakes affect him. absolutely 10/10 character development and jason rejoining the batfam + damian and jaosn meeting in the LOA tag is just a mixture of all my favorite things, i love this fic so much

A Collision of Masks by MOVAZ is my favorite dick grayson fic ever, its set in a young justice AU where batman never joined the JL and YJ never met dick, so when the YJ team is sent to investigate a new vigilante, nightwing, identity shenanigans ensue. this is seriously such a fun fic, i loved all the crossover between dick's many identities and the YJ team

Cards on the Table by @wesslan is just!!! so fun oh my god. the chapter titles are to this day my favorite things ever they enhance the experience. it’s about tim being a scam fortune teller who knows a lot more than he should about the upper class due to his nighttime stalking. he winds up meeting the batfam and giving some scarily accurate advice which leads to him being tied up in their business and lots of lying <3 it’s such a fun fic and i just love the vibes 100/10

Hand in Unloveable Hand (a chokehold) by @a-large-orange-cat is by far my favorite fucked up tim fic! while tim’s out taking pictures of batman and robin as a kid he gets kidnapped by black mask and raised to take over his crime empire. cue 50k of manipulation and angst, the ending is so satisfying and the sequel with jason always makes me :’) very good, this tim lives in my mind in a little house he and jason built

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone because would it be a fic rec without the loml? i love this fic so much oh my god, it sent me back on my spiderman obsessed bullshit which in turn led me back down my marvel bs. post infinity war peter is dusted and wakes up in the DC universe with the ghosts of the dusted avengers following him. i love this fic so much, nothing compares to this peter in my mind. the dynamic between him and the batfam + the identity angst is just so well done

keeping up with the peter theme, The Teenage Vigilante's Guide to Saving New York (And Making Friends Along the Way) by candlesneedflame is such a good team red/mentor matt fic oh my god. where peter goes against tony’s wishes and starts hanging out with daredevil and his friends and maybe starts getting mentored by new york’s vigilantes. 10/10 i love peter interacting with the other vigilantes and also matt mentoring him

anyways, that’s all folks! 2024 was the year for the DC and marvel fics clearly and hopefully 2025 will be the year of me binding all of these finally and having them sitting pretty on my shelf <3

[cheegu3]

Hi there! I love your new piece on tbz new 🔥 can I request a jealous yandere non con (or dubcon) smut with enhypen sunghoon? Perhaps he can be a prince and y/n a maid. As for the premise, it could be him harboring interest in you despite already being bethroted to another princess and you never returning as much as even a glance. It all kind of exploded when he saw you hanging out and laughing with the gardener (who was your childhood friend). It riled him so much to see you not only talk but laugh with someone as lowly as a gardener and yet spare not even a glance towards a royalty like him. And so he drags yn to his chambers, hoping to seduce yn and when failed proceeded to eff the hell out of her for hours. Thank you in advance 😸

hi, thank u sm, also sorry for the wait! I LOVE this idea ur a genius are u kidding???

I love prince fics & I got super invested pls ;-; in honor of their amazing comeback <3 I did do a little twist tho based on your prompt, I hope that was okay c:

warnings; non-con / dub-con, yandere themes, self victim-blaming, mentions of hanging & bones, possessiveness & jealousy, sexual content, swearing, non-con kissing, sunghoon being super pushy; sexual harassment & mentions of it, misogynistic undertones, allusions to baby trapping, sickness, wrong use of royal terms

pairing; sunghoon x f.m reader

wc; 3.8k

prince!sunghoon - mine only

Sunghoon hated any other girl but you. Any time he laid his eyes on them, he was filled with such disgust he couldn't help but let show on his face. His delicate features, the ones fitting of a prince, twisted into the most cruel face as his mood soured the longer he was forced to look at them.

His lips curled in spite. But then a small movement would cause his gaze to shift, to you. The change in softness didn't go unnoticed by the others in the room. They shifted uncomfortably, hoping the king and queen hadn't noticed who their little prince was really in love with.

You cleared your throat and mentally prepared yourself, hands hovering near the curtains. One last glance at the sleeping man in the bed was made before you dragged them to the side.

''Good morning, sir. ''

Despite the cold winter weather outside, bright sunlight streamed in through the wide windows, casting a big glow on his face. He fluttered his eyes open slowly, blinking as you became clearer in his view.

He closed them again, and you grimaced as he smirked, you were his favorite maid. He felt happy that his parents had noticed that at least. Even if they didn't notice how obviously deep his feelings for his little maid actually went.

'' Good morning, '' he mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep.

You went over to the dresser and pulled out his clothes for the day which you placed on a stool. Then you turned the tap on in the bath and hurried towards the door.

But like always, he was quicker than you. In an instant, he had jumped to his feet and ended up between you and the door.

'' Where are you going? ''

You swallowed down your irritation. '' Sir, you do not need me to help you bathe. ''

You sounded formal, and your words were polite, which always made him smile in amusement. But there was an edge to your voice. Quite admittedly, you were sick of him playing this game every single morning and also the other games he'd try with you ever since he seemed to have taken a special interest in you.

The other maids fawned over him, they would've done anything to be in your place now. You had taken the job out of absolute necessity, with your mom being sick and your siblings too young, you desperately needed money.

You had tried to keep your head down and not catch any attention. However, it seemed that those who tried not to get noticed always did.

'' But I do, '' he said slyly. '' You wouldn't want me to go to my mother now, would you? ''

There it was, the threat that always came after you defied his wishes. You had a hard time hiding your true feelings, somehow especially in front of him. His eyes flitted over to your clenched fists; you had to dig your nails into your palms for you to hold yourself back.

'' No, sir. Of course not. ''

He nodded, like the thing had been settled peacefully, and then walked over to the now full bath. You flinched away when he casually took off his only clothing and slipped in.

You inhaled shakily. With wobbly legs, you kneeled at the bath, trying not to make eye contact with him. You could feel his predator-like eyes on you, practically could vision the satisfied look on his face too.

Rapt knocks on the door followed by the shrill voice of his mother saved you. '' Sunghoon! You need to hurry, we have guests arriving soon! ''

You looked down into your lap where you had busied your hands by rolling up and then flattening your maid dress and smiled to yourself. You didn't really care if he saw it, if anything you wished he would so he could see that not everyone was so eager to be in the presence of the beautiful prince.

He rolled his eyes but managed to answer his mom in a normal tone. '' Almost done. ''

You got up and felt light on your feet when you laid out the bathrobe and moved the clothes near the bathtub. He'd be busy today. You weren't sure if that was the reason his mood all of a sudden soured, or if it was because of what he was doing today.

'' No need to look so happy just yet. I'll still have you all evening. ''

Your face fell, which only made him light up again. He chuckled and got out, draping the bathrobe around his broad shoulders.

For some reason, he paused before getting his clothes on. You felt your stomach turn even though you had no idea what he was thinking of.

But you found out soon enough when he pushed the robe off again and looked at the towels stuffed under the basin. You met eyes with him, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from sneering out in the open.

'' Dry me. ''

'' What? '' you gasped.

He had never asked you to do that before. Even though he was generally horrible and extremely annoying, this was taking it a step too far; judging by his face, he knew that too.

There was no way you could refuse a prince however, so you pulled yourself together and approached him, your hands crinkling the towel.

You turned him around and lightly dragged it over his back. Your eyes met in the mirror above the basin and you quickly looked away when he turned to you.

At the speed of light, you dragged it over his chest and arms and then crouched down, your head turned towards the ground with cheeks red in humiliation while you dried his legs.

You got up, hoping he hadn't seen your embarrassment, and turned away as he finally pulled his clothes on, being able to take the breath you'd been holding in at last.

'' Your Highness? '' another voice came by the door, it sounded like one of the other maids.

'' Coming, '' he rolled his eyes.

You felt like you had been saved by him being in a hurry, instead of stalling he walked right out without playing with you any longer. Outside, two other maids, one guard, and his mother stood, all looking stressed and impatient.

'' They are already here, '' his mother leaned in to whisper panicked.

You walked at the very back but still got a good look at the guests she had been referring to. A beautiful young girl who seemed to be about your age stood between an older male and female, presumably her parents.

Your eyes went over all of them, and from their good looks to their straight postures and the fine material of their clothes, anyone could tell that they were noble born just like the royal family.

One of the younger maids told you that they were another royal family and that they had traveled far to see if Mr. Park was a good match for their princess daughter.

Having heard this, you studied the young girl again. Her attention seemed to be fixed on Sunghoon while the parents exchanged some stiff, small talk.

This day in particular had been set up for them to go over all of the necessary things while the princess and the prince got to know each other, of course while being chaperoned.

Luck was only partly on your side today. You could already feel intuitively who he'd pick before he even turned to you, that sneer on his perfect lips again.

The other maids patted your back, saying it was an honor but you had to bite down the sour expression that wanted to show and politely followed after them.

A guard walked a few paces behind you, just to make sure no harm could be done to the prince. As the pair stopped by the fish pond you found yourself bored and looked curiously at the guard.

He caught your eyes and you hurriedly looked away. However, that was all he needed. He came up to your side and joined you in leaning against the big tree.

'' Sorry, I needed a rescue. ''

You looked surprised. '' You did? ''

You somehow hadn't really thought of the grueling work the guards must do every day, only feeling quite sorry for the maids as you all were in such close contact with the royal family.

'' Long days and not much happens, '' he shrugged and looked towards Sunghoon and the princess.

'' What do you think of this union? ''

'' It's...an ideal match. Maybe not what the prince desires but if he wants to be king, he'll have to learn that he can't always have his way.''

You felt like you already knew the answer deep down, yet you still asked. '' What do you mean? What does the prince desire? ''

He turned to you. '' Surely you must know. He wants you. ''

Your breath hitched and you had to place a hand on your stomach to make yourself take a few deep breaths.

'' I-uh, '' you cringed.

What was there to say to that? You could deny it even if it was obvious, but what was the point in doing that?

'' Why? '' was what you settled on at last, it was something you had wondered for a really long time.

The guard chuckled and looked down at the frost-covered ground, then he gestured towards them.

'' See that girl? ''

'' The princess? Yeah, '' you laughed in disbelief.

'' How do you think she feels about our prince? Just by looking at her.''

You focused on the princess for a moment. She was smiling and laughing loudly. Her heart-eyes rarely left him, even when silence passed between them.

'' She...likes him. Finds him attractive and charming, I guess. ''

He hummed, '' That's exactly why. ''

You knitted your eyebrows and chewed on your lip slightly as a frown formed while looking at him. He could tell that you didn't get it.

'' But you're not like that, are you? ''

Your lips parted in surprise. He liked you because you didn't like him? A laugh slipped out.

'' That doesn't really make any sense. ''

The guard crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head firmly. He was still watching the pair who had made their way onto the dock now.

'' He's attracted to her too, '' you added, observing him as well.

'' No. It's different. Men like our prince, they are used to getting what they want. All their life has been pretty much nothing but sweet, and girls have been throwing themselves at his feet, ready to do anything.''

'' Is that so bad? '' you said silently.

'' Well, I suppose one downside with being a prince is that you get bored pretty quickly. It's human nature to like working for things before we achieve them too, is it not? ''

You looked from the guard to the prince again and gasped when you realized he was staring right at you now.

'' It's not fun having everything you want, it gets boring very fast. I think our prince is like that especially, he likes the thrill of chasing. ''

You listened to what he was saying but it became more muffled while the prince was staring you down. His lips curled in disgust and you felt uneasy. This feeling doubled when he started moving towards the tree you were standing against.

'' As my guard, it is your job to keep me safe, '' he sounded very angry, his jaw was tense and his narrowed eyes were shaking.

'' Your highness- ''

'' What if I had gotten assassinated right then as I was standing on the dock! '' he screamed, making both of you flinch.

'' But, your highness- ''

'' Someone could have snuck up behind and I would've died immediately. It would have been your fault. All because instead of doing what you were told to, you were flirting with the maid. One of my maids! ''

The emphasis on '' my '' maid, made your eyes widen. This passionate outburst was very much due to jealousy, and suddenly, you found yourself terrified for what would happen to the guard now.

An awkward and tense silence fell over the group. The princess craned her neck on the dock to try and see what was going on while Sunghoon was locked in a staring match with the poor guard, it almost looked like they were fighting for dominance.

Eventually, the guard had to give in. Otherwise, he'd lose his job. He unfolded his arms and let them fall to his side, straightening his posture simultaneously.

'' I apologize, your highness. It won't happen again. ''

Sunghoon snickered, then went deadly serious again. '' I know it won't. ''

You sensed the threat in his voice and cleared your throat which immediately made his eyes throw daggers at you. He didn't want you to butt in but you felt like you had to, this was your fault as much as his.

'' Forgive me, your highness. ''

He ticked his tongue in annoyance.

'' It's not his fault, I was- '' however, you stopped here, not sure how you were going to finish the sentence.

'' You will get repercussions too, just you wait. ''

This was the last thing he said before returning to the dock next to the princess. He didn't look nearly as happy as she did. Before, he'd likely faked it out of politeness but it seemed the whole altercation had spoiled his mood and drained his energy.

The princess' smile faded when he didn't return her warm energy and chirpy mood again, and you felt bad for her. There were maybe more pressing matters at hand, like how the prince would punish you but all you could do now though was push that to the back of your mind.

'' It will do us no good to be scared, '' the guard echoed your thoughts.

You stiffly nodded, almost unnoticeable in case Sunghoon's hawk eyes happened to land on you again.

Despite the conversation dying down, the pair stood at the dock for a few more minutes before the prince turned and took the lead into the gardens.

You thought that he was going to show her the beautiful zen part of it at the back where he often spent time. Anxiously you watched as he bent down and whispered something in her ear. He then came over to you again.

'' Let's go. ''

You didn't dare ask where. He glanced at the guard too, so he followed closely behind. Despite your lack of questions however, you quickly got a sense of where you were going when he turned down the hallway that was rarely used.

He pried the rusty door open and walked first down the stone stairs, which echoed every step off the walls. You and the guard shared a look of horror. Before Sunghoon would get impatient, you hurried down after him.

But when he turned he ignored you, instead fixing his attention on the guard. A single jail cell in the royal family's dungeons stood open.

You felt your stomach turn upon seeing the mossy skull at the corner of it and the unwelcoming wet, cold cobble floor. It didn't even have a bed.

'' Get in, '' he jerked his head to the jail cell.

'' And me? '' your voice broke.

'' Oh, you won't be hanged like him, darling. Don't worry. ''

You weren't so sure that was a good thing. He had a glint in his eyes that made you consider squeezing into the jail cell with the guard; maybe even dropping to your knees and begging him to leave you down there.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good, you thought as he locked the jail cell. The guard gave you a sad smile that he looked like he had to force, but he didn't look scared, even when he knew he was dying.

'' I'm sorry, '' you pitifully whispered to him when Sunghoon's hand wrapped around your upper arm as he started dragging you up to the surface again.

'' I know, '' he softly said, his tone melancholy.

You weren't sure if you had imagined it, but you winced and inhaled sharply. The feeling of his nails digging into your skin had overcome you suddenly. Yet Sunghoon looked at you perplexed when you threw him a glare.

At the surface, you could barely register where you were going. The sharp turns made you feel extremely disoriented and almost nauseous. You wondered why he was in such a rush.

In the end, when the world stopped spinning at last, you blinked and noticed that you were in Sunghoon's bedchamber again.

'' Why have you taken me here? ''

He snickered. '' You know I don't want to marry the princess, don't you? ''

You shifted uncomfortably and swallowed down the lump that was beginning to form in your throat.

'' Yes, sir. ''

'' Well, '' he took a step toward you, and reacting automatically, so did you.

You felt the edge of the bed press into the back of your thighs. He had purposefully pushed you in that direction. The prince gave you a cruel smirk and then dragged the curtains shut. The feeling of unease only doubled, you were starting to feel sick for real now.

'' Who do you think I want to marry, miss? ''

You grimaced. '' I don't know, your highness. ''

His arrogance faded, replaced with anger at you addressing him like the other workers again. Any time you did that, it was like a slap in the face, reminding him of your difference in ranks; of how you could never be, of how, he could never get what he really wanted.

But not today, and not from today forward.

Sunghoon pushed you down so easily with just two mocking fingers to your chest, so you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

'' You. '' his voice shook, sending shivers down your spine.

He double-checked that the door was closed and then began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

'' Sir? ''

You started anxiously fiddling with your hands. Was there a chance you could escape somehow while he was distracted? You eyed the door and went from looking at it to watching him with his back turned.

No, the odds didn't look good. In the time that it would take for you to run to the door, he would've already turned around. Then you would have to undo the lock and run with a good distance between him and you so he wouldn't catch you.

You sighed deeply. In an instant, he whipped around and came toward you again. '' Sorry to keep you waiting, princess. ''

Princess? What game was he playing now?

You frowned and pushed yourself further back on the bed by your forearms. Only a few seconds later, he loomed over you again, like a magnet attached to you.

Recognizing the look in his eyes, you already knew what was coming. There was a small voice in your head that told you not to fight it, it would hurt even more if you did. But there was also another voice, an irreparable sadness, because you had always feared this, and now it was happening.

You couldn't help but blame yourself. You knew how sensitive and brutal he could be, you should've done anything in your power to not upset him so it wouldn't have come to this. Sometimes you wondered if he had done this to the young female workers that came before you. No one had answered when you asked, yet, how could you not fear the worst when they left his company in tears?

You laid down and didn't move, just letting him slip your clothes off while you tried to think of something else. His hands were cold, like a corpse, it felt fitting somehow.

When his fingers grazed your underwear you sucked in air through your teeth.

'' Do you have to do this? I don't want to. ''

He already had an answer prepared, a perfect and tempting answer, most likely prepared beforehand, or perhaps reused from another time.

'' Don't you want to live a better life? A life in luxury? In happiness?'' he sat up and straddled you for a moment, out of breath due to excitement. '' Think of your family, what my riches could do to them. ''

' Do to them. ' That was the problem, he always did things to people, never for them. You smiled bitterly.

Tears prickled your eyes and this time the lump in your throat felt too big to swallow. You tried not to, but as soon as he mentioned your family you pictured them in your mind. Your sick mother, gasping for breath, your younger siblings in whose eyes you could sometimes detect hatred.

Hatred because mother wasn't getting better. They knew that you were responsible for her, and no matter what you did, your pay wasn't enough to make her better, so they blamed you for it.

You sniffled and turned your head away from him. He turned you back to him immediately.

'' Don't you want that, my love? ''

'' How would you do that? ''

He snickered. Had you fallen for his trap so easily?

'' There are a lot of options. I can kill my parents and become king, and then no one can tell me who I can or cannot marry. ''

Your mouth fell open. He had said it so casually, so callously.

'' Or I can threaten them, beg them to change their mind or, make you my concubine. ''

His lips lifted into a small smile. The little lighting that managed to slip in through the drawn curtains, lit up his crazed eyes that stuck out in the dark, it terrified you. Were you really sure what you were getting yourself into?

The prince moved your panties down all the way, making you let out a gasp and try to hide yourself. He wouldn't let you do that; pinching you painfully as a warning. Next, he hurried to take his own underwear off and then pinned one of your wrists down with his hand, while using his other to stroke your hair out of your face lovingly.

He dipped down and kissed you passionately and hard, knocking the air and protests out of your lungs. With your eyes being closed, he took the opportunity and parted your legs, entering you so harshly and unpreparedly that you wailed loudly.

He started moving his hips rhythmically and the pain shot up throughout your whole body. Stubbornly he pressed his lips against yours, constantly wanting to be attached to you, only stopping occasionally so you could breathe.

Your shaky whimpers were like music to his ears, and the salty tears that ran down your cheeks and were licked by him were like his own personal drug.

'' Whatever I choose, '' he panted, speaking for the first time.

His voice sent shivers down your spine again, but this time, it was fear that started to mix with pleasure. Your moan was muffled by his hungry lips.

He growled back in your ear, '' You are mine, mine only, ''

[cry4mina]

Park Maintenance

(Jealous!Jihyo x reader)

Word Count: 6.8k Smut/A secret second thing/Smut Summary: Jihyo decides that she wants to leave you feral all day, it backfires. TW: THIS IS ABOUT FUCKING! Aggressive top jihyo, public sex, degrading, teasing, intentionally making someone jealous, there is theme park sex happening. Momo and Nayeon are present, more Momo than Nayeon. A/N: Happy 3 Months of Cry4Mina! I truly never thought it would be this much fun and I'm so grateful to all those who follow me and show support for me and my writing! <3 I guess the smut didn't really take me that long at all. Thank you to the human who wishes to remain anonymous for helping me name the fic and letting me rant about it. And also @myouicieloz for constantly keeping me sane while I write LMAOOOOO As always, DMs and Asks are open for feedback and requests! :)<3 love u mean it. drink water.

Strong arms wrap themselves around you, wiggling a little closer to your body with a few heavy restful breaths. Eyelashes graze across your neck, a few lazy kisses placed along your jaw and a soft “good morning, baby” lightly draws you out of your dreams. 

You stretch, shaking off some of the stiffness of drowsiness before turning to your side, nuzzling into Jihyo further, putting your head against her chest, arms mirroring hers in the way of draping around her. 

“Still sleepy, my love?” her digits gently slide up the back of your neck, twirling your hair softly while placing a few languid pecks down your cheeks.

“Mhmm..” followed by a small sigh into her skin as you relax into her.

“We’ve got big plans today, remember? We are going to the amusement park with Nayeon and Momo, but…” her fingers trail down your bare back, lips brushing across yours.

“I’d love to start the day with those cute sleepy moans you make.” Her hand grips you tightly, locking you in place against her. 

Jihyo’s other hand finds its way between your legs. Ghosting her middle finger up and down your slit, her touch gets just a little more pressure with every pass of your clit. Sluggishly trying to match her pace for a moment before she stops moving her fingers all together.  

Eyes still half lidded from slumber, you arch your back and press your chest into hers like it’s muscle memory. She giggles into your mouth, teasing you more with each feeble lunge of your hips. 

Jihyo smirks, rolling you onto your back and sweeps one of her legs over you to straddle one of your thighs, fixing herself so she can grind down on you without removing her lips from yours. 

 A small whine slips from your throat and she slides her tongue into your mouth, taking the opportunity as it presents itself. She slides her pussy across your thigh, inciting a primal reaction from you. 

What started slow and sweet, rapidly gets hot and heavy. Your hands are navigating around her body, desperately trying to get her to finish what she started. 

Whining tandemly, the song of want emerges from the two of you tangled in each other, she breaks the kiss. Noses caressing each other while she studies the desperation seeping through your skin. 

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.” whispered into your mouth. The tone is seductive and irresistible. 

Feeling her slick drip down your thigh, Jihyo was in a mood today and you were happy to take full advantage of that.  

The question burns in her eyes and you give her the silent permission she asks for. Breath shuddering as she lowers her mouth to your chest, leaving a tightly woven line of opened mouth kisses with a few soft bites sprinkled in between. 

She makes her way down your stomach and to your hips, biting your hip bones before trailing her tongue down to your inner thigh. 

“I want you- shit, please” almost voiceless in anticipation of what patterns her tongue is going to draw.

“You already have me, darling. Just tell me how you want me.” Another push of encouragement, she just wanted to hear you say what your body was craving from her. 

Jihyo places her elbows down on the sheets between your legs, holding her chin with one of her hands and returning to tease your slit once again, lazily gliding her finger up and down, patiently waiting for you.

“Fuuuuck- Hyo, please! I need to feel your tongue on me!” rocking your hips forward to get closer to her. 

“You looks so pretty when you’re desperate like this but…” She’s stone-faced…that can only mean one thing. 

“I don’t think that was good enough, honey. Maybe you should try again?” her eyebrow raises, patiently waiting for a reply. It wasn’t exactly rare to see her so…dominant, but it always kind of sprung itself on you, not that you were complaining. 

“Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeee just fuck me, baby” wanting her was an understatement, you were absolutely spiraling down a cyclone of pure need. 

“Who?” gently slapping your clit one, two, three times and you jolt under every smack. 

“Sorry…-M-mommy fu- fuck, please!” whimpered between the splattering of your wetness

“Good girl.” a devious grin graces her face before she gets to work. 

Aggressively swiping her tongue up your pussy and gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks just like you liked. The slurping sounds she made on you only makes you want it more. 

Jihyo is holding you down by the hips, persistently licking your clit before she slides 2 fingers inside you, not giving you any time to adjust. 

Without any shame about the ache sitting in your cunt, you thrust your hips up into her mouth and back down onto her fingers. She slows her licks down, fingers digging deep into you, building and building the knot that was going to burst at any moment. 

“Mommy…right fucking there, Please don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!”  The thread about to break, you are about to come undone beneath her when you both hear a vibration coming from the nightstand. Jihyo’s getting a call from Momo.

“Please keep going, I’m so close… feels so good unghh…Mommy, pleaseeeee!” still one hundred percent in this, not giving a single shit about that phone call. 

A light bulb goes off in her head, you can see the sparkle in her eye as she keeps her fingers moving. She starts to suck on your clit harshly, pushing you even closer to the edge. . 

“Oh fuck, right fucking there- I’m gonna cum!” 

Jihyo completely removes herself from you, stands up and walks over to her phone, dragging her wet fingers up your torso as you writhe on the bed, completely infuriated that she would just stop. 

“WHY would you do that?! Baby, I was about to c-” 

“Hey Momo! …Yes, we are almost ready. Y/n just has to shower and then we will be on our way to come get you both!”

If looks could kill, Jihyo would be dead. You stand up, legs shaking from the tension built up that is now trapped in you and running through your limbs like an endless circuit. 

Storming off to the bathroom, you fling the door open in frustration. The smack of the doorknob on the wall startles your girlfriend who is still on the phone. 

“I'll text you when we are on the way, okay?…alright, I’ll see you soon…okay, bye Momo!” you can hear the grin that’s plastered on her face when she hangs up the phone. Giggling to herself, She’s so proud of herself for ruining your orgasm, she can’t even contain it. 

Meanwhile, your palms on the counter, looking up at yourself in the mirror to see you completely disheveled, shaking, and dawning a thin sheen of sweat laid onto your skin. Agony wreaks havoc inside you, unable to focus on much but the feeling of emptiness between your legs. 

Jihyo walks into view, leaning her shoulder and head against the door frame with that cheeky smile on her face, arms crossed to push her tits up, teasing you just that much more. 

“Baby, don’t be upset” sauntering over with a pout. 

She hugs you from behind, pressing her chest into your back and kissing your shoulder before resting her chin on it. Fingertips tracing down your sides, and over your thigh, grazing your heat with the lightest of touches. 

Bending over the quartz surface, you back up into her. Not allowing an inch of space between the two of you, wiggling your ass on her. 

“Please…I can’t be like this all day, baby. Don’t you want to taste me again?” A whiney attempt at trying to bait her into letting you cum.

“I promise that I won’t let you fall asleep tonight without cumming for me, okay?” lips brushing down your spine paired with a few tender pecks, finger still toying with your clit, and the fire pooling low in your stomach sits painfully heavy. Panting in response to the sensations. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy when you’re like this” passionately murmured between the kisses and little love bites.  

“I love seeing how much you want me…” dipping her finger between your lips, gathering some of your essence on her fingers.

“Look how needy you are for me, baby” pressing her middle finger against her thumb before pulling them apart, revealing how drenched you were with a thick string of slick. 

Panting as you watch her and not breaking eye contact, she licks you off her fingers. Shuddering when she grabs your chin harshly, pressing her forehead against yours, and sliding her hand down your neck. Pecking your lips enough so you get a taste of yourself before winking at you and then stepping into the shower and turning it on. 

Frozen in pure lust, jaw on the floor, you just stand and take in the fact that you were going to have to go about your day like this AND she was intentionally making it worse…

“Oh, fuck you!” hissed out into the bathroom. 

A cackle echos off the tiles in the shower along with the water hitting the floor and draining. Peeking her head around the shower curtain to see you standing there half way dissociated, she smirks again thinking it’s just her leaving you orgasmless that’s making you this way. 

“You coming, darling? I made sure it was cold just to shock the horny out of you” ushering you into the shower, disregarding the state you were in. 

“Not until later, apparently!” frustration lingers in the space. You are already trying to create a plan on how you’d get revenge on her for this.  

—

The car ride was quiet, staying silent even when Jihyo would talk to you. Still pissed off and too wound up to even pretend like you weren’t second away from touching yourself in the passenger seat. Carelessly cross your legs and squeeze them together to get some kind of relief.

“No, baby!” Jihyo takes one of her hands off the wheel and swats your thighs to tell you to uncross them.

“None of that now, I want all of that for later, hm? Plus you haven’t said a word to me so why should I reward you?” The cocky smirk makes you want smack it off her face but your mind wanders to riding her mouth instead.  

Sure, this was a fun game to play, but edging the entire day after a ruined orgasm and cruel intentional teasing wasn’t something you wanted to do, at least today. 

“I hate you.” Arms crossed across your chest as you look out the passenger window daydreaming about satiating the painful ache inside of you.

“Honey, you know that's not true.” watching her in the reflection, scoffing at her as she starts pouting again. 

Unable to see her reach over, she grabs your hand, lacing her fingers with yours and kissing the top of your hand to try to soften you a little bit. You weren’t going to budge, tugging your hand out of hers, making sure she saw the annoyed look on your face before crossing your arms again. 

“You are so mad at me!” chuckling hard enough to startle you. 

“Baby, if you can be good for me today…” car stopping right in front of Nayeon and Momo’s shared apartment. 

Jihyo puts her car into park and turns to face you. It’s hard not to look into her big brown eyes, they were your weakness. She uses that to her advantage, another cute pout dawns her face. 

“Y/n…” whined out and she grabbed your hand again, resting her chin on your palm so you hold her face, an attempt to get you to break and crack a smile. It almost works.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want when we get home, okay baby? Just be a good girl for me today and I’ll-” 

Jihyo cut off by the sound of the back seat opening, Momo and Nayeon climb in and greet the two of you, prompting Jihyo to rotate and get ready to drive again. Nayeon offers a sweet happy “Hiiii!” and Momo seems to be dreading the day ahead. 

The ride to the park carries on as you’d expect, soft music plays through while the three of them chat about the park you were currently headed to and the rides they wanted to go on. Not really being a theme park person, you just sat and tried to plot how you were going to get revenge on Jihyo for this morning's antics. 

“What do you mean you don’t like rollercoasters?!” Jihyo���s voice carries loudly through the smaller space, pulling you out of the daydream you were having. 

“I just don’t like them…I only agreed because Nayeon said that she would take me to that new expensive restaurant tomorrow if I agreed to go today…” Momo groaned, definitely not happy to be in this situation. 

“Don’t worry, Momo” speaking up for the first time since they’ve gotten in the car. Jihyo was surprised when you chimed in, especially after being silent aside from the few words you have before they got into the car.

“I'll stay with you while these two run a muck, I’m not really in a roller coaster mood today, but let's do the other rides with them” 

“I thought this was something you wanted to do? I wanted to go on some roller coasters with you today.” side eyeing you from the driver seat, she seems a little pissed off when you realize the possibility here.

“I’ve already been on one today, thanks.” tension now apparent to the others present. 

“But you’ve got Nayeon to go on roller coasters with, baby! I can keep Momo company while you wait in the lines.” your grin is a little too wide for Jihyo’s liking and it very much seemed like you had an ulterior motive. 

Before you and Jihyo started dating, you mentioned to her one time about how you thought Momo was attractive and she never let you forget it. Always seemingly a little more defensive when you were around her. Jealous when Momo made you laugh or if you got too close to her. 

You didn’t really know each other too well but you knew that Jihyo would be watching you when you were close to her. That is exactly what you wanted. 

Momo and Nayeon can sense something is up but they can’t see the furrowing of her brows, and the way she is biting the inside of her cheeks to know for certain. She reaches over and grabs your hand, seemingly a little anxious that maybe she made you a little too mad this morning. Maybe she teased you a little too much.  

Squeezing her hand for a little for some reassurance, still not looking at her. You absolutely were still upset about that morning but it was all part of the game…the one she didn’t realize that she was still playing. Plan set in motion, you were going to get exactly what you wanted from her…and hopefully, sooner than anticipated. 

–

Walking into the park, you take the path to the right and start riding the rides in order. The roller coasters were usually towards the back of the park, so most of the ones up front were a yes for everyone. The lines weren’t too long and you were enjoying the distraction from your hopeless desire for Jihyo, when they were present.

Jihyo was extremely affectionate with you when the opportunity presented itself. Maybe she did actually feel bad for how this morning went… Holding you from behind, barely letting go of your hand, and pressing her lips against your shoulders and cheeks anytime she had the opening to. 

She wouldn’t let you leave her side for more than 5 minutes before searching for you, the clinginess is cute…you are almost sorry for what you were about to do. 

“Wasn't this that rollercoaster you were talking about last night, baby? You and Nayeon should go on it!” pushing her to the line with Nayeon. 

“Yes! Let’s go!” Nayeon takes off, leaving Momo behind with you and Jihyo who is furrowing her brows at you again. She looks too cute when she’s frustrated.

Momo and you look at each other, having not spent a lot of time alone together, she’s not really sure where to start a conversation with you. 

“Uhm…do you want to go get a snack?” remembering that Momo was partial to foods and maybe you could find some common ground. 

“Oh, Absolutely!” heading to the food cart near the ride that they were on so you weren’t out of sight…you wanted to make sure she watched what was about to happen. 

Grabbing a churro and a large pretzel, you and momo found a bench to sit on. You talked about a few different things and found that you actually did have some common ground. Enjoying a lot of the same flavors of food broke the ice between the two of you. 

You asked about her and what her schedules were like, understanding a little more than most about how time consuming they could be because of your girlfriend who was looking over and scowling every few minutes. Unable to stifle the laugh when you see it, Momo looks at you in confusion. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Jihyo and I…we had a moment this morning before we came and picked you and Nayeon up. She’s been so clingy because she thinks I’m mad at her…and she keeps looking over here and making this face like she’s annoyed, I think she’s getting a little jealous because I’ve been cold with her a little today.” giggles lacing the explanation.

“Wait, why would she be jealous? I’m not going to hit on you…wait, not that you aren’t worthy of me hitting on you, but you’re obviously with Jihyo…not that I’m trying to hit on you or anything…not saying that I wouldn’t but it would be rude of me…to do that” stammering through the sentence and flustering herself, she turns bright red, unable to shield her embarrassment. 

“Relax, relax” you assure her.

“Listen, I’m actually trying to make her a little jealous…Would you be interested in helping me stoke the fire? You won’t have to do anything crazy.” asking for consent before carrying on with the plan you hatched. 

“...I don’t know, I mean she is my friend. What did you have in mind?” hesitant to agree, though she does have a small smile on her face. 

“Wait, I have to know…what did she do that made you mad?” now wanting the context of the situation. 

“Well, uhm, I don’t mind telling you but it’s definitely TMI.”  a warning before the tale.

“I live with Nayeon, there is no such thing as TMI. Especially because of the sounds that her and Jeongyeon make when she comes to stay the night…trust me, I’ll be okay. Spill!” chuckled back to you.

“Okay, so you know this morning when you called?” 

Momo nods her head. 

“Well we were in the middle of something and I was about to…you know…and she stopped and answered the phone…and never came back to finish what she started. But she sure did come back to make sure I stayed in that state and mindset” blinking a few times for emphasis. 

“Oh, she’s evil for that. Also, so sorry! I would never intentionally cock block you.” containing her laughter as best she could, she wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. I would be so mad if someone left me like that.” agreeing to your plan. 

Momo was very stunning and that was easy to admit. Her muscular arms were enough to cause a scene, beautiful face, charming voice and she cooks? She was quite the catch. Jihyo being aware of the way you view Momo made it almost too perfect.

Your hand travels up to her exposed bicep and rests there. Momo looks over at Jihyo, who is gawking at the two of you and typing furiously on her phone without even looking down. 

The table vibrates. 

Someone got a text message. 

Momo looks at you, waiting for you to reach for your phone to see if it was exactly what you both knew it was. 

“I want to see what happens if I just ignore it.” poking Jihyo even harder as you start tracing the outline of Momo’s shoulders and giving her the “fuck me” eyes. 

“Do you think she’s still looking?” Momo was afraid to look where her members were waiting. 

Phone pinging rapidly against the table, a slew of text messages barrage your phone. Making sure to roll your eyes just to add insult to injury before picking up your phone and seeing what your girlfriend had sent you. 

Baby<3: why are you that close to her?

Baby<3: what are you doing…

Baby<3: y/n…

Baby<3: why the fuck are you touching her like that?

Baby<3: Answer me.

Baby<3: Now. 

“Oh, she is definitely looking and she is definitely pissed.” giggling, putting your hand back on her arm, but her forearm this time. Swinging your head back to where Nayeon and Jihyo were in line, Nayeon is covering her mouth and trying not to laugh and Jihyo’s arms are crossed, staring daggers at the two of you.

“She looks pretty upset…are you sure you want to keep this up?” an apprehensive tone out of Momo as Jihyo and Nayeon step into the ride, getting seated, and fixing the safety equipment so it fits them the way it’s supposed to. 

Jihyo’s eyes never leave you. 

Winking at her and blowing her a kiss right before the ride launches off, you cackle when she’s out of sight. Momo isn’t really sure how to react to you seeing how mad Jihyo was. 

“So you want her angry…as revenge?”

“More jealous, but I’ll take angry too.”

“Won’t this…start a fight or something? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?” questioning your motives. 

“You said there was no TMI right?” ready to spill the tea to her, knowing she would understand after you said it out loud. 

“Right.”

“She gets very…passionate…when she’s jealous…but she knows I would never cheat on her.” letting Momo in further to the game you were playing, the roller coaster still going, slingshotting over your head. 

Looking up at Jihyo as she passes over you, hand still on Momo when it happens and you can see the flash of rage on her face as she and Nayeon pass by. 

“This is literally so she will be…more aggressive…with you?” finally putting the pieces together.

Nodding your head with a devious smile, she can’t help but belly laugh at the plan you put together. 

“I know we are just getting to know each other now but I can see why you’re together. Especially if this is the response you have to what happened between you this morning. It’s like a game and I think we both know how competitive she is.” Nodding in agreement with herself. 

“Let’s just hope it goes the way I think it will. So far, she’s losing!” chuckling with Momo about the shared information. Even if your plan fell through, at least you were sure you had made a better friend out of Momo. 

Jihyo and Nayeon get off the ride, walking back over to you and the tension in Jihyo is palpable. She’s trying to mask it while Nayeon talks to her but when she approaches you, she sits between you and Momo on the bench, slamming her hand down on your thigh and squeezing as a reminder of her title. 

“Let’s head to the next one, the app says it’s only a 20 minute wait!” Nayeon sings loudly before standing and taking off. The three of you stand, Jihyo in silence, and you and Momo carry on the previous conversation you were having about food.

Jihyo grabs your hand vigorously, trying to get your attention. Even with the harsh display of affection, you made sure to stay present in the conversation with Momo, much to Jihyo’s dismay. 

Jihyo scoffs at you, throwing your hand that wasn’t holding hers down and walking, faster than both of you. 

Another few minutes and you were at the next ride, Jihyo and Nayeon get in line, you and Momo take a seat in view and continue on with your plan. Still talking about random topics, your hands tugging on the sleeves of the tank top she was wearing, and Jihyo burning holes into your skin and sending more angry text messages. 

Too bad your phone was on “Do not disturb”

“She’s really pissed, Y/n…maybe we should stop…” Momo is looking up at Jihyo, whose hands are now balled into fists, visibly clenched so tight that she probably shouldn’t even be going on this roller coaster. Nayeon is trying to get her attention, snapping her fingers in front of Jihyo’s face but it does nothing. 

“Maybe I’ll lay off a little. She does look a little more rage filled than expected…”  worried that you might have forced Jihyo past the point of return. 

The ride being quick and easy, Jihyo and Nayeon only being gone for a little over 25 minutes, you suggest something everyone would be up for. 

“There is that haunted house dark ride that’s kind of cheesy, we could do that one!” you reach for Jihyo’s hand as a peace offering, she’s quick to pull away and start walking towards the ride mentioned. 

Momo and you look at each other, Momo has a tight lipped smile, concerned at the scene that was silently unfolding around you. Nayeon has some cotton candy and is so focused on eating it that she doesn’t even realize what’s playing out before everyone.

Running to catch up to your girlfriend, you grab her hand before she can pull away. 

“Hey…hey” pulling her to a stop. She’s so mad she won’t even make eye contact with you, face holding a look of frustration that you’ve only seen in very heated situations that usually have nothing to do with you.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, her hands coming up to your waist like they usually did, showing you that she was, in fact, present for what you were about to say. 

“I was only trying to make you jealous…I just wanted you to be upset with me and take it out on me tonight is all…I’ll stop being a brat...Okay?” almost pleading with her to see that it was all a part of the game. . 

“I know what you wanted…But you don’t need to fucking hang all over Momo and throw a tantrum because you didn’t cum this morning.” tone heavy, almost spiteful.  

There’s a quiver between your legs, this is exactly what you wanted but this was not the time to tell her that.  

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop, okay? Just please- let’s enjoy the rest of the day. You deserve to have fun and not have to worry about something so silly. I love you. No one else.” 

Leaning in to hug her, she doesn’t pull away from you. Jihyo just lets you hold her, reciprocating the movement but the tension was still there. Hoping to ease the stress, you kiss her lips tenderly. 

She smiles at you devotedly, squeezes your hand a little and guides you into the line of the ride. 

Jihyo has this air about her now, standing behind you with her hand never leaving the small of your back. She’s almost defensive posture the entire wait for the ride, though it’s not an aggressive stance, but the vibe of it is “this is mine.” 

“Alright, two people in a buggy, please!” the worker at the front of the line shouts over the crowds of people. 

Momo and Nayeon get seated in the one in front of you, the line of hooded seats moves up and stops. Climbing in from the left side and shuffling a step to the end, Jihyo gets in after you. She’s oddly stoic, inexpressive about everything. Usually she was so excited for this ride.  

Placing a hand on Jihyo’s forearm, you see her eyes follow your movements, carefully watching you. Taking your hand down into hers, lifting it over her shoulders, and placing your arm around her. Scooting closer to you, her head resting on your shoulder and linking your fingers together. 

This is peculiar to you. She was just borderline seething, then she was too calm, and now she’s cuddling you? Something’s not right…

The covered spheres you sat in started shifting once more, gradually making their way down the track. The lights dim as you make your way down the tunnel, leisurely launching into the water as the ride begins. 

The score for the ride starts to play through the hidden speakers, you feel a finger tracing the hem of your shorts on your upper thighs, getting closer and closer to where your legs meet every time they make a pass. 

“You know,” snapping you out of the trance the feather light touches put you in.

“I really don’t appreciate the attention you’ve been giving Momo today…” not even bothering to look up at you, just continuing to trail her fingers.

“And I don’t like that you ignored my texts and didn’t stop after seeing them…even if it was just to get my attention” Her fingers walk up to the waistband of your shorts and pause for only a moment.

“That being said,” unbuttoning your shorts before you can protest.

“Jihyo, we are in public! What are you doing?!” through clenched teeth, trying to push her hand away from where it threatened to touch. 

“I thought this was what you wanted, hm? To be punished? Isn’t this one of your fantasies? Isn’t this why you wanted me jealous in the first place? ” seductively into your ear, before she starts kissing and biting your neck. 

Muffling a groan that erupted as soon as her teeth sunk into your skin, you turned your head to kiss her but she grabbed your face roughly. Fingers on one cheek, thumb on the other, and palm on your chin, she forces your head forward and holds it in place. 

“Oh, no, no, baby. You don’t get to kiss me right now. You need to focus on keeping your mouth shut.” Condescendingly spat as she begins sliding her hand down your underwear and cupping your pussy. 

“Rock your hips. Now.” pushing her middle finger between your lips, the contact on your clit makes you jolt, and puts you right back at being a needy mess like you were this morning.  

“Go ahead, baby. Grind into my finger. I can feel how desperate you are…be a good slut and do as I say.” Lowly growling to let you know she wasn’t kidding and removing her hand from your face. 

Gasping at her tone and positioning yourself in a way that would feel the best given the situation, you bucked your hips up against her fingers harshly. She’s not even looking at you as you pathetically hump her hand, trying to keep your breathing even, small whines leave your lips and you pick up the pace. 

“Stop. I fucking told you to keep quiet. Now you’ll suffer.” the words echo in your brain, you halt immediately but almost cry at the loss of sensation. 

The ride is still spinning and moving through scenes and stages but with the way you're sitting, no one can tell where her hand is. 

“Jihyo…” a soft plea for her to make some form of movement on you. 

“I’ll do what I please with what is mine.” holding her hand in the same position, it’s completely drenched from your cunt and you just need to feel something. Completely frustrated at the way she was messing with you.

“Fine! Then, if you're going to do what you want then, so will I!” stuttering your hips again, using her hand in a nearly frantic manner. 

Jihyo just laughs at the act, removing her hand from your shorts and pushing you back down into your spot on the bench. She’s watching you closely, the primal need in your eyes, how you couldn’t find a comfortable seat. 

You have finally reached your breaking point. 

“UGH! Stop toying with me! I just need to c- cum! I’ll do anything, baby. Just fuck me already!” 

A villainous laugh reverberates through her chest, a devilish grin, and a hand wraps around your neck, squeezing the sides, and pulling you in for a heated kiss. 

Tongues dance amongst each other, eager in her movements and very much in control. Her hand makes its way to your cunt again and she pushes a single finger inside of you, it’s enough to incite a gasp from your lips. 

Unable to control yourself, you start thrusting your hips again. She pulls her finger out of you, instantly. 

“I didn’t tell you to fucking move.” taking her hand off your throat, about to remove her other hand from your shorts but you grab her forearm, grinding against her hand again.

“Please, baby…I need you. I fucking need you!” getting so close to her face that you can feel her breath on your skin.

She’s trying to keep calm but the fire behind her eyes was telling you she was anything but. 

Was she actually in control here? 

Only one way to know for sure. 

“Mommy…please, I need you inside me. Fucking, please!” A sense of urgency in your voice and the way you grasp at her shoulders has her about to pounce when all of a sudden, the ride comes to an unexpected stop, both of you now frozen, worried you’d been seen. 

“Hello! We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please keep your arms and legs inside of the attraction vehicles and we will have the ride up and running in no time!” crackles over the intercom. 

Faces inches apart, Jihyo’s jaw tensing as she looks out to see that the buggy you were in was facing a wall, no one could see into it. A lucky coincidence. 

Making eye contact with her, you remove her hand from your shorts. The confusion on her face shines through the darkness. You hook your thumbs in your shorts and slide them off completely. 

Jihyo’s eyes widened in shock, not expecting you to remove half your clothes on an amusement park ride.The look turns to hunger in a half second and you recognize the shift in her. She was about to devour you. 

“That’s how bad you want it, huh? Willing to get half naked  in public, just to feel me?” Lifting your legs, she rotates your hips towards her, pulling your calves hostilely so you lay down in the seat that was roomy for 2 people. 

She pushes your thighs against your chest and stares down at your drenched cunt.

Licking the padding of 3 of her fingers, she slaps your pussy with an audible smack, not worried about how sensitive you were in the slightest. 

“Think you can flirt with Momo all fucking day, and then I’m just going to fuck you?” Venomously hissed through the sounds of people chattering around you. They were waiting for the ride to start again, you were hoping it would be a while. 

“What is it about her, hm?” Another smack. 

“Do you think she could make you this wet?” This smack harder than all the other ones, but you knew she could do better. 

“Who do you think made me this wet in the first place?” with a tenseness that matched the state of your yearning. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” She slams her full palm right on your cunt, you jolt and let out a silent cry as your entire body starts to tingle from the antagonistic slaps of Jihyo. 

“Can you cum like this? Should you even cum at all?” splattering your soaked cunt’s fluids all over her own legs and hand. 

Without warning, she slams two fingers into you. It takes everything you have to not let out a sound. Gripping anything you could, you tried to say quiet, the hardest task assigned because all you wanted to do was cry. 

“Mommy! Slow down, oh fuck, I’m gon- ungh -na cum!”  

“I don’t fucking care. Be a good little whore and shut the fuck up.” lowering her head, teasing you with the tip of her tongue. 

Relentlessly fucking into you, it takes all the control you were quickly losing to keep your moans in, not that the other sounds emanating from you were any quieter.

Feeling yourself making a mess, you decide to take a little control from her. Running your fingers through her hair, gripping her locks and mercilessly rocking onto her tongue at a steady speed.   

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- Hyo, I’m gonna fucking cum!” 

She shoves another finger into your entrance unexpectedly, causing you to cry out- pulsing around her fingers and finally gaining the release you've been chasing all day. Thighs tighten around her head, holding her in place while you ride your orgasm out but her fingers don’t stop thrusting. 

“Baby, what -mmmhhhh fuck, oh my fucking god!” 

“The whimpering whining whore wanted to cum so badly, right? So fucking cum.” Slapping your clit over and over again. You can’t help but get loud for her, velvet laced grunts and adrenaline filled moans flee from your lungs in a race to fill the air. 

“Shhh! Keep it down or I’ll stop and leave you like this again!” stiffly whispered to you when she got up onto her knees to lean over you. 

“Wouldn’t that be so sad? Let me help you.” Shoving her fingers covered in your own slick into your mouth to keep you quiet and placing the palm of the other right on your clit, fingers curling up into you so hard that you can’t even govern your own body. 

Vision starts to fade, the sensations are almost too much for you to bear. Muscles tensing throughout you as you dissolve into your own pleasure. Explosions and shockwaves ripple through the fibers of your being, leaving trails of electricity across your skin. 

Jerking and contorting under her, you can’t make much sound with her fingers halfway down your throat but the taste of your own cum from her finger adds to your state of bliss. You’re sure to suck every bit of yourself off her before she lazily pulls them from your mouth.

She’s got a smirk on her face like she just won a war when she watches you do it, unable to contain the victory smile she was prepared with. 

You are completely fucked out, leaking onto the seat, huffing and just trying to catch your breath. Putting your hand on her cheek before she makes her descent.  

“Was that what you wanted?” Jihyo questions, cleaning you with her tongue. Twitching out of sensitivity under her touch, completely swollen and unsure if you’ll even be able to sit properly for the rest of the day.  

All you can do is nod your head, too weak to even think about speaking. She helps you put your shorts back on and sits you up right before letting you lean into her until you regain some of your energy. 

The ride starts moving again, people start cheering as you make your way through the rest of the tunnel, not even remembering what attraction you were on in the first place. She’s pointing out the things she thinks would spark your interest indicating that she was no longer frustrated with you, at least to the same extent as before. 

Momo and Nayeon get off the ride first, waiting for the two of you at the exit when your buggy pulls up. Jihyo steps over you to get out first so she can help you stand, grateful for this because of how unsteady your legs were. 

Her hand around your waist as you walk out into the sun, happily feeling the warmth of the day. Jihyo points out a table with benches attached, walking everyone over to have a seat and discuss further plans. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Momo asks, noticing your energy change. 

“Yes. Just a little tired.” winking at her. 

“…wait…is that what I heard?…you didn’t…” 

Jihyo butts in, suggesting to head over to an ice cream shop around the corner and everyone agrees. Momo and Nayeon are distracted with each other when you lean in and kiss Jihyo on the cheek. 

“Thank you, baby” 

“Don’t thank me just yet, I still have plans for you once we get home.”

[hollyhomburg]

Hold your breath (Count To Seven)

(Sneak Peek) (JHS x Reader, background Ot7 x Reader, Omegaverse, omega scarcity, Forced Caretaking)

୨୧ ‧₊ Summary: When a performance keeps pack alpha Hoseok from tending to his sick omega, he struggles to contain his rage (and looks back on all the reasons he has to control his anger).

୨୧ ‧₊ Word Count: 12.7k

୨୧ ‧₊ Tags: Omega scarcity, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sic fic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, eventual Brat! m/c, Implied chronic health issues, themes of trauma, Hoseok has PTSD from enlistment, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, brief smut, Brief allusions to omega obedience training, Dom! Hoseok, Sub! m/c + Sub! Jk, dick stepping, pain play, punishment, no aftercare depicted but trust me it was there, referenced Dom Jimin + spanking, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊ Note: This was inspired after i got /dreadfully/ ill after seeing HOTS in march. i've been writing it for a good long while i guess! i'm open to adding more to the story if i'm inspired but as of right now it will be 5 parts. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think!

"Do you know why you're sorry Jungkook?"

You're sat across Hoseok's lap for it, sniffling slightly. Soothed by the rhythmic brush of his hand down his back, your cold nose pressed against his throat. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform before this. Jungkook is on his knees between Hoseok's parted thighs. Inches from you and kept at a distance by sheer obedience. Hoseok admires Jungkook's restraint. Not every alpha could resist nuzzling into an omega's thighs, especially one so close.

Hoseok knows his weaknesses. Jungkook is also a good alpha. Hoseok's most obedient one. But even then he's not even looking at Hobi when as he kneels.

Jungkook looks at you and blinks back tears. Hoseok wants to lick at the alpha's pretty canines, wants to press your faces together and make you kiss. Make it messy just for him. He redoubles his hold on you. Hand curling over the back of your neck, Holding you tighter. You lap at his scent gland, trying to soothe yourself nearly suckling at the skin of his throat.

"For offending our omega and...for putting her in danger?"

Jungkook's hands slid down Hoseok's calf muscles, but Hoseok just tips his feet wider. Giving Jungkook more room to get close.

The ball of your foot pressed against Jungkook's shoulder, undeterred, the younger alpha only tries to nose up your leg. Hoseok nudges between his legs with his boot and Jungkook makes a noise- somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"Look at me. Not at her." Hoseok keeps him still, and yet- there's only seconds before Jungkook's attention is diverted from the pack alpha's face to yours.

"And how did you do that? How did you put her in danger? Tell alpha."

"For Fighting? For hitting him?"

Hoseok is quick to reassure him with a hand on his chin, rubbing across Jungkook's cheek. "No no no, you did that perfectly. Alpha is so proud of you for defending our omega like that, try again."

"Because" Jungkook is having a hard time stringing his words together with Hoseok's boot pressed to certain places. But that's the point. Hoseok owns all of him like this, the sole of his rubber boot pressed against his knot, gently pressing it snug between Jungkook's body and the unyielding weight of his dominance. The other alpha pants openly. Hoseok can tell that it hurts. Can tell that Jungkook likes it to by the way his mouth opens in a soundless groan.

"Because I did it infront of her?"

"Yes. And why was that bad?"

"Because stress isn't good for omega's- They're too fragile for it."

"That's right. Good boy. My smart boy. Pull your pants down for alpha and show me your knot." Jungkook pushes into Hoseok's hand like a puppy, letting out a shaky relieved breath at the words. You squirm a little, stilling when you feel Hoseok's hands go firm on your waist. Jungkook rushes to comply, cock popping free, hitting his toned stomach with a light plop.

He waits obedient. not tending to it, it's so hard and big it looks like it chest. You squirm. Looking at him over your shoulder and then at Hoseok.

"M' not fragile." Hoseok pulls back to peck your nose, humming, willing to play along. He turns you around effortlessly, man handling you. Jungkook makes a noise as Hobi adjusts you one handed. Sitting sideways in his lap instead of stradling it.

"Of course you're not. My sweet little pup. You’re so so brave, you didn’t even cry for that long and alpha is so so proud."

He adjusts his gaze to Jungkook, who has resorted to clinging to Hoseok's legs again for comfort. Pretending he's not rutting his hips in tentative circles. Eyes glassy and worked up. Teeth half bared in aggression. His eyes are already teary looking up at you.

"It was just...Scary." You say, quiet and soft. And when you reached down to touch Jungkook's hair, Hoseok lets you. Jungkook sags into the touch. He chases your scent gland taking deep grateful lungfuls of the scent there. The ache between his thighs forgotten. Teeth almost pressed to your skin. But he wouldn't dare nip at you, not when you're sat in Hoseok lap.

This time when apologies dribble from his lips, hoseok feels like he means it. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry. I won't do that again in front of her- I didn't mean too-"

Hoseok presses his shoe against Jungkook's cock again, This time there's no fabric guarding the harsh dig of the leather and tread from dimpling Jungkook's skin. The alpha yelps. Thighs shaking with the effort it takes him to stay still. Body going rigid.

When Hoseok takes his shoe off, there's a bit of white wet liquid, staining the dark leather.

"All will be forgiven, Don't you want to show hyung how good you can be? I think you owe our pup a little stress relief Kookie." Hoseok simply shifts you in his lap. Draping one leg over either knee. Fingers dipping between your legs, low. Fingers parting warmth and sweet. Jungkook's blubbering cuts off.

"All you have to do it open your mouth and apologize."

Coming Friday, May 9th at 6pm EST

[moonstruckme]

apple pie - send a character + a prompt off this list and I’ll write a drabble

congrats mae!! love the new theme and all your fics xx could i get sirius black and 10?

Thank you angel <3

¹⁰⁾ a six pack of beer and an apology

cw: alcohol, reader is implicitly introverted and/or shy

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 744 words

Sirius finds you on the roof of his building. It’s a nice roof, not because of the roof itself—that’s pretty disgusting, actually, scattered with beer cans and smelling of piss from parties gone by—but because of the view. The trees and bricks of his neighborhood, giving way after a few blocks to city lights and black sky. 

You’re silhouetted against it all, sitting on the edge of the roof with your feet dangling over the pavement. You have a six pack of beer sitting beside you with one missing. 

“Are you planning to drink all of those by yourself?” Sirius asks as he sits down on your other side, the beers between you. 

You startle a little, and his muscles tense, ready to snatch you away from the edge. Sirius sits there like that all the time, but it makes him twitchy when you do it. When you realize it’s only him, your sigh is half relieved and half exasperated. Maybe there’s a little bit of fondness in there, too. 

“No,” you reply, “but I wanted to have the option.” 

“Sound.” Sirius grabs one for himself, popping the tab with a hiss. 

You keep looking out into the distance while he takes a couple of slow sips. He never knows what exactly you’re doing when you get like this. Sometimes you’ll be quiet for so long he thinks you must be entirely in your own head, but then you’ll say something like “I think that couple on that stoop has just been on their first date. See how nervous they are?” and he’ll realize you’ve been paying attention all along. 

Now, he knows you’re only waiting for him to own up. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, “for luring you here under false pretenses.” 

“You told me it was a small dinner.” 

“There is food down there, if you go looking…” 

“This is a party, Sirius.” 

“You wouldn’t have come if I’d told you it was a party.” 

You take a sip of your beer, looking like you might be trying to hide a smile. “No,” you agree. 

“Then I lied.” He tests his luck, tossing you a grin meant to coax out your own. “I’m not sorry.” 

“I knew it,” you mutter, but there’s no real malice in your voice. Sirius leans over, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

“I wanted to see you.” 

You give him a look. “You could see me any night.” 

“I wanted to see you tonight,” he amends. “I had to get you here somehow.” 

You sigh, leaning into him in turn. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from your party.” You cringe. “Or being rude to your friends.” 

“Don’t be silly, nobody minds. They all love you anyway, and now that I’ve been gone for more than five seconds James will have seized the opportunity to change the music. They’ll all be having a grand time.” 

You smile, turning your face down so your hair almost covers it. But Sirius won’t be robbed of the sight; he hooks your hair on a finger, slotting as much as he can behind your ear. 

Your eyes meet his. “I like your music,” you tell him. 

Sirius beams. “And that’s why I like you, gorgeous. Well,” he hedges, “part of why. There’s also your personality, I suppose.” 

“Stop.” You give him what he supposes is meant to be a stern look, but it’s only heart-wrenchingly cute. 

“And your lovely ass, can’t forget that.” 

You turn your face entirely away from him, but your shoulders shake silently. Now that Sirius has you laughing, he decides to push his luck one more time. 

“Do me a favor?” He asks. You look over, still fighting your smile. “Come back inside. You can sit with Remus—he adores you, and he’ll be happy to have someone he doesn’t need to make small talk with. In an hour I’ll kick everybody out, and it’ll be just us for the rest of the night. Okay?” 

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth, mulling it over. “Yeah,” you say after a minute, “okay. Just give me a minute and I’ll head down.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Sirius leans over, capturing your lips with his. He makes it good and persuasive, but in all honesty he’s probably as wobbly as you are when he pulls away. “And will you do one more thing for me, please?” 

“Um.” You look a bit dazed. “Sure.” 

“Get down off the edge. You’re freaking me out.”

[phoenixortheflame]

Bound: I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di

Typeset, bind, and illustrations by: me, @phoenixortheflame.

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography. An invitation to the Hogwarts class of 1998's 15th reunion isn't welcomed by either of them, but neither could predict how the night, and their reunion, will upend their lives.

I made this bind for a friend who wanted me to surprise her with a Drarry bind of my choice. I'd had I Am Not Who I Became on my list for a while, because I just knew it would lend itself to some really beautiful imagery.

In the fic, Draco teaches Harry to fly fish, and so I instantly had the idea to draw a unique fly for each chapter head (there are 15 total), which I also included on the dust jacket.

I've been wanting to push myself to include more original art in my designs, and this was the perfect opportunity to practice my drawing on something low-stakes. It took me just under a month to draw all the flies, in between binding and writing and watching Severance.

I've been really loving the printable canvas for wrap covers, and I found this piece of public domain art titled "Cleaning Fish" by George Bellows which, in my opinion, fits the theme perfectly. I was going to do gold HTV on the spine, but decided against it since the art is so beautiful.

I think I'm finally getting better at endbands, but I still hate doing them just the same. @sits-bound introduced me to a new technique, which you'll see in my upcoming bind. In the meantime, this is a faux double-core endband, which I achieved using @maleekamolscreates amazing tutorial.

I had to gild the edges, because gold. I used Liquitex Iridescent Bright Gold acrylic ink and I highly suggest doing at least a bit of a sand before you apply to keep it from flaking too much, even if you do have a guillotine.

The endpapers are chiyogami paper, which might be my favourite paper to work with. The colours are so rich, and the patterns are so striking. This one in particular was made for this book.

I kept the typeset simple so as to show off the flies. Though I really like the vertical chapter titles, which I think add a modern touch to an otherwise pretty classic overall aesthetic.

As always, I made a copy of this fic for the author. And one for me, too.

All copies were gifts and no money was exchanged.

If you have any questions and want to learn how to bind fic for yourself, feel free to get in touch!

[wonustars]

Come Thru

" you make me wanna come thru quarter after two just to put it down on you"

✧ pairing: joshua hong x female!reader ✧ wordcount: 1.7k ✧ genre: toxic fwb situation, slight angst, smut (mdni 18+)

✧ reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ♡! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you!

✧ summary: your fwb joshua, comes over despite your half-assed protests. you arrangment is over, but one last time won't hurt, right? ✧ tags: non-idol!au, fwb! joshua, toxic!joshua, afab!reader, few smau texts, joshua is an asshole and reader lets him. ✧ warning/smut tags: DUBCON, coercion, unprotected p in v sex, degradation, slapping, groping, fingering, creampie. ✧ note: i recommend you don't take the dubcon and coercion warning lightly, if this isn't your cup of tea do not read. minors plz do not even try, i am watching. joshua is written to be an asshole in this fic. i also want to preface that i don't view joshua in this way irl, this is purely fiction. don't be like reader irl, this is made up plz. thank u to @junkissed and @okiedokrie for beta-reading ♡. also i had to ai generate an expanded version of this pic for the header, fyi. -> i have been in a joshua brain rot for the past 3 months, so this is the cause for this fic :p. lmk if u like darker themed fics! see u soonest - anna !

A part of you is reluctant to open the door, whilst the other part is begging you to give him one more chance. One more chance to kiss him, to feel him against your skin, to hear him say your name. 

There hasn’t been a time where you’ve denied Joshua’s need, allowing him to use your body in the ways he sees fit. But it’s different now, and that difference is the fact that you and Joshua don’t see eye to eye on the current status of your “relationship”. 

But you let him in anyway, you allow him to feel you completely, even when you know it's wrong. You know it’s wrong to do these things when you’re desperately in love with him and you know he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. The only communication between you two is texts asking the other to come over. To fulfill each other's desires through a quick and hard fuck. 

“Fuck, it's cold,” Joshua mutters, rubbing his arms to create some type of warmth as you open the door, “what took you so long?” 

“Then go home,” you roll your eyes, moving over to let him pass through the door despite the fact you told him to go home. 

“I don't wanna, I've missed you,” Joshua smiles at you, not with affection but just because he’s pleased at the fact that you allowed him to come over. 

“Why are you here, Shua?” you ask him, your arms crossing in front of your chest as you feign annoyance. 

“You know why,” he says, eyes piercing yours as his expression turns serious. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you sigh, but your feet move towards you bedroom anyways while Joshua follows suit. 

Despite your verbal protest, you can’t help but fall into his trap. Blaming it on how handsome he is, how soft his voice gets when hes with you, and especially because he knows how to fuck you right. 

In your past relationships, sex never felt good, it was mostly just you going through the motions. Your partners finishing and leaving you to lie there sticky and displeased. But with Joshua, he doesn’t even begin till he’s made you cum. The gratification he gives you doesn’t start with his cock inside you. It begins with his mouth on your cunt, his fingers inside your wet hole. The chivalry he displays while he fucks you in your bed is unfortunately the only way you are able to witness it. 

Outside of your late nights with him, he doesn’t contact you, or even try to have a conversation with you. And yet you still fell for him. 

You feel his arms snake around your waist as the two of you head to your bedroom. There’s a feeling in your stomach that you can’t pinpoint. A feeling of guilt mixed with a bit of excitement. 

His lips move down your neck and you can’t help but lean back against his chest as he shuts the door. Strong arms pulling your waist in tighter as he leaves small bruises along your skin. 

Your body feels hot. All rational thoughts have left your head the moment he touched you. His hands start to move, groping at your chest, the flimsy material of your sleep wear allowing him to feel you despite the barrier. Your nipples hardening against his fingertips and he moves your head to the side, pulling you into a deep kiss. 

His dominant hand moves down from your chest, across your stomach and into your sleep shorts. 

“Why aren't you wearing underneath?” he mumbles against your lips. 

“It's too hot,” you respond before kissing him again. 

Finding your clit, he rubs circles against your sensitive bud. Rubbing and playing with you until your legs start to shake. The makeout ceases as your too overwhelmed by pleasure, your mouth open yet still against his lips as you moan out his name. 

“Fuck, you’re such a slut for me aren’t you, baby,” He curses, placing a finger inside your dripping cunt. 

He continues to play with you, his finger moving in and out of your tight pussy. Your walls are pulsing as he begins to add a second and then a third. The coil in your stomach starts to tighten as Joshua speeds up his ministrations. 

“I'm close,” you whimper, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on reaching your orgasm. 

“Still so fucking tight,” Joshua whisper in your ear, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, "no matter how many times I put my cock into you."

It all comes to an abrupt stop and you whine at the loss of his touch. His pupils are dilated, eyelids lowered with lust. He doesn’t allow you to whine for him any further, carrying your body towards the bed before dropping you. Your body hits the mattress and it bounces underneath your weight. 

“Fuck me, please,” you beg him, your eyes watching the way he removes his clothes. 

You follow his actions, removing your soiled sleep shorts and thin tank top. Your tits bouncing as you throw your shirt onto the floor, not caring where it lands. The only thing on your mind is Joshua’s cock and the feeling of him being inside you. 

His eyes wash over your frame, his adam’s apple bobbing as he takes your figure in. He thinks your so sexy, with the way you stare at him so needily, your legs already spread for him. He doesn’t care that he’s promised that this would be the last time, he doesn’t care that you want to better your self. To stop this arraignment. He’s addicted to the feeling of your tight pussy, how it milks his cum and leaves him wanting another round. 

Hovering over top of you he aligns his dick with your entrance, rubbing the fat tip of his cock against your wet slit. The sounds coming from his actions are unholy, but to him the feeling is like heaven on earth. 

“You're soaking,” he groans, applying pressure to your clit with the tip of his length. 

Your eyes roll back, your walls pulsating around nothing, all you want is for him to be inside you. But you stop him for a moment, wondering why he hasn’t put on a condom. 

“Do you have a condom?” you place your hand against his chest, pushing him back slightly. 

“No, it's fine, we’ve done it without one before,” he shrugs. 

You sit up a little and roll your eyes at him. Sure you’ve done it without a condom before, but now that this arrangment has lost it’s exclusivity, you don’t trust Joshua’s words. You know that he’s probably seeing other people. 

“Joshua, fuck, are you trying to get me pregnant?” you sigh, and he does the same. 

“But it feels better without it,” he whispers in your ear before pushing you down onto the bed again. 

Before you can even register whats happening, you feel him fully sheath himself inside you. A moan escapes your lips in surprise and also pleasure. You don’t want him to fuck you like this, but the pleasure is too hard to ignore. The feeling of his naked cock inside you causes you to squeeze around him tighter. 

“I told you, it feels better without one,” he mutters, pushing your legs into your chest, folding you in half. His upper body against you, your legs essentially locked in place. 

“Joshua please,” your eyelids droop with pleasure. Your hands moving to grip his biceps as you allow him to fuck you raw. 

Joshua groans from above you, his hips snapping against your cunt, balls slapping against the skin of your ass. You can see the clear outline of his cock poking out from your lower stomach. 

“Your pussy's so good, fuck,” he continues to groan out of pleasure, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust, "taking my cock so well, baby."

He moves slightly to let go of one of your legs as he sits up, flipping your body and arranges you till your ass is in the air, your back arched. As he re-enters you, a salacious moan leaves your lips, savouring the feeling of his balls hitting your clit. 

“No one is going to fuck you like I do, you hear me?” He says, his thrusts becoming more powerful to emphasize his words. 

“I said, do you hear me?” he reiterates himself, and you answer him obediently. 

"Mhm, fuck, feels so good," you whine.

Joshua’s hands come down to slap your ass harshly, leaving large red hand prints against your supple skin. The burn feels goods and your whimper with every slap he gives you. 

“Joshua please, don’t cum inside me,” you beg him, but he just chuckles at your pleas. 

You can feel your self getting closer to your orgasm, your walls tighenting against his cock with every move he makes. 

“Be a good girl for me and just take what I give you,” is all Joshua says, his hands moving over to your clit, rubbing it in circles to get you closer to completion. 

His other hands is pushing your face into the pillow with so much force that you genuinely don’t believe that you are able to move from where you lay. You can feel his member twitch inside you, his thrust beginning to get sloppy. The headboard is banging against the wall as he moves in and out of you.

Then you feel it, his hips still, his length fully inside you, tip right against your cervix before he releases his load. 

“Shua!”

You moan at the way his hot white cum fill your needy cunt, your eyes rolling back as your releases follows right after his. All you can hear is his laboured breathing as he removes himself from you.

Letting go of his hold on you, your body flops agains the mattress. You can hear shuffling behind you and you turn around to see Joshua already putting on his clothes. 

“I’ll text you the next time I want to come over,” Joshua says when he’s fully dressed, pulling you into a deep kiss before leaving. 

You sigh into your pillow, the relization of what just happened hitting you right away. The feeling of his cum dripping out of your now swollen cunt makes you feel sick, but you can’t get over how good he makes you feel. It doens’t matter how many times you tell him that “this is the last time”, Joshua always get what he wants.

✧ note: thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! leave a comment or an ask if u wanna see more of this.

✧ taglist: @christinewithluv @todorokiskitten @peachescreamandcrumble @minwonfairy @oneandonlyluvv @ihrtmingyu @tigerhoshii @sleepzyy @luveveryonewoo @thepoopdokyeomtouched @chan-s-laptop @aksweet7 @leah-rose03 @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @gyuguys @crystal-rhyming @jenoxygen @hoshhhiiiii @babigriin @bouclesdefeu @mingyuecstacy @iluvseokmin @odevote118 @wonvsmile @suga-bitch @chickpea-jimin @lar3ine @bias-recs @hanniebub @iluvmingi @vapidlynn @aaniag @yogurttea @blurr3db3rry @lovejoshua @woozixo @drunk-on-dk @noiceoofed @angelfeverdream @leahhhher @hanniebwii @yuyunhoo @whowantshota @hannniiiiiehae @writingbarnes @chariseiswriting @imhwajaez @tomodachiii @valenhui @3lilredroses @bunnyjjongie @sunniques @lovejoshua (hi user lovejoshua u love joshua so here’s some joshua)

[dancethroughthethunder]

Hiccups, Pens, and Other Ways Bob Might be a Wizard (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Five times your teammate Bob knows and does the exact thing you need and one time you hope to return the favor.

Author’s Note: As is a theme in my fics, I love love love friends to lovers and a 5+1 fic. This one happens to be with the sweetest WSO around, who I'm convinced is a Nana's Boy and an acts of service guy. This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy! Divider credit to @/saradika

1. 

Your morning exercise is going to start any minute and you can’t stop hiccupping. Usually some nice slow sips of water get rid of your hiccups but for some reason that doesn’t seem to be working right now. Eventually you set your water bottle down and groan. 

Hangman and Coyote are laughing hysterically each time you hiccup, as if they’ve never heard someone have them before, and you can tell that Rooster is trying his best not to laugh along with them.

“It’s not that” hic “ funny.” You say, rolling your eyes at your teammates and thankful that Mav hasn’t arrived yet to start the day.

“It really is. You sound like a little mouse. Maybe we’ll change your name to Squeaky.” Hangman can barely get out in between laughs. For some reason, this is what breaks Rooster’s composure and he starts laughing along, muttering something you can’t quite catch about cheese. 

You’re not offended, and you’re not really annoyed with your teammates, you just really want these damn hiccups to go away. You’ve held your breath, tried slowly drinking water, and you just can’t get rid of them. You know that Hangman is right and you sound ridiculous and all you can do is hope that by the time your morning officially starts and you all observe the first flight of the day, you’ll be back to normal. It’s not like they’re your fault, but you’re sure that Mav will give you shit for interrupting and distracting the team if they’re still happening once the day starts. At this point, you’re almost desperate enough to ask one of the guys to try and scare you. Almost.

You hear footsteps down the hall, and pick your water back up, hoping that if Mav’s on his way in, you’ll get lucky and be able to kick your hiccups quickly once and for all.

“What’s your callsign?” Bob calls out as he comes into the room, flight suit on and helmet in hand. Bob and Phoenix are first in the air this morning, and you’re surprised he’s in the briefing room instead of out on the tarmac. 

“What?” hic . 

Bob clearly knows your callsign, you’ve known each other for years, you two go back before the Uranium mission. Besides, even if you only met a few months ago, it’s painted on the side of your plane and in true Top Gun fashion, everyone else calls you it pretty much exclusively. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go up?” You ask.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Humor me?” It’s Bob, so even though you’re confused, you do. You’re not sure that there’s much that Bob could ask of you that you wouldn’t do without much hesitation. 

“It’s” hic “Hawk.” You tell him, knowing that your tone conveys your confusion.

“Oh no, it’s Squeak now.” As per usual, you and Bob both ignore Hangman. You are tempted to flip him off but know that with your luck, that’ll be the moment an admiral strolls by. You keep your hands down and your attention focused on Bob. 

“Good. Full name?” Bob nods earnestly as he asks, and you’re sure you’re looking at him suspiciously, but you go along with it, giving him your first, middle, and last name in between hiccups. 

“Last one – what’s your birthday?” Okay, now you’re sure he has to be up to something but you give him the month and date, turning to look at Rooster who just shrugs.

“With the year?” Once again, you do what Bob asks and repeat your birthday, tacking on the year at the end. “Oh shit gotta run, you’re welcome Hawk!” Bob looks down at his watch and turns around to run, presumably out to the tarmac.  

“What was that?” You turn to ask the rest of the squad when suddenly you realize that somewhere between your full name and now, your hiccups have completely disappeared. 

“RIP Squeak, she squeaked her last squeak.” Fanboy’s comment doesn’t make sense, but everyone is laughing anyway.

You head to the door to watch Bob run out to meet Phoenix on the tarmac, yelling out after him. 

“Bob what the fuck? Are you a wizard?” Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way back to your seat just in time for Maverick to come in and turn on the flight radio to begin the day’s exercises. Mav’s clearly in a mood so you’re extra thankful, even if you’re not sure what drew Bob to the training room in the first place or how his interrogation solved your hiccup problem.

Resolving to ask Nat later, you grab a pen and your notepad and start trying to pay complete attention to Maverick as he walks you through the morning’s plan even though your mind keeps trying to drift towards your favorite WSO.

2. 

“Damn.” You’re trying to finish jotting down some thoughts before your next meeting, but your pen doesn’t seem to be cooperating. “Nat, do you have a spare pen I can borrow?” 

Judging by her grimace, you know what she’s going to say before she says it. 

“Sorry, Hawk. Try one of the guys?” 

You love your teammates, you trust them with your life – literally – but at the end of the day, sometimes they’re useless. This is one of those times. For a group of highly decorated aviators, it’s shocking how often one of you has to cave and buy an entire box of cheap pens to keep around for everyone’s use.

Given how often you and Phoenix have teased the guys for using a last-resort pen (as you’d dubbed them), you really don’t want to have to go grab one. Even if you hadn’t given the guys shit about it, you’re particular about your pens when it comes to your personal work notes. 

Contrary to popular belief, not everything you do at work is officially on the record, required by law. There’s nothing in your meeting notes that would require them to be kept or maintained, by policy, so while they’ll be securely disposed of due to their reference to highly classified information, they’re yours to do with what you’d like. For you, that means writing them with a gorgeous gel pen in your favorite shade of purple.

It’s one thing when you’re submitting something official, on record, then you understand the need for a simple blue or black ink. Truly, you don’t mind all of the rules and regs, you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Navy if you did. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to branch out where you can, and for you an easy way is your note-taking. Your mom has always had the most beautiful handwriting, and is always taking notes, and jotting down thoughts and to-do lists in pens of all colors with stationery scattered around the house. While your handwriting is a far cry from hers, you definitely got her love of stationary and pretty pens. 

You’d once swapped Hangman’s pen for a sparkly pink gel pen after he’d made a bullshit comment about your notes, calling you Naval Aviator Barbie. You’d only agreed to give his original pen back once he apologized to you and Nat, and admitted that your ability to do your job and your pen choice are completely separate. That, and you made him promise to buy you each two drinks the next time you went to the Hard Deck. 

Was the punishment worth the crime? Not at all. You eagerly admitted to Nat later that you were already in a bad mood, and had lashed out even though you knew Hangman was just having fun. Sure he crossed a line now and then, but even you admitted that his pen comment wasn’t one of them. 

To your amusement, he refused to give back the pink pen and occasionally left you notes written in it, or loaning it to the rest of the team when they inevitably turned up without a pen. 

This time, it’s your turn without a pen. Normally you have a spare, but you suddenly realize that you forgot to grab an extra, last time you were in this situation. Looking down at your beautiful purple pen once more, you resign yourself to having to go grab a cheap pen from the box at the side of the room.

Sighing as you stand up to make your way to the box of shame cheap pens, you’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

“Did you say you needed a pen?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, I thought I had one.” You shrug. As much as you love your pretty pens, it really isn’t the end of the world, you’ve already spent a very silly amount of time thinking about it. 

“I have one!” Bob smiles as he reaches into his pocket. 

Bob, like you, appreciates a decent pen, though he’s more likely to stick to a standard blue. Which is why you’re surprised when he pulls an exact duplicate of the pen in your hand out of his pocket.

“Bob, you lifesaver. That’s my favorite pen! Thank you!” 

“I know. It’s no big deal.” He brushes off your thanks and heads back to his chair. 

You’re not sure how you got so lucky as to have Bob have one of your favorite kinds of pens ready for you, but you’re not complaining. In fact, it makes it even sweeter a few minutes later when Fanboy’s pen dies and he makes a show of getting a last-resort pen. As Fanboy grabs his new pen, you tear off the page you’re writing on and slide it over to Bob. 

Bob reads your thank you note (in your pretty purple pen) and smiles, while you try and avoid making eye contact with Nat. She knows you too well to accept ‘it’s polite to say thank you’ as an excuse for your handwritten note, and you definitely don’t want to have that conversation with her at work, in front of everyone. You wouldn’t put it past her to say something, especially since she’s been on you about catching you staring at Bob lately. You know that eventually you’ll cave and talk to her about it, but for now you make a show of focusing on your new pen and preparing for your next meeting.

3.

3:07 A.M.

Maverick’s Angels(Dagger Emoji)

You: Hey guys, ask me what I’m doing

You: Okay what are you doing, Hawk?

You: Thank you for asking! I’m currently sitting outside my building waiting for FD to shut off the alarm at my building for the third time. Third!! Twice now they’ve gotten it off just for it to start again within 30 seconds. I’ve been out here for an hour. 

You: I will both beg and pay whoever is getting coffee tomorrow (today???) to get me a large instead

You: Please

You: I’m like 99% sure it’s Coyote’s week. Javy I’ll love u forever.

You: & if I’m wrong, I’ll love whoever puts my coffee in my hand (sorry Javy. or not. If it is you. Idk anymore).

6:15 A.M.

Bob Floyd: Swap coffee runs with me. I’ll go this morning, you can go next week.

Bob Floyd: Please.

Javy Machado: (salute emoji) 

Sometime after the Uranium mission, after being stood up as a special detachment at North Island, you all fell into the routine of Friday morning coffee. You can’t even remember who started it, but someone suggested that once a week, someone stops by the coffee shop near base to pick up coffee for everyone. It’s close enough to base to not be wildly inconvenient, but the most important thing is that it’s off base. There’s only so much cheap government office coffee you can drink. 

You have a standing order for Friday mornings, and a rotation for who gets it. No one person has to be the one to pay, pick it up, or bring it more than once in two months with your arrangement. As far as anyone knew, it was supposed to be Coyote’s week to grab the coffee, so when you run into the briefing room (later than you normally would but not enough to be considered truly late), you’re surprised to see Bob handing out coffees.

You’re so busy complaining to Phoenix about how tired you are that you didn’t even stop to look down at the coffee being put in your hand before taking a sip of it. It’s a large as opposed to your regular medium order and you’re so thankful you sent that 3AM text in the group chat. As you take a sip, you’re pleasantly surprised by the flavor. 

On the weekend, the sweeter your coffee, the better. You love adding different syrups and flavors, trying whatever specialty latte or coffee the barista recommends. You’re just as happy with a simple medium iced coffee, black with one sugar, and you know that’s significantly easier for the weekly coffee roundup so on Fridays you keep your order simple. Which means you took a sip expecting an iced coffee, black with just a hint of sweetness, and instead you end up recognizing the taste of an iced maple latte, with a little cinnamon stirred in and what you think might also be an extra shot of espresso. 

Rooster comes flying into the room to grab his coffee, and you barely have time to toss Bob an extremely grateful smile and mouth a quick ‘thank you’, seconds before Maverick strolls in, grabbing his own coffee and going to the front of the room to start the day. 

When you woke up at your normal, much later than 3AM, time you had been pretty sure that your sleep-addled self was right, it was Coyote’s week to grab coffee. You’re so thankful you were wrong. Only Bob would have thought to change up your order and grab your number one favorite latte, knowing that you had a rough night (morning?). 

It’s not until later when you’re chatting with Fanboy that you overhear Bob thanking Coyote for swapping coffee weeks with him. You’re sure Fanboy notices the way you pause, mid-sentence while you take in this information, but he does you the favor of not saying anything, steering you back to your conversation while you wonder what, if anything, Bob might have meant with your coffee.

4.

You’re supposed to be heading out the door any minute to go see some local band perform. You should be leaving shortly, just as soon as Bob and Nat come to pick you up. The three of you will be going to meet Hangman, Rooster, Fanboy, and Coyote at the bar. Knowing how punctual Nat and Bob are, you were pretty proud of yourself for managing to be ready on time, until you couldn’t find your phone. As unnatural as it would feel to go out without it, it would be even worse since you were the one to download everyone’s tickets. 

So far you’ve triple checked the pockets of your denim shorts, checked the pockets of the comfy robe you wore getting ready, looked under the cushions of your couch, scoured every counter and dresser top, and you just can’t find it. If only this venue was more old school, you’d be able to print out a copy of your tickets from your laptop but no, they have to use a rotating QR code. 

“Fuck.” You groan, deciding to drop to your knees and check under the couch. You can’t imagine why it would be there, but considering you haven’t found it in any of the places that would have made sense, it’s worth a shot.

“Hi, it’s us.” Natasha calls out as she walks into your apartment. “Door was unlocked.”

“Come in.” You yell back from your spot searching under the couch.

You hear footsteps coming closer as Nat and Bob head into the living room, where they find you on your knees, ass up, searching for your phone. Your search feels even more urgent and even more ridiculous now that your friends have arrived to witness it.

“Damn, nice view.” Without being able to see her, you know Nat’s talking about your ass. You maneuver yourself so that the arm closest to her stops feeling around for your phone and instead snakes out from under the couch to flip her off. Unsurprisingly, Natasha laughs at this and you’re pretty sure you hear a chuckle from Bob.

“Um, Hawk, what’s up?” Bob tentatively asks.

Groaning one more time, annoyed with yourself, you scoot backwards out from under the couch and sit back on your heels, looking up at your friends.

“I can’t find my phone. I know we’re supposed to be on our way but I can’t find the damn thing I’ve checked everywhere. And even worse, I have everyone’s tickets on it.” You tell them, standing up and pointing out where you’ve already looked as Natasha starts retracing your footsteps.

Once you’ve finished your brief recap of where you were when you noticed it was gone, and where you’ve looked, Bob gives you a brief nod and heads into the kitchen. Shrugging, you and Natasha follow as he walks determinedly over towards your fridge where he reaches up, grabbing your phone.

“Oh my god, you found it.” Your jaw drops. “Maybe you really are a wizard.” 

“What the fuck, Hawk? Why would it have been there?” Natasha laughs, snapping a quick picture of Bob, the fridge, and your phone, to use to tease you about later. 

“What could have possessed me to put it up there? Thanks, Bob.” Walking over to grab your phone, you catch your reflection in the microwave. “Ah shit, give me one second, let me go fix my hair then we can go.” 

You dash off to the bathroom to smooth your hair back down from its slight messiness, caused no doubt by your search under the couch. 

“Alright, let’s go. I don’t want to hear shit from Bagman if we’re late.” Nat grabs your purse off its hook, calling out to let you know she has it as she heads outside to start the car. 

“Seriously, you’re a lifesaver Bob. How could you possibly know that’s where I put it?” You ask as you meet him by the door and duck down to tug on your shoes.

Bob shrugs, “I pay attention, and I know you.” 

For a moment, you’re so thrown off by the admission that you nearly stumble. You catch yourself, crouched down, one foot in the air, still trying to put on your shoe, and try to figure out how a person responds to something that kind and that blunt. Before you have a chance to do anything other than finish putting on your shoes, straighten up, and smile at Bob, you hear the car horn outside as Natasha indicates her growing impatience.

Together, you set outside as Bob waits while you lock up. You’re excited for tonight, you love going to concerts and spending time with your friends, and while you walk towards the car, you’re thinking about the possibility that your inevitable twirling around the dance floor with Nat might turn into a dance with Bob as well. 

“Ladies first.” Getting to the car half a step before you, Bob politely opens the front passenger door and gestures for you to take the seat next to Nat. As you climb in, neither you nor Bob say anything about the slight blush on both of your faces, and you hope that Nat’s too focused on pulling out of the driveway to notice. 

“So is this a good time to ask why you didn’t just log into your computer and transfer the tickets to one of us?” Nat asks once you get on the highway.

“It most certainly is not.” You reply, trying not to groan (again) at how flustered you were by your own confusing choice of places to set your phone.

“Whatever, fridge girl.” Nat looks like the cat that got the cream as you groan at your new nickname. You can only hope that you can remind her how much you love her as your best friend and talk her out of using it in front of the guys later. You know Hangman would never let you live it down, and he certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement to drive you nuts. 

“Seriously Bob, how did you know where my phone was?” You turn around to look at the man in the backseat.

“I’ve seen you put it there before, and then also forget where it is.” He admits, with a sweet smile that doesn’t feel mocking, even though you both know how silly it is.

“How have I never noticed that?” You’re asking yourself just as much as you’re asking him.

“Oh, whenever I notice, I move it back down to the counter so it’s easier to spot.” Bob says, in a very matter of fact way, like it isn’t one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard. 

This time, you know that Nat catches the blush on your cheeks and from the look she’s giving you, you just know that you’re going to get pulled aside later to finally talk about your feelings. Depending on how many rounds you can talk Hangman into buying you first, you think you might just let her. Turning back to face the road, you decide that you aren’t just thinking about dancing with Bob, you’re actively hoping for it and looking forward to what the night might entail.

5.

It’s been half an hour since you sat down, and you’re getting the feeling that your date truly isn’t coming. You’d tried to rationalize to yourself that half an hour isn’t the end of the world (maybe traffic was bad) before remembering that you were already five minutes late to get to the restaurant, and it took them another fifteen minutes to seat you. So really, Prince Charming is 50 minutes late.

You groan, remembering Phoenix teasing you about your date in front of the rest of the team this morning, knowing that they’re bound to ask you about it tomorrow. The date was with some friend of a friend so you’re not all that broken up about him personally, it’s just the general feeling of embarrassment that stings. 

Picking your phone up, you text Phoenix that you’re admitting defeat and are trying to figure out whether you should cut your losses and call an uber to head home or stay and at least treat yourself to dinner. Until you see your phone light up and laugh at yourself for not assuming that your best friend would make the decision for you.

7:52 PM

Natty: Give me 15, I’m on my way. I’ll come in on my knees begging your forgiveness for being late. Take all of the attention off you and onto my groveling. 

You: You’re ridiculous. 

You: See you soon. 

You slide your phone away, recognizing that an apology text from your date won’t be coming and order a second glass of wine the next time your waitress walks by. You’re probably not the first person to have been stood up in this restaurant, but if the waitress gives you a look of pity one more time you might just melt into the floor. So you spend the next few minutes making a point to really read the menu, and hope that Nat won’t actually be too embarrassing when she shows up. 

“I’m sorry darlin’, I just completely couldn’t get away sooner.” Looking up, you’re shocked to see Bob standing in front of you, holding flowers, and wearing his uniform. You hear a soft aww from behind you as the waitress comes up to take Bob’s drink order.

Bob hands you the flowers as he sits down, and smiles at you. 

“Well hi there. I can’t say I was expecting you.” You smile at the flowers, and then at Bob.

“I was at Tasha’s and she mentioned what happened. She said she was going to come cause a scene begging for your forgiveness but then thought maybe me coming in late, in uniform, would make up for it as opposed to her groveling at your feet. Ya know, imply work’s why I was late.” Bob gestures to the uniform and blushes as the two of you laugh over the image of Phoenix begging your forgiveness. 

“Well, who can resist a man in uniform? I mean truly, why else do you think I even joined up?” You joke. 

It’s not a joke you’d make to most people, knowing that so many do think that way about women in the military. But you trust Bob. Mama Floyd raised a good one, and you know he’s never once thought of you or Natasha that way, and he frequently listens to you two complain about the guys who do. 

You’re still not entirely sure why it’s Bob coming to your rescue instead of Nat but you’re thankful he’s here saving you from further embarrassment and it’s not like you’re complaining about getting to have dinner with a kind, handsome man in uniform. Even if it’s the same uniform you have in your closet, and even if he’s just a friend. Because that’s all he is, right? Right. At least that’s all that you’ve let yourself admit. Gently shaking your head as if to physically knock those thoughts off to the side, you look back up at Bob.

“If you still want to go home, we can. I just thought that maybe this way you’d still get a nice dinner. I thought maybe it would be better…” Bob trails off, a shy shrug betraying his hesitation.

“Better than doing a solo walk of shame out of here alone, having clearly been stood up? It’s definitely better. Thanks, Bob. As long as you don’t mind being my date for the night.” You wink.

“Oh no, ma’am. Special orders from Lieutenant Trace to ‘do the charming gentleman thing’, and also for us to bring back ice cream.”  That doesn’t surprise you. You’re not sure which one of the three of you has the bigger sweet tooth, and regardless of how the night went you had already been planning to stop at the nearby ice cream shop to bring something back for a post-date debrief with Nat, hoping that maybe Bob would be there too. 

“Then let’s do it.” You slip your hand in Bob’s as the two of you look over the menu, and chat about your day. Eventually the waitress comes back with Bob’s drink and the two of you place your orders, with Bob politely letting you go first. 

When your food arrives, you reluctantly pull your hand out of Bob’s. You’re not entirely sure why Bob hadn’t pulled his hand away, maybe he’s trying to really sell your fake date for the waitress? Regardless, you like the feeling of your hand in his warm one and are more than happy, if a bit confused, to keep it there as long as you can.

“So, possibly-a-wizard Bob, the hiccup trick. How? And how did you even know I needed you?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “well I’d left my glasses cloth in my locker and always prefer having it on me before I go up, just making sure they’re as clean as possible before I’m in the air.” You nod, knowing exactly what he means. The two of you had joked before about wishing glasses had teeny tiny wipers like car dashboards, especially for people like the two of you with a job requiring such an attention to detail.

“I was walking past the training room and heard you hiccupping and Hangman’s loud mouth teasing you, so I figured that wasn’t the first one. As for the cure, no clue why it works. It’s a Nana Floyd special.” He admits. 

“Why am I not surprised, if anyone’s magic, it’s absolutely your nana.” You and the team had a chance to meet her when she came for a visit with Bob’s parents, and you immediately took a liking to the sweet woman. You’ve always been close with your own grandmother, and it certainly helped how much of Bob you could see in his nana. 

“Exactly, so I figured I had just enough time to help you out. I was just hoping it would work and that it wasn’t a Nana-only secret.” He smiles. 

“Fair enough, I’m pretty lucky the Floyd magic works for you too, then.” Trying not to think about how he could work his magic on you, you continue, “and speaking of, how did you have an extra one of my favorite pens ready to go?” You stop to take a bite of your dinner, never looking away from Bob.

“Oh, well I know you and Natasha can be particular about your pens and stuff so I usually have an extra, just in case.” 

Right then, the waitress stops by to ask how your meals are, and you realize that without even noticing, you two are almost halfway done eating. You’ve been so engrossed in your conversations, your actual date could have shown up with an entire brass band and you’d have been none the wiser. 

“Well, that’s incredibly kind. Thank you, Bob.” You smile, continuing your conversation.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” Bob looks at you earnestly before looking down at his plate, focusing his attention on grabbing another forkful of veggies.

The astonishing thing is that you think he might mean it. 

The two of you finish dinner and unsurprisingly, though you try to fight it, Bob insists on paying for the entire meal. 

“Hawk, I’m not letting you pay.” He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly, at your stubborn streak. 

“Bobby, I’m not making you pay for a date you didn’t even plan on taking me on.” 

“Come on, darlin’, don’t make me have to tell Nana that I didn’t pay for dinner on a date. You can’t do that to me.” He says with a smile, holding a hand to his chest as if the idea is physically painful. You smile and shake your head, giving in, and try not to melt too much as he shoots you a playful wink as he sets his credit card down on the table. 

With a wink that rivals Rooster’s, and gentlemanly charm like you’ve seen Hangman pull out once or twice, quiet but charming Bob could do some serious damage to the female population of San Diego. Even if he’s just here to save you, you’re feeling lucky to be the one receiving his attention. 

Bob finishes paying, and you get ready to go, making sure to grab your beautiful bouquet. 

“Now, what kind of date would I be if I didn’t get you that ice cream?” Bob asks as he takes your hand again, leading you out of the restaurant. 

“One that still brought me flowers and bought me dinner, which was especially kind as again, he was rescuing me from being stood up.” You tease.

“Let me put it this way, we both know how badly you want some ice cream, and even if I wouldn’t get it for you anyways, Nat’ll kill us if we don’t bring some back. So if I get to keep being your date for the next few minutes, I’m doing it right and buying you ice cream.” 

For a second, Bob almost looks nervous, like he’s said too much. For your part, you can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to be on a real date with Bob, not just being two good friends out to dinner, one rescuing the other’s pride from serious embarrassment. 

“Alright, ice cream it is. Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand as you wonder how much longer until he pulls away. You’re on your dream date with your dream guy and half of you wants to thank Phoenix and your missing date for their involvement, and half of you wants to curse them for putting this opportunity in front of you, only for you to know that it’s fake, just a friend doing a favor. 

There’s no time to think about that right now, as Bob leads you towards his truck, where he opens the door for you and holds your flowers while you buckle in. Either Bob’s a significantly better actor than you’d ever realized, or maybe, just maybe, this means something to him too. You think you might embarrass yourself too much if you worry about it tonight, so for now you decide to just enjoy the moment, knowing that you’ll tell Nat every detail later once Bob leaves. 

On the short drive to the ice cream parlor, you make up your mind. You’re going to let Bob buy you ice cream, drive you to Nat’s so you can all hang out, and then later once he heads home, you’ll stay and talk to your best friend about everything you’ve been thinking about all of the sweet little things Bob does for you. Then, if you’re brave enough, and if Nat doesn’t tell you that you’re making a catastrophic mistake, you might just plan to talk to Bob about it.

And then, 1. 

Part of you is nervous that you’ve been misreading everything, you know Bob’s a sweetheart to everyone. You’re sure that he would have helped anyone with their hiccups, and you happen to think you have great taste in pens and ink color, it’s not like you have a monopoly on their use or like it’s inherently romantic to have an extra pen for a teammate. Hell, he even keeps some for Nat.

You know he’s observant, that also explains being able to find your phone, right? But on the other hand, you can’t explain it all away as just being friendly. Bob could easily have let Javy grab you a large coffee, and there’s practically a million easier options he could have chosen instead of showing up to save you from your failed date, in uniform, with flowers. He could have let Phoenix come get you as she was planning, he could have joined her in coming to get you, and he could even have just come to pick you up by himself. 

Thinking back to sitting at that restaurant, holding Bob’s hand and looking at that sweet face while you talked, you can’t help but smile. No, there’s no denying it. Showing up dressed and ready to wine and dine you to save you from a bad day and a no-show date isn’t exactly the standard friendly course of action. You’re sure he wouldn’t have acted that way with Nat, as close as they are. Yeah, Bob is a sweetheart, but it has to be more than that. You want it to be more than that. More than that, you’ve talked the situation over nonstop with Nat as she insisted that this wasn’t just in your head.

Which is how you’ve found yourself standing on his doorstep, a bunch of sunflowers in one hand and takeout from your shared favorite burger place in the other. You adjust your sweater one last time and knock on the door. 

“Hi there.” The door opens and you’re quick to greet a very surprised Bob.

“Hi, darlin’. Nice flowers.” Ever since your ‘date’, Bob has let a ‘darlin’ slip in here and there. It takes more strength than you’d care to admit not to melt every time he says it. You like it just as much as when he calls you by your real name, as opposed to your callsign. Though you have to admit that ‘Hawk’ sounds pretty good coming from his lips, too.

“I’m glad you think so, they’re for you.” You hand Bob the flowers as you step past him into his house. 

“How do you know my favorite flower?” He looks at you curiously.

You could tell him that you’ve seen the fresh bunches he usually has around whenever you all come over for movie night. Or you could tell him that you remember meeting his Nana and hearing her call him Sunflower as she wrapped him up in a tight hug. You could even tell him that it was a lucky guess. But you remember a similar conversation a few weeks ago, so instead you smirk and take a teeny tiny step towards telling him how you feel.

“I pay attention, and I know you.” 

It takes a second for Bob to place the words, and somehow his smile gets even wider. He takes the flowers from you, and it takes all of your self control not to reach out and put your hand on his cheek, right where he’s blushing. 

You follow his lead, heading into his kitchen as he grabs a vase and starts trimming the flowers to go in it. 

“So, Bob. Last week, you rescued me with a great dinner. For tonight, I brought takeout.” You lift the bag in your hand. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner later this week, if you’d like?”

“Sure, that sounds nice. With the team?” Bob looks up and sees you furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh, if that’s what you want!” You try to quickly recover from your disappointment. For what is probably half of a second but feels like an eternity, you and Bob just look at each other. Then, it hits you that you’ve had all of this time to process how you think Bob feels but when it comes to your feelings, you just sprung it on him. Well, no, that’s not quite right. You haven’t actually told him yet. Knowing Bob like you do, he’s probably taking the absolute safest route to avoid making things awkward in case you don’t mean anything other than friendship.

“Oh God”, you groan, “Can I try this again?” Bob nods, but he’s clearly not entirely sure what’s going on. 

“Okay, Bob, in addition to the flowers, I brought takeout for dinner tonight, as you can see. I was wondering if later this week, you’d like to go out for dinner. With me. As a date. This time, planned and on purpose. Together.” You don’t know if you’ve ever stumbled through a sentence like that, but you also have never asked out a guy like Bob, as wonderful and kind and jaw-droppingly handsome, so it makes sense you’re off your game.

“Oh!” Bob’s eyes get wide, and he looks down at the bouquet in his hands, smiling sweetly. “That sounds great, darlin’. I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect, it’s a date.” You lean over and give Bob a quick kiss on the cheek, before going to grab plates and heading to the living room with the food. 

You hear the fridge open and turn around to ask, “Bob would you mind grabbing me a lemonade?” right as he comes into the room, already carrying a can of your favorite pink lemonade for you.

“Okay, see, it’s this! How do you do that, are you sure you’re not a wizard?” You tease.

“I’m sure,” he laughs, “I just know you.” And how lucky you are to be known by Bob. 

“I hope you know, it’s not just the gifts and the things you do for me that make me interested in you. I mean that’s part of it, sure. How could a girl resist a handsome man who always has her favorite drink ready and knows how to fix her when she’s running late and frazzled. You pay attention and you see me, but I see you too, Bobby.”

Bob looks down and smiles, a sweet blush coloring his cheeks. Bob does more than enough to show you he cares so you push on with your plan to make sure it’s clear how you feel, despite the slight worry that you’re coming on too strong. 

“I know that you love cooking, but you’d rather cook for all of us than just yourself on Sundays because if it’s just you then it feels like a chore to get ready for the week. I know that you’ll never admit that to your family who raised you on Sunday dinners, and that you probably called them this morning like you do every weekend to say hi. I know that when the first summer day rolls around, you’re going to drive with the windows down and country music on the radio.” 

You start putting your food onto your plates, giving you somewhere to direct your attention other than just intensely staring at Bob, as you continue. 

“It’s the way you always look for me in a crowd and save me a seat at the hard deck, and you listen to my stupid jokes, and remember the things I like. And I know you’re a good friend to all of us, but you do even more for me. You’re a good man, an incredibly kind man, Robert Floyd. The best I know.” Remembering what he said earlier, you add, “And I’m lucky to be known by you.”

This time it’s your turn to blush, worried that you’ve said too much. You were only planning to ask him on a date, not unload all of your feelings onto him. 

“Hawk,” he starts, before wordlessly taking the plate you’re working on out of your hands and setting it down on the coffee table. 

Bob gently places a hand on your cheek, and you’re already turning to look at him as he looks at you. 

“Darlin,” he tries again. You’re anxiously waiting to hear what comes next. How could you have never noticed the way that he looks at you before now? If you could have one wish for the rest of your life, it would be for Bob to keep looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. 

Then he says your name, your real name, softly, before slightly nodding to himself and moving even closer to you. The next thing you know, Bob’s lips are on yours and both of his hands are gently cupping your face, holding you as if you’re the most important thing in the world. 

Up until now, you thought it was a romance-novel cliche to sigh into a kiss. Now you hear yourself sigh and know better. You can’t imagine a world where you don’t know what it’s like to kiss him. You can't believe this is the first time you're getting to kiss Bob. Sweet, handsome Bob who pulls away, and gives you one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“How could I not feel the same way? I’m the lucky one. Nat said you might be interested and I was worried I was overdoing it –” And this time, you lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips before he can even finish his sentence. Then suddenly you’re giggling into the kiss, thinking about the ways that you’ve hoped he was interested, and the ways he was desperately trying to broadcast his feelings while allowing you the space to comfortably reject him. 

“Do you think that maybe this time, Nana Floyd would be okay if I paid, since I asked you on the date? I mean, really, it’s feminism when you think about it.” You joke once you pull away.

“You know Nana’s all for girl power, but on the first real date? I don’t think so, darlin’.” 

“Hmm, that last date felt pretty real to me.” You admit.

“I know what you mean. Maybe our first real, planned date, is what I mean. One where I’m on time, and instead of grabbing the first bouquet I see to try not to be any later, I bring your favorite flowers, and if I’m lucky I get to kiss you goodnight.”

“There’s no chance I’ll let you leave without a kiss. But I don’t have a favorite flower.” You tell him, but Bob just laughs.

“I know you, and I also know that you think that’s true.” Bob winks again, and this time it’s even more incredible because you know he means it.

“We’ll see, Bobby.” 

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before moving to pick up your plates. 

“Now what do you say we have dinner and watch a movie, darlin’. Then maybe you’ll let me be lucky enough for a preview of Saturday with another kiss.”

“I think I can do that.” You finish putting the food on your plates, splitting the regular fries and curly fries exactly in half between you.

Looking at the mischievous, confident look on Bob’s face, you say a quick thank you to the universe for letting you be the only woman in San Diego who gets to experience his charms like that. Falling for Bob is easy, especially when he goes out of his way to show his constant affection and attention, hiccup cures, shared dinners, and all.

[vintagestarlight]

Off Limits

Pairing: Dain Aetos x Riorson sister!reader

Summary: What happens when Xaden finds out about Dain having a relationship with you and makes it clear his sister is off limits?

Word Count: 3.5k(I went a bit overboard on this one!)

Warnings: angst(?), suggestive themes, cursing, fluff

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who showed love on my first Fourth Wing fic I love you all sm! This was requested by an anon and honestly I had way too much fun writing this one so I hope you like it anon! 🤭Hopefully my writing is a bit better on this fic!

Not proofread so please be aware of typos! Hopefully you all enjoy and don't forget my requests are open. I'm hoping to post the first part to my oc story soon and also work on a few requests :)

***as always likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated***

The sparring gym was empty with the other cadets filtering out and heading in different directions in a sea of black. You and Dain remained behind to get one of those moments where it was just the two of you. Not only were you Xaden Riorson's sister, which came with its own challenges, but Dain was your wingleader and fraternization between a Cadet and their chain of command was strictly prohibited by the Codex, so you and Dain were forced to keep your relationship a secret until he graduated. The only people who knew were your squad. Dain stood before you, rolling his shoulders and looking infuriatingly at ease. Your eyes wander over his bare chest and down his sculpted abs. Gods how could he look so perfect covered in sweat? You thought to yourself. "You sure you're up for this Aetos? You're looking a little tired," you remarked, taking your place in front of him. Dain's lips quirked upward in a smirk. "Oh I'm sure," He took a lazy step forward onto the mat. "But I appreciate the concern," He added. "Whatever I just don't want you using being exhausted as an excuse when I win," You retorted playfully while shifting into your stance. "Show me what you've got then Cadet," he chuckled softly.

You struck first, fast and decisive just like he taught you, aiming for his ribs. Dain deflected it effortlessly without so much as shifting his stance. "That was predictable," he said, the two of you now circling each other. "I'm just warming up," You grinned. You feinted left and saw Dain's body shift to block the incoming blow, and you shifted your feet to the right to aim a well placed kick on his thigh earning you a grunt that sent shivers down your spine and made your body flush. Is now really the time to think about your wingleader in such a fashion? Your dragon sent down your bond, half-teasing half-disapproving. You rolled your eyes but said nothing ignoring that she was right. "Is that all you've got?" Dain teased, recovering quickly. You huffed, going in for a palm strike and Dain grabbed your wrist before your strike could land. He twisted your arm gently and spun you so your back was pressed against his front. "Nice try but you're allowing me too much time to counter," he whispered, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. Your pulse raced and not because of the fight. Dain let go of your arm and stepped back. "Try again," He said, playfulness dancing in his golden brown eyes. "Are you enjoying yourself?" You asked. Dain smirked. "Immensely," He threw a half-hearted swing with his fist, leaving his middle exposed. You ducked under his arm and instead extended your leg, attempting to sweep his legs from under him. He dodged easily and hooked your balancing leg from under, causing you to hit the mat. "If you wanted me on my back Aetos you know all you had to do was ask," you flirted, springing to your feet.

You saw his eyes darken at your suggestion and you used his brief hesitation to lunge forward, aiming a strike at his side. His arm shot out, once again grabbing your arm but you used the opportunity to drive your knee into his midsection. He quickly caught your knee before it could do any damage to his ribs, and his eyes sparked with approval. "Better," He said. He lets go of you and steps backward. “Let's see what happens when I stop taking it easy on you,” He smirked. The next exchange was faster, sharper. He let you once again press the attack but any strike you attempted to land on him he countered with precision. And worst of all-he seemed to be enjoying it.

“Your stance is slipping,” he noted, as he effortlessly parried your next strike.

“Your mouth is slipping,” You shot back, unable to come up with anything better.

“Oh, you like my mouth just fine from what I remember last night,” He flirted.

Your next punch came faster than expected, grazing his jaw slightly. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with something you weren’t sure was irritation and you smirked. “That was decent but I wouldn't get too confident just yet," He said. Then he was moving fast, too fast. He pressed the attack now, his movements controlled and methodical leaving you with barely any time to dodge or block his strikes. His palm grazed your rib as you just barely twisted away, your breath coming faster. “Getting tired yet?” Dain asked, his voice way too casual. “You wish,” You taunted. He smirked and you took advantage of the distraction to aim a well-placed palm on his chest, driving him backward. You only just barely managed to shove him backward, his dense muscles working for him(in more ways than one) but you caught a flicker of surprise in his gaze. You carried it through with a high kick to knock him down but he caught your ankle, swept your leg, and you fell backward. He caught you before you could hit the mat too hard and trapped your body beneath his. He still had hold of one of your legs, holding it gently by the back of your calf and he pinned your wrists above your head with his other hand. You struggled against his grip but it wasn’t much use; he was bigger, heavier, and worse-entirely too pleased with himself as he smirked like he won something far better than a sparring match. “Not bad,” he murmured with his face just inches above yours. “But not quite good enough.” “You’re enjoying this way too much,” You remarked, your pulse quickening as he leaned in slightly.

His gaze flickered briefly to your lips and his smirk softened. “Maybe.” Before you could fire back with another retort, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss wasn't rushed; Dain never rushed he was too controlled for that. The kiss was slow, certain, and firm as though he had already decided this outcome like he had the fight. His lips moved against yours with slow precision, savoring the moment. He wrapped your leg around his waist and ground his hips into you slightly, eliciting a moan from you. He pulled back, his lips ghosting over yours and staring at you with those brown eyes that caused you to melt. “Now that,” he murmured. “was a win.” You exhaled, a smile forming at the corner of your lips as you stared up at him. “Cocky bastard,” you teased. “Care for a rematch?” He smirked, sitting back on his heels. Before you could answer a voice rang out across the gym.

“Am I interrupting?" The voice was low, lethal, and way too familiar and it caused you to freeze underneath Dain. You look over to see your brother standing off to the side with Garrick next to him. "Xaden!" You squeaked. "Get the fuck off my sister Aetos," Xaden growled. His shadows surged forward, dark tendrils ripping Dain off and away from you and Dain slammed onto his back. Simultaneously, his shadows wrapped themselves around your wrists and pulled you backward away from Dain until you stopped at Garrick's side. "Xaden what the fuck!?" You exclaimed, your initial shock being replaced with indignation. You look up at Garrick who only offered a somewhat apologetic smile. Your brother didn't even glance at you, his entire focus on Dain who was picking himself back up with a clenched jaw. "You overstepped Riorson," Dain snapped. "I don't give a damn if she's your sister you don't get to pull that shadow shit with me," He said, his voice rigid. "You know Aetos I'm a bit surprised you had the audacity to go that far, " Xaden took another step forward, his shadows swirling around his feet. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to shove your tongue down my sister's throat," Xaden's voice dropped. Her face flushed with embarrassment and you felt Garrick shift beside you, a little uncomfortable. You watch as Xaden stares daggers at Dain and suddenly you weren't sure you recognized your own brother. The man standing in front of you was no longer the older brother who always looked out for you. Instead he was every inch the soldier that Basgiath had forged him into. For the first time in your life, you understood why so many people were afraid of him.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Dain's voice was tight but unwavering. "You heard me," Xaden replied. "And in case you forgot who she was I'd like to remind you who's been protecting her this whole time," Xaden's eyes smoldered with rage but Dain didn't flinch. "She's not your possession Xaden." "No she's not but I am her brother and that makes it my responsibility to make sure she doesn't end up in a situation she's going to regret when she gets hurt," Xaden said, his eyes narrowing. You stood frozen. Xaden said when not if. Does he really think Dain would ever hurt you? You looked up at the hulking man who stood beside you. "Do you think Dain is something I'd regret?" You asked Garrick. Garrick was one of your friends, going back to when you were kids and he always let you tag along with him and your brother, and you knew he would be honest with you. Garrick glanced down at you, hesitating for a moment unsure if he wanted to get involved. "No, I don't think so. But he and Xaden barely tolerate each other so seeing him with you was probably more of a shock than anything," he replied sincerely. "You deserve to be with someone who treats you right and loves you. And Dain seems to love you especially if he's willing to go toe to toe with Xaden to defend you," You smiled and he returned the gesture before Xaden and Dain's voices pulled you back. "I don't need your permission to do anything with her. I certainly don't need you to remind me how to treat her right. And I'm not going to be scared of you and back down like you want. Ever. Not when it comes to her," Dain growled and your heart seemed to stop. Xaden's shadowy presence seemed to grow even more oppressive as he stalked closer to Dain, their faces inches apart. "You're walking a fine line, Aetos. You think you can just play these games with her? Pretend like you're her hero while you're distracting her from everything else around her?"

Dain's nostrils flared and for a split second it seems like they may actually clash with each other. As much as you loved Dain, you weren't entirely sure he was a match for your brother. You opened your mouth to intervene when Professor Devera walked into the gym. "Professor Tavis? Professor Riorson? You're needed to attend a meeting with the other professors," She stated, looking at the situation before her before turning to leave a moment later. Professors? you thought. That must be why Xaden is back but why didn't he mention anything? Xaden's shadows seemed to disappear and his icy gaze glared at Dain. "This isn't the last time we'll be talking about this," He promised, his voice low. Xaden turned away making his way to the gym doors while Garrick gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before following his friend. You glanced at Dain who's eyes met yours and suddenly, that indignation came back full force. You spun on your heel and stalked after the two men. "Xaden!" You shouted, garnering brief glances from people nearby. Xaden and Garrick stopped abruptly and you came to a stop in front of them, your arms crossed. "Who the fuck do you think you are!" You asked your older brother and Garrick's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?" Your brother asked, peering down at you. "Why are you acting like a total asshole?" You asked angrily and you could hear Garrick chuckle. "Me?" Xaden asks with disbelief. "This is the first time I see you in months and you berate my boyfriend?" You snapped but you cringed inside. Boyfriend seemed a little...immature but you didn't know what else to say. "Considering what I saw him doing, you're lucky I didn't kill him right there," Xaden replied coolly and you gaped at him. "You could've chosen anyone y/n and you choose Aetos?" He asked, incredulously. "I don't need your approval for anyone I want to date," You spit back. "He isn't good for you," Xaden insisted. "You don't get to make that decision for me Xaden!" You raised your voice. "If you want to act like a big brother and look out for me and care for me, by all means please do so," You continued. "But I'm not a little kid anymore and you have to stop treating me that way. You don't get to decide who I can and cannot spend my time with," You finished. Xaden stared at you while you chastised him.

"So I'm supposed to just be fine with you picking probably the worst guy at Basgiath?" He asked you. "Yes!" You snapped. Your sharp words did nothing to dull the pain from Xaden's words. Could he really think your taste in men, or rather your decision making in general, was so bad? Despite how you were yelling at him, you desperately wanted his approval. "And he's not the worst," You continued. Xaden opened his mouth but you cut him. "You need to get over this Xaden because I'm not planning on breaking it off with Dain anytime soon," Once you were finished, you spun on your heel and stalked off. "We're in the middle of a conversation! Where are you going?" He called after you, ignoring the fact he was supposed to be in a meeting. "To fuck my boyfriend!" You shouted over your shoulder. You weren't actually going to fuck him, but you heard Garrick's laugh as you rounded the corner and the look you imagined on Xaden's face made the retort worth it.

Later that night you sat with the rest of your squad in the dining hall with Ridoc and Sawyer fighting over who was stronger-which led to an arm wrestle-Aaric looking somewhere in between bored and amused, Rhiannon shaking her head in amusement at the two boys' antics, and Sloane laughing as the arm wrestle came to a conclusion. You weren't even sure who won. You had tried to eat, you were certainly hungry enough, but the thought of Xaden and Dain's interaction gnawed heavily on your mind. Xaden had intercepted Dain in the corridor as he made his way to the dining hall with his wing and you were instantly uneasy. Xaden wouldn't actually kill Dain. Right? Violet noticed you were uncharacteristically silent. "You okay?" She asked, nudging your shoulder with hers. "She's just upset because big brother Riorson found out she's been getting it on with her wingleader," Ridoc said smugly. You fixed him with a glare and Rhiannon swatted the back of his head causing Ridoc to laugh out loud. "Seriously?" Violet grimaced at the brown haired man sitting across from her before returning her attention onto you. "He's not technically wrong," You muttered. "Dain and I were practicing sparring after everyone left. It escalated and I sort of ended up....underneath him," You finished. Ridoc and Sawyer tried to keep from laughing. "Xaden walked in as Dain was kissing me,"

You took a drink of your water to try and cool the wave of heat that caused your cheeks to flush. Violet's eyes went wide for a moment. "How did he take that?" She asked, everyone listening in. "About as well as you'd expect," You replied. "I'm surprised either one of them walked away alive." You went on. "Don't forget the shouting match you had with him in the courtyard," Ridoc threw out there. You scowled at him and Violet raised her eyebrows in curiosity to which you told her about your confrontation with Xaden. "So I told him I was going to fuck my boyfriend," You finished, your cheeks on fire. Ridoc and Sawyer collapsed with laughter, Rhiannon and Sloane smiled at you proudly, and Aaric had a slight expression of amusement on his face. "Wow," Violet said. "Yeah it wasn't my best moment," You admitted. "I saw Xaden corner Dain in the hallway and disappear somewhere before we all came to the dining hall," You told them. Violet sensed you were uneasy about your brother's conversation with Dain. "I'm sure everything will be just fine. Xaden and Dain may not always be on the best of terms all the time," Violet started. "But Xaden loves you and we all know how well Dain treats you. I wouldn't let it bother you so much," She finished, giving you a small hug.

You happened to glance up to see Dain appear in the entrance to the dining hall and he motioned with his head to follow him. "I'll be right back," You told your squad. "Good luck," Violet said. You made your way across the hall and rounded the corner of the dining hall entrance to see Dain standing a few feet away. "Well you're alive," You joked, but your tone was laced with a little relief. "How did it actually go?" You asked, worry in your eyes. "Xaden had some strong words and honestly I wasn't sure if I was gonna make it until Tavis vouched for me," He joked and you gave him a pointed stare. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "So...is he....okay with this?" You asked, the nervousness clawing at you. "Xaden is Xaden. I don't think he's going to ever be too thrilled I'm with his sister but for now...yeah he seems okay with it," Dain nodded, giving you a smile. You felt your shoulders drop in relief. "We’d better head back before people start gossiping,” he said, the familiar twinkle back in his eyes and you nodded. His hand fell to the small of your back but you heard your name being called. You turn around and see your brother staring at you. "I need to talk to you," He said, his expression unreadable. Dain gave your waist a squeeze and left you and Xaden to talk.

You walked over to where your brother stood and crossed your arms, still a little angry with him. "Thanks for not killing him," you said sarcastically. "I thought about it," Xaden muttered. "Listen, I appreciate you wanting to protect me and I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for you. You're my brother; I'm always going to need you, it's just in a different way now. I'm not a little girl any more you don't have to keep protecting me. Dain...he isn't the enemy Xaden. He wouldn't ever hurt me and I trust him," you told him. Xaden ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. The words stung he couldn't lie; but not in the way he had expected. There was pride in your voice, a sense of confidence and determination he hadn't anticipated.

"I know and I get you're an adult now....but it's hard for me to see my sister with someone who I could never come to terms with," he admitted. That was putting it lightly. You thought. "If he's good enough for me Xaden, why can't he be good enough for you?" You asked him. He could see in your eyes you just wanted him to say he approved of this relationship, of your decisions, and your words hit him like a punch to the gut. "I'm your brother Y/n no one is ever going to be good enough for you," it came out as a joke but deep down you knew he meant it. "Xaden you can't control everything. You need to let me make my own decisions and learn my own lessons," you said, a little frustrated but with a new understanding of where Xaden was coming from. "I can't be your little sister forever," you added quietly. His chest tightened and for a brief moment he saw a younger version of you in his mind.

When he looked at you, he no longer saw the small kid who always needed her brother to be there. You were no longer the kid who looked at him as though he hung the moon. You had grown up. "You're right. You're an adult now, capable of making her own decisions. But I'll always be here for you; that's what older brothers are for," he gave you a smile and you felt yourself grin. "And can you please try to not threaten Dain as much from now on?" You asked him. "He's not as bad as you think." Xaden raised an eyebrow at you. "We'll see." The two of you walked back towards the dining hall and you smiled to yourself. It was a long road ahead before Xaden would, if ever, be comfortable with you and Dain being together but at the moment he tolerated it. And that was enough for now.