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readingunderstars · 3 months

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Blue Dream - Two

Sypnosis: After a tense conversation with Julian, Ria encounters Ellie at Sasha’s party.

Warnings: 18+!! recreational drug use, underage drinking, cheating, sexual content

Word Count: 5.6k

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Ria awoke the following morning to the sound of her phone ringing. Groaning, she dragged her arms around the bed, trying to locate the source of the worst possible sound on Earth. Uncovering it from the sheets, Ria squinted her eyes and found Julian’s face on the screen. It was a photo from freshman year of high school, never updated. Ria answered the call.

“Hello?” she said, a croak coming out instead of her voice.

“Whoa,” Julian laughed. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning,” she said, laying her head down on the pillow. She checked the time. 7:03 AM. Ria had to remind herself that Julian was three hours ahead, and tried not to be mad that he woke her up so early on a Saturday. “How are you?”

“Great,” he said, but Ria could tell he was itching to talk about something. Indeed, he went on. “Hey, I’m at this travel agency booking a cruise for my uncle’s birthday. We wanted to know if you want to come, too.”

“Uh . . . ” Ria’s eyes fought to stay open. “When would it be?”

“Late June to early July, we haven’t settled—“

“Oh.” Ria sat up at once and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why? Is your passport expiring or something? I’m sure we could—“

“No, my passport is fine.” You’ve put it off long enough. There won’t be a perfect time. Just say it.

“Are you getting a summer job?”

“I mean—“ Say it. “Well,” she started, but it wasn’t coming out.

“What is it?” he said.

Ria took a deep breath. “I got into the Monterey program. I won’t be going home for summer break.”

A moment passed before Julian spoke again. “What?”

“The school offered me a position in their marine biology summer program in—“

“Are you serious?”

She didn’t know what to think of his reactions. Ria couldn’t tell if he was happy or upset, so she simply said, “Yes.”

Julian remained silent.

Ria’s heart beat hard against her chest. “Can you say something?”

“I just want to get this clear,” he said slowly. “You’re choosing to spend a year away. On purpose. Correct?”

“Julian, I’ve told you about this program before—“

“I know you fucking told me, Ria. I just didn’t think you’d get in.”

Standing up from her bed, Ria stayed in silent bewilderment.

“And the saddest part is you probably don’t care whether you see me or not. So fine, run off with all the other fucking nerds—“

“That’s enough, Julian,” Ria said, crossing her arms despite him not being able to see. “This has nothing to do with us. I know you know I could never forgive myself if I let an opportunity like this simply pass me by.”

“Whatever. I have to go,” he said as his end of the call became noisy with the voices of his family. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“No—“

Julian ended the call.

“Fuck!” Ria cursed, and threw her phone against the bed. It bounced off, landing on the floor with a deafening crack. Closing her eyes, Ria scrambled to the floor, praying to every god that would listen. But the screen was shattered, only lighting up in fragments.

Already prepared for the day to end, Ria fell on her mattress, face against her pillow. She took a deep breath in, and—with all her might—screamed into the pillow.

Dragging herself out of the dorm, Ria found solace in a study room deep within the bowels of the library stacks. She channeled all her anger into something useful. It was tedious work, especially the lab reports, but it was a welcome distraction. Julian would certainly not be the reason she fell behind on her schoolwork.

It took until midday to finish all her work for the next few days. She packed up her things and headed back to the dorm, finding the phone still lying on the ground. Ria picked it up, weighing her options.

Valerie College was in the middle of nowhere, and there was no good public transportation during weekends. The only person she knew with a car was AJ, but even if he wanted to drive her, they had both agreed to help with the party.

Until tomorrow it is.

Opening her closet, Ria dug out the duffel that had been in her possession since middle school and set it on the bed. She packed everything she’d need for the party and to stay overnight at the suite.

She passed by Hungry Mind, the cafe on campus, and picked up a cake pop for Sasha. Pressing her ID against the scanner, Ria pushed the door to Cedar Hall open. Music seeped through the door to the suite, and Ria found Sasha and all her suite mates gathered on the living room floor.

A tub of fried chicken sat on the coffee table, and they all sat on the ground around it. They looked up as Ria entered the suite, greeting her warmly.

There was Rosa Molina, of course, an expert knitter with Salvadorian parentage. Her Barbie doll of a roommate was Madi Jones. She was from Southern California, just like Sasha. Isla Kenney had come straight from Manchester to play for the school’s D1 women’s volleyball team, becoming their captain in under two years. Isla was dating Esther, who was not currently present but happened to be the childhood best friend of Quinn Xie, Isla’s roommate. They’d been born and raised just a few miles away in San Francisco.

“I was wondering if you really did get kidnapped,” Sasha said, standing to greet Ria, a party hat upon her head.

“Oh, sorry,” Ria said, “I got them, I got stoned, and then my phone broke this morning. But never mind that.” Extending her arm to show Sasha the cake pop, she said, “Happy birthday, darling! You can finally drink!”

“Legally,” Sasha said behind her hand, laughing. “And I’m sorry to hear about your phone. Come sit.”

Waving to the rest of them, Ria settled beside Isla, leaning against the couch. “What’s up, mate?” Isla said, offering a fist bump. She was one of those people who were so cool they made Ria nervous. Ria watched as she ran her fingers through her long, red hair.

“So did you talk to your boyfriend yet?” Madi asked from across the coffee table, snapping Ria out of her daze. She stared at Madi, her brown eyes bewildered. Madi stared back, unfazed until Quinn snorted, and they all burst into laughter.

Heat rose to Ria’s cheeks as she looked to Sasha for an explanation. How do they know about the Julian thing?

“We all know,” Isla said as Sasha shrugged away her culpability.

If it had been anyone else, Ria might have been angry that her personal matters were shared. But it was Sasha. It was so like her to share everything with this lot. “Letting this go only because it’s your birthday,” Ria joked, but she knew the truth—she’d forgive anything of her.

Ria sighed. “And yes, I did talk to Julian.” Sasha’s eyes widened, and she sat up. “It’s actually how I broke my phone. Sort of threw it in a fit of rage.”

“Damn,” Rosa said, sipping from her cup. “That bad?”

Ria nodded, kind of defeated. Quinn wrapped their arm over Ria’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ria.”

“Dump him,” Madi said, and Ria chuckled. It lightened the mood, bringing some cheers of agreement. “No man is worth a broken phone.”

“You should switch over to my team,” Isla said, winking. Somehow, Ria knew she didn’t mean volleyball.

Rosa stood up, starting to clean up. “How do you know she isn’t already on it?”

“I mean,” Isla inspected Ria’s appearance, and the other eyes joined hers. “Are you?”

Ria laughed nervously under their scrutiny, but didn’t give an answer.

“She doesn’t look particularly gay to me,” Madi said.

As the group threw itself into a discussion, their eyes drifted away, and Ria listened in amusement.

“I’m sorry, does ‘gay’ look like something specific to you?” Isla said, standing up.

“Yeah, your face.”

“She definitely doesn’t look like Isla.”

“No, but she does wear tote bags.”

“Those are gay.”

“Sasha? Has she ever said anything gay to you?”

“I have the right to remain silent.”

“Fuck. Quinn, do you think she’s gay?”

“Honestly, I could see it.”

“Wait. Do you own anything Lululemon?”

“Actually, I once hooked up with a Lululemon lesbian.”

“Pause. That’s crazy.”

“Was she, like, old or something?”

“No, she was our age.”

“Fascinating.”

“Alright, that’s enough speculation,” Sasha said. “Whether she’s gay or not, we have shit to do, people.”

“Happy birthday, Sashalicious,” AJ yelled as he walked into the suite, carrying a large speaker. He placed it on the kitchenette counter. “Who’s gay?”

“You,” Ria said, kissing her brother’s cheek. She looked at the speaker. “Is this Papi’s?”

“Dang, Mr. Ortiz got that fancy shit,” Madi said, examining the piece of technology.

AJ leaned against the counter. “I knew you’d like it.”

Ria rolled her eyes and yanked her brother away from the counter, dragging him to the table where Sasha stood with everyone else.

Behind Ria, Quinn whispered to Isla. “Bet you ten she’s gay.” Sasha shushed them before beginning her speech.

“Here’s the game plan. Isla and AJ are doing the shopping. While they’re away, we’re cleaning, rearranging furniture, and decorating. We’re gonna make sure our rooms are presentable. I’m looking at you,” she said to Quinn. “Cup pong is going to be in your room, flip cup in Rosa and Madi’s.”

“What about yours?” Ria asked.

“It’ll be the crash pad,” she said. Ria thought of Halle, who always tapped out the earliest. “Anyway, when Isla and AJ get back, we need to make the spiked freeze pops. Jamie made jello shots, so we are good on that. Then we go out for dinner, come back and get ready. Pregame is at 9. Party starts at 10. Let’s go, people.”

The preparations went exactly as Sasha had planned. Ria helped clean up Isla’s side of the room. The furniture in the living room was moved up against the walls, leaving more room to dance. They set up tables for the drinking games, and put up the golden decorations all over the suite. Heading down the street, they ate noodles and sang a song for Sasha’s birthday, and by 9 pm the shots were being poured in the living room.

Ria stood in the suite bathroom, applying mascara with her cheek nearly touching the mirror. Stepping away, she scrunched her curls, shaping them until she was satisfied. Her mind drifted back to what Madi had said. Dump him. She was joking, Ria was sure.

It hadn’t crossed her mind until then, and now it was all that occupied it. Julian had been a part of Ria’s life since she was fourteen, since her mother married Tom and they all moved next-door to Julian’s family. He’d been her best friend for so many years, kept her company. They didn’t have a whirlwind romance, sure, but she didn’t mind that. Everyone loved him, and he loved Ria so deeply.

But the Julian she had spoken to that morning wasn’t the same Julian she knew. Maybe they’d spent too much time apart. They were getting farther from finding a balance, and she wasn’t blind to her own indifference when it came to the distance.

Ria smoothed the fabric of her beige cargo pants over her legs. She turned, taking one last look at her outfit. The top had been a lucky find at Goodwill, a blue, sheer top straight out of a Y2K daydream.

The living room was growing louder with the arrival of their friends. Inside Sasha’s room, Ria put away her things and kicked the duffel bag under the bed as a precaution. She didn’t want any stray partygoers going through her things.

Sasha walked into the room, holding a heap of green yarn. “What’s that?” Ria said.

“Rosa’s gift,” Sasha said, laying it out on her bed. It was a tube top, loosely knit with sequins sparsely placed. Several straps connected it to a shrug in the same style. It looked like something out of a fairytale. “I’m wearing it.”

Sasha pulled her top off at once and Ria chortled, looking away as she put on Rosa’s creation. Through the window, Ria could see the corner of Ellie’s truck.

“How is it?”

Ria spun to look at her. It was simply beautiful, the color complimenting the brown of Sasha’s skin. “You look like a mermaid,” Ria said, twirling Sasha’s hair in her hands, arranging the waves over her shoulders. “Hey, I wanted to ask—do you know an Ellie Williams? At least, I think that’s her last name.”

“Ellie?” Sasha said, stepping toward the floor-length mirror behind her door. “We had a class together. Why?”

“She was Murphy’s friend from yesterday.”

Sasha examined her appearance in the mirror. “Now that I think about it, I did know she dealt. I’ve heard quite a bit about her.”

Ria sat on the bed. “Like what?”

“Well,” Sasha said, and touched up her lip gloss. “She’s cool, but apparently, every time Ellie walks into a room someone leaves crying.”

“No way,” Ria said, laughing. She pictured Ellie, her relaxed manner in the stash room.

Sasha shrugged. “Just what I heard,” she said. “Now, I want you to make an effort and not let this Julian stuff ruin your night. It’s my birthday wish.”

“Fine,” Ria said, grabbing the paper bag with the pre-rolls. “Let’s go, birthday girl.”

The pregame went as it usually did—the weed was distributed, Halle and Katherine were almost an hour late, and the blue freeze pops were the first to go.

Ria was four Berry Blue jello shots deep when the first large group arrived. It was a mix of Valerie sports teams, all there because of Isla. Already, the space felt tight. And it was only 10:30.

Quinn turned the music up. Isla sat on the couch with Esther on her lap, eating each other’s faces. Katherine and Jamie played cup pong as people watched. AJ was in charge of the door, and Madi had a horde of guys hanging on her every word.

Ria watched them all as she nursed a grape freeze pop, twisting the promise ring around her finger. Rosa poured a couple of shots on the drinks table next to Ria. She gifted her one.

“Thanks,” Ria said, and nodded toward Madi and her horde. “Might have to go rescue her soon.”

“She’s fine, they’re talking robotics,” Rosa said, and raised her shot glass.

Ria raised hers. Together, they chanted. “Pa’ arriba, pa’ abajo, pa’l centro y pa’ dentro.” They drank at the same time, grimacing as the tequila hit their tongues and burned its way down to their stomachs.

“Puñeta,” Ria cursed, squeezing out more of the freeze pop to offer some relief. Rosa downed a shot of pink lemonade as a chaser.

By the time the hum of alcohol was in full force, Ria had taken to the dance floor. She could feel the music vibrating in her chest, and as Bad Bunny’s only merengue song started playing, she dropped her jaw and looked at AJ.

He screamed as the partygoers cheered. It was a popular song, but Ria and AJ were Puerto Rican born and raised. Bad Bunny was theirs.

AJ ran to grab Ria’s hands as she laughed, and they let the fast tempo of the music set the pace. Ria moved her hips and let AJ guide her movements with his arms, just as their father had taught her. They were synchronized, and with just a shift of his hand, she knew to turn. Merengue was among their favorites to dance together, a push and pull of rhythm that was infectious.

Rosa and her boyfriend joined them, along with a few of the others who knew how to dance. They were in their own little bubble of Latin American bliss. Ria couldn’t stop smiling as she sang the lyrics.

Between the alcohol, the dancing, and the heat of a packed room, a sheen of sweat began to form over Ria’s skin. Still, she was sad when the song ended. AJ bowed when it was over, and snuck away into the crowd to do God-knows-what.

Ria’s head spun. She needed a breather. Two hands grabbed her shoulders. “RIA!” She jumped, startled until she saw it was Sasha.

“What?” Ria asked loudly.

“Look!” Sasha yelled, and pointed at something. Ria followed her finger, trying to focus through her drunken haze. “It’s your dealer!” Then she saw her.

Listening as a girl with bright pink hair talked to her, Ellie leaned against the wall, a bottle of Smirnoff seltzer in hand. Her hair was down this time, the short strands tousled into a soft shag. Boxers peeked beneath low-rise jeans, and a tank top left her arms exposed. Ria might not have recognized her had it not been for the tattoo. She tore her eyes away.

“I don’t see anyone crying,” Ria said, taking a deep breath. She was still winded.

“Yet,” Sasha said and stood up straighter, slapping Ria’s arm. “She’s coming.”

Ria scoffed, not believing her until she turned, Ellie’s face mere inches away.

She smiled down at Ria, her hands in her pockets. “Hey.” Ellie turned to Sasha as Ria took a step back. “Happy birthday. Nice party.”

“Thanks!” Sasha replied, then pointed behind her. “I’m gonna go dance.” And she was gone.

Neither of them spoke at first.

“What now?” Ria said suddenly.

“What?” Ellie said, leaning closer.

“You wished her a happy birthday,” she replied, reminding her of what she’d said the previous day.

Ellie chuckled, furrowing her brows. “That’s not all I came for,” she said.

Ria’s heart raced as Ellie’s words hung between them. She told herself it was all the dancing.

“Come smoke with me,” she said. “I owe you a few hits.”

Ellie considered it, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked to where the girl with pink hair still stood. She shook impatiently, her eyes on the two of them. Slowly, Ria realized Ellie had left the girl mid-conversation.

“Unless your girlfriend is waiting on you,” Ria said, tilting her head to the side.

Setting her gaze back on Ria, Ellie leaned even closer. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Pulling back, she spoke again, louder. “Lead the way.”

On the way to Sasha’s room, Ria spotted her dancing with AJ. She laughed to herself, shaking her head. The last time she had seen her brother this excited about someone was with this girl called Marlene, but that ended pretty badly. At least for now, AJ was just having fun. She opened the door to Sasha’s dorm, and Ellie followed her into the room.

The moonlit serenity of Sasha’s bedroom was stark against the chaos in the living room. The closed door didn’t shut out the sound, but it made the party feel far away. Ria unlatched the window and pushed it open, letting the chill of the night cool her warm face. Small groups stood outside in the fog, chatting quietly or smoking. Some walked toward Cedar hall, searching for the party.

Sitting on the bench which Sasha had bought for this very purpose, Ria pulled the tube out of her pocket. She squeezed the top until the lid popped open, flipping it over as the pre-roll slid into her palm.

Ellie sat facing her, one knee up against the windowsill. Ria held the joint between her teeth as she looked for her lighter.

Something clicked, and a flame sparked between Ellie’s fingers, emanating from that same silver lighter in her hand. Ria leaned forward, letting the fire consume the twisted tip of the joint. Ellie’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she inhaled the smoke, blowing it out the window.

When she passed the joint to Ellie, Ria’s fingers brushed hers. She took a long puff and released it through her nose, the smoke floating lazily around her. “Was that Alejandro I saw you dancing with?”

Ria nodded. “You know my brother?”

“You could say so,” she said. “You’re a . . . junior?”

“Sophomore.”

Ellie nodded, taking another hit before handing the joint back. “You declared your major yet?”

“As soon as I got here,” Ria said, smiling as she watched Ellie hold back a laugh. Most people waited until their second year, but Ria had been a bit overexcited. “What do you study?”

“Art,” she said, and Ria looked to Ellie’s green house, at the painted pots that sat in the darkness of her porch. “You?”

Ria smoked. “Biology,” she said, trying not to cough as she passed the joint to Ellie, “with a focus on marine biology.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “You into clams or something?”

Ria giggled, the effect of the weed starting to mix with the alcohol. “No,” she said. “I’m more of a sea turtle girl.”

“I see,” Ellie said, eyeing Ria. “How’d that happen?”

Watching her for a moment, Ria smiled softly. The memory played in her mind. She smelled the ocean, heard her parents laughing, her brother shushing them. They were so little, only seven and nine, but back then AJ felt so much older. It was the last time they were all together like that. Something too close to her heart, Ria thought. “I’ve only ever told two people.”

Ellie sighed as the joint went out, lighting it again. “And who has the honor of knowing?” She was digging for something, but Ria couldn’t be sure what it was.

“Sasha,” Ria said, “and . . .” She paused, suddenly feeling strange about answering the question. Sasha and Julian. The events of that morning rushed back into her mind and left a sour taste in her mouth. Did she want to tell her about Julian? Why wouldn’t she want to tell Ellie about her boyfriend? She’d told everyone else just fine, and Ellie wasn’t special. No reason not to say it.

“My boyfriend.”

For some reason, Ria searched Ellie’s face for a reaction. There was nothing. And there shouldn’t have been. Was she expecting something from her? What is going on with you?

The questions in her mind were growing too loud. As her brain started to fog, Ria propped her head on her hand.

Taking another hit, Ellie inched closer. “Where is this boyfriend of yours?”

Ria watched her carefully. Ellie’s eyes looked soft in the dimness of the room. “Not here,” Ria said. Their faces were so close.

Ellie held the now-roach up to Ria’s lips, and she took one last puff as the fire grew dangerously close to Ellie’s fingers. With her other hand, Ellie took Ria’s chin and leaned in, opening her mouth. Slowly, Ria released the smoke into it, not quite touching Ellie’s lips.

Ellie blew out the smoke, and a grin spread across her features.

The door to the room opened, and the party lights broke the intimacy of the moment. Esther stumbled through the door, laughing as Isla—who appeared painfully sober—and Quinn followed her in. Esther stopped in her tracks at the sight of the two of them by the window. “Oh my God, is that Ellie?” she said, slurring her words as Isla ushered her to the bed.

“Hey, Esther,” Ellie said softly, raising her hand in greeting.

“Sorry guys, she’s a little too drunk,” Quinn said, pulling the covers away for Esther to lie down.

Pulling herself to her feet, Ellie stood before Ria, their knees knocking. Ria looked up at her, her head spinning. Ellie held out her hand. “Let’s go dance.”

Behind her, Quinn and Isla gave each other a look. Aware of their attention, Ria decided to let them settle their bet.

Taking her hand, Ria let Ellie pull her up, their bodies so close Ria could smell her cologne. It was subtle, woodsy with hints of jasmine. Ria tried to ignore the way her hand felt in Ellie’s.

Stepping backward, Ellie led Ria across the room and out of Sasha’s dorm, her eyes never straying from Ria’s. Before the door closed, she heard Quinn say, “Pay up, bitch.”

If the living room had been packed before, Ria didn’t know what to call this. There were more bodies in the space than she even thought possible. Ellie worked her way through them.

Several people—mostly girls—greeted her as they passed, completely ignoring Ria. A blonde was particularly touchy, her hands grabbing Ellie’s waist. She pulled away smoothly, waving goodbye as she dragged Ria along. Ria waved, too.

Somewhere near the center of the room, she stopped. The crowd around them was so tight they were forced together. “Was that another one of your not-girlfriends?” Ria asked, struggling to keep her body from touching Ellie’s.

Ellie laughed, rubbing her neck. Ria stared at her tattoo—two ferns and a moth, spreading so far down her forearm that a few of the leaves reached the back of her hand. Ria wondered if it had a meaning. “Sure,” she replied, but Ria had forgotten the question.

“You seem to know everyone,” she said.

“Perks of the trade.”

Ria couldn’t hear the music anymore, too high to make out any melody over all the noise. But the others could, screaming as they recognized another song. They moved around her, body slamming against body, jumping and stepping every which way. Ria stumbled, but Ellie took her hips, steadying her.

“Thanks,” Ria said, but her hands didn’t leave. She looked up at her, and neither looked away.

Every person in the room screamed the lyrics to the song. Ria didn’t care to decipher the words anymore. It didn’t matter. Ellie pulled her closer, moving their bodies to the music as Ria blindly followed. Her skin prickled under Ellie’s touch, her hands tracing the curve of Ria’s waist.

Leaning closer, Ellie looked at Ria’s lips. Ria’s eyes flickered to hers, and her stomach twisted when she realized what had crossed her mind. She pulled away and immediately missed the feeling of Ellie’s hands on her. The revelation disgusted her.

She’d danced with people at parties before. Hell, she’d probably done worse with Sasha. But this felt different. This felt wrong. She liked it too much. Her entire body itched.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Ria lied, and Ellie furrowed her brows. Before she could say anything, Ria pushed her way out of Ellie’s sight.

The way to the bathroom felt endless as Ria fought to squeeze between the crowd. It was growing too hot, and she wanted to claw at her throat. She burst out of the mass of bodies, gasping for air. The small hallway to the bathroom was empty, much to her surprise, but the door was locked. Ria knocked, and upon hearing a response, leaned against the wall to calm down.

She stared at her shoes as she waited, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. A pair of converse stepped into her view of the floor, and she looked up. Ellie leaned against the wall across the doorframe, in the same manner as Ria.

“What are you doing?” Ria said, standing up straight.

Ellie shrugged. “Just waiting for the bathroom.”

Ria shook her head, scoffing as she took to the wall again. She was watching her, Ria knew. The toilet flushed inside the bathroom, and she looked up. Ellie’s eyes burned through her, so intensely it made Ria’s knees weak.

The door opened, and a guy walked out, leaving them alone in the hallway.

Gesturing toward the bathroom, Ellie spoke. “Go right ahead.”

This time it was Ria who shrugged. “Fine,” she said, and stepped inside, pushing the door closed.

But it didn’t close.

Ellie pushed it open, slipping in and closing the door herself, locking it behind her.

She moved closer, and Ria didn’t step back. Her hands found Ria’s waist again, and she didn’t protest. “Ria,” she whispered, their noses grazing as she tasted the sound. “Tell me your name.”

Ria’s heart raced, and suddenly the party—her life—was in a different universe altogether. Nothing outside of that door was real. Only the two of them existed. Only her. Her breath on Ria’s cheek. Her cologne. Her lips grazing hers.

“Maria Celeste,” she whispered.

Ellie smiled softly. “Maria Celeste,” she repeated, and pressed her lips to Ria’s. Her kiss was warm, gentler than Ria had ever known. Breathing in her scent, Ria snuck her hand behind Ellie’s neck, pulling her closer. Parting her lips, Ellie’s tongue found Ria’s, deepening the kiss.

Allowing her hands to explore her, Ria dragged her fingers down Ellie’s abdomen, running over the taut muscle beneath her shirt. She sighed against Ria, and their kisses grew hungrier.

Ria stumbled back against the counter as Ellie pressed herself against her. She looked down, parting Ria’s legs with her knee, placing her thigh between them. With every kiss, she rolled her hips against her, setting Ria’s core on fire.

Lifting the fabric of Ellie’s tank, Ria pulled it as far as Ellie would let her. But she didn’t stop her, only pulling away to take the shirt off. Ria’s eyes lingered on her exposed chest, and Ellie chuckled softly before kissing her again, harder.

Her hands were all over Ria, grasping at her hips, snaking under her shirt. She squeezed her breast, moaning softly into her mouth. She hadn’t been touched like this in so long, never felt so needed. Ria found the button of Ellie’s jeans, beginning to undo it. “Don’t.” She took Ria’s hand, stopping her. Ria pulled away to look at her. Ellie smiled in the dim light. She kissed Ria’s neck, her own hands unzipping Ria’s pants. “I’m good.”

Her fingers slithered beneath her underwear, and Ellie groaned against Ria. “You’re so wet,” she whispered next to her ear as her fingertips stroked the tender spot.

“What did you expect?” Ria breathed.

Ellie grabbed her face with her free hand, kissing Ria deeply as her fingers set a steady rhythm. The room grew hotter with every breath, but not in the same sticky way as it was outside. Ria liked this—loved the heat that formed between them. Her face grew hot, heart pounding in her chest as she breathed harder. It only spurred Ellie on, applying more pressure.

A haze of pleasure clouded Ria’s already fading mind, and her hands clutched the edge of the bathroom counter, begging for something to ground her. Ellie started moving farther down and slipping her fingers inside her, sending waves of ecstasy through Ria. She was all she could hear, smell, feel—and God, she felt so good. Ria arched against her, writhing with her touch, desperate for release.

A knock came at the door. Ria’s eyes fluttered open, but all she could see was Ellie, and she wasn’t stopping. She brought a finger up to her lips, shushing Ria softly as her hand sped up. Ria opened her mouth, wanting to scream as her legs clenched.

Ellie kissed her again, silencing any sound that might’ve found its way out. The knocking resumed, louder now, and Ellie pressed against her, moving faster yet. Ria dug her fingers in her hair as Ellie pushed her over the edge, her knees buckling as climax shook through her.

It took every fiber of her being to keep from making noise, breathing heavily as she leaned her forehead against Ellie’s.

“There you go,” Ellie said, holding Ria upright as her body threatened to crumble.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and Ellie planted tender kisses down her neck.

She was still coming down from the high when the knocking intensified, the handle rattling as someone yelled from the other side. “Hellooo?”

Ellie finally reacted, looking at the door.

Suddenly the universe inside the bathroom collapsed, and reality rushed back to Ria. She was still foggy from the substances, but growing more and more sober with the thought of what she had just done.

Ellie’s hands held her hips, and Ria stared at her unbuttoned pants in disbelief, shocked by her own behavior. Julian’s face appeared in her mind. He might not have been the perfect boyfriend, but they were still together. He didn’t deserve this. Ria’s stomach turned. “Fuck,” she said, her head spinning.

Looking at her, Ellie opened her mouth to say something before she saw the panic in Ria’s eyes. Her words caught, and Ria had a feeling she knew exactly what Ria was thinking.

Pulling away, Ria zipped up her pants, stumbling on Ellie’s shirt. “I should go,” she said, reaching down to pick it up and hand it to her.

“Uh.” Ellie quickly pulled the tank top over her head. “Okay.”

Ria walked past her toward the door, and Ellie took her hand. “Ria,” she said, but Ria couldn’t bear to look at her. It would only make her want more. She needed to leave Ellie’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” Ria told her, not knowing what else to say. Unlocking the door, she faced whoever she assumed had been knocking. They said something, but Ria didn’t stay long enough to hear it.

She threw herself into the crowd again and burst into Sasha’s room. The window was still open, and she stepped quietly past Esther—and now Halle, as she predicted—to reach it. Climbing on top of the bench where Ellie and she had sat, Ria swung her feet over the windowsill, dropping half a foot onto the soft grass.

The fog was thicker now, diffusing the street lights of campus. Ria’s feet carried her to the green, and she laid down on the grass beneath Old Tree. Breathing in the cold night air, she let it cool her inebriated mind.

This was a fucking mess. She didn’t know how to fix it, or if it could even be fixed. Either way, she had to fix her phone first.

⊰✭⊱

Notes: this has been a long time coming (sorry!!) but thank you for reading! more to come soon

The art for this chapter is NSFW so do with that information as you will.

https://imgur.com/a/bathroom-yJFLHom

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alcameso · 4 months

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❤️ please, have a seat ❤️

(tumblr doesn’t let us follow with side blogs, so if you came here looking for why i followed you check my side blogs listed below… it was probably @ifyoumustknow)

hello! my name is alicia, you can call me that, ali, or alcameso.

i am nonbinary.. or perhaps genderfluid ? haven’t gotten to the bottom of that quite yet and omnisexual. my preferred pronouns are they/she/he.

im from santo domingo, dominican republic and am 26 years old.

my favorite colors are red and blue.

🤍 what you can find here 🤍

fandom content. mostly animated media, sci-fi, horror, and various japanese anime. once i find a new piece of media it swallows my whole blog for a week or two.

biology, anthropology, and all general studies of nature are where my biggest special interests come from. the interests in question? dogs, plants and, believe it or not, kinks- no, not simultaneously, ya nasty.

i love all fuckin sorts of music, art, and literature which roughly make up the rest of my interests (music performance, media analysis, and poetry to be specific). i make song recs on this blog, but you can visit my literature blog @smokeandsteam to find more pretty words.

i am a vehement supporter of all basic human rights. i do not tolerate meaningless hate and/or judgments based on ignorance.

if i had to identify with a belief system i’d tell you i’m part of the baha’i community, but i also practice secular witchcraft here and there, so who knows? i bring a spiritual vibe to the hang out the homies don’t know much about. i have a blog called @quisqueyanavaliente if you want to know more.

last but not least, there’s bound to be some spicy content sparsely flung about, but the vast and vulgar majority of it can be found on my ~other~ blog @ifyoumustknow.

i would jump at the opportunity to answer any kinds of asks, so don’t hesitate to interact with this blog or any of my other ones! the spicy blog, however, has its own set of rules in its pinned post.

🤍 tags to check out 🤍

i don’t really post much of my own content except for the occasional shit post or fleeting word vomit that shoots out of my brain like a water gun but i intend to make a habit of posting about new projects and events in the near future, so just know this tags list will grow:

for my song recs #alcameso has a spotify

for all posts made by me #alcameso

for my boyfriend sleep talking #sleep talking chronicles

for my work as a nail technician #alcameso is a nail tech

for my unwarranted opinions #alcameso has an opinion

for whatever is colonizing my brain at the time #alcameso has a hyperfixation

for my weird ass audio hallucinations caused by being sleepy or stressed #alcameso audio hallucinates

❤️ nice to meet you ❤️

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hannahsmusings · 8 months

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Renee

It is a lot of work but I knew what I was getting myself into… once I uttered the words ‘Doctor’ at the age of like 12, my parents refused to let me go down any other route. You know how they are, so, here I am. *my parents were very involved in my life and not in a bad way, they were perfect, I loved my family even though they were a bit overbearing at times, but they really pushed me and motivated me through the past 4 years and reminded me how it would all pay off in the end* *I shrug when he says it must be more advanced than biology* Not entirely… not yet anyways. Once I get into med school, that’s when the real hard shit will start, this is all just setting me up for that. *I don’t notice any change in Anthony, not aware of how I was looking at him, just watching as he sips his drink* *my eyes widen just a bit as he says he was doing sports science, not pegging him for that type, figuring he would’ve been studying English or something mundane and boring* I don’t think I’ve met anyone as obsessed with sports as you, Ant. *I giggle, shaking my head playfully, but the giggle died on my lips as he asks me why we haven’t run into one another until now, as if it was my fault, my body tensing a bit, that resentment and bitterness slowly starting to sneak back in, trying to keep it at bay but this wasn’t what I wanted to talk about right now* I don’t know, you tell me… Figured you were too busy being Mr. Popular Jock to hang out with a nerd like me. *I try to come off playful but the words were true; the entire summer after we graduated, Anthony spent his time with the ‘cool’ kids, and I was left alone, spending the summer mainly with my family and some other friends, Anthony unable to make and keep plans since he was always going to this party or that party and during the days he was always hungover and slept majority of the time* We just run in two different circles now and it’s a pretty big campus…

_________________________________________________

*grins, nodding in understanding as you were always determined as a kid and I knew your parents were the same, picturing your mum and my chest aches with a pang, so fond of her and it had been ages since we’d been in touch, both your parents having so often taken me in, provided me with a place to crash or a warm meal when things at home weren’t good, your Mum being like a mum to me also and suddenly feeling twisted with guilt that I’d not reached out, telling myself I’d call her* How is Mama Coppola? Does she still make that insane banana bread? *moans as I think about it, grinning, loving your mum an obscene amount* *nods as you talk about med school, picturing it so well and smiling* You’ll be ace, I just know it. Nothing you can’t do Doctor Renee. *grins, sipping my drink once more and shrugging when you say I was obsessed with sports, chuckling a little* It’s the only thing I’m good at, didn’t have many other options. *laughs, genuinely coming off as a joke but it being a good example of how I still inhabited those thoughts of my dad, that I wasn’t smart or good enough to do anything but sports* *cocks a brow as you call me popular jock, laughing a little and shaking my head* You’re not a nerd. *even though I knew your words were teasing, they made me think, why was it that we lost touch and stopped hanging out? how did I let that happen?* *nods and shrugs* I guess so. Still, time to change that. You’re definitely coming to the game on Saturday okay? You don’t have a choice in this. *grins, teasing but desperately wanting to see you again, knowing I wouldn’t be able to settle for just seeing you at tutoring, needing more already, that desperation to be with you in your presence being just as strong now as it was in my teens*

#renee plot

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theartofjournalling · 1 year

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As I learn biology from MIT lectures on YouTube, I’m reminded of my curiosity as a child running through the Melbourne museum. No, running is the wrong word. My cousin and friends I’d go with would want to run onto the next display but I was frustrated with their impatience because I just wanted to stay on every display and read everything, assimilate and absorb every strand of information I could. Kind of like when I went to a theme park, I just wanted to ride every thrill ride, and like a sponge, I’d spend all day at the museum reading everything I could possibly read, everything they had to offer.

God knows I’m lonely though. I don’t know how to navigate this life at this stage. I was asked if I’m married at 27, no, I haven’t even found love at this late age. And everything seems so convoluted, having kids, settling down, finding a family, it’s easy to get “knocked up” as Damon says when you’re straight and in love, but if you’re gay, you’re on the outskirts of civilisation, the mavericks. And while creative, we bare the burden of dissimilation. Imagine the intricacies alone of finding a willing surrogate mother, and then raising a child either as a minority, two fathers which I find appalling, I’m passing my minority stress onto my child, who will be deprived of a natural mother and female mother figure, or, to settle down with a woman platonically that I do not love romantically. How tragic it all is and convoluted.

Battling loneliness is a whole form of conflict on its own,

As hard as it is to say, comparable perhaps to even depression,

The yearning to be connected to something existentially more… something to give you a profound sense of meaning.

Everyone deserves love, but like me, Christopher McCandless may have been gay, his sexuality was in question, he was a maverick and wandered alone on the plains of the earth, a child of nature

Elana always said I love the darkness. Bathing in sadness. It’s not that, I just like highlighting the problems in my life so I can eliminate them. I hyper focus on them with the intention of eradicating them for the better.

Reji, I see you as someone who’s after happiness, and adventure and watching sun sets and all the things I complain Matt doesn’t care for while talking business but I complain about when not engaged in business as time wasting

I can’t wait to eat, it’s my favourite time of the day, eating…

I’m grateful that I’m studying these biology and biochemistry lectures as it really opens my eyes as to how much information I don’t yet know, I’ll have to revise everything.

Electron configuration, carbonyl groups etc and while it’s relatively easy, just rope learning and familiarisation, part of me thinks…

You know if I don’t get into biomedicine at Melbourne, I’ll just continue to study coding as I already have acquired so much knowledge in that domain and it would be so much easier than entering the domain of Biochemistry, stepping in there and being at the lowest tier of the cohort. It’s a bucket list lifelong goal of mine, nonetheless to acquire this knowledge inevitably. Biology that is.

With coding I can be potentially working in 1.5 years or less

But idk

I feel like I’m back at the drawing board

Watching these lectures I’m reminded of how lost I felt during Melbourne when I had no idea what to do, or what major to pick and so I studied chemistry anyway so that it could open possibilities of me studying it in postgraduate courses at Melbourne, but I got a terrible score in chemistry in semester 2 year 1

Like 53 and I was convinced I would fail because I was so so lost and so depressed and I had no motivation to study anything. I was so alone and I thought I should be in music, or at least studying music, but I wanted to also have that academic mind and I was doing both, I would’ve done both as a double degree but Melbourne only offered it as a single degree and a concurrent music diploma which I did, and there was no way I was going anywhere but Melbourne as it was the best.

But now it’s almost like I’m coming full circle.

I’ve done the music degree and will have finished it in 1.5 years and now I’m back studying the chemistry again only this time I finally have the motivation and drive, and I think, wow, so this is what it feels like to belong in science, and feel like I actually want to be here, and have this urge to absorb all the information I can find. Wow, it’s like working with a million times the advantage of a depressed person who once struggled to even wake up and force myself on the 2 hour train commute to Melbourne uni

Every day wondering why I was doing it for, lost, dabbling in subjects I was trying to excite myself by while dealing with my sexuality, coming out to my parents and feeling so alone. I had no one but the people online I would talk to, writing those poems I showed you. How alone and devastated I was. And then it took me 4-5 years just to finish a bachelor of science and a diploma of music as I was just so lost right through it. But it was necessary, a dark period, to get to where I am now, wilfully returning and excited, hoping that I can reaccepted into biomedicine to start my journey again in the same place I suffered so much only this time, loving it, having almost completed my music degree and working full time in music. Ah life, how circular and profound it is

There’s so much to do and to learn and I wonder if I’m better off just continuing coding since I learnt so much, so I’ll leave it in fates hands as you said to ride the unknown. If I get into biomedicine, I will learn chemistry and biology and major in genetics and genomics, if I don’t, it will be another six months of coding of which I don’t resent either. Before I started this biology lecture series online, I would resent the idea of doing coding wasting another six months, but now I realise, wow, and duh, it’s obvious, but there’s so much information to be on top of, of which I have very little existing knowledge, it’s not bad at all to continue studying coding. One thing the lecturer online said is the current problem in biology is all the data, and thus, bioinformatics. All I know is that I’m excited to chase academia in duality with music and like you said, ride the unknown. It’s scary.

How fitting, that one of my friends who is spiritual is currently driving around Australia without a destination in mind, looking for jobs, riding the unknown. In a very sheltered cantered way I’m doing the same thing jumping careers.

But I don’t want to drift either, I’m so old already, but now… revisiting chemistry, I don’t feel so far in heart from the boy I once was studying chemistry at what I thought looked like hogwarts and I would try to imagine I was in potions magic class to motivate myself to attend the chemistry laboratories, and how it fascinated me that we could no longer wash the acids with water, you’d be washing them with the acid of course duh, and then the back titrations, wow… another life ago, how the student teacher laughed at me because I was pouring out the acids too fast. No no no, he said, you have to be more refined, much better.

Wow, and now wanting to return to that willingly today… crazy.

I feel like 9 years haven’t passed at all and that I’m still a child.

Some days I feel very old but other days I still feel like I just graduated from high school yesterday, just as lost and alone, as Queen says, I’m naked and I’m far from home.

After I stopped talking to you before, I asked my mum and dad, what would you do if you were me. I only want the best for myself, I want to be in a good job and have a family, but obviously I have the obstacle of being gay,

And they both said, just focus on career, and once you have a job you can meet people, and my mum said, when you have money, you can travel around the world working or touring and find the people you need, whether that is love or to start a family. It was touching in its own way. My dad said, I’d never want to travel anywhere, it’s just a waste of money to me, and I agreed, while I love travelling, I’d much prefer travelling because I’m paid to tour or for work purposes. Like that dream I once told you about that I’m on a plane and I’m headed somewhere because I’m needed somewhere overseas for work whatever that is. It was a nice dream

I want to grow that house with you too.

We’re both far from perfect as you said, and we’re finding our way. We can help each other as we grow

I was reading through old diary entries of mine and I was so fucked up

Poor boy

I longed for company like yours

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sipurspr · 2 years

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okay i’m back from dorm lobby

i ran into my friends and we all studied together for a bit. i actually got good work done and thoroughly understand the nitrogen cycle. went to the dining hall and ate two cookies, came back and ate some bread and a rice cake (very normal of you!). i got asked out and i don’t know how to respond. i want to kindly say no because i know that we won’t bond in that way and because my attraction to men is very limited and i’ve met my man quota for the school year already (seen two dicks and i’m good for a long time!) feeling like a piece of shit for rejecting him even though i haven’t done it yet. i just shouldn’t have entertained the idea of anything happening with us in the first place. wish i could feel normal heterosexual attraction for a day of my life. hate everything (not really. i’ll reject and feel like a dick and then i’ll move on in like three days.) going downtown with my home friend and my college friends this weekend. feeling ecstatic and kinda silly. i agreed to go dt on friday instead of saturday w/ one friend but i know that my friend from home is coming on saturday. ?? i’ll go downtown saturday with them anyways. my roommate won’t be here so i won’t feel guilty about coming back to the room drunk (don’t rly want to be or like being annoying and burdensome to sober people). feeling large, overbearing and silly. i think i’ll play sims for a short while and then go to sleep and then wake up and shower and go to the bookstore to purchase a lab manual for my first stat lab tomorrow! not very excited. loving college. semester two is good because i have a stable friend group immediately but i will say that i don’t like how people have kind of already chosen and stuck to their groups (as i have. hypocrite). i met a girl in my biology class today and was very immediately enamored (see: people are nice to me and i misread feeling included as having a crush. can’t control butterflies). i might try to figure out who she is. i also have a ton of people i don’t really know following my secret private instagram now. i was good with my friends but some people from my hometown who i don’t really know have followed. and a guy i’ve spoken to once or twice. a little lost and confused but i guess we ball. i feel bad rejecting follow requests but like.. you’re not supposed to request if i’ve talked to you once or twice. i don’t post anything important but i still don’t love people i barely know seeing it. it doesn’t really matter because i don’t care what the people who have followed think of me because i barely know them. anywho. i’ll leave tumblr to make a sim or watch pleasantville or do nothing for a few hours. goodbye

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svnoohe4rts · 2 years

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I MISSED YOU TOOOO AND IM OKAY!!!

i’ve been studying and working sm i barely have free time now 💔 idk how it works in your country but in brazil we have to take like REALLY difficult tests to get in a good university :( some people have to study more than 2 years to get in lmao so im getting kinda crazy bc the first fase for getting in the university i want is already this november 6 😭😭😭 and im insane for wanting a degree in biology bc its the third most popular course and its like 100 candidates per vacancy IM SORRY ILL STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS NOW

BUT HOW WAS YOUR HIATUS DID YOU ENJOYED YOUR TIME?

love u to the moon and back !! u are my favorite author 🌷🌷🌷

oh?? my?? god??? lord i’m praying for u emi that’s sounds HORRIBLE i’m not too sure how it works here since i’m not planning on going to university LMAOOO but i think it’s somewhat similar over here and tbh that’s what throws me off like why do they make it so difficult?? it’s almost like they don’t want me to get into university damn

ALSO BIOLOGY ???? DAMN i aspire to be like u one day :’) i know ur gonna make it tho!!! i believe in u and so does everyone else <33 ALSO PLEASE DONT APOLOGIZE I LOVE HEARING ABOUT UR LIFE TELL ME MORE RIGHT THIS MOMENT🗣️🗣️🗣️

ahhh my hiatus was great!! i spent time with a very close friend who i haven’t seen in two years & i feel like that’s exactly what i needed … it was so comforting u know?? but now i have the worst case of separation anxiety LMAOO thankfully she’s coming to see me in a month again :’)

also i just wanna thank u for always sliding into my inbox i always get to so so happy whenever i see ur username in my notifications </3 i love u emi!!!

#🌷 25dejulho #ur like the main reason i love going on tumblr #mwah

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arklay · 2 years

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sorry i can’t shut up. posts one thing and can’t stop

#leah.txt #so that little nod to diana’s grandma i’m sorry i’m just. i haven’t talked about this before so argrhrhrg but diana grew up in a very arts #based family. her mother an opera singer and her father a dance. her younger sister also went on to become a professional dancer to with #mainly ballet but also contemporary. diana also did those two growing up alongside learning to play the violin and piano. her grandma was a #sculptor and while diana’s parents were often just not home she spent a lot of time with her grandma and would just sit with her in her #studio and watch her work. but you can kind of imagine everyone’s surprise at her wanting to go into science… she really just had such an #interest in snakes from a young age and she wanted to learn more about them. just loved little creechurs. always wanted to go to zoos and #whatnot and like i thinks she may or may not actually have a tiny little snake tattoo somewhere. not sure yet. but when she was like i want #to study snek her parents were so like… you want to go into science? how about medicine then instead? maybe be a doctor or a dentist or– no #i wanna study reptiles thank you :) and like that was that kind of but her parents were so like. no. but her grandma made her a little snak #figure for her birthday one year and always told her if that’s what she wants to do then she should do it. and they were really close and #diana isn’t really sentimental about much of anything with her family but she still has the bangle her grandma gave her when she graduated #with her bachelors. and like i know it’s such a tiny detail to just chuck in about sculptures but diana’s just connection to art despite #being very much like super sciencey seems like she doesn’t really like that sort of stuff it’s kinda just like always going to be there. i #also have a vague moment of just like [refacted] watching her play violin once and being like in awe like as if she couldn’t be skilled #enough you know? but anyway yeah diana very much broke the mould in her family and was like no i’m going to uni to study biology i don’t #care what you think i don’t want to dance i hate it you already know this and she just went from there… working in her little zoos and #animal sanctuaries and being just the weird snake lady before like moving to america on research opportunity where she ends up getting her #phd like argjrgrhrhrgrh i have so many thoughts and feelings about her at all times you don’t understand #i need to go to sleep lmao but aaaaaaa #lmao i’m not fixing more of these typos it’s too funny

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moonttaeil · 3 years

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▶ Pairing: Haechan x reader.

▶ Word count: 11k.

▶ Previously posted as “TTHE BRO” from the NCT FRAT series.

▶ best friends to lovers; kinda angsty bc hyuck is an idiot on this one. but a happy ending. also a little tw for kinda secsi time.

“And—maybe I’m talking nonsense now, I don’t want fucking now but Y/N… the only thing I know is that I need you in my life, I can’t… after all this time I can’t imagine myself continuing without because…” he fought to get the words out, tears falling down his face too, “…damn it Y/N! I love you! I can’t go on without you because I love you!”

“Y/N!” Haechan whined, stretching on your bed as you annoyingly looked at him up and down. “I said no, you know I don’t like drinking and sweaty bodies and—and hands that are not mine on my body!” you answered, pushing him back, making room for you to sit down. “But you haven’t even tried to go to a frat party, c’mon! It’s my house; I promise it’s going to be lit!” his excited voice filled the room once again.

“It’s going to be—what? Look, Haechan, I’m not… no, I still have to read through my assignments for next week” Your face was straight, and he just grimaced at your words. “It’s your first year Y/N! You said you would make the effort of coming out of your shell.”

“I know what I said, but college is no joke for me, you know that,” at which he just nodded. You had gotten into that college because of a scholarship, and you couldn’t lose it. Your family just couldn’t afford that college for you. “Y/N, if you don’t want to go, that’s okay… I’m just trying to – I don’t know, I want you to have fun” his voice came out quiet.

“Hey, I do have fun!”

“Yeah, I see you’re very enthusiastic with that biology shit” he pointed at the stack of books you had on your desk, waiting to be read. You reached out to hit his shoulder playfully, just your wrist to be caught by him. “Haechan, the fact that you think it is boring is not my problem, don’t you have to study anyways? I haven’t seen you on campus lately,” you scolded him. He rolled his eyes and huffed, laying back down on your bed.

“I went to the presentation day, but—“ he stopped looking at you, “my classes are so early in the morning it should be illegal,” he exaggerated. “What? Haven’t you gone to any of your classes? It has been two weeks since they started!” you said, eyes wide at his confession.

“I know, Y/N, calm down,” he dragged out every word, “I have a plan” his confidence made you roll your eyes this time. His plans never came out good, and you knew exceptionally this one wouldn’t be the exception. “There this guy in my frat house, he’s a year older than me, and he has taken all the classes I have, so he’s gon’ give me all of his notes and stuff” he shrugged, as is it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But Haechan, you still have to –“

“I have no time for you to scold me Y/N” he stood up, looking for his shoes in your room. “If you want to come tonight, just call me, if not… I guess I’ll see you around” he smiled. You nodded your head and looked down at your hands in your lap; you knew you wouldn’t go to that party and that you would probably see him in two weeks. With a quick kiss on your head, he exited your dorm, heading back to his frat house.

Growing up with Haechan as your best friend, you have always received comments from people who didn’t quite understand your friendship. He loved to talk with everyone about anything, not just with people who were already his friends; he could effortlessly strike up a conversation with a total stranger, meeting new people and making them feel comfortable around him.

On the other side, you always kept quiet around new people; hell, it was difficult for you to even talk about your personal life with him.

He loved to socialize, saying that if he spent more than two hours alone, he would go crazy. You, on the contrary, loved spending time alone, doing things you loved most, even talking with yourself. Haechan had different hobbies, always signing up to other social clubs to fulfill his need for constant inspiration, and he also enjoyed being the center of attention.

You? Well, you loved seeing him being the center of attention. He was the kind of hype energy you needed in your life to make your days brighter with any of his crazy ideas or adventures. He always made sure to drag you to. You were the one who had to keep him on his lane, slowing down his life for a minute and making him feel at peace when he most needed it.

You both were the opposite of each other; that’s what made your friendship last so long over the years. Ever since he moved to the house next to yours, being the little playful and mischievous kid he was, it was on the same day his parents were still moving furniture around that he had knocked on your door to see if there lived any kids he could play with.

You rejected him at first, totally embarrassed by the fact that a boy wanted to play with you. Let’s not forget that little girls and boys hate each other; it is natural law, but he didn’t care, and with time, neither did you.

“Y/N, let’s go play in the mud!” he had once shouted from his backyard where your parents had placed a little door so you both could go through it and play together. “But… my mom will scold me if I stain my clothes!” you had shouted back. The scene was funny, two seven years old, one already under the light rain and the other carefully sheltered under her porch. “Who cares? You can wash it after! This is so much fun!” he had shouted, jumping directly in one of the mud puddles.

It was no secret that Haechan brought the naughty kid you always had had inside, but your parents were grateful for him because he also made you happy. The laughs they heard every day coming from the backyard, the way he held your tiny hand when you had to go to school together, and the smile that appeared on your face every time you told something funny that he had done at school was more than enough for them to forgive you anything you thought it was too much.

Years passed by, but your friendship didn’t decay; in fact, your bond only got stronger. Being the extrovert kid he was, he was just expected to be popular in high school. Everyone knew who he was; some professors loved him, and others… well; others just had to deal with him in different ways.

“Oh my god—Y/N, if it weren’t for you, I would have failed biology this year,” he had once told you when the two of you were studying in your house. “Don’t worry, you know I will always help you,” you had answered, at which he just ruffled your hair, making you shout back at him.

Your teenage years, as it is supposed to be, were filled with many first times, and he always made sure you were the first to know about his. “And then—I kissed her! I said to myself, Haechan, you have to do this, bro,” he spoke, pointing at you as if you were him in that situation. “You go straight and place those lips on top of hers! Brave up!” the tone of voice he used made it look like he was his coach.

“And did she kiss back?” you had asked him excitedly, just like he was telling you the story. A smirk spread on his face as he threw his head back, giving you one of his signatures looks. “Y/N, she melted in my arms,” he spoke, making you laugh. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I may be, but she kissed back yes; she said she liked it.” That was when he had his first kiss, both of you fifteen years old and, let’s not lie to each other; you were behind on that topic. Being the shy introvert kid in high school didn’t help you with boys; in fact, the only boy you had contact with was him, so having your first kiss was slightly different.

The following year, when both of you were sixteen, and he told you about his first time having sex, you confessed that you had not had your first kiss yet. “What?” his voice made you flinch as you put your hands on his mouth. “Can you please keep it low? My parents are sleeping!” you had hissed under your breath.

It was one of those nights he had sneaked into your house by your window, just like the movies. You had told him millions of times that he could just knock on your door, your parents loved him, but he had always responded, saying that this made it more exciting.

“Y/N, you haven’t had your first kiss?” his eyes were wide as his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not that big of a deal, Haechan, just drop it,” you said, bringing your hands to your face knowing that you were already red. Talking about these topics always made you feel embarrassed, even more with him, who already had more experience than you.

“What do you--? Look, we have to do something about this,” he spoke in a low voice, but you could already see his mind going crazy thinking about how he could help you. “Maybe I can tell my friend that you’re into—“

“No! I don’t want it to be with any stranger,” you had confessed, looking down at your hands that were placed on top of your crossed legs. “I want it to be somehow special, you know? With someone I trust”.

“But you don’t trust anyone,” he had whined, with a hopeless look on his face, “you don’t talk with boys, c’mon you don’t even look at boys.”

“Well, then I’ll wait until the time comes,” you answered, standing up from your bed to take out your pajamas. He just sat there silent as you were looking into your drawer for your clothes. “Do you want it to be me?” he had asked, breaking the silence. Your body froze, suddenly the thumps in your chest got louder, and your hands started to shake. “What?” you asked, slowly turning around.

“I mean, you do trust me,” he spoke, standing up and nearing you. You just kept looking at him as if he was some crazy man you just met, “and, I do have experience, so…” he said, his eyes locking on yours. You tried to think of something coherent to say back, but your mind stopped working suddenly. The only thing you could think about was his lips.

“But, wouldn’t that be weird? I mean, we’re friends since—“

“Yeah, I know, since childhood, but—“ he stopped, shaking his head no, “it’s just a kiss Y/N,” he said. “And, you can say you had your first kiss with the most popular guy in your high school” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, finally making you laugh and easing the tension that the topic had built between you two.

“Okay, I mean, just to… just one kiss” your voice came out hesitant. He placed one of his hands on your face and the other on your waist, instantly making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as your eyes widened. “Relax, Y/N…” he whispered, leaning in. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes tightly, waiting for him to kiss you.

You could hear him smile, and then you felt his lips on yours. It was a peck at. First, you didn’t move, and neither did he. He just let them stay on yours. Then, he moved his hand on your waist to bring you closed to him as his lips started to move, his tongue slowly making its way into your mouth. It was soft, tender, and almost full of love.

It felt like he spent hours kissing you, but it was just some seconds. Your mind was left dizzy when he parted. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, still feeling the tingling on your lips by the kiss.

“Wasn’t that bad, right?” he asked, his voice making your eyelids flutter open, just to find his beautiful face still near yours. You couldn’t find your words to answer him, suddenly feeling too small around him, your face was tinted red, and you could bet your ears too. “You’re so cute, Y/N,” he said smiling, “but I have to leave you now; my mom is probably going nuts.”

When he left, you were still thinking about the kiss, about his soft lips, and how your heartbeat was not at its average pace. But that was the first and last time you both shared an intimate contact; just like he had said, it had been only one kiss.

After that, both of you didn’t talk about it at all. You felt like you dreamt it, but the tingling on your lips felt too real. He acted as if nothing had happened between you, so you just accepted it that way.

Haechan had multiple relationships with different girls, and he also had many arguments with them because of you. “She thinks I’m cheating on her with you,” he said one evening, laying down on your bed as you were trying to finish your homework. “What? Why?” you asked, surprised. He just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, something about spending much time with you” he rolled around your bed, now laying on his stomach and looking at you directly.

You were seated on your chair, loose clothes on, and your hair a mess. “And…?” you asked, concerned. “She told me to stop hanging out with you,” he simply said, his words muffled by the pillow he was hugging. Your heart stopped for a second as the blood drained from your face, leaving you pale. You didn’t dare to say anything; the fact that he would cease to hang out with you because of a girl hurt you too much to think about.

“So I broke up with her,” he added as if it was the most common thing to do. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as the pencil you held dropped to the floor. “You did that?” your voice was barely audible, your heart doing jumps in your chest. “Yeah, of course, I did that,” he spoke as if it was apparent, “I mean, you’re my best friend Y/N; I can’t leave your side because of some chick’s jealousy.”

And it had always been you and him. The sun and the moon. The calmness and the storm. You had arguments, just like any other friendship, but being mad at him wasn’t something you were good at. And he didn’t like it either.

That’s why he switched majors just to be with you in college.

“You did what?” your voice, too loud, made him jump. “Yo, I said what I said” he shrugged his shoulders. You immediately jumped on his arms, hugging him tightly. “You thought I would leave you alone in college? It’s like throwing you to the wolves” he was slowly stroking your head. “When you told me you earned the scholarship, I told my parents I wanted to switch.”

It made you happy to know he would do something like that for you. The fact that he didn’t want to leave you alone in this new chapter of your life made you feel less nervous. It made you feel like you would always have his support, no matter what.

But that was until he decided to enter the NCT frat house. It wasn’t something to be surprised by since it was in his nature to meet new people and socialize constantly, but the fact that his new life took so much of his free time made you feel sad.

The boy who would always find the time to spend it with you, even if it meant to be half an hour together, was long gone. He had replaced you for a new environment, new parties, new girls. You couldn’t blame him; it was the time of his life, that’s for sure. And he loved it.

You could see it in the spark in his eyes whenever he told you about something funny that had happened in his house or when he talked about his brothers. But you couldn’t stop feeling uneasy by the fact that he was not the same boy that had your back ever since you both were five years old.

Maybe it was time for a change, you thought alone in your room.

Weeks after that last encounter with Haechan in your room, you were having lunch with who was now your new friend from class. Hyuna, a beautiful and bright girl who had approached you on your first class, was sitting with you having lunch when Sunhi, another girl who had quickly befriended both of you, sat down in front of you, groaning.

“Hey, what’s up with your face today?” Hyuna asked her, laughing, just to make the other girl cover her face with her hands. “I’m fucking hangover,” she answered, her voice muffled by her hands. “You had fun last night?” you questioned as you kept eating your meal.

“Too much, this is my last frat party, I promise…” she said, letting her head fall on her hands, her hair covering her face. “You always say that and then end up going back,” Hyuna mocked her, making you laugh. “It’s just—ah! This frat boy are all so hot; I can’t fight against myself,” her answer mixed with her whines.

“Where did you go last night?”

“To the NCT frat house,” she answered, your ears perking up at her words. You haven’t heard of Haechan for weeks, but you knew that was his house. “And—do you know any of the brothers there?” you carefully asked since they didn’t see the existence of your friendship with Haechan. “Actually, yes. I was invited by this boy named Johnny.”

“And did you meet someone you liked?” Hyuna asked again, this time nudging you with her elbow as you focus your attention back on her. “Well, there was this guy…he was charming but loud,” her tone of voice increasing with every word. “What’s his name?”

“I think—I believe Haechan? I don’t even remember, all I know is I made out with him, and then he disappeared, but then I met this other boy who—“

Your mind zoomed out when you heard his name; imagining Sunhi with Haechan made your heart clench in your chest for some reason. Of course, you missed him, but that didn’t give you the privilege of feeling jealous; what is wrong with you? The little voice in your head spoke.

“Hey, Y/N!” Hyuna grabbed you by your shoulder to bring your attention back to reality. “Are you with us?” she asked as she laughed. “Um—yeah, I was just… thinking about something.”

“Yeah, we saw that you were in your little world again,” Sunhi intervened, her face visible now since she was sitting straight. You carefully observed her; how could he not be interested in her? She was indeed beautiful, graceful, and angelic. “What I was saying is that you should come with me the next time,” she repeated herself as she took a bite from your plate. “Uh- I don’t know about that, girls.”

Your awkward self reappeared, making you feel small again, not enough. “What! Y/N, you have been to zero parties since you arrived here, and it has already been two months” Hyuna’s wide eyes were now looking straight at you. “Yeah, I know, but—“

“No buts! I want you, no, I demand you come with us” Sunhi’s pointed finger was looking at you as eyebrows furrowed. “But what if—“

“I said no buts and no what-ifs!” she stopped you again, at which you could only huff, slugging down your shoulders. “Oh, no! That’s him! Hide me!” Sunhi reached to bring you and Hyuna together to hide from someone behind the two of you. “Who are you hiding from?” Hyuna groaned, trying to look behind herself.

“Haechan!” The girl in front of you hissed, her head slugged down between her shoulders, looking carefully behind the both of you. Your heart stopped when you heard his name. The only thing you wanted to do was turn around, run towards him and hug him as tight as possible. “And why are you hiding from him anyway?” the girl beside you asked her, still sitting as stiff as possible by you.

“Because I just don’t want him to see me, that’s it,” she answered, slowly raising her head to sink back down. “Shit shit shit!” she cursed under her breath, awkwardly placing a fake smile on her face. “Yo Sunhi!” you heard Haechan’s voice from behind you as he was slowly making his way towards your table.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you were frightened to turn around to look at him. “Hi, Haechan,” Sunhi answered, her voice high pitched. You felt him behind you; your hands trembled under the table as you bit your lip hard. “Where did you go last night? You disappeared” he kept talking.

“And who are you?” Hyuna’s strong voice made its appearance, turning around to talk directly at him as you kept your head low. A smirk appeared on his face as he focused his attention on Hyuna, “Haechan, pleasure to meet you,” he winked at her making her roll her eyes. “I had to go home early… I had classes this morning and stuff to do” Sunhi trailed off awkwardly, not looking at him.

Haechan’s eyes traveled from Hyuna to Sunhi and back when he focused his eyes on the back of your head. He didn’t say a thing; he didn’t even acknowledge you being there. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had recognized you from behind. “Well, anyway, you’re being formally invited to another NCT party, this Friday, in honor of one of the brother’s birthday” his voice was so melodic that anyone could fall for it, you thought.

You still didn’t dare to look up, keeping your face low. “Oh, that’s sweet; I’ll check if I can go,” she answered back, smiling. “You can also come to Hyuna, and uh—miss silent too,” he said, referring to you, as he made his way back to where he had come from when he heard his name being called.

“Oh god, he’s a real fuckboy isn’t he?” Hyuna spoke first, and you finally let yourself breathe, looking up at the girl in front of you. “Yes, he is; that’s why I don’t want to do anything with him,” Sunhi groaned, letting her head fall back down on the table.

“Are you guys going to go?” you asked, your voice quiet as you decided to keep eating your meal. “Uh, I don’t know… those parties are crazy as hell,” Sunhi’s whiny voice answered you. “Oh, but this could be perfect! Your first party to be an NCT party?” Hyuna asked, and Sunhi’s head snapped up to look at you, eyes as wide as her smile. “Yes! Perfect!” she clapped her hands together.

“Wait, wait, guys—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“What do you—? Girl, if you don’t stop acting like a little girl, I’ll beat your ass,” Hyuna threatened, and her eyes frightened you. “Okay, okay, I’ll go,” you quietly answered, still afraid of the looks she was giving you.

Did you want to go? No. Did you want to stumble across Haechan at one of his parties? Oh, hell no. Would you be going anyways? It seemed like it.

The anxiety built up in your chest as days passed and the date of the party neared. You felt like something would go terribly wrong, and usually, your instinct didn’t lie to you. But, on the other hand, you wanted to see Haechan again. No, you didn’t want that. You wanted to turn back in the time to when everything was expected when he was your best friend and was always by your side.

But something inside of you told you that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. So, what was there to lose? You asked yourself looking at the mirror when you applied your makeup for that night. “Everything could go wrong,” you whispered, grimacing at your reflection.

Looking down at your phone, you battled between texting Haechan or not. What if he didn’t like you being there, but yet again, why wouldn’t he? He had asked you before to go to one of the parties. You wanted to go, but at the same time not. You wanted to see him, but at the same time not. Were you upset with him for leaving you behind? Groaning, you dropped back your phone, deciding that it was best not to talk to him about it.

You had gone to parties before, but the atmosphere in that house was too much for you. Smoke filled all of the rooms, and you couldn’t correctly talk with your friends because of the loud music. There were many people, too many people, you would say. And none of them were familiar faces.

Your friends wasted no time on bringing you a cup, and the liquor in it burned your throat when you took the first sip. “What is this?” you twisted your face in disgust, trying to give back the cup to Hyuna. “You get used to the flavor, trust me” she pushed back the cup to you.

With a disgusted face, you gulped back the rest of the cup, knowing very well that you would need the alcohol in your system to confront Haechan, in case you see him, of course.

The hours passed, and so did the cups of alcohol brought to you. You were having fun, to your surprise. It was no lie that the alcohol made the talking since you were open with everyone out of nowhere. But, what shocked you the most, was that boys were approaching you to talk to you and dance, something you had never experienced before.

You liked the attention you were getting from them. You liked the looks, the broad smiles, the little touches on your knee raising to your mid-thigh.

Making your way to the kitchen, where you knew more drinks, you felt your body light and your mind dizzy. Maybe it was time to stop drinking, but who cares? The little voice in your head made an appearance after a long time. A slight hiccup left your mouth when you poured the liquid into another plastic cup when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion while you looked down at the arms that were tightly holding you against a hard chest. “Excuse me—“ you talked to the hands. “Do we know each other?” you asked, giggling. It was a funny situation to be talking to a pair of hands.

“Yeah, I think we pretty much do,” a soft voice whispered in your ear, and your heart stopped for a second when your mind realized that it was a very familiar voice. Not daring to look back because of your state of mind, you just opted on drinking. It couldn’t be.

“Since when do you drink so much?” Haechan asked, taking the cup from your hands and keeping it away from you. “Heeey, that’s mine!” you whined, trying to reach the cup as he left it on the top shelf. He turned your body around, so you were pressed between his body and the counter behind you.

His eyelids were also half-closed, and you could smell the alcohol in his breath, which hit you directly in the face because of how close he was standing to you. His hands were placed on each side of your body, entirely trapping you and your heartbeat rapidly in your chest. “Haechan what—“

“No, what are you doing here?” his eyes observed your face, traveling from your eyes to your lips and down your neck, just to go back to your eyes. “I—I was invited,” you stuttered, too nervous because of how close he was to you. It reminded you of your first kiss with him, and there was nothing you would like to do more now than kissing him like that first time.

“Who invited you?” he smirked, tilting his head to the side with curiosity in his already red eyes. Not wanting to be humiliated by the fact that he hadn’t recognized you that one day, your eyes darted to the room, trying to see if you remembered someone’s name. “Umm---“

He scoffed as he turned around to see whom you were looking at. “Johnny, Jaehyun maybe?” he asked, arching his brow when he looked back at you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones to invite you” his voice went down an octave, sending shivers down your spine. “What—what do you mean?” you asked, feeling small between his arms.

Haechan didn’t say a word as his face neared yours, his lips lingering on your ear as he whispered. “Because they’re into innocent girls like you,” and you could’ve sworn you felt his lips there, slowly caressing your skin. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He parted his face from yours far enough to look at you. “You don’t know what I’m talking about? You want me to show you?” he leaned in once again, just enough to touch your nose with his. You closed your eyes, too afraid to keep looking at him that close.

Your whole body felt overwhelmed by the sensation of having him that close, his waist pressing to yours as his breath hit your face, and maybe with a slight move, you could have his lips on yours again, but would you risk it? You gulped before you armed yourself with the courage to talk again. “How—what do you want to show me?”

A small smile appeared on his face as he took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and leading you across the packed room of people. Your legs walked by inertia, and you felt nervous, but why should you be? He was your best friend, after all.

He led you up to the rooms; he showed you the way to his bedroom. He closed the door behind you, and suddenly all the loud music was muffled by the walls, finally making you able to think about what was going on. “Haechan, I—“ you tried to talk, but he had wrapped his arms around your waist from behind once again.

He hushed you when you felt his lips on our exposed neck, the hairs on your back raising. He must’ve thought you were shuddering because of the smile on his face. “You’re still so sensitive…” he whispered, his mouth leaving small kisses up and down your neck.

You tried your best not to make any sound, not to let him know how good that made you feel, but your erratic breathing made it obvious. “Haechan, what are we—what are you doing?” you asked, slowly closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost in the sensation of his lips.

“I want to show you how innocent you are, Y/N” his hand moved south, slowly playing with the hem of your skirt. “Just like that time when I gave you your first kiss, you remember that?” he kept talking as his fingers grazed the skin of your mid-thighs. You were too afraid to speak, so you just rolled back your head, letting it fall on his shoulders, your eyes tightly closed.

“Because I do remember it very well, Y/N, it wouldn’t be a lie if I say that I haven’t stopped thinking about your lips after all this time” his soft voice filled the room, and you could only think this was all a dream. He slowly placed his hands back on your waist, making you turn around to face him. “Have you?” he asked, retiring the hair from your face.

Your head fell, looking at your shoes, too embarrassed to face him. “Tell me, Y/N, have you thought about me?” his voice was low and melodic, sending shivers directly to your core. “Yes,” you muttered under your breath.

His finger on your chin lifted your face to look at him. “Do you want that again?” he asked, as his lips were almost touching yours. You opened your mouth to talk, but no sound was heard, opting on nodding slightly.

His hand went to the back of your face, fingers on your hair, as his lips crashed into yours. It wasn’t like that first time, soft and tender; no, it was hard and full of passion this time. You could almost feel the neediness in the kiss as his other hand landed on your waist, pressing you against his body and keeping you still.

His tongue battled with yours, and you could feel yourself being left out of breath. His hand traveled from your waist to your ass, grasping it tightly at which you flinched in surprise, parting from the kiss.

“Haechan I—“ you tried to speak, your mind running wild, thinking about everything that was going on. He placed a quick peck on your lips to hush you. “

No,” you stopped him with your hands on his chest. His eyes gazed down to where your hands were placed, and he quickly released you from his hold.

“What happened to you?” you questioned, looking everywhere but at him.

“What do you mean?” he scoffed at your question.

“What I’m trying to say is that…you’re not like this, you haven’t talked to me in more than two weeks, and here you are now—trying to make out with me and stuff” your words stumbled on your mouth, as you were thinking faster than what your mouth could articulate in words.

“You didn’t like it?” he asked, amused, “Yes, I did—but that’s not the point!” frustration was now running on your blood, making it difficult to talk with him. “What I’m saying is that you neglected me for a long time, you didn’t talk to me, you didn’t look out for me… you just disappeared, and now you want to make out with me as if it was something normal”.

“Look, Y/N, I didn’t neglect you” he rolled his eyes at the word, “I was busy with other stuff.”

“What is this new other stuff? Party like there’s no tomorrow? To have sex with random girls?” your voice was now louder, increasing with every word. “You’re jealous now?” he asked, smirking, and you just thought you couldn’t talk with him anymore. “What is there to be jealous about Haechan? We’re not a couple, we have never been, and we will never be”.

His jaw clenched at your words, and you could see in his eyes, which were lost everywhere in the room, avoiding your gaze, that he was holding back his words. “So now you don’t want to talk to me? You only brought me here to—“

“No, Y/N don’t think that” his hands went straight to his face, rubbing his eyes. “Then what were you thinking—“

“I can’t always be by your side trying to bring you to socialize, okay! I can’t always be there to make sure you’re comfortable! I felt like this was a new start for me and you! I just—“

“Why did you come here in the first place?” you were screaming now, not wanting to believe everything he was saying. “Because I thought that before!” he shouted back, making you feel small. “I thought that I could always take care of you! But I realized there’s a whole world out there to explore and… and I can’t stop myself from doing things I like just to be by your side all the time!”

Tears gathered in your eyes, and you tried your best to keep them from falling. Your hands trembled, and he just paced around the room, biting his lip hard. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to snap like that—“

“No, you said what you wanted to say, I understand—” your voice was low, barely audible. “I understand that you want to live your life freely and that I’m just—“you could keep talking because of your voice breaking. He tried to go near you, but you took a step back, keeping your distance.

“It’s just now that I realize that I’ve been a burden all this time” a tear rolled down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it off. “Don’t say that Y/N you haven’t been a –“

“No, stop” you took a step back when he tried to come near you once again. With a deep breath, your eyes glistening because of all the tears you were holding back, you finally looked up at him. His expression made your heartbreak again; you could see he was holding back himself from hugging you as sadness was written on his face.

“I guess I’ll leave; I shouldn’t have come tonight,” you whispered, sniffing. “I’ll leave you to—to continue with your new life.”

It broke you inside to say those words; it was hard to let them out. But you knew that was what he wanted to hear; that’s what he needed to continue.

You left the room. You wanted him to stop you, to hug you tightly and fight for you, but he didn’t. Somewhere deep inside of you, you had hoped he would prevent you from leaving his life, but, at the same time, the rational side of your mind knew very well that he didn’t want to waste his time with you anymore.

Walking between the crowded hallways packed with drunk people, you felt like you didn’t belong there and you would never will. You felt numb inside; your eyes were lost, and your face pale.

The words you just had exchanged with your lifelong best friend sobered you up instantly; the only thing making you dizzy now was the fact that you had lost him forever.

Since that night, your life has felt empty. The sun rose every morning, but it felt like it was the same thing over and over again. Distancing yourself from everyone wasn’t a bright idea either, but you felt like that was the only thing your heart needed to heal.

But weeks passed, and the emptiness didn’t leave, the heaviness you felt in your chest neither. It only got harder to continue your life as if nothing had happened. As if Haechan had never knocked on your door more than fifteen years ago to ask you to play with him as if he had never made you laugh when you were crying, as if he had never supported you even with your wildest dreams as if he didn’t change majors just to be with you on the other side of the country.

Everything reminded you of him, and you still checked your phone unconsciously, waiting for him to text you to take you stargazing, or that he was on his way with takeout food because he knew you were studying all day and you probably hadn’t eaten anything.

But that text never arrived.

He never came back.

“Honey, how is college treating you?” your mother's cheerful voice filled the silence you had in your room. “Fine, mom,” you answered faintly, looking at the screen of your computer. Midterms were around the corner, and you had to prepare for all of your exams, even when your mind was somewhere else.

“Are you studying again? I’m sorry for interrupting! Are you eating?” she sounded worried now, knowing how badly you treated yourself when it came to studying. “Yes, mom, don’t worry about me,” you lied, closing your eyes. You hated lying to her, but it was for the best with things like this.

“Okay, honey, how is Haechan doing? Is he studying? You better make him!” her voice was light again. She loved him as her son, you knew that, and you haven’t told her about your argument because it would break her heart to know that your friendship was over. “Yeah, he’s doing fine…” was the only thing you could answer.

“Well, tell him to call me soon! I want to hear his voice too,” she giggled, “okay baby, I’ll leave you to study, have a good night, I will call you tomorrow” her sweet voice said goodbye, and you only felt like crying.

Having your parents, your childhood friends, and your home far away made you want to give up everything you’ve been hardworking for. Your achievements until now didn’t look as bright as in the beginning, and you thought that maybe this wasn’t your place.

With your head in your hands, you shook that idea from your mind. “It will be all right, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, trying your best to keep yourself strong, but the absence of the essential support in your life made it hard. “Y/N, you can’t depend on people,” you scolded yourself.

“You can do way better than this,” you said again, recalling the words Haechan always told you when he saw you down like this. With a bright smile on his face, he would pick your chin up and say that you can do better, and I trust you will, his voice resonated in your mind, and you felt like crying again.

You entered the library on your campus, ready to study everything you had left for the exam you had the next day. One of the most important ones and also the one you hadn’t studied for. Anxiety built in your chest because of all the time you spent in your room studying alone, so changing the place could do you good. But, just as you entered the first study room, you saw him there.

Haechan looked down at his textbook, eyebrows furrowed and the pencil between his lips (a horrible habit he had since high school). A girl was next to him, a gorgeous girl, looking down at his textbook as she was whispering to him the explanation, and he smiled back at her.

Your heart clenched into your chest by the image in front of you, but you decided to ignore it. He left your life long ago, and seeing him again shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

Sitting down far away from them, with you back towards them, you scolded yourself because there were more important things in life to worry about, just like your next exam. With a final look back, you turned around to focus on your textbook, trying to seize the little time you had left to prepare.

Hours passed, and you felt like you didn’t advance with your subject, only feeling more and more tired. Checking the time, you realized it was already very late; that’s when you turned your head to your sides to see that it was almost empty and the ones left were slowly packing their things.

Looking down at your book, you knew you couldn’t leave, so taking a deep breath, you rubbed your eyes and started to read the same paragraph you had read five times already, trying to understand what it said.

A loud thump made you jump on your seat; your eyes were wide on the book that had been dropped in front of you. Slowly raising your eyes to whoever had dropped it, your heart stopped, and your mouth dried out. Haechan was in front of you; his arms extended, leaning on the table as his eyes were looking at you up and down.

“Have you eaten?” he asked his voice stern, earning a few glares from the people near you who were still reading.

Your eyes fell to your book again, repositioning yourself. You hadn’t eaten, and honestly, the last time you ate was the day prior, you thought. “Y/N, I asked you something,” he hissed, his eyes still locked on you.

“Why do you ask?” you whispered, not daring to look up at him.

“Because I know you’re able to go days without eating when it comes to studying, that’s why I’m asking” his voice was stern, and he didn’t care who could hear him. “No, I haven’t yet,” you whispered, biting the inside of your cheek, eyes still focused on your book.

His head fell between his shoulders as he let out an exasperated breath, almost annoyed. “C’mon, pack your things” he pointed at your notes that were spread on the table. “What? No, I have to finish this topic,” you whispered, finally looking up at his face.

His expression was annoyed as if he was tired of talking with you. “You can finish in your room; you need to eat first, Y/N,” he repeated himself, someone behind you hushing him, making him roll his eyes. Looking left and right, you felt how everyone was bothered by Haechan’s loud voice, making your cheeks tint in pink in embarrassment.

Slowly packing your things, you thought hard about leaving with him or not. He truly showed he still cared for you, but it could mean nothing at the same time. He patiently waited for you scrolling through his phone, and when you finally finished, you stood beside him like a lost puppy.

He looked at you and made his way out of the library as you strolled behind him. The oversized comfy hoodie you wore reached your mid-thighs and made you feel small, just like every time you had to deal with him when he was pissed.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked. Not looking back instead, he kept walking. “I’m not hungry; you don’t need to do this, Haechan,” your voice is quiet, getting lost in the cold night. “I asked you what you want to eat?” he spoke again, stopping in front of you, making you stop abruptly. “I—I don’t…”, “you want some pizza? I feel like eating pizza,” he responded to his question, looking back down at his phone.

Your eyes nervously moved around, unable to stop on him as you shrugged your shoulders. “I guess that’s a good idea.” His phone rang out of sudden, taking you aback, his screen lighting up. He looked down at the screen, and you could see a female’s name displayed on it. “Aren’t you going to—pick up?” you asked softly, pointing at his phone.

He sighed and picked up. “Hi, look, I can’t—“

You awkwardly stood next to him as he looked straight ahead, listening to the voice at the other line. “Yeah, I know what— why are you getting so crazy about this?” his voice suddenly got a bit louder. “Look—no! I didn’t—“ he tried to talk, but the other person didn’t let him continue.

You looked back at your watch, realizing it was getting late. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go with him, and he was also getting into some trouble with some girl. You looked at his face and saw his annoyed expression. The bright smiley face you were used to was long gone, leaving you with a stern face. “We can postpone the dinner for another—“ but the voice didn’t let him finish once again.

“Haechan, don’t cancel your plans for me, it’s already late anyway, and I have to keep—“ you whispered, pointing at where your building was, but he stopped you grasping at your arm. “We will talk in another moment; I’m busy right now,” he said, hanging up, not letting the other person talk back.

“Sorry about that, it was a girl that I’m—“

“You don’t have to give me explanations,” you cut him, feeling like it would break your heart to know he was talking with, or even dating, someone. His mouth was shut, and he bit his lower lip. Looking down at his phone again, he saw the hour. “I know you have to keep studying; what if we go back to your place and I order some take out—“

“You don’t have to—“

“Hear me out, okay? We order some take-out, and when I’ve made sure you’ve eaten I’m leaving, you don’t even have to look at me. You focus on your studies” his voice was stern, and so were his eyes, and you knew you couldn’t say no to that.

Making your way back to your dorm, silence embraced both of you. You wanted to ask him how he was, if he was studying if he was dating, if he was doing all right with everything, but you were too much of a coward to bring yourself to talk again.

He kept his hands in his pockets, walking beside you as if nothing had happened. He looked calm and collected, but when didn’t he? You asked yourself. Haechan had always had this aura of having everything under control, even when everything around him was crumbling down.

Leaving your bag under your desk, he was already calling to order the pizza he mentioned before. You took your books out and sat down, combing your hair into a messy bun, and immediately started to read through your notes. His presence in your room didn’t bother you. Instead, it made you feel safe and comfortable, helping you to concentrate even more.

Haechan was lying on your bed; he had already taken off his shoes and was mindlessly scrolling down his phone again. From time to time, he would hum some melody or scoff at something he had seen, but he never talked to you, knowing you would scold him for taking you out of your focus.

It seemed like hours had passed before you heard the knock on your door, signaling that the take-out he had ordered was there. He opened the door and paid for it, then stood next to you with the box in his hands. “Dinner time,” he spoke, looking down at you, and you sighed, defeated.

Both of you sat down on the floor, quietly eating. “So, what are you studying for?” he asked, taking a bite from his pizza. “Molecular biology,” you answered, huffing, preparing yourself to fail tomorrow. “Oh, that sucks,” he groaned, which made you laugh. “Everything sucks for you,” and he nodded smiling, “everything that has to do with biology, I’ve always hated it,” he added.

“And how’s is it going?” he asked again, trying hard to tie a conversation with you. “I’m going to fail” your voice was quiet again, as your shoulders slumped. “Hey, don’t say that! You’ve never failed anything!” he furrowed his brows and sat with his legs crossed, looking directly at you. “I just—I haven’t been able to focus and concentrate properly for this midterm exams” was the only thing you could mutter.

“Was it because of me?” he asked softly, his eyes following yours, trying to make eye contact. Gulping, you left the pizza you were eating and stood up, “I have to keep studying Haechan.” He simply nodded and kept eating.

You felt his eyes on your back, and you felt his presence. But you didn’t dare to look back at him, the little voice in your mind reminding you that he still cared. After reading your last topic, you rubbed your eyes, realizing that hours had passed when you looked at your phone’s screen. It was already 2 AM, and you felt exhausted.

Standing up, you stretched your body; it hurt from sitting in the same position so much time. And when you turned back to your bed, you saw him there, fast asleep with his phone falling from his hand. He was only in his t-shirt and jeans, one arm under his head, and his mouth was a little bit open. He looked peaceful.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight in front of you, your heart clenching tight in your chest. Should you wake him up? It was already very late, and you didn’t want him wandering around the empty streets either. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let him sleep in your bed, as you would try to occupy the less space possible.

Brushing your teeth and putting on your pajamas is that a big oversized shirt he had once given you because he didn’t use it anymore; you slipped under the covers, covering him too. It wasn’t the first time you two slept together in one bed, but it was the first time doing it after a big argument.

He moved around groaning, and you kept your body stiff at the other end, trying not to make him uncomfortable because he was sleeping so lovely the last thing you wanted to do was to wake him up. After a few minutes, his body moved again, and his arm found its place around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You knew he slept with a pillow between his arms, so you thought that he did that out of habit. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. You missed being this close to him, having his skin so close to yours, his scent so lovely. You didn’t know where to put your hand, moving it from your pillow to the sheets, then back to the pad. You just couldn’t relax.

“Go to sleep Y/N, you have an important exam tomorrow,” his raspy voice filled the room, and you took a deep breath, finally letting your hand fall on top of his. After several minutes, you heard his breathing go back to soft, almost unable to listen to it. You knew he was sleeping again. “I’ve missed you, Haechan,” you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes into his embrace. But what you didn’t know is that a small smile spread on his face when he heard those words, only wanting to answer you back, but he knew he had to let you rest, so he decided to play along and pretend to be asleep.

You woke up the following day by the sound of your alarm. Stretching in your bed, you realized that you were alone. He had left. But you found a little post-it on your desk with his messy handwriting:

“I don’t wish you luck; I wish you success Y/N! My girl has all my support!” and a little heart on the side. Your heart jumped up and down on your chest, and a big smile was on your face. “My girl…” you whispered, reading the note over and over again.

The day went by rapidly, and so did your exam. Before you could even think about it, you were already making your way out of your classroom. It had been more accessible than you thought, you wouldn’t get the best grade in your class, but you wouldn’t fail either.

You truly felt happy. Finally, destiny was good to you. And as you were texting your mom about your exam, someone crept from behind you, taking you in their arms and spinning you around. You couldn’t help but scream in surprise as Haechan let you back down, laughing at your reaction. “You scared me!” your voice was loud as you hit his shoulder playfully.

“How did your exam go?” he asked, walking by your side. You looked at him, trying to bite back your smile. “Better than expected,” “See? I told you! You’re just the best Y/N!” He shouted, and you covered your face with your hands.

“Hey, don’t shout! You’re embarrassing me!” you said back, laughing.

“What? Everyone should know who’s the best on—molecular biology or whatever that is” he shrugged his shoulders, and you just couldn’t take off the smile on your face. You stopped before entering your building, “thank you,” you said to him, and he only nodded in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N; you were the one studying until late last night… I’m sorry for falling asleep”.

Making your way back into your dorm, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You still had hope that he would make his way back into your life somehow, but you couldn’t let yourself fall for it so easy.

And just like that, just like you thought it would be, you didn’t see him again.

“My girl is back home!” your father’s loud voice could be heard from the sidewalk as you were exiting the taxi that took you home from the airport. He made his way to you and hugged you tightly. “C’mon, dad; you’re going to—dad, I’m suffocating” your words came out breathlessly, and he only laughed. “I missed you so much Y/N” he looked down at you with, “dad, are you—are you crying?” you scoffed. “What? No, of course not!” he quickly blinked twice before taking your bags inside of your house.

You came back home for your winter break, and you couldn’t be more grateful for finally being able to your parents. Growing as an only child made you rely on them more than other kids did on their parents, and maybe it had something to do with the fact that you were such an introvert.

You missed the warmth of your home, the smell of the cooking your mother did in the kitchen, and your two cats wandering around.

“Honey, why didn’t you come back with Haechan?” your mother asked from the kitchen, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “What?” you questioned back, as you were already resting on your couch, your cats around you. “He came back three days ago,” she announced, her head poking from the kitchen. “Oh—he didn’t have as many exams as I did…” you tried to sound convincing.

“Did something happen between you two?” your father asked, sitting down and taking one of the cats on his lap as the kitty accepted, purring. “No, we’re fine—as usual” you tried to smile again, but you just couldn’t.

The fact that he appeared out of nowhere, taking care of you like the old times, and making you laugh, just to disappear again, made you realize that he still had to continue with his life, and that was just a stop on the way. Maybe for easing his consciousness, perhaps he felt bad but not bad enough to go back to what you two had before.

But you were slowly accepting it. You were slowly facing the reality that nothing would be the same between you two, and you had to move on.

You felt sad, of course, you did, but it wasn’t like the first weeks after arguing with him. You didn’t think about it too much; there were days when you completely forgot about him. And you felt good with yourself because, finally, you were letting go of the past and focusing on your future.

That first night in your old bedroom made you reminisce so many memories of when you were young. In the loneliness of your room, you looked around your shelves filled with books, most of the adventure books since you weren’t brave enough; you loved reading other people doing extraordinary things.

You also looked down, smiling at all the teddies you had in your room. Maybe it wasn’t something many girls in your age would have, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to throw them away. Your eyes traveled to your walls, the one in front of your bed was filled with pictures.

You stood in front of the wall, arms crossed on your chest, a nostalgic smile on your face. Pictures of you when you were eight years old, and you went camping with your family, photos of you on your first day of high school (at which you still cringed), pictures of you and your friends on some school trip. And what you realized is that most of them were pictures of you and Haechan, uncontrollably laughing, some with your mouths full, some on the beach (those holidays your parents decided to bring him with you and, it was a crazy ride).

You smiled fondly at all the memories you had with him, and you knew that that’s one thing he couldn’t take away from you—the happiest moments of your life.

A thump on your window took you out of your daydreams, and you turned around, confused by the sound. Another one was heard, and you saw that it came from little rocks thrown at it.

Slowly nearing the window, you looked down to see Haechan; one eye closed as he aimed to hit your window. He saw you looking down and took his hand down, just looking up at you.

Opening the window, the cold wind hit your face. “What are you doing there? It’s cold outside,” you scolded him when you felt the coldness enter your room. He just sighed and threw the rest of the little rocks he had in his hands.

With smooth movements, as he has always done, he climbed on the tree near your house and jumped up through your window. You kept silent, looking at him, biting your lower lip as he closed the window behind him. The silence in the room was suffocating, and you didn’t know where to look; suddenly, all the feelings you thought were gone hitting you like a truck.

“I’m sorry” was the only thing he muttered. His high self-confidence was gone. And he didn’t look like himself. You could spot dark circles under his eyes, and he was looking down at his hands as if he hesitated to be there. He had never been this way. It shocked you.

“Haechan what—“

“No, listen,” he stopped you, looking up. The pain his eyes hid was evident for you. “I fucked up, big time. I know that, and I’ve—I’ve tried to distance myself from you, trying to let you… let you rebuild your life without me, but…” he sighed, looking left and right in your room, avoiding your eyes which were focused on his face, “…I’m a mess without Y/N”.

It was the first time in your life that you saw him this vulnerable. “All this time without you made me realize how much I need you in my life, to sometimes take the reins, to put me in my place…to slow down everything” he kept talking, and tears were already gathering in your eyes, threatening to spill.

“And I… I understand if you don’t want to do anything with me—I’m a complete loser,” he scoffed at his words, “and you’re… you’re just too perfect for dealing with me and… I’m here to apologize because I also realized I haven’t apologized for my actions on the party, that was inappropriate—“ he was just babbling by now.

“But I feel like—all this time I felt like something was missing in my life, like… the parties were good, having fun and all but… you weren’t there Y/N” his eyes finally met yours, “and the fact that you weren’t there made me… it broke me inside, it made me feel like shit, even more knowing that I’ve hurt your feelings”. His eyes glistened with tears, and you just let yours fall down your face.

Taking his hands with yours to stop him from talking, he looked down at where your skin touched his. “Calm down,” you spoke, and he shook his head no, scoffing. “Look, after everything you’ve been through because of me, and you still treat me right, for fuck’s sake, I don’t deserve this,” he kept talking, his eyes blinking the tears away.

And that’s when for the first time in your life, you decided to brave up. You decided to take the first step and do what your heart tells you to do for the first time. Taking his face with your hands, you kissed him. Softly. Tender. Just like the first he had kissed you on that some room. It all became a full circle.

His hands found their place on your waist, wrapping them and bringing you closer. You parted and kissed his tears away, your own still staining your face. He kept his eyes closed and his forehead on yours, just breathing heavily. “It’s been rough; I’m not going to lie,” you started to speak, “having you away from me… after all these years together, it was… painful”.

“But—Haechan, I can’t just let you go” your soft voice made him open his eyes slowly. “Love doesn’t always come in a path of roses, sometimes love appears in the form of five years old who wants to play in the mud and… a confident boy who always makes sure to take care of me when I forget to do so…” you smiled at him.

“I’ve loved you ever since I can remember,” you confessed, “but I guess I’ve always been a coward to accept the truth.”

“Let me make it up for you,” his voice barely audible, “let me… let me love you until you forget all the pain I’ve made you go through” he practically begged for you to forgive him and take him back into your life.

With a soft kiss on your lips again, you felt like everything was falling into his place. Destiny is finally showing its face.

#Hyuck x reader #nct x reader #haechan x reader #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct friends to lovers!au #nct fic #nct fanfic #haechan fic #haechan fanfic

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys.

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable.

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party.

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that.

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now.

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought.

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!"

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening.

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?"

More cheers, more hollers.

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!"

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day.

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse.

Again—you fucking hate frat boys.

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst.

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer.

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt.

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team.

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!"

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell no!"

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike."

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed.

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?"

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly."

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer.

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little.

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?"

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along.

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though.

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?"

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer."

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers.

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in.

He does, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?"

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?"

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs.

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue.

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?"

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself."

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon.

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip.

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice.

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach.

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum.

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!"

"Ayyy, waterfall!"

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced.

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch.

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up."

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game.

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards.

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace.

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup.

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you.

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you.

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before.

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team?

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you.

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out.

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult.

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes.

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses.

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way.

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls.

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you.

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc.

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover.

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall.

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster.

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him.

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them.

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it.

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms.

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees.

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested.

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins.

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?”

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away.

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him.

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave.

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning.

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you.

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too.

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was.

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips.

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble.

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere.

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out.

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper.

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind.

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind.

“Holy—”

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs.

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass.

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately.

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress.

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you.

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it.

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to.

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door.

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias.

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again.

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot.

Is still hot.

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong.

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner.

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits.

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face.

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you.

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago.

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head.

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick.

God dammit, why is he so sexy?

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so...

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body.

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face.

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted.

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip.

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock.

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion.

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth.

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue.

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you.

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward.

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot.

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit.

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to.

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine.

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts.

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight."

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you.

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed.

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach.

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression.

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support.

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot.

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee."

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out.

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side.

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth.

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like.

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?"

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!"

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together.

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave.

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it.

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove.

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?"

And, there's that point.

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request.

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea.

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times.

But, it needs to stop.

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth.

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer.

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call.

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven.

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it.

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them.

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious.

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before.

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods.

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated.

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself.

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee.

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much.

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully.

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?"

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to.

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point.

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you.

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie.

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?"

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal."

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended.

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards.

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day."

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face.

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias."

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick.

"You have any classes?" You ask.

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place.

"Sucks," is all you can come up with.

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?"

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself.

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'.

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?"

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals.

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it.

"God dammit."

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear.

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to."

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan.

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole.

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane.

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name.

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit.

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air.

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess.

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat.

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate.

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #mels prima vista #mels frat house

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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context)

Category: fluff for the most part.

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do.

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication.

Letters had always been more of your thing.

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him.

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30.

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter.

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving.

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment.

September 30th.

‘Hi baby!

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon.

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ?

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :)

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you.

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd.

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure. I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back.

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor.

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming)

Peace out,

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind.

November 4th.

‘Dear Evan,

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you.

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter.

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up.

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer.

Anyways, signing off for now.

Yours always, y/n.

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet.

December 21st.

‘Hey y/n,

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me.

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now.

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun.

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now.

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description.

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ?

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n.

Peace out,

Evan.

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th.

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it.

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan,

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ?

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go.

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories.

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had.

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah)

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present?

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country.

February 12th.

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it, a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name.

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas.

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me.

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell)

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ?

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it.

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it.

Peace out,

Buck’

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash.

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there.

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August.

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it.

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now.

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall.

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that.

Except, she was still busy.

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile.

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n.

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties.

A fresh start.

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into.

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates.

Buck’s last letter to you.

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing.

‘Dear Buck,

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change.

Guess where I decided to go ?

Did you guess yet?

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ?

LA!

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.)

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ?

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first.

Yours always, y/n.’

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye.

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor.

The unit number was the only difference.

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in.

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address.

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall.

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years.

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you.

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door.

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door.

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?”

“I am, who are you ?”

“Y/n.”

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled.

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar.

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer.

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter.

“Water’s fine, thanks”

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you.

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile.

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?”

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose”

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums.

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before.

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?”

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact.

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer.

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?”

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.”

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles.

“Buck, we live in the same building.”

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other.

“Okay.”

----

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keijislove · 3 years

Text

Dance the Night Away: Peter Parker X Reader

A/N: This ain’t following any particular timeline – let’s just say... idk, after Far from Home, maybe?

WARNING: use of the ‘P’ word (Flash being Flash)

Peter walked down the hallway amidst the chatter, trying to reach his locker as the crowd grew thicker and thicker, making it impossible for him to even see properly. Which was until a hand seized his wrist and pulled him through, letting go of him as he smashed into the storage compartment with force enough to make his brains rattle.

“Oops, sorry,” you said with a sheepish smile.

Peter had turned to thank whoever it was, but, catching sight of you, he groaned. Not that he didn’t like you – you and Peter had been best friends since you were eight years old. Recently, however, a banner had been put up by the senior girls announcing that prom would be taking place the following Saturday. And with only about five days left, you had taken to pestering Peter into going, hoping that if you’d fling the question unexpectedly, Peter would get scared into answering. You had, however, no luck so far.

“Y/N, I know what you’re going to say,” Peter warningly began, “And I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But I wanna say it,” you said, “And that I shall. Peter, come on! It’s a crucial life experience! I mean, you’re studying all the time these days, and I get it, you have a clear view of your future, and I’m happy for you. But pleeeaaaaaaase, just do it for me? It’s one night, Peter, come on! One night where you have to let go and just have fun! After that, we can go back to making circuit boards together like we used to, but just this once? C’mon, don’t tell me you’re turning me down.”

As you took a deep breath after this whole rant and Peter took one look at your sincere smile, he sighed.

“... Fine,” he mumbled.

Your eyes grew wide. Surely you’d misheard?

“What?” you asked, “Louder, please?”

“Fine!” Peter bellowed loudly so that a dozen heads turned in your direction and people began snickering.

Not caring in the least, you flashed a wide smile before engulfing Peter into a huge hug, speaking, “Thank you so much! It’ll be the best experience of your life, Peter!”

“Yes, that means better than your spiderman stuff,” you whispered in an undertone as Peter said a disbelieving, “Come on!”

Needless to say, you had finally convinced Peter to go to prom. Now came the hard part. Truth was, you had liked Peter since you were both, what, fourteen? Convincing Peter to go to prom was a task for the strong, but asking him to be your date? No way would he feel the same. Peter had never ever hinted, that your relationship could be more. In fact, he felt rather frantic to prove it couldn’t be more – something that convinced you that you did not belong together and that, someday, you would have to get over this silly little crush. Still, seeing Peter go to prom with any girl who made him happy was enough for you.

“Right, now that we’re going,” you said the following morning, when he’d found you standing next to his locker, waiting for him to arrive.

Peter sighed, “Mm hmm?”

“We need dates,” you ignored his disinterest.

“Do you have one?” asked Peter.

“It.... it’s complicated,” you muttered.

Peter crossed his arms, “Listening.”

You shot him a glare before sighing and telling him, “There’s... there’s this boy I like. I was really hoping he would ask me to homecoming back then, and I turned down anybody who asked me just to chase that blind belief. Guess what? He didn’t ask me. And I know he won’t now, but I don’t know... something inside me still hopes he would.”

“So, you’re scared to say yes to anyone in case he asked you but scared to say no to everyone in case he doesn’t ask you?” Peter clarified, causing you to laugh.

“Sounds about right.” you muttered, “But hey, enough about me, what about you? We need a date for you. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Not really,” Peter shrugged.

“Okay....” you said slowly, “Well, I’ll just list off people you would be happy with as they come to my mind... maybe you can ask one of them.”

“Fire away.”

“Okay... well, there’s Emma Jones from my biology class,” you began, “And she’s really nice.”

“Not my type.”

“Oh,” you frowned, “Okay... Alyssa from P.E?”

“The one who said spiderman sucks? No thanks.”

“Zoe from English?”

“Nope.”

“Ava from chemistry lab?”

“Meh.”

“... MJ?” you asked in defeat as Peter incredulously looked at you (A/N: sorry MJ, I love you <3).

“Okay, fine,” you snapped, “I’m done helping. Let me know if you find someone?”

Peter gave another nod as the two of you made your way to class.

------

You were panicking. Two days were all that were left, and so far, you had turned down countless boys including Flash Gordon who had swore and made rude hand gestures at you as a way to handle rejection. You didn’t know what was wrong – why was this impossible hope of Peter asking you still clouding your possibilities of a relationship?

Peter knew nothing of this – yet he annoyed you. If he was too blind to notice that you were madly in love with him, why did the very sight of his face make your brain go empty?

Now with one day left and nobody to ask you, you slumped moodily throughout the day, not talking and sitting silently at lunchtime, stabbing your potatoes pretending that it was your feelings for Peter.

“Okay you’re freaking me out now,” Peter said as the two of you were walking home and you still hadn’t opened your mouth.

“No date – again. God, this is just like homecoming,” you groaned.

Peter looked surprised.

“I thought a lot of guys asked you?”

“They did!” you moaned, “It’s just – that guy, I don’t know why he has this effect on me. It’s like – we weren’t meant to be together or maybe I wasn’t meant to go out with anyone ever.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” said Peter with something new in his expression. Behind the terribly unconvincing ‘concerned best friend’ mask, you saw a flicker of something... smugness? No, you were dreaming. You hadn’t eaten all day – this was probably a side-effect.

“You know what, I’m gonna grab a sandwich at Delmar’s,” you muttered, “I haven’t eaten since morning. Do you want to come?”

“Sorry, I promised May I’d come home,” he sheepishly said, “She wanted me to go get an outfit with her.”

“Oh,” you snickered, “Good luck with that. See you tomorrow!”

“See you.”

And with a heavy heart, you walked away from your only chance of having the person you cared about most as your date to prom.

--------

“Oh god, what was I thinking?” you muttered, staring the reflection of you in a(n) F/C dress with your hair styled <inert preferred style here>.

“This is stupid!” you said to no one in particular, before taking a deep breath and walking to the apartment across from yours and knocking on the door.

The door opened to reveal Peter.

“Oh, good you’re here, this will take just a second, May wants to –” he stopped abruptly, staring at you with eyes round as saucers.

“Um,” you began, he still kept staring.

“Earth to Peter, you still in there?” you snapped your fingers in front of his face as he blinked and turned a delicate shade of red.

“You – you look nice,” he managed to choke out.

“Thanks...?” you said, walking inside and taking a seat on the couch.

“Okay, um, M-may will take us there in her c-car, she’ll be h-here any moment, let’s just w-wait.”

“Pete, you having a stroke or something?” you asked in concern.

“No, I’m fine.” (A/N: he’s not 😉)

As if she had sensed Peter’s need to be rescued, Aunt May came walking into the room. She stopped at the sight of her nephew staring slightly at you, who was examining a coffee mug on the table. Smiling to herself, she cleared her throat.

Both of you jumped in surprise.

“We’re ready to go,” May stated, as the two of you got to your feet, following her to the car.

----------

“This was a mistake, wasn’t it?” you asked, looking at the doors of your school gym which were closed ominously.

“Why?” asked Peter in surprise, “I thought you wanted to go?”

“I do,” you admitted, “But – we don’t have dates, it’ll look so... lame.”

Peter scoffed, “Y/N, do you really need the dimwits that attend this school to justify how many cool points you have?”

“Not exactly,” you said in surprise, feeling slightly better.

“Yeah, come on, let’s just do it. Together, okay?” asked Peter as you nodded.

You both took nervous, deep breaths before pushing the doors open to reveal the commotion inside.

--------

You two were walking across the gym, interestedly examining the decorations ang pulling faces at the couples which were making out, till you bumped into something hard.

“OOF!” you groaned, falling to the floor.

“You okay?” Peter asked hurriedly, pulling you to your feet. As you both turned to look who it was, you were surprised to see Flash standing there with his mouth hanging open.

“No way,” he said, gaping, “HEY EVERYONE, LOOK! IT’S DATELESS L/N AND PENIS PARKER!”

You groaned as a million heads turned your way and slowly, the laughter broke out, jeers of the obscene names Flash had called you now echoing off the walls.

“Haha, real funny, Flash,” Peter said sarcastically, but once he saw your near-tears expression, he seized your wrist and pulled you out of the gym into the open.

“Come on,” he pacifyingly said, “Don’t cry over him, Y/N! He’s not worth it.”

“This is homecoming all over again,” you groaned, struggling to contain your tears, “School dances were never meant for me. Let’s just – let’s just go home and finish making that model spaceship we were working on.”

“Sounds like a worthwhile night to me,” Peter shrugged, tossing a brave smile your way, “You don’t need prom to be happy, you know. Let’s go.”

And so the two of you walked home, talking amongst yourselves, being the best friends you’d been since eight.

Best friends.

The sound of that word made your blood boil hot. How naïve were you? This was absolutely perfect – a million guys on the planet and you chose to fall for one who would never see you the same way.

As your apartment building came closer, Peter cleared his throat and spoke, “Wait in the living room with May for ten minutes. I have a surprise for you.”

“Seriously?” you asked, taken aback.

“Yeah, why not?”

“What is it?” you asked curiously.

Peter cocked an eyebrow.

“Kinda missing the point of a surprise if I told you what it was.”

“Makes sense,” you agreed, “Okay, but make it quick. I’m dying of curiosity.”

“You’ll live for another ten minutes,” Peter assured you.

Your curiosity was now bubbling to the surface like boiling water threatening to spill. You thought of what Peter could possibly have to surprise you, and you stopped to sit on a couch in the living room next to Peter’s aunt.

After exhausting every possibility (each as unlikely as the next), Peter finally dragged you ti the door of his room.

“... I’ve seen your room before, you know,” you laughed slightly.

“That’s not the surprise,” Peter playfully rolled his eyes, “Okay, close your eyes.”

“Jesus, Peter,” you snorted as his hands placed themselves over your eyes, “You are such a drama queen.”

“Open them... now!”

And you opened your eyes to see that the usual clutter surrounding Peter’s room had been cleared away, leaving some space for god-knows-what in the middle of it.

“Wow, you finally cleaned your room!” you exclaimed, “That is a surprise.”

“That’s still not the surprise!” Peter whined, “C’mere.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you close as your brain clouded with confusion. What the heck was going on?

Peter threw his phone aside as a light waltz began playing through the air. Peter placed one hand on your waist and the other one to grab yours as your confusion cleared away.

“You said you wanted to go to prom,” Peter stated as you two swayed on the spot, moving slightly to the music, “You didn’t say where. Now we’re away from judgy eyes, we can be weird.”

“Seriously, Peter?” you giggled at his dorkiness, “I never knew you were so cute.”

The words had slipped from your mouth before you had time to think them through. You were praying he didn’t hear you, but a hitch in his breath made your heart drop.

“You – you think I’m cute?” Peter asked, blushing furiously.

“Well,” you sighed, there was no backing out of this, “... Yeah, I do.”

You looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.

“And the guy you wanted to get asked by...?” Peter didn’t need to finish his question; he knew you understood.

“Yes,” you whispered, tears brimming at the corner of your eyes once more.

You sucked in a deep breath and looked up, “Look, Peter, I know you don’t feel the same and it’s honestly okay –”

“Shut up,” Peter mumbled, his lips brushing over yours. Your lips brushed together a few times as the both of you melted into the addicting sensation, not aware of the surroundings, not caring in the least. To Peter, all that mattered in that moment, was you.

You two pulled apart after a while, both blushing like crazy with no idea what to do next. It was you who spoke first, shyly.

“I – I think it’s a good thing we’re alone right now. That would be an embarrassing yearbook photo.”

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x yn #spiderman x you #spiderman x yn #fluff #angst #prom #dance #cute #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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marky4l · 4 years

Text

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances

word count: 17.2k

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music.

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat.

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.”

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody.

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another.

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you.

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate.

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted.

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest.

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation.

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.”

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him?

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice.

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily.

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.”

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—”

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?”

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward.

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem.

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before.

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway.

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt.

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape.

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous.

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him.

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily.

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point.

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work.

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.”

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately.

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too.

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole.

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse.

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—”

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion.

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted.

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?”

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful.

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again.

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.)

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard.

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open.

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours.

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome.

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching.

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head.

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.”

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing.

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself.

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question.

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop.

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you.

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max.

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December.

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably.

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different.

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile.

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor.

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click.

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it.

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly.

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause.

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good.

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?”

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him.

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face.

She nears you. “Explain.”

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once.

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!”

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest.

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin.

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said.

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark.

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed.

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment.

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly.

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory.

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita.

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up.

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine.

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.”

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.”

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently.

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once.

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head.

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously.

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear.

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.”

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly.

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens.

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.”

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.”

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.)

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down.

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm.

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently.

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.”

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person.

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these.

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it.

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all.

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. ��Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate.

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum.

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

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