#i was thinking why do these fucking boys always live in drama?

[rainbenrry23]

🤔

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

hi what is wrong with me

[qcomicsy]

Phrases I bet were said on the batfamily patrols without context.

Tim in his comm: No. he's not dead- *casually checks Jason's pulse* yeah there's nothing to worry about.

--

Jason nudging a mugger with his feet: He'll live.

--

Dick: No one tells any of this to Batman

Batman, behind him: No one tells what to Batman

Dick:

--

Robin: You said Redhood should stop killing do I look like Redhood to you?

--

Jason: This * shows a pair off rubber bullets to the renchman * were not letal, now this * shows them a pair of real bullets* are.

*reloads*

Jason: Start running.

--

Dick at the comm: What do you mean next to the Batsburguer? I am literally-- Hood. Hood. Jason. sto- STOP SCREAMING AT ME- I am literally- SHUT UP! Jason- I swear to god, I will hang up on you... WE ARE LITERALLY IN FRONT OF THE BATSBURGUER,... What do you mean "what car" what do you think? We're... We're next to - sorry - Next to the old lady behind the drive thru... fuck sake You know what? Just send us your location- Just- Yeah...

Damian, looking at his phone with the location:..... Dumbass you're in the wrong Batsburguer.

--

The signal, making eye contact with the other batkids: I do not know them.

--

Damian Robin: What are you doing in here?

Tim in his civil clothes: Are you serious? This is literally my rooftop. I live in this house.

--

Literally everyone to Oracle: Do NOT call Batman

--

Oracle: I'm calling batman.

--

Batman, clearly lost, lying through his teeth while gripping the batmobile's steering wheel: This is my city, we do not need a map.

--

Jason: Oh my god, you two are such drama queens the kid just dislocated his arm. Hey. Hey Robin. Do that thing you did last time- He's going to be okay. Robin do that thing.

Dick: D-Robin do not-

Batman, at the same time: Robin do not

Damian currently running towards a wall to relocate his arm: *crack.* There. Let's go.

--

Steph: Technically he ran in front of my van so if we're being fair-

--

Robin squinting: ...Is that Harley Quinn in a Batman suit?

--

Harley: This is so unfair! Why he always send the interns to fight me!

Robin Damian, done with her shit: Maybe because you fight like a little boy

--

Spoiler: Yo mama

--

Nightwing: Let's do the flying Robin-

Robin Jason: What do you mean flying Robin? *Nightwing grabs him* WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. NIGHTWING- NIGHTWING YOU MOTHERF-

Nightwing: YEET

--

Redhood:

Nighwing: What?

Redhood: Let's do the flying Robin.

Nighwing: ⁿᵒ⁻

--

[charliemwrites]

Bark bark bark awoooo

No content warnings

You’re gonna fucking combust.

Somehow, someway, this is Johnny’s fault. You’re not sure how yet, so he it isn’t fair for him to be in trouble, but you know it.

“This is your fault,” you tell him, pouting in bed — bare ass naked, but that means nothing to him, he’s a dog. He cocks his head, and you wave your (broken) vibrator at him. “I don’t know how, but it is. Is this because I wanna chop your balls off?”

His mouth closes, eyes big - like he actually understands you. In your horny delirium, you almost believe he really does.

You flop onto your back with a sigh, eyes a little wet with frustration.

It’s been two months since you last successfully got off. Your vibrator (and its replacement… and its replacement’s replacement) keep breaking, or running out of battery. The plug is defective or falls out of the socket.

Once you successfully got right to the edge - just for it to die. You almost did cry that time.

Sure, there’s your hand. But every time you try ol’ reliable a certain four-legged roommate interrupts one way or another. And when you tried to kick him out of the room, and then ignored the howling, scratching, and general drama - there was loud and rapid knocking at your door.

Like fucking clockwork. If you get anywhere at all, you never get to finish.

It wouldn’t be so bad, either. Your libido isn’t anything crazy, you don’t think. At least it wasn’t before. But now there’s Soap.

Soap who you should not be so attracted to. Who has no sense of propriety or boundaries, who murmurs the dirtiest things to you in the most public and otherwise mundane places. And he just keeps. Showing. Up.

Like he’s got a tracker on you or something. (You’ve checked, he doesn’t.)

He’s like every guilty fantasy you had as a good, studious girl back in high school. The kind of guy to grab your thigh under your parents’ dinner table and take your virginity in the back of his car. Maybe corner you by the lockers between classes to kiss you silly and drive up your absence record.

You never actually went for those boys — and perhaps gratefully, they never went for you. In romance novels, it would be a quaint little coming of age story. The stuff to swoon over. But reality was a lot scarier for you, especially with your older sister always keeping an ear out to report back to your parents and… well, yeah.

You’ve always been a firm introvert, anyway. That’s why you live out in the woods with only a dog for regular company.

But Soap. Soap is some unholy amalgamation of those innocent, shy girl fantasies turned R-rated. Like the grown-up version of those cute YA novels.

And you have no defense for it — except distrust, that is.

Soft-hearted as you are, you know you don’t do casual well. And you know that guys like Soap just like to spin you up and up until you finally give in, think the dreaded words “maybe it’ll work out” despite that rational voice in your head saying, “don’t bet on it.”

Doesn’t stop you from secretly wanting him though.

Fear is the only thing keeping you in check now. Some of it for you own feelings; of getting invested in a guy that has done nothing but treat you like a prime cut of meat. The rest of it is a genuine concern that he might be a bit dangerous. He’s so much bigger than you, visibly stronger. Has gone out of his way to make you uncomfortable (doesn’t matter that a very dark and slutty part of you liked it) and ignored your attempts at brushing him off.

Fear, unfortunately, is beginning to add to the temptation.

“I’m not going to do it,” you tell yourself, or maybe Johnny. Soap’s contact is on the screen. You don’t remember putting it into your phone, but you must have at some point. “Nope. No way.”

You slide a sideways look at Johnny, tail wagging at a steady clip.

“He’s probably a former frat boy or something, right?” you muse.

Snort.

“No, you don’t think so?” you question, sitting up. He happily crawls into your lap when you pat your thighs, chin resting on your tummy. “Nah, you’re right. Could almost imagine him beating the hell out of one for pissing him off.”

A little grumbly noise. You smile and start petting absently over his head and ears, phone forgotten now.

“This is dumb anyway,” you sigh, head tilted back to the ceiling. “You don’t like men. I couldn’t bring him back here.”

Johnny’s ears flick. You giggle and start flopping them around, making airplane noises. Eventually he huffs and starts licking at your face until you stop, complaining that you’ll need to wash off now.

—

“Fuck it.”

Johnny picks his head up, staring at you as you run a hand down your face.

“Fuck it all. I’m going to a bar. I’m getting… I dunno. Laid or something.” Thank god it’s only Johnny here. You don’t think you could live with the embarrassment of someone else hearing the way you talk.

You set your hands on your hips, nod to yourself.

“And if it happens to be Soap, then… sign from the universe, right?” You grimace a bit, striding for your bedroom. “Please don’t let him be a murderer or something…”

For once, Johnny is perfectly behaved as you get ready. He doesn’t try to lick at you when you come out of shower (freshly shaved and lotioned and everything). Sits patiently on the bed as you pick through your closet, even noses at a pretty pink dress you rarely wear but were considering for this.

He doesn’t try to bump your arms or hands while you do your makeup, just watches attentively. You choose a pretty, matching bra-panty set, apply a light spritz of perfume. Hesitate over jewelry.

“Is it normal to wear jewelry when you plan on fucking?” you wander allowed.

A little “boof” from the bed. You’ll take that as a yes.

You decide on a set of faux pearls with a gold heart pendant in the center. Not quite a choker, but high enough on your throat to suggest one. A delicate bracelet, a pair of stud earrings, and you’re just about set.

“Christ, I hate doing this alone,” you mutter, fumbling with the zip on the back of the dress.

Lastly, the shoes.

“Fuck it,” you say again. Your mantra for the evening, apparently. Wobble into a pair of heels, a bow on the outside of each ankle where you buckle them.

You pause when you’re done, giving yourself a once over in the full length mirror. Pleased with what you see. Coquettish and pretty, not necessarily bombshell sexy maybe, at least not on first glance. But the necklace, the heels, the cutouts at the waist of your dress… it’s all exactly what you wanted.

“Alright,” you breathe, tummy swooping with excitement. “I can do this… right?”

Johnny’s gotten down off the bed, is keeping a respectful distance. You appreciate it, don’t want to have to lint roll hair off yourself.

“Oh, god. What if he’s bad?” You ask, giving him a horrified look. “What if he’s been, like, compensating?”

To your shock, he stomps his paw and starts damn near howling. Carrying on and on like he’s bitching you out. You blink in shock, almost laugh — then check the time.

“Oh! Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you starve!”

You toddle off to the kitchen and prep his dinner, scrunching your nose at the raw chicken and beef liver. He grumbles and fusses the whole way, making you laugh as you pretend to have a whole conversation about the economy with him.

“Okay, bonnie Johnny,” you coo, setting his bowl down. “Be good, okay? If I bring someone back here please don’t eat them, okay?”

More grumbles and whines and growls. You roll your eyes, blow him a kiss, and slip out the door.

You tell yourself you just need action with someone. Don’t admit to yourself that there’s really a specific someone you’re hoping to see.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

part one can be found on my masterlist!

note: reuploaded from my old blog with the same name! welcome back if you've been here before, and enjoy the conclusion to part one if you're new. happy reading ♡

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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PART TWO

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Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend.

Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? 

Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both. 

Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well. 

Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something.

Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie?

Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 

“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 

Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung��”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 

You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.” 

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 

A beat passes. Two. 

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait. 

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 

You say nothing. 

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 

You don't bother to knock. 

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.” 

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.

[cas-skz]

Crumble

Wooyoung x FEM!reader

| non-idol au | drama/romance/smut | 18+!! |

Hiding your true feelings for your brothers best friend was something you had grown used to but when life took a turn, it came crumbling down even faster.

[WRITERS NOTE]

Akakakakakakaka so seeing Wooyoung with a kid caused this story to take a turn and he’s a daddddy!!!! Lmao stay tuned for part two!!! Enjoy xx

“San- my boy. We hit it big tonight. You keep this up and we’ll be loaded with cash in no time.” Wooyoung’s voice echoed through the small apartment as you emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. The boys had just returned from their usual Friday night boxing match - underground and illegal, but the money was worth it at the end of the day.

Two set of eyes immediately scanned your body, with devilish smiles creeping onto their lips as they leaned forward on the couch. Seonghwa and Yunho, more inner fight circle boys. “Don’t be a tease, y/n, drop the towel.” Yunho shot, earning a bag of frozen veggies to be thrown at him by San. “She’s my fucking sister bro.”

“Don’t worry Sannie, I know where he’s been.” You smirked, patting San on the shoulder as you walked to your room. It wasn’t long after that you heard the boys saying their goodbyes and your brother had poked his head in your room to let you know he’d be gone for the night. “Woo is gonna crash here. He’s fighting with that bitch again.”

“Why does he have to sleep here?”

“Where else would he go?”

“Seonghwa’s? Yunho’s? That baby face security guard dude thst comes here sometimes.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Wooyoung, he’d been in your life for years and you had grown close to him but as time passed, you couldn’t help but find him addictively attractive.

“Shut up dude.” San laughed, shaking his head. “He’ll probably just be gaming all night. I’m sure you won’t even know he’s here.”

“Fine.” You grumbled, waving him off.

A few hours had past since San left and as promised, the apartment had remained quiet. You had curled up in bed watching Netflix and snacking until you finally had to use the bathroom. In just an oversized shirt, you pushed off the bed and started down the hall.

“Shit, fuck!” You yelled, strumbling into Woo as he headed back to San’s room. His hands went to your waist, holding you in place as you laughed into your hands. “You scared the shit outta me.”

It wasn’t until you opened your eyes that you realized the close proximity to a shirtless Wooyoung, his toned chest and arms sent shivers down your spine. “Sorry..” Woo awkwardly laughed, letting his hands slowly slide off your sides.

“No, it’s fine. I’m usually walking mindlessly.”

“It is your place. I’m just taking up room.”

“You do the dishes sometimes, so I guess you’re not a total waste.”

Wooyoung huffed a laugh as he gazed down at you, “I’ll let you get to it.”

You smiled gently at him before going into the bathroom, groaning quietly as you plopped down and glanced at yourself in the mirror. Your face was beat red from blushing so hard and as you reached for the toilet paper, you noticed the goosebumps that had taken over your arm.

Even after shoving your feelings deep down and having a couple of relationships over the past years, Woo always had a special place in your heart. You sighed softly as you finished up, finding it nearly impossible to ignore your now throbbing clit.

You turned your back to the sink and propped yourself up against it. After finding a comfortable spot your hand quickly went to work swirling quick circles.

The thing about living in a small apartment was the unfortunate close proximity of everything and keeping things quiet, wasn’t always the easiest. You bit your lip hard as you concealed your moans,

Your mind wondered to Woo, thinking of how you’d want him touch you all over. Thinking of how good he’d feel deep inside your pussy. Your head fell back into the wall as you pleased yourself, blocking the world out.

You had almost hit your peak when the sound of the microwave door slamming shut. “Fuck” you muttered, knocking a few things of the counter as you tried to compose yourself.

“You good in there?” Woo yelled from the kitchen, that unfortunately was only a few feet away.

“Yea, I’m fine!” You replied, quickly picking up the fallen items before turning off the light. You took a deep breath and opened the door, Wooyoung’s eyes shot to you. “I’m making popcorn if you want some.”

You could feel your face burning red, “uh no, thanks though. I’m just gonna go lay down.” You babbled, flashing him a quick smile before quickly returning to your room.

Had he heard you? Did he know what you were doing? All questions ran through your head as you flopped on your bed, groaning into your pillow in frustration.

A few hours had passed before you heard noise coming from the room next to yours, lowering the volume on your tv, you could hear the sound of moaning and dirty talking could almost perfectly through the wall. You listened carefully, quickly clueing in that he was watching porn. What followed next made your pussy start to throb again.

The more you listened, the hotter things seemed to get. Woo’s soft groans entered the mix, you whined quietly as your entrance begged for attention.

Your hand quickly moved to your exposed pussy and to no surprise it was soaking wet. Your head gently knocked on the wall as you slipped your fingers inside your tight entrance, causing you to let out a small moan.

In the room next to you, Wooyoung sat directly on the opposite side of the wall, his hard cock gripped in one hand. He had been driving himself crazy the last few hours, hearing the sounds of your moans from the bathroom played in his head over and over again.

All he wanted to do was go into your room and shove his cock inside you, but he resisted and that’s when he turned to his phone. His cock twitched as he heard you start to moan, the bright red tip leaked pre-cum that he used as lube to help pump his hand.

You and Woo continued to moan and it had became obvious that it wasn’t to the porno. You couldn’t keep yourself from just moaning anymore, and softly started to speak. “I’m so wet.”

Woo audibly groaned in response, “my dick is so hard for you.”

The moans and dirty talking continued back and forth, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Fuck, I wanna cum,” you moaned

“You want me to cum with you?”

“Yea, cum with me. Cum like you’re fucking this tight pussy,”

Both your moans increased, your hands worked quickly to pump your hole and rub your clit. Your body started to shake as you got louder and louder with each rub, “I’m gonna cum….fuck”

“Cum for me.”

“Yes. Yes I’m fucking cumming.” Your body shook into orgasm as you continued to rub your clit, the other gripped the sheets as you listened to the sound of Woo panting and groaning.

“You made me cum so much,” he groaned, “what a good girl you are.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, pushing you further more into orgasm. “Only for you,” you moaned, your body hovering a bit off the bed as your came to peak.

You finally came to rest, continuing to softly moan as you came down.

“This has to be our secret, you know that right, baby?”

“Our secret.” You yawned, curling yourself up in your sheets.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You had slept peacefully through the night, feeling relieved but afraid of what was to come.

The next morning you woke to the sound of yelling coming from the kitchen, but what through you off was the unknown female who was arguing with Wooyoung.

“You’re just leaving? She needs her mother, why would you even think of leaving?”

“Because I can’t take being stuck her anymore. I need to get out and have some freedom.”

“At our daughters expense?”

The voices lowered as you heard San enter the apartment, he was quick to address the situation and defend his best friend.

“What? She trying to run away again?” San scoffed, it was a rare tone for your brother to have but you could hear the hatred in his voice.

“This has nothing to do with you San!” The female shouted.

“Considering she’s my god-child, I think it does. Why don’t you just tell him the truth.”

“San, shut the fuck up.”

You were too focused on the argument happening that you didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards your room, “Hey, sorry…” Woo peaked his head in, holding back a small laugh as he saw your attempt to hide against the wall.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks again as you took a few steps back, allowing Woo into your room. Your fingers played with the bottom of your shirt as he set a baby carrier down, “Your brother is scary when he’s mad.” He chuckled nervously, running his hand through his long black hair.

“He cares deeply that’s why.” You said softly, kneeling on the ground next to the carrier. “What’s this little ones name?”

Wooyoung lowered himself down next to you, his closeness sent waves of warmth through your body. “This is miss Ella, my pride and joy.”

His face brightened as the beautiful baby girl smiled up at him, her small hand wrapped around his finger. “Do you mind watching her? Just until everything is sorted.” He asked.

“Of course I don’t mind.” You smiled, tickling your finger along Ella’s chubby leg. Woo quickly freed her from her carrier, standing up to embrace and kiss her sweetly. You couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s really chill and everything you need is in the bag.” Woo noted, turning to pass Ella to you. “Hey pretty girl.” You smiled as you took her into your arms. You wanted to pause this moment forever, but the yelling from the living room was only getting worse.

“Fu- thank you.” Woo said quickly, pulling you in for a quick hug. He paused for a moment, pressing a kiss above your ear before whispering, “I owe you.”

The time had past faster than expected and thankfully the three in the living room calmed down and started to speak about the situation. As far as you knew, Woo had been fighting with his, now ex, for almost a year. You remember him mentioning how she just wanted to party and bullshit her life away, thankfully it hadn’t effected Ella in any way.

Both you and Ella had passed out at some point, the quiet sound of baby sensory videos made it one of the best naps you’ve ever had.

Your eyes fluttered opened as Woo sat down on the bed, taking Ella into his lap. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shook your head as you sat up, running a hand through your hair as you grabbed some of Ella’s snacks. “No, it’s okay. I bet this one is starving.” You popped open the can of puffs, which she happily started shoving in her mouth.

“San went out to get some stuff, he wanted me to ask you if it was okay if we stayed here for a bit.” Woo’s eyes met with yours for a quick second, “I told him I couldn’t do that to you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not letting you guys live in a motel or something.” You chewed on the inside of your lip as you crisscrossed your legs and scooted a little closer. “She deserves somewhere safe.” You smiled down at Ella, booping her nose.

You could feel Woo’s eyes on you as you babbled with Ella, it made you feel warm and safe in a way. But with things taking a sudden turn, you felt like you had to shove those feelings back down again.

“If San says you’re staying then you are.” You insisted. “I’ll help with whatever you need.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I want to, it’s the least I could do really.”

Your hand slowly slid to his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Please, let me help.”

His eyes met with yours again, giving you that tingly feeling you were becoming familiar with. He leaned in and placed a kiss on your cheek, letting it linger for a long moment before he pulled back and looked at you. His eyes flashed from yours to your lips, he slowly leaned in and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Yunho! Can you watch where you’re going!” San’s voice suddenly filled the apartment, causing you to jump back and climb off the bed. “We should probably go help.” You said quickly, trying to stop yourself from blushing hard.

Thankfully Yunho had dragged Ella’s play-pen in first, so you set her up inside it with a few toys to keep her busy. The next few hours were spent helping San gather some of his things, as he planned to stay with his girlfriend so Woo and Ella could use the room.

After stuffing their faces with pizza, the boys were on their way, leaving you alone with Woo and Ella.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you washed the dishes, lost in your own thoughts when a set of arms gently wrapped around your core. “I could have done those.” Woo said softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

“It’s fine, doing dishes actually relaxes me.” You laughed, glancing down at his hands as his thumb gently rubbed against your stomach. You knew shoving your feelings down was going to be a challenge.

“Hey, I think we should-” You paused to turn around, taking his hands in yours. You looked into his eyes, getting lost in sparkly brown galaxies for a moment. “I just…” your eyes trailed to his lips before shifting back downward.

His pressed a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a tight hug. “I know.”

You rested your head against his chest, taking in his scent. The feeling of comfort and warmth washed over you as you hugged him back, “You have no idea how much this sucks.”

A few days passed since Woo and Ella moved in and things around the apartment finally felt calm. You spent a majority of your time with Ella while Woo helped San prepare for the next fight.

After a day at the gym, Woo came home drenched in sweat and quickly took a shower after popping in to say hi to Ella. 

You were sitting on your bed reading when he walked into your room in nothing but a towel.

“I got something for you.”

“Something other than this?” You joked, sue him up and down.

He smirked and shook his head as he sat down next to you in your bed, placing a little square box down. “Open it.”

You rose your eyebrow at him before opening the black box, inside was a rose gold bracelet with a row of tiny aquamarine crystals on it. Your eyes filled with tears as a child hood memory flooded in. The bracelet was almost an exact match to one your late father had given to you and that your former best friend stole.

“Where did you find this?” You asked, looking at him through watery eyes.

“San and I where checking out a space under this pawn shop up north. I spotted it thinking you’d like it and San told me about the one your dad gave you.” Woo took the bracelet from the box and took your hand into his and placed it on. “He pouted the whole way home that I never buy him gifts.” Woo laughed, adjusting it on your wrist before holding it in his.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” You leaned over and wrapped your arms around him, placing one hand on the back of his head so you could hold him close. His wet body practically stuck to yours and as he hugged you back, he placed gentle kisses between your neck and shoulder.

You felt your body shutter at the sensation, the faintest of moans escaped your lips.

Woo’s hands slipped up the back of your shirt as your breathing picked up, he moved a small bit to get more access to your neck. His lips started to peck softly, slowly turning into gentle sucking and nibbling.

Your hand slowly slid from the back of his head and down his chest before resting gently on his waist, tempted to pull the towel open. Your legs slowly pushed down the light comforter on top of you as you moved yourself closer to Woo, unable to contain yourself any longer.

One of Wooyoung’s hands moved to your front, he slowly ran his fingers across your side boob before starting to play with your nipple. You moaned softly, letting out a small whine as he finally pulled away and looking at you with shy eyes. “Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt.

You leaned away from him and nodded, helping him as he slipped you out of your shirt, exposing your naked body. Your cheeks rushed a dark red as your finger tapped on the loosely wrapped towel, you pulled it open with his permission.

You both took a minute to scan each others bodies, Woo fingers trailed against your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“I want you.” Woo whispered.

You scooted back on the bed, giving him room to lay down next to you. His towel fell as he stood to reposition, his hard cock stood to attention as he pulled the covers over the both of you.

Your lips were now itches away from his, “We shouldn’t.” Your hand trailed down the side of his body before resting on his hip. “But I don’t think I can keep myself from you any longer.”

Wooyoung pulled himself closer to you, “So don’t.” His lips brushed against yours, “He knows I’m in love with you.”

“W-what? What ar-”

His lips crashed into yours before you could finish your sentence, kissing you deeply and passionately.

You let your whole body sink into the kiss, tangling your legs with his as you moved your hand to his cock while his found its way to your clit.

He was everything you’d dreamt about and even better than you’re fantasies. Wooyoung made your entire body feel electric.

You moaned against his lips as you became more and more aroused. A small gasp escaped your lips as he slid a finger inside your tight entrance, you could hear how wet you were with each movement his finger made.

Woo’s head dipped down to your chest, where he placed kisses all around your breast before taking the nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tender bud, flicking and sucking.

“Fuck.” You moaned, tangling your hand in his hair as he leaned you onto your back. His mouth moved to your other nipple and your hands gripped the sheets as he added a second finger into your pussy.

Woo trailed kisses back up to your lips as his fingers slowly slid from inside you, “Taste.”

You opened your mouth as he slowly put two sweet tasting fingers inside, “Good girl.” He praised, kissing you again as he guided the tip of his cock through your pussy lips.

You whined quietly as he teased your entrance, poking just the tip in and out as he slowly worked to fit his cock deeper and deeper inside. You cursed against his lips as your nails dug into his chest and his thick cock filled you out.

You held each other close as you continued to fuck, whispering sweet nothings to each other and none stop kissing. You couldn’t help fall for him more and more as the night went on. It felt so new but familiar at the same time.

You woke the next morning in bed alone, but to the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen. You ran a hand through your hair, still damp from the late night shower you had with Woo and grabbed one of his long sleeve shirts before making your way into the kitchen.

You stood back and took a moment to take it all in. Wooyoung cooking away with Ella balanced on his hip, chatting away with her about colors and numbers.

“Morning.” You said softly, walking towards the two and placed a kiss on Ella’s cheek before Woo’s.

Wooyoung smiled down at you, “Could you put her in her chair please.” He asked, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Of course.”

When you turned around again, Woo quickly cupped your face and kissed you deeply, pulling you in as close as he could. “I couldn’t kiss you properly with her in my arms.”

You leaned up on your tippy toes as you wrapped your arms around his waist, “I guess we can forgive you.” You teased.

After a few minutes, Woo joined you and Ella at the table, pulling you onto his lap as you happily enjoyed the meal he made. It made your heart warm.

Weeks started to fly by as you grew closer to Wooyoung, falling more and more in love with him. You also got to know Ella a lot more, her habits and routine, things that made her happy or upset. She was pretty easy once you figured out what the problem was.

Wooyoung and San had been winning fights left and right, bringing in more money than their accounts could hold. While things seemed to be going perfectly, it suddenly came crashing down.

The door slammed opened just as you were finished changing Ella, a wave of panic and urgency filled the home.

“Y/N, get your things. Now. Whatever you need for at least a month” San ordered, his eyes filled with anger as he stormed through the house, grabbing your items of clothing and shoving them into a duffle bag.

Wooyoung was right behind him, your heart dropped as your eyes met with his. “What’s happening?”

“Y/N! Hurry!” San yelled from your room.

“We need to get you two out of here.” His words were cut short as San came out of your room, once again shouting an order at you to gather your things.

Within a few minutes you had gathered just about everything you could think of, anything you needed on a daily. It took all your energy to hold your emotions back as the sight unfolded in front of you, San and Woo were running back and forth packing things into an unfamiliar vehicle.

“Woo…please tell me what’s going on?” You asked as Ella started to cry in your arms. You softly patted her back and shushed her as he quickly started to bring you to the SUV, doing everything in your power to hold back tears.

Without an answer, he swept Ella from your arms as San spun you towards him.

“You trust me?” He asked, looking you directly in the eyes.

“Always…”

He pulled you into a hug, immediately causing the tears to fall from your eyes. “I promise we’ll come back to you and Ella.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” You shoved yourself back from him, anger now taking over.

“We have to go. I love you.”

He rushed over to his car, yelling at Woo to wrap it up.

You yelled after him, trying to follow when Wooyoung grabbed your wrist and turned you to him. There was sadness in his eyes and it broke your heart.

Your tears started to fall again as he pulled you into him for a kiss. The salty taste from your combined tears slipped between your lips.

“I love you. Please take care of her.”

Wooyoung quickly got you into the car where Ella was sitting in her car seat, holding one of Woo’s shirts. He gave you one last kiss before closing the door.

“No…No!” You cried out, trying to open the door. Childlock was on, and he was already quickly heading towards the other car.

As both cars took off in opposite direction, there was nothing you could do but fall onto the seat and cry.

PART TWO

[astonmartinii]

first impressions matter | george russell social media au

pairing: georgerussell x reader

george is meeting y/n's dad for the first time and all hell breaks loose

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, mickschumacher and 31,634 others

yourusername: pops finally had the time off from his busy busy life to visit his one daughter (he was only in a good mood cause verstappen won)

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username wait ur telling me george's gf is a max fan

yourusername i am a george fan first and foremost but my dad is staunchly orange army... it's a point of contention

georgerussell63 can't wait to see you guys soon!

yourusername i miss you baby i'll be back in a couple days

username WAIT george hasn't met papa y/ln yet?

landonorris he's too scared

georgerussell63 wrong !! falsehoods !! he's a busy and important man

alexalbon you had your blood pressure tested after talking to him on the phone ...

f1

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 501,761 others

tagged: georgerussell63, maxverstappen1

f1: these two line up 1 and 2 in baku, who do you think comes out on top in the first corner?

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username wait isn't y/n's dad here this weekend? george better back off if he wants to live

landonorris i just sit back and observe

alexalbon i got $20 on george getting dumped this weekend

danielricciardo yeah i back this

username y'all see george's face when he realised he'll actually have to not hit someone ?

yourusername i have faith, proud of you georgie

georgerussell63 thank you !! finally someone believes in me in this comment section

yourusername any bullshit with max and my dad said he'll disown you before you can even join the family

maxverstappen1 i just watched him fall to his knees (say hi to your dad for me)

f1teaspill

liked by 12,566 others

f1teaspill: it all went off after the sprint when george russell and max verstappen came together, do you think george was being a "dickhead"?

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username get me a netflix camera in the y/ln household stat

username i was sat in the same grandstand as y/n's dad and that man actually nearly fainted

username i can't be the only one thinking that you guys are all just being a bit dramatic like people can separate sport from their own personal lives

username was george in the wrong? who the fuck cares i love the drama

username you guys know y/n wouldn't joke about the situation if it was really that deep

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 41,778 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: favourite boys in the whole wide world

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username i hate the way any joke in this sport immediately has to become an attack y'all hate fun

georgerussell63 was a pleasure to finally meet the man, the myth and the legend

yourusername welcome to the family georgie xx

username this is so so cute y/n is so lucky !!

alexalbon get in there russell always knew you could do it

georgerussell63 you literally asked me for my car collection in my will before i left for dinner

alexalbon is the offer still open?

georgerussell63

liked by lewishamilton, yourusername and 712,458 others

tagged: yourusername

georgerussell63: i think i finally passed the family initiation

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username now see why did y'all try to ruin this, this is cute as shit

username peep the signed max pic in the back though orange army stay winning

yourusername the pasta won him over i think

georgerussell63 i think it was much more than that

username now what does this mean....

username they know something we don't and i don't like it

yourusername

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yourusername: now we've all finally gotten round to meeting we can officially announce that the russell-y/ln family is about to get just a little bit bigger x

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username OMG DAD!GEORGE INCOMING

landonorris congrats you two

maxverstappen1 congratulations !!

username i cannot express how much i am not chill about this

alexalbon bagsy god father - congratulations xx

username the way they kept it a secret so long so they could tell y/n's dad in person

lewishamilton looking forward to meeting the little one

note: this is a real random one but lol i found it fun - also thinking of making one of those "buy me a coffee" accounts if anyone wanted to nice a struggling student xx

[ariaste]

listen i've had a 100 degree fever for four days and i have not been able to string any thoughts together except for gently rotating Devil's Minion in my brain and the bleary conclusion i have come to is this:

we know armand is a control freak

we know armand has spooky psychic powers of imposing his desired reality on top of other people's lived realities

the interview is happening despite armand supposedly claiming that he thinks it's a bad idea

Armand gives in to participating in the interview awfully quick. including a theatrical reveal of his true self at exactly the right moment for maximum Drama.

therefore, stay with me here, I will argue that armand DOES ACTUALLY want the interview to be happening. Who else is going to be pushing for it? Louis??? If Louis pushed for something Armand didn't want, Armand would simply wipe it from Louis' mind and move on with his day. He has that power, and yet he didn't USE IT in this case. So that means that the little tissue paper objections are mostly for show and to camouflage his true intentions (see also, though: the scene in Paris where Louis comes in and is playing maitre and Armand offers just a teeny resistance of "oooh but i'm looking at Sam's new pages", so it's a documented behavior pattern). There is one exception, but we'll come back to that in a sec.

So then the questions are: Why does he want it to be happening now as opposed to any other time? What is his motivation for having it happen again at all? What changed between 1973 and now that caused this?

(the rest under a cut bc this is gonna get long and i don't wanna clutter people's dashes too much)

my wild fever hallucination theory rn is that armand (my canceled wife who i stand with) is manipulative and psychopathic enough that he may have looked at daniel at some point in the 1970s and said to himself "you know what, the one thing that I would change about him is if he was like 40 years older, because i'm kinda into that, and also maybe he hates me a little bit, because i'm kinda into that as well" and then set Daniel on the back burner to basically finish cooking into the Perfect Daddy Boyfriend.

so why is he doing this whole charade again? Because the first time Daniel had the interview, the end result was "omg omg omg make me a vampire PLEAAASE", right? So Armand's insane little brain is like "ok, so we do it again, and replicate the same results :) and this time i will win and get everything i want, just like always :))))"

Going back to the tissue-paper objections i mentioned above, the one exception that strikes true for me is when Armand tells Louis that he's lost control of the interview. What control? What control, babygirl? what are you trying to control about this interview? what is the goal that isn't being achieved rn? Are you worried that Daniel seems Jaded and Cynical and Unimpressed nowadays? Are you worried that Louis does not seem to be selling the Allure Of Being A Vampire as effectively as he did back then and that Daniel is not going to beg for it like he used to? Armand is so used to being around people who NEVER EVER CHANGE in hundreds of years and so maybe he has forgotten that mortals do change actually. Oh no. Science experiment cannot be replicated. Results are going awry. PANIC.

this would also explain why he keeps explaining himself to Daniel, censoring the diaries, and lying about his involvement in things. could it be that he thinks Daniel won't play along with what he's supposed to be doing (ie: being deeply into him) if he knows upfront that Armand is Fucknuts Crazy?

that is where he is wrong tho. Daniel thinks fucknuts crazy is irresistibly hot. Daniel "I want BOTH [to survive AND the book] >:\" Molloy, aka Daniel "YOU BOTH FUCKED LESTAT? :DDD" Molloy aka Daniel "Fascinating Boy" Molloy loves mess. he loves mess. he's an investigative journalist who interviews KGB agents and the most dangerous people in the world because he's an adrenaline junkie who sincerely loves the thrill of hanging out with people who might kill him. He has been chasing that high since 1973 (and I use that phrasing intentionally). Every time Armand tries to control the narrative and woobify himself and act like he's not absolutely insane bc actually he's innocent and blameless, he is shooting himself in the foot re: the pursuit of his endgame goals. And that's extremely funny to me. Bc Daniel's love language is "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU [enraptured, intrigued, captivated, fascinated]"

and in conclusion, that's why they're the ship of all time, ur honor. defense rests.

(will this make coherent sense once i'm not sick anymore? idk.)

[absolutebl]

These Weeks in BL - This Is Very Late, Or Right on Time depending on where you sit on the temporal debate team

Sorry I got distracted by work. In my defense: I was paid.

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 1 & 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube grey) ep 12 fin - Unfortunately, there was singing. But what can we do?

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth, with no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up. Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it still stands. This is a great show, a solid adaptation, and a pleasing take on the original yaoi. I personally like it better than the Japanese live action, but I think that’s because I just really like Thai BL and I LOVE TayNew. I doubted them for this and I shouldn’t have. They did a great job, as did the sides. I will say all the kissing was both present and better than any other iteration. As it should be. Definitely one for the rewatch rotation. 9/10 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 1 of 8 (10?) - Damn it, I love it. And I don't want to. It’s more classic BL than I thought it would be, and far less Only Friends or Playboyy. (Thank fuck.) We got a big cast and a lot of tropes going down out the gate, including SMITTEN popular hot guy versus nerd with secret identity. (Incidentally, Khem did drop into rude / informal when arguing with his Aunt and defending his ma. Bratty boy.) The leads have good chemistry (First always does), and everyone is very pretty. The main boy reminds me of J-Min's role (and look) in Love Class 2. I am entertained. (And faintly wonder why this isn't a MosBank vehicle.)

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) eps 1-3 of 8- High school sweethearts who had a bad break up reunite a decade later when both of them have full time jobs (celebrity & doctor). Dr Ji is a familiar face (hi Dream it's been a LONG time) and everyone is way too old for high school, but I guess I prefer this to child actors?

I'm enjoying it, actually, the cast may be older but they're solid as a result and the chemistry is on point for a pulp. Whether our celebrity is on the DL or cheating or something else remains to be seen but he sure is smitten. The way he LOOKS at Ji = hawt.

Frankly? Celebrity/doctor is a good pairing and this is a solid Thai BL. I hope we have a nice angsty reason for the break-up and we're not in another Promise situation. I like the sides too. Carry on, little show, I'm disposed to be pleased with you.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 12 - I am enjoying it, actually. It’s incredibly silly. But I don’t really mind. STOP SINGING. 

1000 Years Old eps 3-4 of 12 - I love that these kids basically adopted a vampire pet. And one of them accidentally got a vampire boyfriend. This suddenly turned from a PNR into a family drama about domestic gays opening a food stall and I'm not mad about it. Nothing makes sense and I don't care because... rainbow umbrella!

A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV grey) eps 1 of 10 - I don’t love it. I make no bones about the fact that a pining uke rarely works for me, especially if he’s younger (cute supportive besties not withstanding), the power dynamic isn’t good. I always like Kimmon, he’s a stiff actor but v pretty. (I shallow af.) Still it’s time he started acting his age… literally. Having to watch ads again as well… for this? Ooof. I'm not sure I'm strong enough.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Perfect Propose (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 6 fin - It was very cute. I liked that there was uke instigated kisses. However I have some reservations on this one, much as I enjoyed it.

Adapted from Mayo Tsurakame’s manga, production team included Tadaaki Horai (My Love Mix-Up!) and Takeshi Miyamoto (Old Fashion Cupcake). Essentially Perfect Propose was about finding hope in a person when all other hope is gone. This show focuses on apathy, and perforce is somewhat apathetic and un-engaging especially as the pacing was off (and with only 6 episodes? now) However, this is countered by great visuals, good archetypes, and a clean story of childhood sweethearts reuniting after loosing their way in life. I landed on 8/10 mostly for a demanding younger seme and some great kisses. 

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube) eps 2-3 of 11 - Oh it’s great. I love it. I’m still worried by how gritty and "Taiwanese short-esk" it feels, but wow does this hit all my favorite taboo tropes and buttons. I also adore the little found fam, they the cutest gay older bros ever. The younger one who wants so bad to grow up and take care of the older one and pushes himself because into self sacrifice that’s the only model of love he has. ARGH. BOYS. Why so much pain, just smooch already! Sheesh. It's on YouTube for some of us, here's the schedule.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) eps 6-7 of 10 - They remain questionably cute, and that is probably going to be my ultimate review of this show. Awe cameo! (Hi babies, hope the ghosts are leaving you alone.) The irony does not escape me that the person in the relationship with the most emotional acumen is, in fact, the robot and not the human. I'm sure that's meant to be deep.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - A tortured second chance romance featuring a reported and a successful celebrity(?) academic. The kid actors look nothing like their adult counterparts, but they do look much younger. So, okay. Ah the utter embarrassment of first love. Oh I like it a lot, so very messy Japanese emo. Sigh. Here we go again.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) eps 8-9 of 10 - They are a cute couple. They both trying so hard and so confused and awkward and polite in trying to understand each other but TERRIBLE at communication. 

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) eps 3-4 of 8 - I don’t know how I feel about this. But I do know it’s not my thing because it’s not BL. I’ll finish it because it’s short but… meh. 

It's done, ready to binge, but I have no time

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) - I will try when I have a window of time.

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will watch eventually.

It's airing but...

Dead Friend Forever (Thai iQIYI) - finished it's run and I won't be watching it. It's horror with BL elements and the ending, well, let's just say that's a "no thank you" from me.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… no. I'm not watching this. I dislike this franchise.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - dropped it at ep 4.

Takumi-kun (2023) movie version AKA Takumi-kun Series 6: Nagai Nagai Monogatari no Hajimari no Asa released on FOD 3/5/2024. The original project was a 6 ep series. Having seen all the previous iterations and read the (terrible) yaoi I admit to being intrigued. If anyone finds eng subbed please let me know with a link in comments or in a DM? For those intersted in this show, probably the world's first true BL franchise I chat all about it here.

Gossip

James Supamongkon has withdrawn from the series Love Upon A Time and the NetJames pair is no more. Net Siraphop will continue with the historical BL project alongside a new partner. Can I interest you in Tod Techit... almost as pretty, legs for days...

The Complete Chronology of the Assault Case Against GMMTV Actor Win Pawin

I'm merely directing your attention to these articles, I do not wish for discussion of this content on this blog. Please don't ask for further info, I don't know the answer, follow the link that's why it's there.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Still Coming

3/21 Two Worlds (Thai IQIYI) 10 eps - announced here. One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames staring MaxNat. I'm over them but Asia flipping loves this trope and I do adore MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, 12 years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Thai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram apparently alive. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha (played by Gun Thanawat who is Khom the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night).

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

How flipping adorable is this vampire with his big gay umbrella? SUCH A DORK and we got more vampire dorks coming.

Thailand has found its vampire line and it's awkward and geeky and quite cheerful. 'Bout what we expected, to be fair. It's a good look for them.

And vampires.

In other news...

That's your random moment of thirst, Lim Jimin shirtless AKA my Just B bias (I mean, I could talk about how good his extensions are and how I love a husky voice in Kpop but really, just LOOK at him). I'm very very very shallow, remember? Full vid is here.

Why am I mentioning Lim Jimin (aside from the obvious)? If Just B doesn't break soon, I could some of them transitioning to BL. Jimin in particular would be a win for us, obvs.

Also, can we talk about Bain (my bias wrecker) KILLING it on Build Up? I had no idea he was that good. Anygay, this has been your Kpop end note.

Seriously tho, is ANYONE else watching Build-Up?

(Last week - well, 2 weeks ago)

Streaming services are listed how I'm (usually watching) which is with a USA based IP

The tag bragade: @doorajar

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will. Easy peesy.

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 12

I've decided that since I have a fair amount of backlog on the three I've been doing WIP Wednesday for, that I'd post some of them to give me time to work on the rom-com AU more.

I recommend going back and re-reading part 11 at least before reading this one to be on the safe side.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

The Fallen boys need a break and Robin and Chrissy meet up with Nancy.

****

Things were going really well in the studio now that they had Bob Newby as their producer and their studio was closer to home so they could live their normal lives and still be in the studio recording.

It was the happiest the band had been in awhile. Which was why Steve should have seen it coming. The dark cloud on the horizon.

Shane was late.

That wasn’t to say that it was out of the ordinary or whatever, but it was now two hours late and Spence was pissed.

“When I get my hands on his scrawny neck,” he hissed. “I’m going to kill him.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You’re just upset because it’s means you’ll be late for your date or whatever with Nadia. He’ll be here.”

“That’s not true and you know it, Asmodeus,” Spence bit out. “This is the third time this week and yeah, so what if I have a life outside of this, but that’s not why.”

Just then Shane stumbled in. He looked like absolute shit. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was a mess, and he wore dark sunglasses. Clutched to his chest was a large coffee.

“Fuck...” he mumbled as he shambled over to the sofa. He lowered himself gently onto the thing with a stream of curses. “Sorry I’m late, but my hookup last night turned off my alarm.”

He took a long sip of his coffee and rubbed his temple. He had finished most of the coffee when he realized that no one had said a word since he arrived.

The door opened and Bob and Robin entered the room looking more than a little cross.

Shane flashed them a smile. “Uh oh, it looks like I upset both mom and dad. So I was a little late. It happens.”

“But it shouldn’t be happening,” Spence said with a scowl. “This isn’t the first time. Hell, it’s not even the first time this week.”

Shane frowned, setting his coffee on the floor between his feet. He rubbed his temples as he struggled to think back. “That can’t be right, it’s only Monday, right?”

Everyone shared concerned glances.

“Astraeus,” Steve said slowly, “it’s Thursday.”

Bob crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You were late on Sunday, Monday and today, Astraeus.”

Shane stared up at them in open shock and disbelief. “There’s no way!” He pulled out his phone and looked at the date.

“Shit.”

“What’s been going on, man?” Simon asked, concerned for the first time. He hadn’t realized how often it had been and was giving Spence shit for wanting to be with his girlfriend.

Shane shook his head. “I have money for the first time in my life. I mean proper money. My parents always had enough to make sure we got into the things we wanted; sports, drama, music, you name it, but there wasn’t a lot of money to go around after, you know? I had to pay for my college education myself and I just wanted to live a little. Spread the money around, even if I couldn’t tell them what I did for a living, they don’t really care.”

“I can see that,” Robin said. “I think we all breathing easier, regardless of our backgrounds because the money we’re getting has pretty much set us up for life if it all went to shit tomorrow, which I really wouldn’t recommend, by the way.”

Shane let out a huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I really didn’t mean to go off like that, I’ll cut back to just the weekends. I promise.”

Robin and Bob shared a glance.

“That’s strike one, Astraeus,” Bob said, “I don’t take slackers lightly. You want me to continue to work for you guys, you’ve got to step it up.”

Shane nodded empathically. “Can we have a day off a week though? It doesn’t have to be on the weekend, but this seven days a week is really hard.”

Robin blinked at him a moment. “You guys have been coming every day?”

The band looked around at each and all gave a collective shrug.

She turned to Bob. “Is that your schedule?”

Bob’s jaw dropped and he shook his head. “I only do that if there’s a rush to get the album out, which I understood there wasn’t. I don’t how we got on working every day, but Astraeus is correct they need a day off.”

“What works best for everyone?”

The band worked out a better schedule that worked for everyone with it ending with Bob giving everyone the rest of the week off, giving them strict instructions to talk to him about those sort of things before it got to this point.

Robin clapped her hands once. “Right, now that we’ve got that settled, we’re still meeting up at Abbadon’s for dinner to discuss my meeting with Nancy. My meeting is at three and dinner is at six, so don’t be late.” She glared at Shane and he raised his hands in surrender.

“See you all then!”

****

Robin straightened her wig in her rearview mirror and added more lipstick. She wore special contacts that changed her bright blue eyes to a more common brown color. She was dressed in slim fitting white slacks with a bright pink silk blouse and a black leather aviator’s jacket. She hated wearing these clothes, they just weren’t her. At least she didn’t have to wear high heels to this thing. She would have broken an ankle for sure.

But she would sell her soul to the devil if it meant that Steve got to do what he loved. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t love her job either. But Eddie was right, she was on her last frayed nerve and that wouldn’t do her boys any good.

She slid out of her Maserati MC20 and walked up to the restaurant. The Corroded Coffin’s manager, Chrissy Cunningham was going to be there as a mediator.

Robin hadn’t told Steve this, but Chrissy knew who she was. Not the band, she didn’t know that, but she knew that Celeste Baptiste was Robin Buckley. It was just something Robin felt she needed to know before going in there with Nancy. That she personally had a stake in the game, even if it was just as Steve’s best friend.

Chrissy loved the idea of even their manager having an alter ego and it made Robin feel better about her choice to be someone else.

Robin and Chrissy kissed each other’s cheeks in greeting and Robin sat down.

“She’s not here yet?” she asked, looking at her matching watch.

Chrissy shook her head. “She’s running a little behind. One of her clients blew up the internet last night and she’s been having to play hard ball to keep it from destroying their career.”

Robin leaned in close. “Ooh, do you know who it was?”

“That’s for me to know,” Nancy said from above them, “and for you to never find out.”

Robin looked up at her and was struck on how good she looked. It was almost unfair how good she looked.

She was wearing a grey plaid blazer with the sleeves rolled up over a white button shirt and a black pencil skirt. She wore grey boots and matching sunglasses, glasses she took off with a shake of her dark curls.

Robin gulped. Nancy had been intimidating enough in high school, but now she could stare down a raging bull and come away unscathed.

“Hello, ladies,” Nancy said with a smile. “I’m sorry I was late, but I think I managed a god damn miracle and could eat an entire salad bar.”

Nancy sat down and put her phone in her purse.

“Oh are you vegan?” Chrissy asked as the waiter came up with a pitcher of water. Nancy waved him off and ordered a rosé.

“Just vegetarian,” she said with a shake of her head. “I love cheese too much. Plus, I knew a militant vegan and they scare me.”

Robin laughed. “Couldn’t be me, I went full vegan last year and haven’t looked back.”

Nancy and Chrissy both winced, but for different reasons, Nancy for her comment about militant vegans and Chrissy, well...

“I picked this place because it has the best rib eye steak on the planet,” she said with a grimace. “That’s not going to bother either of you if I order that, right?”

Nancy and Robin shared a glance and then shook their heads.

“My best friend loves steak,” Robin said, “It’s his choice to eat it, I just a have a problem with the ethical consumption of meat and other animal products.”

“Most of my clients eat meat,” Nancy agreed. “I’m not about to piss them off because I don’t like the taste.”

Chrissy relaxed and let out a long sigh. “Great!”

She picked up her menu to hide her embarrassment. A few minutes later, their waiter came back and they placed their orders.

Nancy had ordered a pasta with roasted sun dried tomatoes and mushrooms and Robin ordered a simple salad with a vinaigrette.

As they waited for their food, Nancy got down to business. “So as I understand it, the band The Fallen is looking for an agent to help with the legal and PR aspect of their brand, correct?”

Robin nodded, twisting her napkin nervously. Normally as Celeste, she was cooler under pressure but Nancy scared her. Not because of anything she could do to her specifically, but because what she could do to her boys.

Chrissy reached out and laid her hand over Robin’s fidgeting ones. Robin let out a shuddered breath.

“Normally bands like theirs have teams and teams of people doing all the work,” Robin said, “but with the secrecy surrounding their identities the more people that know the easier it is for a leak.”

Nancy nodded. “It’s certainly not the usual thing. But I’ve got a few clients that are strict about their identities and it wouldn’t be a problem, but as I told Chrissy, I would have know everything about them so that I can do my upmost to protect them.”

“Did you sign the NDA?” Robin asked, straightening her spine. This was something she was good at. Protecting her boys and she would do it with the fierceness of a mother bear and her cubs.

Nancy picked up her briefcase and opened it up. She took out a folder and handed it to Robin. Robin looked it over and then nodded.

She stuck it in her purse and pulled out a hard portfolio and slid it across to Nancy. Chrissy squeezed her hand as Nancy read through the documents. Their food arrived in the interim and she set it aside. She steepled her hands and planted her elbows on the table.

“How much of this do you know?” she asked Chrissy.

“Only what I needed to which is who Celeste is,” she replied, “and that both her and Abbadon have a history with you that could be trouble for a lot of people, not just the band.”

Nancy nodded and took a bite of her food before saying anything else. Chrissy and Robin exchanged glances but started eating as well. More for something to do in the intervening silence than because they were actually interested in food at that moment.

After a few moments Nancy blotted her lips with her napkin and set it next to her plate. “This is not what I was expecting when I heard that you had concerns about my professionalism and in all honesty, this is easier to understand then a manager thinking they don’t need the help of an agent when they really do.”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance.

“Is that something that’s common?” Chrissy asked. Corroded Coffin had already had Nancy as their agent when she became their manager five years ago. They had outgrown their former manager Murray Bauman and was looking for someone younger to manage them so they hired her.

Nancy nodded. “It is.” She turned to Robin. “You’re his best friend, right? The quirky band chick who was always working with him?”

Robin was impressed with her way of asking the question without revealing anything significant about their identity. She brought her finger up to her contact and moved it aside to show the blue underneath before sliding it back into place.

“I’m assuming I’m the last resort?” Nancy asked after taking another bite of food.

Robin and Chrissy shared another glance.

“Not in the way you mean,” Chrissy explained. “I gave her a list of agents that might be able to have them on as clients and we’ve met with a couple of them but decided even before they got to what’s in the folder that they weren’t suitable for their needs.”

“The double lives aspect, I suspect.”

“Both of them wanted to push them into revealing themselves,” Robin said, nodding. “Which was completely off the table.”

Nancy licked her bottom lip and her eyes narrowed. “Is that off the table indefinitely or will we circle back to that sometime in the future?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “There’s no way to predict if they’re going to change their mind five-six years down the line.”

“I’m going to be frank,” she said, “I do not have a problem repping them. Not even Abbadon. But I understand there will be some awkwardness on both sides at first. I will even apologize in person. Because the fact of the matter is, I did hurt him. I strung him along until something better came along and then didn’t even have the decency to break up with him before moving on. I was young and stupid and even worse, I’m not even with that guy anymore. Like with me and Abbadon, we wanted different things.”

“Apologize first,” Chrissy said with a wicked gleam in her eye, “then we’ll see about hiring you for The Fallen.”

Nancy reached out to shake Robin’s hand. “Deal?”

Robin nodded curtly. “Deal.”

They moved onto the more tedious aspects of what they wanted out of Nancy as they finished their meals.

But as Robin was heading back to her car she had a small satisfied smile on her face. Yes, this really was the best option for the band.

****

Because of canon-Chrissy's unhealthy relationship with food, I wanted her to go hard into eating all things that her mom most likely forbade her from eating growing up. Hence the steak and the wine. Nancy I figured would be at least vegetarian with personality (just the vibes I get from her *shrug*) and Robin would absolutely be vegan. Just not a militant one.

Tag List: 10 slots remaining

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

[mashiraostail]

Presentation Mic, Eraser and Sek accidental confession?? Maybe you guys are arguing or reader did something stupid that worried the boys? Cliffhanger NSFW-y ending?

You already know what it is. I missed presentation microphone the most tbh hes fun

Present Mic: "You can't do things like that-" He's following you, lately it feels like he's always following you. "I'm not going to argue with you right now Hizashi." You hold your hand up, not even turning to face him. "What?" He sounds perturbed, "I'm not trying to argue with you!" "Oh perfect! I know I'm always wrong in your eyes but this time I'm glad to have screwed it up! So I guess that's solved, I'll see you tomorrow." If your mood had been even slightly more sour Aizawa poking his head out of his bedroom door and making a mocking angry feline sound at you would have made you deck him. Dorming as staff had created much more drama than anticipated, he was loving it. You had a feeling Nezu wasn't going to stick to this set up long. You weren't a teacher and didn't live in the dorms, however you were working closely with Hizashi and upon decided to come check on him after the fight you were instantly met with criticisms of your performance.

"Fuck off." Instead of decking him, you just push Aizawa by his forehead, away from you. "Why won't you listen to me?" Hizashi closes Aizawa's door as he walks by it, still chasing you. "Because you're not the boss of me!" You turn to face him, "I swear you think-" "I'm not telling you this because I think I'm the boss of you! I'm telling you this because I-" He furrows his eyebrows, "I'm telling you as a concerned friend, your lack of self preservation is-" "None of your concern!" You can hear Nemuri gasp at that, Aizawa must of alerted her to the brewing argument. It was your mistake for accidentally venting to him about Hizashi's sudden change in attitude. You forgot how much he enjoyed being a spectator to conflict. It had actually been Hizashi's fault for telling Nemuri the way he felt about you, even though he knew she thought misunderstandings were a spectator sport. "It is my concern!" Hizashi asserts, "please just hear me out, I'm begging you here!" He throws his hands up, "do you want me to get on my knees or something?!" "God I'm a masochist." you turn around. "Fine. Tell me how stupid you think I am, how I never think, how you would have done it better!" You jab his chest with an accusatory finger, "absolve yourself of all guilt when something happens to me, because you warned me so it's not your fault that they're just culling the weak-" "When did I ever say that?!" Hizashi sounds terrified, "is that what you think of me?" Your heart is pounding, your eyes are watering, "What?! No!" You leer back, "Hizashi I think the world of you! Ever since I came here I've just wanted to impress you! For you to tell me I did a good job, that you were glad to have me here, god anything!" You scoff, "instead you always tell me all the stupid things I did wrong!" Hizashi faulters at that he looks at you, your heaving chest and rising shoulders, he could practically hear your heart pounding. "What? I'm standing here, I'm listening, I'm hearing you out and you're just going to stare at me?" "I didn't realize you saw it that way." He holds his hands up, his hero outfit was discarded after the fight, his hands were bare of his usual gloves. "Of course you didn't." You laugh, "you can never do anything wrong, only me."

"Oh, holy shit."

Vlad was standing at the end of the hall but quickly dissipated into the nearest room. You'd amassed a small but subtle crowd of teachers, poking the heads around corners and out of rooms. The only one who was in direct sight was Aizawa, probably wondering if you were going to punch Hizashi's teeth in. "I wish I never moved here." You scrub your face, "this was such a dumb idea." "Don't say that." Hizashi looks different than you'd ever seen him before, "don't be mean." He looks at a loss for words. It felt mean to say, even this small misunderstanding couldn't hold a candle to your relationship with Hizashi to this point, you became fast friends. He wsa your closest friend and confidant since moving to this side of the country, he met you on a patrol and showed you the ropes. It went beyond work, you had him over weekly, to talk about music, his teaching, American reality shows, whatever you wanted to talk about Hizashi proved a very attentive listener. It was easy to admire him, and even easier to fall in love with him. He was there for you always, when you were homesick, when you failed, and when you succeeded, to say you wish you never met him was a deep and intentional cut. "I'm sorry I didn't...tell you what you wanted to hear." His eyes scan his surroundings looking for something better to say. "Oh fuck you." You scoff, "fuck you so much Hizashi. What a shitty thing to say." You wish you had something to throw at him, "you're so fucking patronizing." "Stop! Why do you always assume the worst of me?" He holds his hand to his chest, "I don't even know what to say right now, I'm fucking grasping at straws here! I didn't know you felt this way, I wish you told me sooner!" "It's always my fault." I'm wrong again. You laugh, "god." "No! It's my fault!" Hizashi takes a step towards you, "it is completely my fault! I was stupid. I am stupid! I was so worried about keeping you safe I didn't let you do your job! I didn't want you to!" He shakes his head, "you're a great hero and that's what freaks me out!" "What?" You blink at him, leering back as his voice raises a bit. "When I saw you laying there, I fucking freaked out!" He gestures back to the courtyard where a villain had laid you out. "I wanted to keep you safe, so I picked you apart, I wanted to close every opening-" He's holding your shoulders, "you aren't weak!" He shakes you a little, "all this stupidness is my fault. I'm falling in love with you and I let it make me throw reason out the window-" He's going, he's still talking, you stopped listening. You're just staring up at him.

"Hizashi-" You're trying to cut him off, "Hizashi stop-" All you can think to do is pull him down into a kiss. It's confused, stiff for a moment until he leans into it. His hands hold onto your wrists by his jaw. "I'm sorry I....must have misunderstood-" For the first time since knowing him he whispers. "It's okay." You shake your head, "I'm sorry too..I didn't think you felt that way I assumed you were getting sick of me.." "I-" He falters, "no. God I, I'd lose it if anything happened to you, if you left me." Your eyes scan his face, his eyes, you knew he was genuine but still your stomach lurched with uncertainty. "I'd never.." You look down at your feet, "can we talk somewhere more...private?" Aizawa's surprised face reminds you of your lack of privacy. "Come with me?" You don't really do that much talking once you're in private. A few words are exchanged, mostly in disbelief, 'are you sure?' "you mean like...?' They're quiet, quieter than you thought he could be, though you figured you'd taken him by surprise.

Shota Aizawa: You felt taken advantage of. He must know how you felt about him, he would be stupid not to. He was your Achilles heel, he could get you to do whatever he wanted. He knew that. Everyone did. "Aizawa will be there." Nemuri would coax you into meetings, outings, whatever. "Do me this favor, please?" He'd look right through you when he said it. You would still do it. Press conferences, public speaking, all the things he hated. You were bent to him, he was a weakness that only you could feel, but everyone else could see. This had just been the last straw. Endeavor was not someone you felt fondly of, everyone knew it, yet you'd spent the whole fight being berated by him, just to "Do me this favor?" Maybe your quirks paired well, that didn't matter, did no one care how you felt? You were strong, you didn't upset easily and yet you felt like your resolve was being chipped away slowly, and today Endeavor had taken a jack hammer to it. Your stomach was a pit, of course you didn't feel like talking to him. You'd thought about it all, the countless failed dates, your desire to build a bridge and get over it. You can't see a future for yourself where you feel fulfilled, lavishing in free will and a heart that's 2 tons lighter. You worried he'd have this hold on you forever, never loving you at all. You were okay with that, which was most crushing of all.

Did your feelings push him away, had he only wanted someone to take under his wing, a friend and teammate but not a lover? Was this his idea of putting distance between you? "Hey." Aizawa holds a hand up to you, "I appreciate what you did today." When you don't stop it makes him tilt his head, he came all the way here to thank you and you couldn't even stop and give him a curt nod? "Hello?" He starts to follow you, he isn't sure why. "Yeah whatever, you're welcome. Thanks for trusting me." It's curt, it's fast and quiet and he barely caught it. "That's it?" He catches you as you wait for your elevator, you decide to take the stairs, "why are you running away from me?" "I'm not running I'm walking." These 8 flights were going to be painful, at least you wouldn't have to stand toe to toe with him in your elevator. "Stop it." "I don't want to talk right now." You shake your head, "Endeavor was too much today. You know I don't like him." "Let's get dinner," He's trying to catch up to you, "let's talk about it okay? I'll get you something to eat and we can talk about, talk about everything." "I'm not hungry." You turn the corner, your voice echoes through the cemented stairwell, making it impossible to mask the way it trembles. "Drinks then, come get a drink with me. Tell me why you're upset, please. We'll have drinks and I'll listen. Tell me what he said to you." "Why do you care?" You clutch the strap to your dufflebag, you didn't even bother to stop at UA to change out of your hero costume, the tight fabric making you feel exposed and silly. "I looked for you at the school and you weren't there. I figured you were upset." "So? I ask again, why do you care?" "Well-" He seems taken aback, "he has no right to make you upset or to be mean to you. I don't want to see you upset because of him. He's just an asshole, tell me what he said I can set the record straight with him. Let's go get drinks, you can tell me and you can cry if you want and say you were drunk and I won't hold it against you. I'll be nice all night and I'll say I was drunk too, so you can't hold it against me." You won't turn back to look at him, if you do your resolve would crack. "Right, only you can be mean to me. Only you get to make me upset." You're resisting the urge to bound up your stairs and lock yourself in your apartment. "What? No, I don't want to make you upset, have I upset you? Tell me what I did." "Why did you make me do this today?" You grit it out, "and everyday, the press conferences, the meetings, the stupid team ups-" "What?" He sounds lost. You slam into every door you come across, you wished they closed faster, slam in his face. "Why do you ask me to do it? Why, when you know I'll always say yes?" "I don't-" "You do!"

"Please," He sounds genuine, almost pleasing, "let's go get drinks, let's talk about it. Somewhere quiet, just me and you." "No I don't want to." You were so close to being there, how could you get a big enough lead to lock yourself up before he could stick a foot in the door? "I don't want to go out with you right now Shota." "Why not?" He's gaining on you, you hate the idea of looking at him right now, even his voice was chipping away at you. "I know you're used to always getting what you want from me but I just need to be by myself right now." "Getting what I want- what?" He sounds bewildered, lost and almost offended, "I'm not understanding you, please stop let's just talk, we don't have to get drinks or food, or even go up to your apartment if you don't want to! We can talk here in the stairs okay? I want to understand, help me understand." He reaches you, his hand is on your arm, "I don't want to upset you, that's the last thing I want. Tell me what I did, yell at me, be mad at me all you want, but tell me what I did so I won't do it again." "You're just always making me do things and everyone is and they just hang you over my head like I'm a dog or a little kid-" "What?" His hand falls off you once you stop in your tracks. "And it's embarrassing!" You shake your head, "I feel stupid, I feel like a fan not your colleague!" The tears are adding insult to injury and you urge them away. "It's always 'Shota needs this, Shota will be there, well think about Shota-' and you. 'Please do this for me' like I ever say no because you know!" "Know what?" He holds his hands up as you spin around. "Everything has been such a wreck since I met you." Your lip quivers, "and I'm so stupid, you could make me do anything and you know it and maybe you just wanted a friend but that's all you had to say!" "I think one of us is misunderstanding something-" "I know!" You drag your palm over the offending tears, "it's not a misunderstanding! I understand!" You're sniffling like a child, "at first it was just an admiration, infatuation, whatever. I'm sure you noticed, it would be impossible not to." You drop your bag too, the extra weight makes you want to crumble. "I didn't even have the resolve to ignore you for 8 flights of stairs. I thought it would go away! I went to see other guys, I met up with tons of guys, heroes, civilians, whoever!" "That's great, it's good that you're branching out I'm just not sure what-" "And there were romantic dates, lovely nights Shota, and- and...I was scared to death the whole time that I'd say your name instead. I was thinking about you, what you would order, what you like to drink, what kind of movies you like. Expensive, perfect dates, and I was thinking about hanging out with you in the teachers lounge." You push him back, he stumbles, he lets it happen. "And everyone is treating me like a fucking teenager about it, and you don't even have it in you to let me down!"

His normally brooding eyes look sympathetic, even when you shove him, "I think I misunderstood." "Misunderstood what? That I love you, and you treat me like a lovesick puppy to run your errands? I love you so much, I don't think I'll ever stop loving you. I'll love you more than anyone I ever meet! You could find me in fifty years when we are wrinkly and old and- and I have 40 grandkids and you could come to me, ask me to leave, to ruin my perfect, perfect life to be with you I would go. And it would be easy Shota." "I thought you were going on dates and branching out for your own..reasons, why would I assume you felt that way when you were going out once a month I didn't-" He looks at a loss, "of course I care about you. I didn't want to get in your way." "What?" You look at him in disbelief, "don't do this to me, don't hurt me Shota please this isn't a game-" "I know it's not- I'm not, I swear I wouldn't-" He sounds almost earnest, "I do care about you, I...enjoy all the time we spent together, and I wouldn't chase just anybody up 7 flights of stairs like this. And the others were..just trying to get us together, they were pushing me to say something to you, do something about the way I was feeling. At first I thought you were just infatuated with me sure, I wrote it off. But you stayed, you were genuine and kind and I liked having your help and I loved having you around, and I'm sorry I made you go out with Endeavor today. You're right, I know you always say yes to me, I should have been more mindful of the way you felt. I was never trying to take advantage of you. I would never want that, I do love you, I wanted you to come to it on your own but this all got so fucked up. So let's go now, okay? I don't want you to stand in this stairwell and cry, let's go get something to drink and we can talk about everything." His eyes never leave your face, "everybody adores you, especially me. I don't want you to think that's not the case-" You kiss him, you practically launch forward at him, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He accepts you just as easily, using the brief moments of reprieve to speak again, "or we could just go upstairs." "Let's just go upstairs."

Sekijiro Kan: "It's all-" you're shoving him, "your fault!" You shove him again, "you always do this!" Again, "why don't you trust me?!" Again, "I had it all under control!" He's nudged back but never off balance, letting you vent your frustrations into his chest, looking down at you a bit annoyed. "You were hurt, you were pushing yourself beyond your limits and I just stepped in-" He holds up his hands, "I do trust you." "I'm not hurt!" Your obvious injuries said otherwise, bruises and gashes scattered your arms, your nose was broken. The villian had gotten away when he stepped in to stop you, you would have broken your ribs or worse. "You were in pain you didn't have a clear head." "How do you know what was going on in my head?!" "I did know! It was nothing!" He finally snaps, "you get tunnel vision-" "So what?! I'm doing my job and who are you to call me dumb?" "I'm not calling you dumb-" "You are!" "Oh god." he rubs his eyes. "Sorry I'm just sooo much for you, it sucks you have to deal with me!" A dig at his choice of wording in the heat of the moment, Nemuri pointed out the struggle, wrapped up in her own, Kan had said he would "go deal with you." It was poor wording even he can admit that, he didn't know it would set you off. "Oh stop." He holds his hand up, "don't throw that back at me you know how I meant it." "I don't! I'm such a burden, I'm so stupid and weak and impulsive and I just want to help Vlad why can't you see I just wanna help?" "I know you do! But you're hurt, you did help! You got hurt though, you can't help anyone when you're out of commission! I was there, I had to stop it, we can catch that guy another time, I'll give it to you-" "you think this is about the arrest?" You leer back at him, "I don't care who arrests him, he's still out on the streets-" "But you're okay-" "It's my job to protect these people, and your's too!" "It's not so black and white." He warns you, "what was I supposed to do, let him kill you?" "Why do you think he would have? Why am I so weak to you? I'm sorry I'm smaller, I'm sorry I'm-" "That's not it, you would do the same for me!" "You're always butting in, always keeping an eye on me, like I'm a fucking chore to you!" "When did I ever say that?!" Sekijiro had been a good friend to you, you aren't sure why but you clicked, you liked the same foods and the same movies and you had the same idea of a good time, when you had a free moment to spare it was Sekijiro you were looking for. Everyone expected it, one day you'd be spotted together hand in hand, he'd mention you in a romantic way, you went together and the tension was palpable sometimes. Maybe you were a bit oblivious, or hot tempered with him at times, you knew about your flaws and you couldn't see a guy like him settling for someone with the issues you had. That being said, you still would chase your tail to impress him. "Please." He holds up his hands as you shove him again, "please be resonable. You know I don't feel that way about you. I don't want to fight I don't want to argue. I was worried about you, I'm sorry." "God now I'm the asshole, perfect."

"No!" He groans, "no I'm not trying to spin it like this. What's really the problem? I know you don't care about the villian, tell me what's the matter, please I can tell it's something else." He even sits down in a chair so he's looking up at you, "I don't want you to be mad at me like this, tell me why." "I just want to impress you! I want to be someone who is just as good as you are-" "You are! You're just as good as me! You're better than me, you're better than the best of us! You know that! Why do you think I don't feel that way?" "You're always jumping in, trying to save me to get me away from the fight to stop me from doing my job and you-I don't wanna be a chore to you!" "You are not a chore!" He sounds exasperated, not angry, "I love to watch you work, and to be around you I love seeing you do what you do and I love to help you, I'm sorry if that makes you think I see you as weak, I don't!" He even feigns crossing his heart. "I want to work with you, beside you because I think you're the best of us, really I do. I'm sorry I let the way I feel about you get in the way of your work." "What do you mean?" You look surprised at him, "what way do you feel?" "What?" "Sekijiro you just said the way you felt about me-" "I..." He looks like a deer in headlights, he furrows is eyebrows, "I guess..I just. I'm always on your case because I like to..be with you, and I can't even think about what I would do if something happened to you. Not because you're weak but because this work is dangerous and unpredictable. If it's too much I'll stop, I don't want to be in the way of your work, you do amazing work, I'm just enamored by it, by you." He shakes his head, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you in the right way." "I'm confused-" Your face is hot, "stop it this isn't funny.." "I'm not being funny, really I'm not. I'm sorry this got so out of hand. I didn't think you'd be so upset with me." "Of course I'm upset with you, why would I want you thinking I can't hold my own why I think so highly of you? When I feel the way I do?" "Are you saying you-" You laugh, "oh I'm sorry." You rub your face, "I'm sorry this is all a big misunderstanding." Your hands move to his shoulders, the side of his neck, "I didn't think you felt that way about me." "You couldn't tell I was falling in love with you? You're all I ever want to talk about." "I'm sorry I shoved you.. a lot." You rest a knee on the chair between his legs, "I'm sorry I got upset before you could explain, I'm thankful you're looking out for me." You don't let him reply before kissing him, he guides you into his lap, hands holding onto your waist. "I'm sorry I was hovering, I'm sorry I doubted you abilities-" "It's fine." You shush him, "We can make it up to each other I'm sure."

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [2].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, multiple instances where personal space is invaded HAHAHHA, the boys are very dramatic please understand their yearning hearts. WORD COUNT. 4.5k.

NOTE. woohoo! next chapter to this shitshow! some parts may be a bit confusing and vague....sometimes ominous....but all will be known in due time HAHAHHA (may be tempted to give a spoiler or two if u ask). hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 2 — these meet-cutes aren’t cute at all.

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO READ LIPS. But you don’t need to know how to get the idea that Taehyun is shooting an insult at you right now. His face says it all. “I said you look like hell,” he repeats after you’ve removed your headphones, the music still leaking out even after you’ve settled it down the cemented table. 

“Taehyun’s right,” Gaeul pipes in, and Woohyun seconds it. “You look like crap. What did you do last night?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you grunt, melting into the table. The sound of Yeong-Il’s Second Life is still just barely playing in the background thanks to your loud as fuck headphones volume. “We finished our exams. Of course I stayed up until six in the morning watching dramas.”

Three disappointed stares and one of full respect. “Dude, you’re crazy,” says Huening. “What did you watch? Night Has Come? My Demon? You should’ve invited me. I feel betrayed.”

“Both,” you reply, but you don’t seem all too happy after consuming over twenty episodes worth of dopamine. You’re frowning. You slam a fist down the table and let out a groan. “But they don’t fill the Choi Soobin shaped hole in my heart— fuck! Why isn’t he getting employed? Why hasn’t he been posting on his Insta? It’s been six months since his last drama. I miss him already.”

Huening’s attempts to console you consist of a few pats on your back. Gaeul’s attempt is a lot more effective. “Didn’t you win a slot to Choi Yeonjun’s fansign this weekend? Aren’t you coming?” You spring up with a gasp. “Girl, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I did! I fucking forgot because I have a deadline on the same fucking day, fuck! I want to die. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Are you still going?” asks Woohyun.

“Of course she is! Deadlines come ten times a week, but the chance to meet Choi Yeonjin comes one in a million!” Gaeul exclaims, then grabs you by the shoulders with a very serious look on her face, as if she wasn’t just disappointed that you sacrificed sleep just to watch a bunch of dramas. “Tell him I’m in love with him. No, wait, I need to tell him that in person. Tell him to wait for me. I’ll get in next time for sure.”

You whine out something that sounds like an agreement. “I haven’t prepared an outfit yet. This is so depressing. Gaeul, help me.”

Taehyun, who doesn’t share any of your unhealthy fixations, still hasn’t crawled out from his state of disappointed concern. “Just make sure you don’t miss your Saturday deadline,” he says. You roll your eyes in response.

“This is me you’re talking to. I may not seem like it, but I have my shit together. You don’t have to worry.”

They hate to admit it, but it’s true.

Your friends have always wondered how you managed to balance your hellish course load, your evening shifts at The Grind, and your hobby of fangirling over pretty and good looking men. The only reason you were able to binge two dramas until daylight is because you’ve finished all your midterm requirements before taking your exams, and you’ll definitely be able to attend the fansign because you’ll somehow finish a thirty-page paper in one day, in between classes and your work shifts.

They’re quite convinced you’re insane. The lifeless look in your eyes as you flit through your flashcards to review for a recitation later is a testament to that insanity.

But sometimes, a little spark of life manages to slip through.

Like right now, as you check a notification in your phone in the middle of reviewing.

“Shit, fuck, shit— oh my god. Yeong-Il dropped an interview, fuck, hold on—”

“Whoa, really?’ Woohyun digs his nose next to you. You guys have a graded recitation in thirty minutes, and you’re walking to the classroom with a blank face zeroed in at your phone screen in landscape instead of the flashcards you have now tossed away into your bag, paying no mind to your surroundings to the point that Gael and Huening have to make sure you’re still walking in the right direction.

Taehyun isn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. They can’t even tell you off because they know you’ll somehow find the answers to Prof Yang’s questions anyway.

APPARENTLY, THERE’S A CAR ACCIDENT OUT FRONT. On top of having a tiring day of rehearsals and the interview with Beomgyu exposing his delusions on the internet being dropped earlier (they didn’t edit it out, those rats), Yeong-Il isn’t having a good day, so it’s to no one’s surprise the the tension inside their van on the way back to their dorms is rather palpable.

Beomgyu, however, doesn’t feel said tension. Or maybe he just doesn’t care because he’s closing his eyes, ready to nap while all the rest of the vehicles surrounding theirs are honking their horns, and while Jeongin and Jimin are monitoring the interview on a phone. The part where Beomgyu talks about his alleged first love comes up. “Beomgyu,” Heeseung groans, covering his ears with a neck pillow. “Did you really have to say all that?”

“Ahh, quit nagging. No one’s even taking it seriously,” he grumbles, arms crossed and turning over his body to face the window instead of his bandmates.

“Yeah, people are just raving about how romantic Beomgyu is,” says Jimin.

“And making edits of him and Heeseung,” adds Jeongin. “They’re mistaking your stressed-out glances at Beomgyu as signs of unrequited love—”

Heeseung shoves a hand against Jeongin’s face to shut him up. “Still. You should be more careful of what you say in front of the camera, Gyu.”

“Nyenye. You should be more careful of what you say in front of the camera, Gyu.” 

They’re friendly as usual. Heeseung can’t put in the last word because Beomgyu has completely transformed into a sleeping position— yet he can’t seem to sleep and rest despite being absolutely fucked out and tired. He lets out a groan, squirming in the car seat. “Ugh.” The car still isn’t moving. The road is still a mess. All he wants is to rest as soon as possible, and he can’t even have that. All he wants is to see you again as soon as possible, and he’s starting to feel like he can’t have that as well.

Beomgyu gives up. He begrudgingly opens his eyes and looks at the state of the traffic out the window. It’s getting dark. Streetlights are being lit up one after the other, and he watches people moving faster than the frozen cars, like the road and the sidewalk are on two separate spaces of time.

A thought enters his head. What are the chances that you’ll be one of the people walking along the sidewalk right now?

“They’re making way for an ambulance.”

It’s a fruitlessly hopeful thought, he knows. It’s a silly possibility to entertain. But still. He can’t help but examine each of the faces passing by in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, his wish from four-hundred years ago will finally fucking come true. 

“Damn, when are we getting home?”

Right when Beomgyu gives up hoping and tries to fall back asleep again, he spots a familiar face walking down the sidewalk. Wait a minute—

“Man, this sucks.”

He jolts up, There’s no way. There’s no way Beomgyu wouldn’t recognize that expression— stone-cold, looking as if the very thing in front of you is a worthless bug waiting to be stepped on, warding away any possible attempts of anyone bothering you. There are no knives in your hands, but a phone and a paper bag. You’re not adorned in the blue, red, white, and gold like he’s used to, but a large coat draped over your shoulders.

Still. Even if your face is covered by a mask, or if you’ve inhabited the body of a completely different person.

“Beomgyu, wanna play are round when we get—”

There’s no way Beomgyu wouldn’t recognize you.

Looks like the chances are high after all.

“Beomgyu?!”

The van door slides open. Beomgyu feels the cold air hitting his face as he rushes in between the gaps of the traffic-saddled cars and the spaces in between. He hears Heeseung and Jeongin and Jimin calling after him but he doesn’t give a shit. Not now. Not when he’s sure he finally has you within reach, closing in the gap between you before you can disappear into a corner. Not when all he has to do is stretch out his hand, breath caught in his throat and heart racing, and pull you by the arm so you can turn around and look at him.

And you do.

Your phone crashes to the ground, and you’re looking at him like you want to punch him in the face. Beomgyu’s heart skips a beat.

“What the hell?!”

“It’s you.”

Beomgyu watches your brows knit together, your mouth falling into a sneer. It’s like looking into a time machine. Holy shit. 

“It’s really you.”

That look of annoyance. There’s no denying it. Night has fallen. The only thing illuminating your face is a single streetlight hanging above, but he’d be stupid to mistake you for anyone else. The arm that shakes his hold off is yours. The eyes that are glaring at him— sharp as knives— are yours, yours, and yours alone and he can get lost in them for hours on end. “The fuck? Do I know—” 

Your name falls from his lips for the first time in centuries. It’s always been blurry, always at the tip of his tongue the moment his memories from four-hundred years ago came crashing back to him like a storm. But now, it comes off naturally the moment he sees you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to sing.

He says your name once more. Your eyes widen in alarm.

“Are you a stalker?”

“I love you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I love you,” he repeats, breathless. “My biggest regret was failing to tell you how much I loved when I still had the chance.”

“What the fuck? What are you—”

Beomgyu reaches out for your hands, tugging you closer. Your skin burns him. Warm. Alive. “Now that I’ve been given that chance, I’m not letting go of you anymore.” He pauses, practicing the words inside his head before saying, “Let’s get married.” 

“What?!”

“I love you. I missed you. Let’s get married right now.”

You don’t say anything. You’re silent. Beomgyu feels his stomach wrench and drop and hurt all the way to his chest and lungs because why—

Why are you looking at him like that? 

“I’m going to call the fucking cops.” Once again, you shove him off, pulling your hands back and pressing them close to your chest. “There’s a crazy fucking bastard on the— shit! My phone! The screen is cracked, gosh! I haven’t even finished paying for it, for fuck’s sake, you have to— ex—excuse me, are you crying? Are you actually crying? What the hell?”

Beomgu’s vision is cloudy and his cheeks are wet. He knows you’ve always been spunky. You’ve always had an attitude and you two didn’t start off on the right foot, either. But why are you acting like you don’t know him? Like he’s some sort of fucking stranger? 

“Hey, I should be the one crying right now! You broke my phone! What is wrong with—”

“There you are!”

Suddenly, he doesn’t see you anymore. Heeseung’s voice comes crashing in and he gets shoved aside, eyes stinging and mind still in a daze. “I’m so, so sorry for my friend over here. We can’t pay for the damages right away, but please take this. Again, we’re so sorry! Hope you have a great night, still!”

No. He can’t let you slip away again. Not when he can finally hold you in his arms like all the countless times he hasn’t. “Dude, what are you doing?!” Heeseung yanks him back before he can run after you down the sidewalk. “Quit being weird. Why the hell are you crying?”

Beomgyu is having a hard time understanding. He’s not sure if he can’t, or if he simply doesn’t want to believe this— but your eyes don’t lie. He can tell if you’re annoyed by him just by looking at you. He can tell if you’re angry, regretful, elated, or drunk from the onslaught of his affections, so this time— he can clearly tell as well.

He can tell just from the look in your eyes that you don’t remember him.

That all those years of waiting for you was all for naught.

SOOBIN KNOWS THAT HE SHOULDN’T BE HERE RIGHT NOW. He knows that he’s supposed to be on a diet, and he knows that he has a photo shoot for a magazine this weekend. He even got rid of his stash of instant ramyeon because of that, deleted all those delivery apps because this’ll be his first schedule after a few months of taking a break.

But he is here, at one in the morning, in between the isles of the 7-Eleven nearest to his apartment building, because cravings sometimes trump rationality, and god he sure is craving for a cup of noodles. Or two. Two sounds good. And since he’s already here, might as well put a pack of milk bread in his basket. A can of Sprite too. Manager Lee is gonna kill him, but at least he’ll die full and satisfied.

“Hey, hold the door open for me.”

“Don’t you have hands?”

“Nice! They have empty seats outside. Waiting here. Buy me some donuts.”

Ah, shit. Soobin pulls his hood over his head and readjusts his mask. Sounds like a group coming in. He should pay later once the store’s emptier— meaning, he has no choice but to browse for more snacks to add to his basket. Totally not because he wants to, no. 

“Why’d you bring your laptop all the way here? You can continue working in Woohyung’s apartment.”

“Yeah, girl. There’s still a lot of time before the deadline.”

Soobin doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but the voices are talking pretty loudly. He’s dropping a few packets of yakgwa cookies into his basket while listening to a group of college students mourning about their courses. Good thing he chose not to pursue tertiary education. 

“I need to finish this as soon as possible if I want to attend the fucking fansign. Crap, I should’ve switched majors when I had the chance.”

He abruptly stops snack surfing. Wait. Pause. Hold on.

“Should’ve done that before junior year.”

“I know. Shut up. Get me a popsicle, please. Chocolate. Thank you.”

That voice—

“They ran out. Only strawberry or melon. Pick one”

“That’s fucking balls.”

“You’re so eloquent.”

“Suck my fucking dick.”

Okay. Nevermind. It’s kinda weird to hear a voice that sounds eerily similar to the love of his life’s saying so much obscenities. You only spoke pretty words to him before, so maybe he’s just tripping. There’s no way you’d swear so much, so he continues browsing the snack aisle. Maybe he just misses you so much that he’s starting to mistake a similarly sounding voice as yours and subconsciously letting his hopes up.

“Hyun, by the way. I forgot to mention. I met a Choi Beomgyu lookalike last night on the way home from work. It was fucking wild.”

Then again, he thinks, arm paused hovering above a bag of chips. People didn’t really say suck my fucking dick in Joseon era.

Soobin stops filling his basket and starts moving out of the aisle, following the sound of your voice.

“I almost fell in love on the spot, but the guy wasn’t right in the head, I think.” Closer. You’re starting to sound closer. “He knew my name. He kept acting like he knew me and asked me to fucking marry him? I even dropped my phone because he scared the shit out of me. I don’t know, it was wild.”

Where? Where are you?

“Dude, really? No way.”

“I’m serious! I’m telling you—”

Where the hell are you?

“I even got a card from his friend when he dragged the Beomgyu clone away. I have it here, take a loo— wait. Wait. Isn’t BH the agency that manages Yeong-Il? Am I wrong— oh, sorry!”

There you are.

There’s a stain on his hoodie. Bright pink. It matches the popsicle you’re holding, the varsity jacket you’re wearing, and the color painting his cheeks because you’re right in front of him. You’re actually right in front of him right now— face flushed with panic, eyes rapidly blinking. “Are—are you Choi Soobin?” someone says. Not you. You’re still profusely apologizing while trying to wipe away the stain with your jacket sleeve.

“That’s ridiculous, Huening. Go get me some tissues! I’m so, so sorry, oh gosh. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

You’re here. It’s actually you. His heart is racing. He can’t fucking breathe. He’s not sure if he should cry, scream, or all of the above.

But there’s something different. There’s something wrong.

“I can tell Choi Soobin from a picture of his ear! I’m telling you it’s him!” Your attention is pulled away by your companion tugging on your arm. “You’re Choi Soobin, right?! Jipuragi? Figured Obscurity?”

“Dude, you’re making him uncomfortable! Why in the world would Choi Soobin be—”

Soobin pulls down his mask, tugging on its fabric. When you turn back to look at him, your popsicle drops to the ground and you let out a gasp.

Your eyes are shining. You’re beaming. You do recognize him. You do know him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m such a big fan.”

Just not in the way he was hoping for.

“Y—yeah. Would you like a picture?”

You let out a squeal. So does your friend. This isn’t how Soobin expected his reunion with you to go about. This is wrong. He had it all planned in his head like a screenplay, and all that was left was to execute it without fail.

The moment he sees you, he was supposed to spin you around and hear your laughter fluttering in the air. He was supposed to hold you in his arms and give you the first kiss he’d been saving in this life because he’s been waiting for you all this time, yearning for years and years to give you the life he wasn’t able to in the past. To make up for everything you missed because in this life— there’s no class system to keep you apart. There’s nothing stopping him from loving you out in the open.

He didn’t expect to give you his autograph and take a fan selca with you after years of waiting.

This is so wrong. This is so freaking wrong.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” who he assumes is your friend says, and you’re smiling so, so brightly while looking at the photo of you and him that everything he wishes to say and profess and confess just lodges in his throat, blocking everything in its path.

“Thank you! Don’t worry, we won’t post this anywhere,” you say. Soobin holds back the inhuman urge to tell you why settle for a photo, when you can have him instead?

“S—sure. Anytime.”

“Ah, we should probably give you some privacy now. Huening, stop gawking! Anyway, fighting! We’re looking forward to your upcoming dramas!”

Just like that, you leave. You walk out of the store and join the rest of your friends outside, and he sees you showing off the signature he left on your receipt from the window, when he could give you so much more than that, when you could show off that you already own his entire heart. This...this really isn’t how he wanted to reunite with you. And the underlying reason for it something he doesn’t want to entertain.

“YEONJUN, YOU’RE UP IN TEN,” says a staff member. It’s the last week of promotions, and Yeonjun is getting his hair and makeup retouched one last time before he’s set to go uponstage to open the fansign. His manager tells him not to do anything stupid, or scandalous, or all of the above onstage— an almost everyday reminder that Yeonjun, more often than not, isn’t interested in listening to.

“Noona, you should trust me more,” he reacts, a slight whine in his tone. Manager Kim’s expression is nothing but dubious.

“At the very least warn me before you do something insane so I can prepare.”

“Will do,” Yeonjun grins, and his manager waves him off. Screams erupt the moment he emerges from behind the stage curtains, and everything else just comes naturally for Choi Yeonjun— not needing to second guess when he blows a kiss mid-performance, stirs the crowd with a comment or two, and making sure that all eyes are on him, almost as if he was born on every stage he steps foot on.

And to think he started this career without any desire for stardom.

Now, there’s nothing he desires more than blinding lights and the visceral sounds of cheers.

“A—ah, hello!” 

Well. There is one thing.

“Crap, I—I’m so nervous I don’t think I can breathe.”

“Oh no,” replies Yeonjun to the fan sitting before him, marker in hand as he flips open the tabbed page on the nth album splayed out on the table. “Should I give you CPR to help you start breathing again?” 

The girl lets out something sort of a squeal. He grins out a laugh and asks for her name and if she’s eaten anything yet.

“Thank you! Oh— oh, wait, one more thing—”

“Next!”

It’s a fast paced rotation. It always is. But Yeonjun uses the split second before the next person carousels in front of him to make a quick scan across the people lining up, across the people waiting in the audience seats, clinging onto the sliver of probability that this may finally be the day where his years of yearning for the ghost of past can finally end— well overdue for god knows how long already. 

He reuses and rehashes the same lines, same dialogue, and same greetings for the next person, and the next person, and the next and the next and the next. It’s just one face after another. Not that he’s bored, or unappreciative of the fans that spent their time (and truckloads of money) to see him. But it’s human to feel a sense of disappointment when the face he wants to see doesn't turn up after the fifth, tenth, seventh, hundredth, thousand, nth face, fansign after a fansign.

“Next.”

His wrist is getting sore, back is getting tired, but Yeonjun readies himself for another round of mindless chat, missing the opportunity to do his routine scans when he closes his eyes to roll back his shoulders. 

“Oh.”

Yeonjun hears the voice in front of him say. It’s a singular syllable, not even a word, but it’s enough to snap him wide awake.

“Oh my gosh,” you say again. Yeonjun doesn’t feel his fingertips. “You’re even prettier up close, whoa, this is crazy.”

He’s frozen. The usual ments and words and lines that usually flow naturally off his tongue don’t come. His brain is empty. The ink from his marker seeps into the album page underneath his numb hands. He hears his manager say something, but his manager’s voice is so far away— so, so, so far away, but the face he;s been yearning for in his memories is now, all of a sudden and without warning, within an arm’s reach, right before his eyes.

The marker stumbles out of his grasp. If Yeonjun reaches an arm out right now—

“U—uh.”

—he’d be able to touch your face.

“O—oh, holy shit, okay so we’re doing this now.”

And he is. The very feeling of your soft skin, unchanged from the feeling stored in the capsules of his memories, burns stronger than the adrenaline he feels when he’s onstage under the spotlight.

It’s real. You’re real.

You’re right in front of him right now.

“Choi Yeonjun, what the hell are you doing?!”

The hiss of his manager from behind is ignored when he suddenly springs up from behind the table, and you let out a yelp when he drags you up along with him. He’s holding both of your hands, thumbs brushing over the ridges of your knuckles before pulling them closer to his chest. There’s whispering in the background, along with the snaps and flashes of the numerous cameras littered everywhere in the venue.

“Yeonjun.”

He pays no mind to them. Instead he brings up your hands to his face and presses a kiss onto your knuckles. 

There’s a scream and gasp and a yell coming from somewhere. 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

But all he’s focused on is the swirls in your widened eyes, dizzy and taken aback, voiceless with your mouth hanging open. Yeonjun furrows his brows. “Why don’t you look happy to see me, my love?” You hack out a hard cough and Yeonjun drops your hands in surprise. “What’s— what’s wrong?” he stammers, leaning forward and closing into your face while you turn away from him, digging more unease into his bones because this...this doesn’t seem right.

“Sh—shit, I think I need to sit down, oh my god,” he hears you say, and it hits him. Yes. You were never good at expressing your affection. Yes, yes. Perhaps you’re just overtaken by a surge of emotions, that your appearance looks like that of constipated confusion of trepidation as a result of being overwhelmed by the fact that you’re so in love with him and that you’re happy to see him again.

Yes. That must be it. You’re both sat back down, and he scribbles something on your now ink-stained album. “Next.” And when you’re just about to bow and leave, he says your name— one that he thought he’s forgotten— and you freeze.

“Why do you look so surprised?” he laughs. “There’s no need to be shy. Should I kiss you again to ease your— ack!”

“Next! Next person!” 

Suddenly, you’re being scurried away. “No, wait!” he yells out, but the moment he tries to get up again, he’s jerked right back.

His manager is holding the back of his collar, and you’re disappearing into the crowd. Was…was Manager Kim always this strong? He can’t even budge, can’t even run after you after he’d finally been reunited with you again.

“Choi Yeonjun, that’s enough!”

He blinks, remembering belatedly just where he is right now.

There’s still a line of people waiting for him. Yeonjun drops back to his seat, his manager losing her grip on his shirt, and he brings himself back after a round of inhales and exhales. It’s alright, he thinks to himself. It’s gonna work out. “Sorry about that,” he hums, smiling at a now different face sitting in front of him. “What did you tell me your name was?”

You’ve been separated from him yet again, but this time it’s fine. He’s not anxious. He’s certain that it won’t take centuries for you to return to each other, no— it won’t be long until then because this time, he’s not dead. 

You’re both still alive at this point in time.

And that enough assures him that he’s going to find his way back to you.

“Next!”

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Stolen

I was furious.

Terrified. Completely enraged. Sick to my stomach. Overwhelmed and yet expected to function. To keep my shaking hands smooth and screaming thoughts orderly. All I wanted to do want scream. Cry. Destroy and destroy, weep and RAGE.

Then hide in a closet under blankets until the monsters went away.

But... but he wasn't going too, was he?

"Ah, my honored Sister, how good of you to join me." Greets the murderer before me, voice cool and smooth like the scales of a snake. There is a gleefully victorious lilt to that voice. A curling possessiveness to the title.

I am not his sister. We are not ever REMOTELY related. It is not even a matter of me disowning him for what he's down. It is simple truth. We are not, by blood, related. We were not RAISED together. Our relation? A farce. A legal machination by my... my Father, oh gods... No! Don't get swallowed by the memories! T-The blood. Focus!!

Fafnir is... WAS just one of many promising, talented, ambitious young men with no father's that DEFINITELY were my Father's bastard sons, no really. He most certainly wasn't COLLECTING meritorious youth into our house, under his name, and training them up with his wealth and influence. To bypass the bullshit class system and give them a chance at better lives!

Maybe suggest they pay it forward.

My father would never be so duplicitous. No, no, he was just a very lustful man... that no one ever saw going out to have sex. Who's wife had never been the least bit upset with him. And to whom he was fiercely loyal. Yes. Very, very lustful my father... w-was.

It was just while the family continued it's work on opening up opportunities for the lower classes. Jobs and better quality of life. Hospitals and schools. Fighting against those who benefited from nothing changing. It was slow. Like pulling teeth. The work of lifetimes, he'd said. I... I was expected to help continue it.

I'd been GLAD too. So utterly RELIEVED I was reborn into a house with some fucking sense of RESPONSIBILITY. Duty and honor and taking care of people! Building up social services! I had grand plans. Even after recognizing, a little alarmed, that I was on the fringe of a god damned OTOME game of all things.

One I barely remembered. Had played, loved most likely, as a preteen. A literal lifetime ago.

It didn't effect me, right? I wasn't here for boys or parties. Politics or fanciful dreams. Let someone else have their lace filled, flower coated, high drama adventures of love. I had late night paperwork and community research. Surprise to orphanages and hospitals to insure their was no corruption or mischief going on.

That one health clinic in Oakworth that took forever to get going.

Except...

Except??

Fafnir was a capture target! Which is why it took me forever to realize. As he had been so very small and filthy at first. Then merely small and in poor health. Short hair because his poor hair had been beyond saving. We passed by each other. Nodded, maybe exchanged pleasantries, but did not truely interact.

He lived in the dorms. I lived in the main house. He was basicly a student my father was paying to have taught, using our name. I was my father's actual daughter. We may have LEGALLY been related. LEGALLY brother and sister. But in actuality? We were no such thing.

Honestly, most of the "Sons"? Kept their original last names in day to day life.

Or at least... they did.

I.. I think I had shit taste, as a preteen. That or my luck has finally run out. Maybe it was my family's fortune, that finally could no longer best the odds. After all, there is always one. That ONE soul. Who sees something good and doesn't care about anything or anyone but themselves. Ruins things for everyone.

As long as they get their's, right?

A sea of motivated and ambitious young men. Trying to change their station in life. Have Better and MORE. Change the world around them. Leave their marks. Is... ha! Is it any wonder, in hindsight, that our luck eventually gave out? It was always going too. I guess Fafnir just wanted MORE.

He was supposed to go to the Royal Academy, fall in love. Compete against prince's and duke's, knights and heirs to merchant companies. All for the heart of the only daughter of a Ducal house, that had been (of course) raised by peasants. A carriage accident and presumed death cliché.

I honestly couldn't even remember his route. I might have read about it. But had never PLAYED it. He had had short hair, all but two had. So I played the foriegn prince route, even though he was kind of an ass. He was a handsome one at least. At least to me. It was just, I had never... still never...

I liked men with long hair.

Something which I had never told anyone.

Yet? As Fafnir grew? He did not transition into the character I remembered, like the others had. He grew his hair out. Became not only fiercely protective of it, but invested in higher quality products to care for it. Discovered my favorite perfume maker and commissioned a cologne for himself, that would mix well with the scent I always wore. Systematically tracked down each and everything I've ever liked, behind my back, to consume and memorize every facet of them.

I was blind to it.

My Father was not.

And... a-and... it cost him his life.

Father was not pleased with want he saw. But assumed it was a crush at first. We were young after all. Young people do weird, awkward, over the line things. Are learning about boundaries even as they grapple with sudden floods of hormonal shifts. A terrible time, really. It could be excused. As long as it didn't go TOO far. So long as someone sat Fafnir down for a talk.

They did.

He got more subtle.

A cycle developed. One my Father was not pleased to see. Fafnir would cross boundaries, be caught, get scolded, and contritely apologize... then get more subtle in his approach. Be more clever. As though all he had learned was "don't get caught". and "if you want to get, what you want to have, you need to have the skills to get passed us."

He grew concerned. Eventually, alarmed. I had thought nothing of it, back then, because "of COURSE he was supposed to go" to the Royal Academy? But... we honestly, really, Truely? HADN'T sent anyone there before. And there HAD been far more skilled boy then him. Prodigies.

But... my favorite ribbon necklace had gone missing.

From the room where I slept.

Overnight.

My Father took one look at Fafnir's pleased expression amongst the chaos and needed no further proof. He would not kick him out. Far too dangerous, he thought. But he WOULD send him away. Now?

Now I wish he'd risked it. Because... because everyone was dead. Struck down by the monster we let into our home. And by ancient law, which we both KNEW he was planning to exploit? This was a... a "family matter". Because, after all, we WERE legally family. Members of the same House.

"Such hesitation, Sister. You'd think I was a threat." He muses into his cup of tea, swirling it lightly. His eyes flit back to me, lips curling just slightly. "Don't worry, though. I understand completely. I would never hurt you."

But he would hurt others. He already has. Most of them didn't survive it. Ha ha... like a brutal yank on some unseen leash. I want to cry. Not sure if this is what shock feels like. But yes, thank you, for the lovely remind, Fafnir. That you have filled my home with bodies. The corpses of those I loved.

I use what little dignity I have left to walk forward and sit down.

Oh look, he has utterly ruined all my favorite things in one blow. There, my favorite tea. That, my favorite flower. Across the table my favorite snacks. Even a few favorite fruits. A dish or two. My favorite cup. And now? N..NOW? All I will every be able to associate with them is death. The stench of copper and the horror of this moment.

The joy of them is gone.

"See? Isn't that better? No more standing awkwardly to the side. Now we can sit, face to magnificent face. I've brought you a few things I know you'll enjoy. Isn't that nice? I've wanted to do this for the longest time." He sighs in contentment, as though this were no more then a matter of busy schedules and social anxiety. "And now? Now we are finally together. Siblings for now, but I am working to fix that. And if i can't, well..."

His smirk was a thing of nightmares.

"I'm head of the house now. You're finally Mine."

[heyhihellosworld]

𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧

Trent Alexander Arnold x reader

Instagram Au

Notes: This is the first social media Au's I've made and it was a lot of fun, though I'll admit it took a lot longer than it should. Don't know about this to be honest

All photos are from instagram or pinterest

yourusername

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yourusername

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trentarnold66

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trentarnold66 🚩

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judebellingham brooo

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yourusername My favs from the week😜

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yourusername the only day I don't love my job. Thank you lads 🥲❤️

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roberto_firmino ❤

yourfriendsname never seen you cry before

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lpool she always seems to be able to squeeze in a pic of Trent

mountsgf If I had pics of Trent I would too

masonmount

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masonmount wanted to meet y/n but been thirdwheeling instead

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masonmount traumatic

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benchilwell Mason need to be the center of attention, how you never learn y/n

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fan3 Fav couple

Fotballwagsgossip

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Fotballwagsgossip Me thinking a little too hard about all the Trent and Y/n interactions 🤨😳🥹🫣

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mason19mount Riiight it's a bit suspicious

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wag4 I'm just waiting for them to admit it

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yourusername Liverpool is always charming 😊

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masonmount Oh

benchilwell 👀

virgilvandijk 😶

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trentarnold66 My favourite girl ❤️

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marchusrashford Finally you two

Wagss I KNEW IT

[chimivx]

That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 7.5k (part FIVE of ten) ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

{ there are names & faces in here that come from NMWID <3 }

september 14th ~ saturday ~ 12:02 p.m.

[you]: i’m sorry i left so fast i didn’t mean to run

[you]: i just woke up can we talk

september 14th ~ saturday ~ 4:57 p.m.

[you]: hey just checking in, are you okay

september 15th ~ sunday ~ 10:17 p.m

A book has lived on your lap for two days now. Since you woke up Saturday late morning after your night at ATZ, you’ve been situated in the center of your bed getting a head start on assignments, setting your planner up for the semester, making sure everything was in absolute order. This was the most important part of being here.

Not the boys, not the parties, not the sisterhood drama… The grades.

Nasara offered you a spectacular scholarship because you were actually pretty booksmart. And thank god for it too, you knew your dad would never be able to send you here on his own. He had money to spend, but it didn’t necessarily go to you without a good motive.

The grades had to stick. The grades had to be almost perfect.

Or, you weren’t getting that degree.

Being in a sorority without a doubt took a toll on your wallet, and your fathers. When there were fundraisers you were working your ass off to make sure you raised enough money to both keep the place going as well as hand some of it over to the charity you were doing it for. That’s partially why coming into this year has been so nerve wracking. There were nine of you in the house. You were not prepared to see the cost come the beginning of next month.

Your dad paid for September. He took a couple jobs and was able to give it to you in full. The rest of the year was up to you. Not one part of you wanted to have to ask him for help. You were capable. You were able to do it. The rest of these girls had money, they had the fame… You’d been hustling for two years, you could make it two more.

There was always the option to move into the dorms, or better yet, move into an apartment off campus somewhere in Delo which sparked your fancy. The only issue is there would be no one to take with you, and the only acceptable way to go about it would be to do it with a roommate. Tori was off the table, she was obsessed with the ITZ house, plus it was a couple minutes away from her boyfriend. Why would she ever want to move further from that?

Flipping a page in your notebook, the door to your bedroom swung open and a flustered Tori stormed in, her brows scrunched, her eyes pointed to the floor. She bounced about the room, tossing her blankets around, dropping to her knees to file through her things under her bed, jumping to her feet to scour her drawers.

A sleepy eyed Yuna popped her head in the doorway looking equally as stressed as your roommate. “Hey, Ror,” she mumbled, her eyes darting around the floor and the shelves. “Tor, I don’t think you brought it in here.”

“Hey,” you said to her. “What are you looking for?” Focusing on Tori, you closed your notebook. The two of you haven’t discussed Friday night. Nothing’s been unpacked. She’s been busy with sorority things and hanging out with Mina and Yuna. 

It sometimes fell that way this time of year, at least it did your sophomore year. The three of them were on the board, they were more important than you and your other friends. Though, last year it was only Tori and Yuna taking some time to themselves, overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility. Now she was in on it.

“My ITZ planner,” Tori sighed, her vision tunneled on her surroundings, speaking hushed, but with power. “I had it at the meeting on Friday, I left it in the house, it didn’t come out with me. That has stuff in it that Yeji didn’t write down, if I don’t find it…”

“You’ll find it,” Yuna nodded. “I’ll go check out my room just in case I grabbed it, then I’ll check Yeji’s desk.” She was gone in a flash.

Tori drug a hand through her waves, her hair falling naturally down her back. With no makeup on, her tan skin still had the ability to glow. “Ror,” she muttered, spinning around in a circle to face you. Meeting her eyes, you tried to smile, but it didn’t come through as such. She was so frustrated anyhow, she probably didn't even notice. “Can I check your stuff?”

Hesitating, you shrugged. “You think I took it?”

Tori groaned, her hands digging through her hair once more. “God, no,” she said. “Just in case, I don’t think you took anything, I just have to check everywhere…” Her hands started flying, her brown eyes manic and panicked.

“Okay, okay,” you said, waving her along with a hand toward your bed and your things below it. “Whatever you gotta do, go for it.” She dropped to the floor and you turned back to your book, opening your notebook to copy down notes from your classes this past week.

Tori pulled baskets of clothes out, rifling through them, then she moved on when she didn’t find what she was looking for. Searching through some extra bags you had stored under there, she moved through every bin, every basket, every bag. Nothing. Then, she moved to the other side where you had more recent things shoved without any rhyme or reason. Shoes you’ve worn recently, your textbooks for class, the bag you’d use for classes- she opened that and searched through it.

She popped her head up, looking at you, you could feel it. Turning your head slowly, you found her confused. 

“What?” you asked.

“Ror,” she said quietly, holding up an opened light purple package with words on the front that made you want to be sick. She was shocked, her lips parted ever so slightly. “Is this yours?”

Swallowing hard, feeling your stomach in your throat, you couldn’t lie your way out of this one. “I… Yeah, guess I forgot to throw that out.”

Tori flipped it toward her to read it, then she shot you another crazed look. “Why the fuck did you take a Plan B?”

Hm, now this was interesting. 

You could lie.

But, at this point now there was no sense in lying.

“Seonghwa?” she whispered.

Yep, no reason to lie.

“Seonghwa,” you breathed, and she leapt to her feet, the box flying from her fingers onto the floor. She jumped onto your bed, the mattress moving beneath you.

“Aurora, what?” She almost gasped. Her knees bumped into yours as she tucked her knees up on the blankets. “When, what?”

You closed your book for good, setting it aside. Taking a breath, you looked up at her and cringed. “Last Friday?”

“Last Friday!” she shouted. Shushing her, she clamped her hands over her mouth at the same time. “I’m not sorry, what the fuck?! That’s why we lost you? You were upstairs with Seonghwa?”

“I was,” you whispered, glancing down at your lap. “We were both drunk, it happened, like, so fast.”

Tori snapped her jaw shut and sat up straight. The way she looked at you made you feel about sixteen years old. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Leaning back, you shrugged, then grabbed onto your ankles and sighed. “You got Mina,” you whispered, and she squinted.

“What?”

You cleared your throat. “You got Mi-”

Tori slapped a hand to your wrist. “No, yeah, I heard you, Ror,” she scoffed. “I mean, what?” She leaned into you, dipping her chin down to meet your eyes. After another shrug as answer from you, she shook her head and laughed. “No, no, unacceptable. I won’t take that. What do you mean that’s why you didn’t tell me you fucked Seonghwa?”

“Don’t say it,” you sneered, eyeing your open bedroom door. Tori flipped her hair back and let another laugh of disbelief. “I didn’t tell you ‘cause you’ve been so close with her, and clearly you’ve told her plenty about me. This isn’t a big deal, I didn’t want it to become a thing.”

She rolled her eyes and settled her hands into her own lap. “Fine, you’re right, I told her too much.”

“Thank you,” you said within a breath, blinking away the obnoxiousity.

“It wasn’t right,” Tori reached a hand toward you, one you took, “I’m sorry. You’re my friend first, my best friend. I shouldn’t have said what I said. She should’ve found it all out naturally.”

Squeezing her hand, you tightened your lips. “She shouldn’t have found out about it at all.”

Tori raised a brow every so slightly, the one with the piercing in it. “Do you like Mina?” Your nervous system sparked fight or flight, but in a way that made you groan aloud and half out yourself when you wanted to keep all feelings about it inside. “Wait, what’s happened, I thought everything was chill, we were helping her get Yunho, and taking her to the parties, breaking her out…”

“Yeah,” you said. “Helping her with all that.” Letting yourself collect your thoughts, Tori waiting patiently, you really didn’t know what to say. 

For starters, you haven’t spoken to Yunho since you left his house Friday night. Acquiring your phone from Seonghwa after fleeing the boys bedroom, you walked home, teetering to the side most of the way. Getting yourself up onto your balcony, sloppily, you fell onto your bed and rolled off of it, putting yourself together for bed before Tori made it back into the house.

She appeared later on. The girls told you they came in Ryujin and Isla’s window instead, not wanting to disturb you if you were asleep. Which you were.

None of them know you were there two nights ago.

“Mina’s… Alright,” you said, shrugging. “I like that she’s getting more comfortable, I want her to be comfortable… I hate what I said at dinner, no one deserves that, especially where she is in life, that’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Looking at Tori, both of your lips were pouted. They started to turn into smiles, then eventually giggles.

“Don’t ever not tell me things again,” Tori said through her grin. “Okay?”

Nodding, calming your smile, you said, “Okay.”

Lying straight to her face.

“Now,” she said, scooting closer to you if it were possible. She wanted to occupy the same space. “Tell me everything, I need to know, you slept with the Vice President of ATZ… Is it true?”

You tilted your head. “Is what true?”

Tori made a face, jutting her chin forward like she couldn’t believe you didn’t get it. “The… the thing. Did he…”

Waiting for her to finish, she didn’t. “Tori, the what?”

“He didn’t do it? I guess not if I haven’t seen it.” She dropped her eyes to your neck and you immediately slapped your hand there, your eyes going wide. “He did.” She grabbed onto your elbows and shook you. “Aurora, you have to go to the Sweethearts Formal with him.”

“What? Why?” You’d much rather go with someone else. Shaking your head you pulled the collar of your sweatshirt down and showed her the dulling spot on the base of your neck. Tori started to smile. 

“A little birdie told me that he does that,” she said, her voice suddenly acquiring the ability to quiet down.

“Mingi,” you said, flat as ever.

“Course,” she said without a beat. “But, here’s the kicker, Ror. This means no one else can touch you. Did anyone see you with it? I can’t believe I didn’t notice, I think I was so worried about Mina.” 

Dropping your hands to your lap, you took a slow breath and let your eyes shut for a few seconds. “Tori, what do you mean? That no one else can touch me?”

She sat up and glanced toward the open door, then back to you. Whispering, she said, “You’re his. He’s, like, claimed you.”

“What?!” you shouted, and she shushed you, giggling as she did.

Latching onto your hands, she said, “The boys are serious about this, too. No one’s ever broken it. Mingi told me that if any of them get close then they’re forced to absolutely humiliate themselves, or something. I’m not really sure, ‘cause I don’t think any of them have even tried. You’re Seonghwa’s, and if any ATZ boys try anything with you then they’ll be kicked out of the frat.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach.

“Oh,” you said, nodding your head. Tori narrowed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back, inspecting you.

“Didn’t Yunho say Hwa was dating somebody?”

Gulping at the mention of his name, you shook your head. “He lied.”

Tori froze. “Why would he lie?”

“I dunno,” you spewed quickly, flipping open to a random page in your book, hoping to end this conversation before it drew on any longer. “He’s been weird this whole time we’ve been back.”

Tori glanced down at your work and pursed her lips. Sliding off your bed she spun around and clasped her hands behind her back. “It’s probably just what Mina said, yanno? Coming back, feeling overwhelmed? Did you guys…” Her pause made you look at her. “Oh,” she breathed. “Right.”

Rolling your eyes you took back to your book, you said, “No, we didn’t go to Blend.”

Tori nodded, looking around your shared room. “Right,” she muttered. “We’re banned. You guys have been talking though, right? Maybe you just have to pull him out of his head, you know how he gets sometimes.” She puttered about the room, looking through more things for her planner. “When he loves something he gets crazy. Remember his report on medieval Europe, or whatever he was hyper focused on?” You lifted your chin, watching her walk around. “That boy is kind, I’ll tell you that, but Mingi’s told me he’s been a little brain fried, I think.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, watching her flip one of her empty designer purses upside down like something would miraculously fall out of it. She sighed and slumped over, then looked at you.

“You guys really haven’t talked?” She tossed the purse to the floor and took your head shake as an answer. Resorting to your shared closet she started pushing hanging clothes aside, dropping to her knees again so her hands could skim the floor full of shoes. “I guess he and I really haven’t either, with the ban, whenever we’re there I’m all over Mingi.” She giggled. An obscure fact, of course. “But, you know Yunho, Ror. When he has his brain set on something, a project, a report, a lesson… If it’s something he loves he’s gonna be scatterbrained.”

“Classes just started,” you said, voice tiny.

Tori flipped her hair over her shoulder and groaned. “Then, I dunno, Ror, maybe he’s in love with Mina or something, it’s a person then, not his schoolwork.” She shot out of the closet, shouting loud enough to wake up the house. “I FOUND IT!” Her ITZ planner covered in cute little stickers was in her hand as she jumped to her feet. Footsteps bound into the room, Yuna whipping around the corner at lighting speed. The two voiced their relief and started out of the room. Tori stopped before she left, looking back at you staring at the floor. “You good, Ror?”

Trying to take a breath, you attempted a smile, one she believed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said even though you couldn’t feel your legs.

With a smile, she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Blinking, you took the shakiest breath, releasing it with a sigh, you whispered, “Fuck.”

september 15th ~ sunday ~ 11:15 p.m.

[starhwa]: Thinking about you, don’t work too hard this week, need my girl to be happy.

[you]: don’t worry, she’s not freaking out about her classes

[starhwa]: But she’s freaking out?

[you]: slightly

[starhwa]: Do you want to talk about it?

[you]: not yet, i’m sorry

[starhwa]: Don’t apologize to me, when you want to tell me you will.

september 16th ~ monday ~ 8:02 a.m.

[you]: you’re making me nervous, yo

[you]: i need to talk to you, please

september 16th ~ monday ~ 11:23 a.m.

“Small iced coffee, please, with cream and a shot of caramel.”

The cafe was empty for a Monday mid-morning, Blend usually buzzing and alive around seven when students would flood the concrete floor like feins, jonesing for a sniff of the freshly roasted coffee, allowing themselves to be late because they waited in the long lines that’d pour out the door. This semester you’d be avoiding those lines on a Monday, your first class didn’t start until noon.

“Small?” The barista teased, using his ring covered fingers to push his dark hair from his eyes. It fell towards his lanky shoulders, his smaller frame swallowed by the brown apron he had to wear over his jeans and t-shirt. Turning to get started on your coffee, he raised a brow. “You’ve gone weak.” His eyes drew over your outfit, a hoodie and jeans. “Junior year means you’re watching your caffeine?” He mimicked a British accent and you both laughed.

“No,” you smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “Maybe just watching the anxiety?” Your accent was terrible, and he was quick to call you out on it.

“Darling,” he widened his eyes and crossed behind the bar, fixing your cup. “That was awful,” you both laughed, “Why are we anxious, the year has just started?”

Shrugging, you weren’t sure what to say to him.

Taeyang, with Theo written on his nametag, lowered his brows and rolled his eyes. “I don’t like that answer.” He pumped an extra shot of caramel in your cup, his subtle way of showing you that you were one of his favorites. “Choi Aurora,” he said, setting his eyes on you. Popping a lid and a purple straw into your cup, he came back toward the register and almost handed you your cup, taking it back before you could grab it. “Where’ve you and your friend been?”

“Tori?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“The boy, Yunho,” he said, stone faced. “You’re usually all up in here. Last semester I had to kick you guys out ‘cause we were closing and you two wouldn’t shut up.”

Averting your eyes to the counter, you shrugged again. “There’s been house drama, I guess,” you said. When you found his eyes, his deep, off putting, mystery filled eyes, you said, “We’ve been banned from seeing them.”

The accent was back and he lost it, sliding you your coffee, punching in numbers on the register. “Sorry to hear that, sweetums,” he said, shooting you a smile. The door to the cafe swung open behind you, the little bell that hung above it sung a little song. “Three seventy five.” Setting his hands on the counter, Theo nodded his head to whoever was behind you while you rifled through your bag for the cash. “What can I get started for you?”

“Iced Americano, large,” the familiar voice said, coming a bit closer to you.

Theo shot you a look. “One large coming up.”

“Shut up, Tae,” you grumbled. Your wallet was gone, and you couldn’t even fumble together random cash from the bottom of your bag. Tori must’ve dropped it on the floor when she was looking for her planner, but thank god she put the empty Plan B box back in here, because that was important. “Can I still send it to your number? Is that a thing?” Fumbling for your phone you slid it open and sent an urgent message to your father.

[you]: can i please have five dollars quick, just trying to buy a coffee

[choi asshole #1]: I sent you fifty last week so you’d have it for coffee. Where the fuck did that go already?

[you]: coffee

The empty box in your bag.

“Yeah, Ror, that’s fine,” Theo said with a brow scrunch, already serving the boy behind you. “Six fifty.”

“Ror?” The boy behind you stepped up the counter, leaning his elbows on it. “I got this, put us together.” Whipping your head to the right you’re greeted with blonde hair and black eyes, the tall boy giving you the smallest smile. “What’s up?”

Glancing to the coffees, you said, “You don’t have to do that.”

Soul shrugged, taking a sip of his. “It’s my pleasure.”

Theo laughed, sending you a look. “It’s his pleasure,” he whispered in the accent, making you smile. Soul’s gaze traveled from him to you, and he stood up straight, towering over you.

“Where are you headed?” he asked, slapping a twenty on the counter. Grabbing his drink he started to walk away, taking you with him.

“This is too much, Shota,” Theo said, voice low, studying him through his lashes. The freshman turned back and waved him off.

“Keep it,” he said without a thought. “Thanks, bro.”

Theo rolled his eyes and popped the cash in his drawer. “Anytime, bro.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you said, waving as you walked beside Soul, taking a sip of your coffee. “This is the best, thank you.” He didn’t look up, he only bobbed his head.

Soul held the door for you, the two of you stepping out into the September breeze. Delo stayed fairly warm until the fall months, but not like Sicuro, or Contramano. Those areas stayed hot for long. Delo was comfortable, it was perfect. Hoodies in September, sweaters in November, sundresses in March and April… You adored every bit of it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Soul said, looking down at you. Sipping your coffee you scrunched your brow. “Where are you headed?” His hair was clean, hanging over his forehead, touching his shoulders. He wore something similar to what he was in the other night, ripped black jeans and a random t-shirt that fit his aesthetic. 

“I have business statistics at twelve,” you said. He started to smile, his lips pressed together, then his eyes scanned your being like yours did to his.

Way to be subtle, Ror.

“Business statistics,” he curled his lip. “You smart people. What’s your major?”

“Marketing,” you said, and he stared at you, not computing. “It’s basically business.”

“Coulda started with that,” he huffed a laugh, then pointed around for directions. “Lead the way.”

Raising your brows, you asked, “You’re gonna walk me there?”

Soul sipped his coffee and gave you a look of surprise. “What kind of gentlemen would I be if I bought you a coffee and made you walk to class all alone on this beautiful day and this…” he glanced around, “...very safe, very clean, very put together college campus.”

He took note of the smile that had found your lips at some point standing here with him. “Alright,” you said, starting down the street to the left, “This way, Soul.”

Falling in step with you, he seemed to find you more interesting than the commotion of other students around him. Asking you questions about when you started at Nasara, how you got into ITZ, how you became friends with the members of ATZ… He got a brief history lesson while he guzzled down his coffee.

“You’re going to join, right?” His eyes went wide while he sipped from his straw, answer enough. “You and your friends? That I met at the house?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, proud. “Me, Seob, Intak… We’ve been friends since high school, we’ve been waiting for this for three years.”

Taking a right down a street corner, Soul kept himself in time with you, though you're certain he would walk much faster if you were the one following him. His legs could stretch for miles.

“Three years? You’ve wanted to go to Nasara since you were a sophomore in high school?” 

Soul tossed his empty cup into a trash can on the street and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know Taeyang was in ATZ, right? Theo?” Pausing at a green light while the cars passed by, you looked up at him curiously. “Tae?”

“Yes, I know who you’re talking about,” you half laughed, shaking your head.

“He’s my brother,” he said nonchalantly, moving his focus to the traffic.

Popping your jaw open, you said, “Oh my god, wait, he graduated last year. He’s your brother?”

Soul shrugged. “Step-brother,” he mumbled as if the words tasted bad. He turned to you. “My dad married his mom right before he graduated high school.”

“Interesting,” you said, grabbing his arm when the light turned red and the crosswalk sign lit up. Soul moved into you, a crowd of people coming from the opposite way forcing you together. “He’s never said anything about a brother.”

“‘Cause he hates me,” Soul scrunched his nose, again with some sort of pride, some sort of confidence. Landing on the other side of the street you both took your hands to yourselves and headed toward the end of the street where a massive building waited for you.

“Why would he hate you, he’s a grown adult who-”

“I fucked his girlfriend.”

Stopping dead in your tracks he didn’t catch on until a couple steps later. Taking in the shock on your face as he turned around, the grin that lit him up was entirely adorable, a word that shouldn't be used after what he’s just told you. Walking backwards, willing you to follow him, he laughed.

“You’re not serious,” you said.

Soul nibbled his bottom lip. “I’m so serious.” Expertly threading his feet behind him, he cocked his chin up and asked, “Am I ATZ material?”

Rolling your eyes, you said, “This year I think you fit right in.”

He allowed you to catch up to his side, then he spun around and continued forward, eyeing the building you were approaching. “Theo’s mom doesn’t think I’m smart enough,” he mumbled, a secret he didn’t seem to want to say. Either that, or he hasn’t had anyone to say it to. Giving him a look, he hung his head back, the confidence still pouring from him despite his sudden lament. “My dad could pay them off though,” he shrugged, meeting your eyes. “Another reason for Taeyang to hate me.”

“Well,” you began, pausing at the bench on the street in front of the double doors you were meant to go inside. Dropping your bag to the seat you searched for a lipgloss and pulled it out, twisting it open. “That’s not very fair.” 

Sliding the brush over your lips, Soul watched. “It’s not?” he asked, his voice almost whispering. Rubbing your lips together you shook your head.

“Not really, I mean most of those guys work really hard,” you said. Applying another layer of gloss, Soul poked the tip of his tongue between his lips. Rubbing your lips together with a smack this time, he snapped his eyes back to yours. “I think if you just applied yourself and worked hard to get your grades up this first semester, they’d consider you without the money.” He bobbed his head, hanging onto every word. Taking the last sip of your coffee, the straw sticking to your fresh gloss, Soul held out his hand.

“I’ll take care of it,” he breathed, his eyes flickering to your lips again. Slipping the cup into his hand you slung your bag over your shoulder and smiled.

“Thanks,” you said, and he nodded. “For the coffee and the walk.”

“Anytime.” His face was so pure, so seemingly innocent that one would never be able to believe he fucked his older brothers girlfriend. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Of course.” Ignoring the way he ogled your lips again, you headed toward the double glass doors, not going inside until you threw him a, “Work hard, Soul,” over your shoulder.

september 17th ~ tuesday ~ 3:30 p.m.

[choi asshole #1]: I’ll be in Contramano until Saturday Aura.

[you]: wonderful, enjoy, bring home the big bucks

[choi asshole #1]: Don’t talk like that, come on.

[you]: what else do you do in Mano

The phone screen lit up, choi asshole #1 in bright white letters across the top of it.

“Who’s calling you?” Tori asked from the seat at the table next to you. She leaned on your shoulder and gasped, the sound startling you. “Answer it, answer it, answer it.”

Disgust bled onto your face as you looked at her. “Don’t have a crush on my dad, Tor.”

“How can I not?” she whispered, staring at the bouncing text on the screen. His photo was a funny one of you two from when you were a toddler, sitting on his lap, the two of you with matching pigtails in your hair. Releasing a breath, you gave her a small headshake, then drug the arrow across the screen, answering the video call. 

“Hi, Dad,” you said, not the least bit excited to listen to what he had to say. Tori grabbed the back of your hand and twisted the phone so you were both in the frame.

“Hi, Mr. Choi,” she crooned, sitting her chin in her hand.

He appeared, his black hair parted to the side over his forehead, cut short, but long enough to reach his brows. “Tori, how many times do I have to tell you, call me Yeonjun, I don’t like the honorifics.”

She smiled and giggled. “It’s respect, Mr. Choi, I can’t not call you anything but that.”

Your father clicked his tongue and glanced over his phone, a woman's laugh sounding off camera. “Fine,” he said, then looked back at you. “Aura, I wanna be able to give you enough for next month, that’s why I’m going.”

“Okay,” you said, hardening your glare.

Yeonjun glanced over the phone once more, seeming to share a sigh with whoever was behind the screen. “It’s fast,” he said, trying to reason with you. “Your uncle’s coming with me, we’re gonna be fine.”

“And Seulgi? Or is that Lisa?” You swallowed your laugh as Tori launched herself out of the frame to lose her composure. Yeonjun laughed, letting his head bob.

“It’s Haru, but thank you for that.”

You smiled. “Of course.”

“How was your first week of classes? The second starting out okay?”

Ignoring the way Tori tapped your arm, you leaned over the table and focused on the phone. “They were just great, Dad. Same old shit.”

“And the sorority? Everything going okay?”

Now you shared a look with Tori, one that told her to keep her mouth shut.

“It’s all good,” you said, looking down at your phone. He was walking around now, the woman he was with mumbling things to him as his brows twisted. The two spoke to one another for a second before he focused on you.

“Glad to hear it, Aura,” he finally said. “You staying away from the boys down the street?”

A knife to the gut. “As much as you’re staying away from the women in Contramano.”

Yeonjun shot a glare toward the camera, the woman laughing aloud near him. “Really hope you’re not serious, Aurora. Remember what I told you, they’re trouble. They might look all nice from the outside, but they’re only thinking about one thing.”

“What if we are, too?” Tori whispered, and a laugh shot through you. Thankfully, your father didn’t hear.

“I don’t want or need any grandkids yet, okay?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want or need any siblings, okay? Wrap it before you tap it, Junie.”

Tori just about lost her shit.

Yeonjun shook his head and glanced upward, seeking some sort of help from the heavens. “You’re my child. Think I made you myself. Did your mother help at all?”

Running your tongue over your teeth you tilted your head. “If you ever find her, ask her.”

Yeonjun sighed, exasperated. “These phone calls exhaust me as much as they exhaust you, Aura. Trust me.” He paused whatever it was that he could possibly be doing at this hour on a Tuesday, and he gave you his full attention. “You are my everything. Please, be safe. You and Tori, don’t leave each other alone at those parties, okay?”

“Okay,” you said.

Tori peeped her head into the frame. “Okay, Yeonjun.”

His face lit up, his smile wide as he looked at her. “Yes! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. You kicked her ankle with yours.

“Aura, I love you,” your father said, raising both his brows. “I’ll let you know when I’m there, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I love you, too. Be safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I will.”

Before he hung up you tossed in a, “Don’t get arrested again,” that made him grin and equally groan as the screen went black. Laying your phone on the table you drug your hands through your hair and took a long breath, turning towards Tori in your chair, laughing quietly at the way she eyed you.

“Go ahead,” you muttered.

She wasted little time. “Hottest drug dealer ever.”

september 18th ~ wednesday ~ 6:47 p.m.

[you]: this is the last time i’m messaging you yunho

[you]: did i sit on your dick wrong or something, just let me know whats going on

september 20th  ~ friday ~ 9:19 p.m.

Yeji, Tori, Mina, Yuna, Chaeryeong… The three of them holed up in a meeting the second all of their last classes for the day were over. In two days you’d all be meeting the freshmen recruits out of the applicants your trustworthy sisters ran background checks on now.

ITZ had applicants. The chapter would grow, the costs would go down, the drama would lessen, and life would move on.

Neither you and Tori nor any of the other girls have attempted to sneak out of the house this week. With classes in full swing the attention had shifted and now the priority was homework and good grades. In order to be examples for the future of ITZ none of you could afford a slip in GPA.

This past week has been a strange one. Anytime you set foot into Blend for a coffee you were reminded that Theo and Soul were step brothers, though you never brought it up to your favorite barista who also in turn had been one of the safest guys you knew in ATZ last year. Seonghwa hadn’t left you alone, he asked you about your day everyday, allowing you to rant about your classes or bitch about a professor. And Soul, well, he always seemed to find you on campus day after day since Monday.

Much like right now.

The soft knock at the door seemed to embody his exact energy. Soft at first, but the second the door was opened he was entirely unpredictable.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

After unlocking the several locks on the front door you tugged it open to his smug little smile and his blonde hair pulled back in a tie. Wisps hung at his neck and his forehead.

“Come to ATZ,” he said, and you hushed him, turning backward to see if anyone was around. They’d been in the meeting for over an hour now, who knew when it’d be over.

“You’re lucky I answered the door,” you said. “If it were anyone else you’d be done for. You’re not allowed to be here.”

He perked a single brow. “The ban?”

“The rules, Soul,” you hissed, stepping out onto the porch with him, closing the door behind you. He stepped aside and folded his arms over his chest. “That’s always been an ITZ thing, it’s a sorority thing, no boys allowed without permission.”

He checked you out without shame. Taking your hands to your black shorts you tugged the cotton down a smidge. “Come for a little?”

“Look, Soul,” you sighed, stepping closer to him. He pouted his lips the slightest, his black eyes shining and wide. “I like this friendship we’re starting, and I admire your persistence.”

“But?” he asked, adding in the word himself like he knew it was coming. Dropping his chin he looked down at his feet, a frown forming on his pink lips. 

“But,” you said, watching him as he slipped his phone out of his pocket, tapped a few things, then shoved it back into his jeans. Laughing quietly, you gestured toward it. “You’re young.”

“I’m nineteen.” He screwed his face up. 

“You’re a freshman, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, especially with ATZ, I’m dealing with a lot, especially with ATZ,” you paused for a moment, feeling half your heart crumble as he gazed at you. “If I’m picking up what I think you’re putting down… Soul, I have feelings for somebody else. What you want won’t work, it won’t happen.”

He nodded, his expression falling solemn. “Seonghwa?” he asked, looking up at you. 

Your lungs contracted in on themselves. “Yes,” you whispered, and he nodded, glancing down with his brows pulled together. “I’m sorry, Soul. You’re cool, you’ve got a lot going for you.” Taking another step closer to him, you pushed some wisps of hair from his eyes. “And you’re adorable.”

He blinked a few times, his black eyes lighting up. “I am?” He spoke in a whisper.

Smiling, you nodded once, then leaned into him, pressing your lips to his cheek. His shoulders rose and a quiet gasp shot through him. When you pulled back, he was wearing the tiniest smile.

“If you liked that Monday walk I wouldn’t mind if it became a thing,” you said. “Y’know, occasionally. Grab a coffee, walk to class?”

“I skipped my ten o’clock for you,” he whispered, then he giggled at the look you gave him.

“Soul, didn’t I say to work hard?” You nudged his shoulder and he played it up like you shot him, his hand latching on top of yours to keep it on him. “How did you even know where I was?”

He shrugged, squeezed your hand, then let it go. “Lucky guess?”

Sighing, you stepped back and waved him off the porch. “Go to your classes, Soul. Go back to ATZ, or wherever you came from.” You both shared a smile, and he obeyed, leaping off the porch with a single jump. “Don’t ruin your chance,” you shouted as he walked backward, his eyes eating you up. “You can do it here,” you pointed to your head, then moved them to where your pockets would be if you had any. “Not from here.”

“Thanks, Aurora,” he said, and when he hit the sidewalk after passing through the gate, he was gone, thankfully, because the moment you had the door locked the meeting was adjourned and Tori had a wicked grin on her face when she grabbed your arm and hauled you upstairs.

september 20th  ~ friday ~ 9:49 p.m.

On the leather couch in the back of the ATZ living room, Seonghwa sat with his legs stretched out, his entire being taking up the space of three people. With his head laid back on the armrest, he scrolled his phone, mainly Instagram, taking note of the follower counts, the comments on posts, and what people were saying about either house. 

Yeji was trending, she posted her outfit of the day this morning with the hashtag #presidentialvibes on her story. Her groupies were buzzing, dissecting the clothes, breaking down the hair, curious if it were her same routine or if she had changed it because of the new color.

Wooyoung’s name popped up somewhere, he was always posting. This time it was of the view from the window of his education and society class, the sociology major keeping up with his followers, commenting back to them whenever they’d leave him something of interest. San was actively under his posts, the boy was next in line in the amount of followers he had, but only because every single post was of him half naked. Thank god he was smart otherwise there’d be an issue there, even though he was usually the one to pull people into the house and get them hooked.

Mingi posted about his homework confusing him, saying he needed help, Jongho, like Yeji, posted a fit check, and Yeosang had a photo up in the last two days of him and this girl he’d started seeing. She wasn’t a part of ITZ, something he was keen on. They shared a major, that medical shit. Her profile was quiet, just as the other ITZ girls were.

As was Yunho.

In fact, he’d been keeping a low profile in the house since last week. The guys would see him leave for class, and then he’d come back and camp out in his bedroom.

Last Friday was curious. Seonghwa had Aurora by his side, as he should, and then she was gone. And then, Yunho was gone. The house, entirely too crowded, made it impossible to track them down anyway, until Aurora appeared and asked for her phone back. Tentative to hand it over, intrigued by how fast she was moving, Seonghwa reluctantly handed it back to her and mumbled, “You need to put a passcode on that.”

But, she didn’t hear him.

She was flustered, overwhelmed, and all the more flushed.

Seonghwa knew that face.

Seonghwa knew why Yunho was avoiding everybody.

“Hey,” Soul said, out of breath, rushing into the living room with his phone out. There was little movement around the house this evening, Hongjoong was working on plans for the recruitment dinner with Mingi, and the others were hunched over their homework scattered around the property. Yeosang was on the couch through the archway, nose deep in a textbook with the occasional break to send a text message with a smile.

“You’re back quick,” Seonghwa said, sitting up, dropping his feet to the floor. Soul, grinning wide, shoved his phone into the vice president's hand. “No way you made it happen.”

The freshman took two steps back and propped his hands on his hips, finally able to take a breath to steady his racing heart. “I did, watch that, listen to that.”

Seonghwa eyed him, then tapped the play button on the video.

Aurora’s voice filled the air.

“If I’m picking up what I think you’re putting down… Soul, I have feelings for somebody else. What you want won’t work, it won’t happen.”

“Seonghwa?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Soul. You’re cool, you’ve got a lot going for you. And you’re adorable.”

“I am?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes bugged out of his head as he stared up at Soul, the freshman laughing to himself. “She did it herself.”

Soul threw a hand toward the phone. “You were right, she’s easy.”

“Watch it,” Seonghwa sneered, and Soul planted his hands behind his back.

“She kissed my cheek,” he said. “It wasn’t an actual one, but it still counts, right?”

Seonghwa paused the video halfway through Aurora telling Soul how to live his life, like the boy would actually listen. “I’ll count it.”

“Thank you,” Soul sighed, tipping his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. Seonghwa looked him up and down.

“You tell me she’s shown interest?”

Soul looked at his domineer and nodded. “Not in her words, but…”

“In her eyes?” Seonghwa asked, and Soul continued to bob his head. “Yeah, she does that,” he breathed, handing the freshman his phone. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind ending up in bed with you.” The corners of his lips perked up, and Seonghwa glared at him. “Wipe that look off your face, are you stupid? She’s mine, you heard her say it.”

“Right,” Soul shook his face clean. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Seonghwa clenched his jaw before he said, “Go home, Soul. Come back tomorrow, I’ll have something else for you.”

“This clears senior year though, right?” Soul asked, anxiously awaiting the answer.

“Just about,” Seonghwa said, and the boy sighed in relief. “You’ve passed with San, and you’re almost through with me. Gonna need you to keep up this act with her, okay?” Soul smiled. “An act, Shota. Don’t get ballsy, do you remember what you said? She’s easy.”

“Yeah,” Soul said, quietly. “I got it.”

“Go back to the dorms. I’ll send you her location tomorrow if she goes out.”

Seonghwa watched him hurry from the house, giving Yeosang a sly goodbye as he passed him. An act. One Seonghwa knew Aurora and the freshman who moved with his dick instead of his brain wouldn’t be able to hold themselves back from.

Picking his own phone back up, he opened his messages and smirked.

[seonghwa]: Soul’s in her head now. Can’t confirm if last Friday is true or not still. Will let you know when I find out.

[hbic]: You need to recruit him.

[seonghwa]: He’s proving himself. If he can get her here, he’s an automatic in. His GPA sucks.

[hbic]: Keep her hooked. Have they been talking?

[seonghwa]: No proof. Haven’t seen Yunho in days.

[hbic]: Get Soul to find out. Otherwise we find out at the recruitment dinner.

[seonghwa]: Yes ma’am.

[hbic]: I’ll update Yeji.

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[hoperenae]

Playing FMK w/Kenma and Kuroo (f!reader)

BACKGROUND — You've been best friends with Kenma and Kuroo since elementary school. You go to all their volleyball games, therefore you’re friends with all the other volleyball boys by default. You’re like everyone’s favorite sister. But one friendly game of ‘fuck, marry, kill’ could change all that.

A/N — Wrote this on the clock at work, so does that mean I’m a paid author now? 🥴

WORD COUNT — 885

“I’m not playing that.” Kenma glanced up from his game long enough to roll his eyes at you. You were all sitting on the floor in his bedroom.

“Oh come ooooon,” you pleaded. “It’ll be fun. What about you, Kuroo-kun?”

“You know I’m always down for a little drama,” Kuroo grinned slyly. You clapped your hands gleefully.

“Ok, we’ll start with you, then!” You turned to face Kuroo. “Hmm…Bokuto, Yaku, and Lev.”

“Oh please, that’s too easy,” Kuroo said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fuck Bokuto, marry Yaku, kill Lev.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed. “Ok do me.”

Kuroo rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Kageyama, Shrimpy, Akaashi.”

“Oh man.” You paused. “I guess it’s gotta be fuck Kageyama, marry Akaashi, kill Hinata. Sorry Hinata.” You and Kuroo both laughed, and you swore you saw Kenma snicker out of the corner of your eye.

“Your turn, Kenma,” Kuroo said. “Give one of us 3 names.”

“No,” Kenma retorted plainly.

“Kenmaaaaaaa,” you groaned. “Please please pleeeeease.”

Kenma, finally done with your shit, took a deep breath, set his phone down, and said, “Fine. This one is for you, Kuroo. There’s only two people, and you can choose between fuck and marry.”

“That’s not really how it works,” you interjected. Kenma shot you a death glare that instantly shut you up.

“Me and y/n. What’ll it be?”

Kuroo’s face went ghostly white at the same time yours turned beet-red.

“Th-that’s not fair,” Kuroo stammered. “You can’t use people in this room.”

“Why not? Are you scared?” Kenma’s lips curled up in a cruel smile.

“Of course not!” Kuroo declared.

“Alright, then choose.” Kenma crossed his arms across his chest with the same sly look painted on his face.

“I-I don’t think you should be allowed to just change the rules like that,” Kuroo said, his voice cracking.

“Quit stalling, Kuroo,” Kenma said with raised eyebrows. You were still as stone, not daring to show any emotion one way or the other. But you had to admit, you were very curious to hear Kuroo’s answer.

“Okay fine!” Kuroo shouted. “I’d fuck and marry y/n because, frankly, I don’t want anything to do with Kenma right now if he’s gonna be a little brat.”

“So I’m your last resort? I only win by process of elimination?” You tried to suppress the grin forming on your face.

“What? No, that’s not what I meant!” Then, seeing the coy look on your face, Kuroo said, “I hate you both.”

“You love us.” You playfully punched his arm, very much aware of the blush that had crept onto his face.

LATER THAT NIGHT

It was late. You were in Kenma’s living room, and the host of the evening was fast asleep on the couch, leaving just you and Kuroo sitting on the floor in front of the couch watching a movie.

Of course, you were only half paying attention to the movie. The other half of your brain was preoccupied with how close Kuroo was to you, something that never seemed to matter until now. Your arms were nearly touching, to the point where every once in a while his arm hair tickled you. He was giving off heat like a radiator, so much so that you discarded your blanket long ago. Was he this close when the movie started, or did you gradually gravitate toward each other like magnets?

You moved ever so slightly to relieve your aching tailbone, and your arm bumped against his.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. He waved it off.

Despite the movie, the silence between the two of you felt deafening. You had never felt awkward around Kuroo before, so why now? Was it because he was so nervous to answer Kenma’s question earlier? Was it because he insinuated that he had feelings for you? Or was it all just part of the game?

You felt his gaze on you, so you turned to look at him. Your faces were mere inches away, close enough to feel his breath wisp across your face. It smelled like the pink Starbursts he had munched on earlier, refusing to eat any other flavor.

“What?” you whispered.

His eyes briefly flickered down to your lips and back. “Nothing.”

“It’s clearly not ‘nothing,’” you said, your stomach turning over and over and over. He said nothing for almost a full minute.

“I just…I hadn’t thought about it like that. About you like that.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “And now?”

“Now, I can’t stop.”

You stared into those familiar hazel eyes, and time seemed to slow down. Neither of you moved even an inch for fear of losing the moment. You felt suspended in midair, as if you were floating and falling at the same time. Everything you thought you knew was collapsing in on itself, but something new was being rebuilt from the rubble. Something beautiful and familiar and utterly terrifying.

“Would you guys just kiss already?” Kenma mumbled from behind you.

You both jolted and, realizing how close you were, quickly scooted apart. The spell was broken, and now you just felt flustered and embarrassed.

“Oh hell no, I’m not letting him ruin this.” Kuroo leaned back toward you and, in one swift motion, cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. And it was perfect.

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