#i wrote pining and angst for too long... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

healmydesires · 9 months ago

Text

cross that line ꕤ (l.h)

part two

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

summary: For a long time, you were content hiding your feelings, but lately, the longing for someone you can’t have has become unbearable. Despite knowing he could never be yours, you still cherished the sweet ache in your heart whenever he smiled or gave you a warm, platonic hug. Then, one day, everything changed.

genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

word count: 14k (14k on the dot to be precise but yeah uhm. sorry. I swear I'm normal)

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, thunderstorms, idiots in love, mutual pining, assumed unrequited love, jealous!reader, reader is described as shorter than logan, emotional!reader, miscommunication kinda, inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom logan, ok… just in overall bye, logan is soft for reader, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. some daddy kink? breeding kink aaaaa sorry. I wrote this while ovulating. they’re both FREAKS. scent kink? lots of pet names. this is high key sweet and turns filthy. logan is worshipping his sweet girl ok! reader is a mutant. reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

a/n: GUESS WHAT!!! user healmydesires is back with another self indulgent fic about a new blorbo! I’ve been having all random kinds of scenarios about logan in my head and I just didn’t know which type of story to go with. until I felt like there weren’t much of inexperienced/virgin reader fics for logan and tbh… that’s kinda my brand (I’m high key kidding but lowkey that’s what I love to write the most) if you’ve read my works so. I thought I’ll write what I WANT to read. so this is high key self indulgent. english isn’t my first language so pls bear with me <3 also ngl.. a lot of it is just smut 😭 I literally wrote this while ovulating… EDIT (19/09): I kinda edited it a bit because it had a lot of grammar mistakes and I'd often jump from present tense to past tense so ye

this goes without saying, but if you don't like it don't read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

Being roommates with your best friend had its perks. You were together almost all the time, sharing both the big and small moments. As fellow teachers, you could easily swap teaching tips, lend each other a hand with tasks, or offer guidance when you were feeling stuck. Your tall best friend effortlessly reached the top shelves, and you both enjoyed laughter-filled moments during movie marathons. Sharing responsibilities became more fun too—splitting chores like cooking and laundry felt easy and natural. Plus, there was comfort in knowing your best friend was always dependable, ready to support you whenever you needed it. And whenever you were in need of a hug, your best friend was probably already ready to envelop you in his warm embrace.

But it also had its disadvantages.

Especially considering that Logan Howlett, your best friend, was quite the menace.

Logan had always had a rugged handsomeness that effortlessly made people swoon all around him. It wasn't fair how pretty he was. He had always been lucky with finding partners—or rather, when it came to finding bed or sexual partners. He'd often bring those one-night stands or partners to your shared apartment only to have sex with them. Logan had never been the type to stick with one person, always preferring flings over long-term relationships. Or so you thought.

You, on the other hand, had always craved a long-term relationship. You dreamed of finding your true love—someone to share adventures with, to have fun with, and to dive into deep, meaningful and random conversations. You loved the idea of being with someone who let you be your true self, where you could spend hours talking about the most random things—discussing your favourite TV shows one minute, and passionately criticising capitalism and the world the next. You were all about affection, from kissing to being held, but you also longed to hold your partner close and make them feel cherished, just as much as you wanted to feel loved in return.

Unfortunately, you had never had the chance to experience anything like that.

It wasn't like you had never had the chance or had the opportunity to explore and possibly experience a potential relationship. You had just never been really interested in creating a relationship with a stranger.

Plus the thing was, your best friend wasn't just your best friend. You had been in love with Logan for god knows how long.

Charles Xavier was the one who had introduced you both, years ago. You remembered that day very vividly.

You had just arrived at the Xavier Institute, and the professor had offered you a two-sided job, to be a teacher at the school and be part of the X-Men.

You'd always done your best to keep your powers hidden, but being welcomed into a school designed for people like you—a mutant—felt incredibly liberating. That's why you hadn't hesitated when Charles Xavier invited you to his school. You'd always known you were powerful, with the ability to control and manipulate water, but you had kept your abilities a secret, not wanting to be treated any differently in a world that didn't really like or understand people like you.

As the professor took you around the grounds, you couldn't help but be impressed by how big and beautiful it all was.

You were so captivated by the mansion's grandeur and stunning architecture that you didn't even notice a guy casually leaning against the nearest wall outside of Charles's office. But the moment your eyes met his, it felt as if time itself stood still. Looking into Logan's eyes, you felt like you could drown in them. You had never seen anyone so effortlessly handsome.

Completely entranced by him, you almost forgot to introduce yourself. Your body heated up in the moment, and the professor definitely noticed. Logan Howlett gave you a knowing smirk, making the warmth inside you intensify even more.

That day you both became friends, though you still didn't quite understand why, given how different you both were. Logan was gruff and blunt, while you, though capable of being direct, tended to choose your words more carefully. He was passionate and strong-willed and opinionated, and sometimes he let that get the best of him. You were deeply in tune with your emotions, while he always seemed to hold back, keeping certain feelings tightly guarded. Logan was never one to be very straightforward with his emotions. He would rather keep most of them to himself, and didn't want to seem too vulnerable. Communication was something you valued and needed a lot, but Logan, by contrast, didn't seem to rely on it as much. You were an overthinker, always caught up in your thoughts, and he would often step in to ease those worries of yours.

You could say that opposites attract.

Over time, your friendship grew, and one day he asked if you'd like to move in with him into a new apartment near the institute. He craved a bit more peace and genuinely enjoyed your company. It seemed like a good idea, so you thought, why not?

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with your roommate. All you knew was that one day, you were suddenly overcome by an emotion so intense, it was unlike anything you'd ever felt before. It hit you all at once. Before Logan, you'd never really had a serious crush, never experienced feelings this powerful for anyone. You often told yourself it must have started shortly after you moved in with him, but deep down, you knew that wasn't the truth. This feeling had been quietly growing from the very first moment you met him, slowly building until it became impossible to ignore.

It was funny, you thought, how life had a way of bringing you things—and people—you never realised you needed. People like Logan, who became so essential that you couldn't help but wonder how you had ever lived without them. People like Logan Howlett, who somehow managed to be both your saving grace and your greatest temptation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A few months into your roommate arrangement, you still couldn't get used to Logan constantly bringing one-night stands to your shared apartment. It was pure torment.

As you ate cereal at the kitchen island, one of Logan's many one-night stands quietly slipped out of the apartment. You rolled your eyes, as Logan routinely walked them through the apartment to the door, their faces often adorned with sly smiles as they fluttered their eyelashes at him. A knot of anger twisted in your belly as you watched them play with the collar of his shirt, their fingers lingering while he made no move to pull away. You'd never felt such intense rage before. He responded with a grunt as they would casually give him a goodbye kiss.

You hated experiencing feelings like these. It was a gross emotion, a heavy sensation that felt thick and tar-like, clinging to your chest and making you ache with its heavy weight.

Anxiety? Sure, you were often more anxious than most mutants, but that wasn't the feeling you had at this moment. Maybe it was jealousy? You disliked how that emotion fit so easily on your tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

Each time you witnessed these scenes unfold, jealousy and frustration would wash over you. Or how you'd feel utterly awful whenever you accidentally overheard them having sex.

As Logan reentered the apartment and closed the door behind him, you couldn't help but snort. “So, what number are we up to now?”

He stared at you for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head with a smirk. “Not sure, lost count.” He shrugged, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island, and took a bite.

“What was their name?” you asked, staring daggers at your bowl of cereal.

Logan shrugged again. “I don't know, and honestly, I don't care,” he replied curtly before walking away.

You couldn't understand how he could be so nonchalant about this situation.

It wasn't just jealousy; you longed for any kind of affection or love from Logan, more than you ever thought possible. You were grateful to be his best friend and you knew it might seem foolish to hope for a chance with him, but you couldn't help yourself. Deep down, you feared you'd always feel this lonely, believing you could never fall for anyone but him. He was everything you craved and needed in life.

You felt foolish, constantly embarrassed and rejected. More than anything, you felt hurt, knowing that you were the only one to blame. It was your own feelings that had caused all this pain.

The thought of him one day falling in love with someone else made your stomach sink, but you pushed and suppressed your sadness aside daily. It didn't really matter—Logan was free to date whoever he wanted. He was your best friend, only his best friend.

One day, you'd have to come to terms with the fact that he would always be just your best friend.

You just hoped that one day it would become easier to deal with these feelings.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was the middle of a cold winter night — the air cool against your skin, even with your large pink puffer jacket to keep you warm. The thick curtain of night enveloped the sky, painting it a deep midnight blue, with stars twinkling like the clearest diamonds. Despite the cool ambient air, you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders gradually easing.

“You see that there?” you pointed up at the starlit sky, leaning unconsciously into Logan's warmth as you both lay on the grass of the X-mansion grounds. “That's the Pleiades. People often mistake it for the Little Dipper, but it's just a star cluster.”

Logan hummed, but his eyes were focused on you, how you gazed up at the stars with an awestruck expression. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, as he enjoyed how you looked so endearing as you were so engrossed in the stars that you loved so dearly.

He glanced up at the part of the sky you were pointing to, located the cluster of stars you had mentioned. He studied it for a moment and thought he had seen something similar to the Pleiades before, but never illuminated in the night sky like this. Logan's gaze then returned to the earth, settling back on the grass where he lay beside you.

“Beautiful,” Logan whispered as he stared at you. “Truly beautiful.”

You were too busy gazing up at the sky to realise that he wasn't talking about the sky.

For as long as you could remember, you had loved the night sky, finding its dark embrace profoundly comforting. More than that, you adored the stars—coming out at night to bask in their radiance, with their distant coldness soothing your soul.

You had always felt so mesmerised about the universe, especially the stars and the moon. They appeared beautiful, glittering magnificently beside one another as they hovered in the upper stratosphere.

“Why did you bring me out here, Lo?” you finally asked, looking up at your best friend. You noticed him smirk down at you and saw a fleeting hint of hesitant insecurity in his green eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

He shrugged against you, still grinning. “I know how much you enjoy stargazing, and I'm aware you've had a rough week, so I wanted to give you a chance to relax for a bit.”

You softened as you gazed up at him. Logan was right—you had been having a rough week. The children had been sweet, but the workload had been overwhelming. You couldn't help but appreciate how Logan was always looking out for you.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He winked before he looked back up at the sky. “Why don't you show me another constellation?”

You giggled as you pointed out another cluster of stars, but more often than not, Logan found it hard to focus on the stars. After all, he had a bright light of his own by his side daily that captured all of his attention.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A year had passed since you moved in with Logan, and autumn was already around the corner. The temperature was gradually dropping, and the air became crisper. The trees' leaves were starting to fade from vibrant greens to tamer shades of bronze and gold. You had always loved this time of year—it was that perfect season where you could bundle up in layers when you were outside, then retreat indoors in the evenings, getting cosy with a hot chocolate and a good book.

It was during seasons like this that you found yourself wishing you could cuddle up with someone, enjoying a movie or simply each other's company. But it wasn't just anyone you wanted by your side—it had always been Logan for you.

For the longest time, you were content in just keeping all your feelings hidden. Lately, though, the longing had been getting harder to bear. Wanting someone you knew you couldn't have was starting to feel unbearable, slowly eating away at you. And even though you knew he could never be yours, it didn't stop you from savouring the sweet ache in your heart every time he smiled or when he pulled you into a warm, platonic hug.

All the stupid fluttery feelings in your stomach every time his eyes would catch yours, or the way your heart beat fast whenever you were in close proximity to him. You knew it had been years since you'd known Logan, but you couldn't help the effect he always had on you. The way he left you yearning for more. But, of course, you tried to bury those feelings down deep, reminding yourself that Logan could never feel the same way about you as you felt about him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One lazy afternoon, with no classes scheduled for you to teach, you found yourself by the lake on the X-Mansion grounds, practising your water bending. The water flowed seamlessly around you as you moved your arms, bending it effortlessly to your will. As you went through each movement, you could feel a pair of eyes on you, observing every precise motion, your muscles tensing with each fluid shift. A light sheen of sweat formed on your brow, and your face held a fierce look of concentration as you focused on perfecting your stance and movements.

Several moments had passed, and the person watching you still hadn't spoken a word. By now, you were almost certain it wasn't just anyone—it had to be Logan. Anyone else would have said something by now, maybe greeted you or asked about your training. But not Logan. He had a way of lingering in silence, watching you in that quietly intense way of his, never feeling the need to fill the space with unnecessary words.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare, or do you plan on saying something?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Logan grunted, “I think I'll just keep watching. I quite like the view from here.”

A flush of warmth spread across your face, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach at his words. You hesitated for a moment, pausing your movements before he spoke again.

“Don't stop on my account, sweetheart.”

You knew he was wearing one of his signature grins, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it off his face. As you grew more flustered, a wave of frustration built up inside you—how could this man always have such an effect on you? An idea sparked in your mind, a mischievous smirk tugging at your lips. Deciding to continue your water bending practice while he watched, you let the water flow effortlessly around you, fully aware of his eyes tracking your every move.

Once a peaceful stillness settled in the air, you saw your opening. Without warning, you spun around with swift precision, bending the water toward him and drenching him in seconds.

Logan stood there, completely perplexed as you broke into a fit of giggles. He was drenched from head to toe, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he sprang into action. Sure enough, just seconds later, he smirked again, though this time it carried a sharper edge. “You think this is funny, bub?”

“Yeah, I kinda do,” you replied between laughs, unable to contain yourself.

But then, Logan's grin turned devious, and with a determined march, he began closing the distance between you. Your eyes widened in realisation, and without thinking, you bolted away.

“You're not getting away with this, princess,” he called out, his voice low as he gave chase.

He moved swiftly through the gardens, but you were quicker, slipping just out of sight every time he got close. His eyes darted around, scanning the area, frustration slowly turning into determination. You could hear him muttering under his breath, his footsteps getting louder as he searched for you. Your heart raced as you ducked behind a tree, trying to stifle your laughter. The thrill of the chase had adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, you thought you had lost him, but then he sniffed and just as you peeked around the tree, you saw him spot you from across the grove. His eyes gleamed with mischief as a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “I got you,” he muttered before he moved towards you with renewed speed. You tried to slip away again, but it was too late—he had you cornered.

Soon enough, two strong arms caged you in, trapping you between the tree and his chest. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tried to back away, only to realise there was nowhere to go. “Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the familiar playful glint in his eyes making your heart race even faster.

You squirmed, trying to find a way out, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you in place without being overbearing. “Logan! Let me go,” you protested, laughter bubbling up in your throat despite your attempt to sound serious.

“Thought you could get away that easily, huh?” he teased, leaning in so close that you could feel his wet clothes and the warmth of his body. The heat from his proximity spread across your own, making you acutely aware of how close you were. You bit your lip, your cheeks becoming hotter as his smirk widened. The sight of your flustered expression seemed to delight him, his satisfaction evident in his playful gaze.

“Well, this is cosy,” you remarked, but your voice barely rose above a whisper. There was a tremor in your tone, one that matched the rapid beat of your heart.

“Hm, I think so too,” he responded with the same teasing tone. You gazed up at him with bright eyes as the golden hour of evening cast a warm glow around you both. It took all his willpower not to look away, not to acknowledge the tension that hung thick in the air.

You shifted against the tree, searching for a different way to elicit a reaction from him. Your touch light, almost accidental, but it sent a shockwave through him, his breath hitching in his throat. You could feel him stiffen, sensing the tension as he reacted to your contact.

He leaned in, just enough that he could feel your breath against his skin, just enough that the space between you became almost non-existent, and just enough to hear your breath hitch.

Logan closed his eyes, as he pressed his forehead against your own. Every time he tried to speak, the words got tangled up in the mess of emotions swirling inside him. All he could think about was how close you were, how your touch burned through him, how the smell of you, that unique soft scent of yours, filled his senses and made him want to lose himself in you.

“Lo—”

Before you could finish, Ororo's voice rang out, calling your name. You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you as you realised your moment with Logan was interrupted. You had forgotten about the promise to cook together with her and Jean, and your friend's timing burst the bubble of what you thought might finally be a shared moment with him.

He grunted in frustration, pulling away from you and looking off to the side. Ororo, Jean, and even Scott soon found their way to you, their presence drawing closer. As they approached, each of them wore a grin that suggested they had noticed the tension between you and Logan. The air was thick with unspoken understanding, and it was clear that your friends had picked up on the charged moment that had just been interrupted.

You cleared your throat and stepped reluctantly away from Logan, trying to regain your composure. You forced a smile as you addressed your friends, saying, “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” You then walked away with Jean and Ororo towards the mansion, though you couldn't help glancing back over your shoulder. Each time you looked, a hint of longing appeared on your face as you cast a final, wistful glance at Logan.

As you walked away, you heard Scott remark, “You look wet.”

Logan responded with a huff, “Fuck off, Summers.”

You couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if your friends wouldn't have interrupted you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It had been Friday evening, and you were in your office at the institute, finishing up grading the last of the papers while waiting for Logan. The two of you had plans to head home together, but he had yet to come and find you. Growing impatient, you decided to look for him yourself. You grabbed your bag and jacket before going out of your office, closing the door silently behind you. The smell of stew wafted through the mansion as you jogged down the stairs from your office to the kitchen. You quietly approached and paused when you saw him with Jean. She was chopping vegetables, while Logan leaned against the island, holding a cup of coffee.

“I don't see why you don't just do it. Everyone can see how perfect you two are for each other,” Jean had sighed.

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip nervously as you instinctively hid behind the wall. You truly hoped Logan wouldn't smell your scent while hiding, considering his heightened sense of smell. You knew you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Jean's words had left you intrigued about what they were discussing.

Logan huffed, “I've already told you—” he tried arguing, but Jean cut him off mid-sentence.

“Logan, come on,” Jean said pointedly. “You keep denying it, but everyone here has seen the two of you dance around each other for years. You can't honestly tell me that you're just friends. Friends don't act the way you two do with each other.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Logan asked, tilting his head to the side. Your stomach churned as you realised they were talking about the two of you. Silently, you pressed your back against the wall and shuffled further behind it, continuing to listen.

“It means that friends don't stare at each other longingly, or they don't flirt with each other, and they certainly don't cuddle together while sharing the same bed,” Jean said, emphasising her point as Logan began to argue. “Besides,” she continued, “you've known her for a while now. There's no one you've been more comfortable with than her. We all know you'll look after each other and be happy together. So why haven't you done anything about it? All we want is for you both to be happy,” Jean concluded.

You bit your lip at her words, feeling a mix of hope and nervousness churn in your stomach. With trembling fingers, you held your breath, waiting for Logan's response. When you heard him sigh, you felt your world begin to crumble around you.

“Yeah, but Jean, it's not like that. We are not like that. We're just friends,” Logan had replied. You had pressed your teeth harshly into your lip, biting down so hard you feared you might draw blood. It was the only thing keeping you from sobbing out loud. Logan's words replayed over and over in your mind. While you had always known he felt that way, hearing it confirmed so casually had left your heart breaking.

Not wanting to listen any longer, you silently turned and hurried toward the main entrance, trying to be as quiet as possible. Once outside, tears flooded your vision as you ran to the mansion gates, searching through your bag for your phone to call a cab. Since you hadn't brought your car and had driven in with Logan that morning, calling a cab was your only option.

When the cab finally arrived, you slid into the backseat and gave the driver your instructions. As he drove you home, you took a deep breath, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat. Your breath came in labored gasps as you fought to keep from breaking down in tears. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you tried to process his words. Silently you let the tears flow down your cheeks.

When you arrived at your building, you paid the cab and noticed your phone buzzing incessantly. You quickly silenced it as you entered your apartment, not bothering to look at who was trying to contact you.

Once you entered your bedroom, you broke down just then as you let out a choked sob while stripping off your clothes. With great effort, you managed to put on your pyjamas before climbing into bed. Soon, you would let your destructive thoughts take over. Deep down, you knew you shouldn't have eavesdropped on their conversation and jumped to conclusions, especially since Logan wasn't done speaking with Jean. But you couldn't bear to stay and listen any longer. You felt too vulnerable as you let his words echo inside your head.

You had been ignoring all the texts from your friends and the calls from Logan specifically, too drained to even hold a conversation.

Eventually, you felt sleep overtaking you, utterly exhausted from a long workweek and an emotionally draining evening.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That same night, you had jolted awake to the sound of a loud rumble. Outside, storm clouds loomed ominously over the city, with thunder crackling through them every few minutes. The storm had been raging outside your apartment, with thunder booming so fiercely it shook the windows. Curled up in your bed, you had whimpered softly, clutching a thick blanket tightly around you—not just for warmth, but for comfort and a sense of protection.

You had never liked thunderstorms, and by now, you must have tried a thousand different ways to distract yourself from them. You'd put on headphones to drown out the noise, but the knowledge of the storm outside still fed your anxiety. Thunderstorms always had a way of making you feel small and utterly helpless.

You felt a tightness building in your chest as you trembled beneath the sheets. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing and calm yourself down. In moments like these, you felt truly helpless. You knew you shouldn't feel ashamed for being this terrified, but you couldn't help it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the song playing through your headphones, desperate to drown out the storm. Moments later, you felt the bed dip. Slowly, you opened your eyes and found Logan sitting at the end of your bed, his soft gaze fixed on you with a look of quiet concern. A wave of relief washed over you just at the sight of him. Part of you wanted to ignore him and continue being upset with everything that had happened earlier that evening, but you couldn't find the power to do so. After all, he probably didn't even know why you were upset and who were you even kidding, he was everything you needed.

He was sitting there shirtless, dressed only in a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was tousled from sleep. If it weren't for the sheer terror you felt because of the storm outside, you knew your cheeks would be burning at the sight of him like this. You noticed his mouth moving and, reluctantly, you slid one headphone off your ear to hear him.

“W-what?” you squeaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Sweetheart,” Logan whispered cautiously into the darkness.

At the sound of his voice, the tears that had been brimming in your eyes finally spilled down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, I feel so stupid,” you whispered, taking off your headphones and quickly trying to wipe your tears away, embarrassed by your emotions and the fact that you were terrified by the storm.

Seconds later Logan was climbing up the bed and he was lying right next to you. His strong arms wrapped around your shaking form almost immediately, holding you tightly.

“Shhh it's okay sweet girl, I've got you,” he whispered softly as he kissed your temple. Warmth spread through you at the action and you melted into his embrace.

“I hate being scared of them, Lo,” you mumbled into his chest as he squeezed you tightly.

“It's okay princess, I got you. I won't let anything happen to you.” His hands, surprisingly soft, were stroking your skin in a soothing manner as he continued to press soft kisses around the top of your head.

As Logan held you, you felt yourself slowly begin to calm down. Even though the storm showed no signs of letting up, his presence made you feel much more at ease and secure. Logan meant everything to you—he was your anchor.

“Please, stay,” you whispered as the last few tears slipped down your cheeks.

In the dark, Logan whispered your name and tightened his embrace. “I'm not going anywhere, baby girl.”

As Logan held you close, you felt your body relax gradually. He gently ran his hand through your hair, pulling the covers over both of you and adding an extra layer of warmth.

You reflected on how he often spoke to you and the way he treated you with such care. You couldn't help but overthink his sweet and gentle treatment. You knew you were more emotional and needed extra reassurance and patience, but you had never considered that he might actually have feelings for you beyond friendship. You often felt like a burden to your friends and especially to Logan. You were fairly certain you were the only one he treated this way. His teasing sometimes seemed like it could be flirting, and despite your attempts to deny it, deep down you sensed that you were somehow special to him.

But another part of you couldn't shake what he had said earlier that night to Jean. You felt deeply conflicted and confused about everything happening between the two of you. The uncertainty and mixed emotions left you struggling to understand his true feelings, unsure of how to navigate the situation.

So you did what felt best to you, which was communicating. Even if you hated confrontation so much, you hated being unsure even more.

“Lo?” your voice trembled as you whispered against him.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He said gently.

You took a little longer to respond, lost in your own thoughts, overthinking everything. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Sensing your hesitation, Logan spoke up again, breaking through your spiralling mind.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice lingering in the air as your eyes fluttered open. His head was tilted slightly, worry etched across his face.

“'M-am fine… I just—” you stuttered, your voice cracking. Logan stared at you, waiting patiently for you to finish. “I need to talk about something, or-or it will probably eat me alive if I don't.”

Logan's brow furrowed as his concern deepened, but he remained patient, waiting for you to continue.

“I- I overheard you and Jean earlier tonight…” your voice barely above a whisper.

Recognition settled over him at your words. He sighed shortly after. “What exactly did you hear?”

“You said…” your voice faltered, cracking slightly before you took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “You said we weren't like 'that,' and that we were just friends. After hearing that, I couldn't stay. It hurt too much.” You paused, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped, and I'm sorry... I just—” Your voice trailed off as you buried your face in his chest, your rambling finally coming to an end.

He let out a deep sigh, pulling you closer into his embrace. One of his hands gently cupped your cheek, causing your breath to hitch at the contact. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. Slowly, you opened your eyes, tears welling up as you met his gaze. Logan's expression softened, and he let out a soothing sound. “Angel, if you'd stayed a little longer, you would've heard the rest of the conversation.”

“W-what?” You squeaked, your heart pounding against your chest as you anxiously waited for him to continue.

“First of all,” he began, locking eyes with you as he spoke, “I told Jean that I couldn't tell you how I felt because I never thought you'd feel the same way. I figured you were better off not knowing how I feel about you because…” His voice faltered for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him before he continued, “I've always believed I didn't deserve someone like you. Someone so beautiful, so patient, intelligent, caring and so sweet.”

“Lo—” It was difficult to process everything he had said. You had been so sure that he didn't feel anything more than platonic for you, so hearing that he did was overwhelming and you needed to let it sink in. “I just thought... you know, with all the people you've had over in the past, you wouldn't feel anything for me,” you said, your sadness making it hard to finish the sentence and your nerves bracing for the words you had been dreading to hear.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I kept convincing myself that if I would have meaningless sex with random people that I would get over you. That if I told you how I felt, I’d lose you,” he went on, his vulnerability tugging at your heart. “That’s the last thing I want. You mean too much to me to risk that. I love you, and the thought of losing you—even if it meant not having you the way I wanted—was unbearable.”

Tears welled in your eyes, slowly slipping down your cheeks as he poured out his heart, leaving you in disbelief. You hiccuped through your tears, “You... y-you love me?”

His expression softened further as he took in your puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Gently, he used his hands to wipe away the tears that were slipping down your cheeks, handling you with far more tenderness and care than you had shown yourself earlier.

“Of course I do,” he replied softly. “In every universe, there's no one I love more than you.”

“Logan, you deserve me. Just as much as I deserve you,” you said, cupping his cheeks as tears continued to stream down your own. “You don't have an idea how much I love you.”

Logan smiled softly before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His arms tightened around you as he began to pepper your face with tender kisses. You couldn't help but giggle against him, feeling the tension between you both melt away bit by bit. The tears slowly came to a stop.

As the emotional intensity of the moment subsided, you felt a sense of relief and contentment. The storm outside seemed to fade into the background as you basked in the warmth of your newfound understanding. You knew that challenges would still come, but facing them together felt infinitely more manageable now that you had acknowledged your feelings for each other.

After placing a final kiss on the tip of your nose, he pulled back, his gaze filled with such deep affection that it left you feeling overwhelmed—but in the best possible way.

Logan caressed your face with fondness as he admired you. “You’re beautiful.”

You’d feel flustered instantly. “You’re so handsome Logan.” You whispered timidly.

“Really?” He’d smile down at you.

“Yes,” you whispered, continuing to meet his gaze shyly, your heart racing as his touch lingered on your skin.

You felt his hand slip beneath the hem of your nightshirt, his fingers tracing the soft skin of your back. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch, drawing his playful gaze as his eyes glinted mischievously. Your breath hitched when his other hand brushed against your bottom lip, sending warmth flooding through your body as his touch became more intimate, exploring you with quiet intensity.

“Do I make you nervous?” he teased with a devious grin.

“I guess you do,” you admitted, biting your lip bashfully.

“And why's that?” Logan asked, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath against your lips, his nose brushing gently against yours.

There’s a moment of silence as Logan’s face moves closer and closer to your own, both unable to verbalise just how desperate either of you feel for each other.

His hands are warm as they wander all over your back, underneath the soft fabric of your pyjamas. Your eyes flutter close as you enjoy his attention. You feel yourself get lightheaded by his affection and by the close proximity of your bodies.

As your eyes remained locked with his, the intensity between you grew. You found yourself studying every detail of Logan’s face—the small moles scattered across his skin, his beautiful green eyes, the rough stubble along his jawline. Your gaze drifted from his eyes, down the slope of his nose, until you were irresistibly drawn to his lips. His mouth looks so inviting.

How much you’ve dreamed of having them on your own.

You swallowed dryly at the intensity behind his eyes, your heart beating madly in your chest. A flare of heat rushed to your cheeks as you resolved to reveal the truth. You didn’t want to keep it from him any longer, especially with him looking at you as if he was about to devour you.

“B-because I—” you finally spoke as you stumbled over your words. You felt weak in his presence, but in the best way imaginable. Heat spreads through your body, a feverish sensation overwhelming your senses. Your heart raced, refusing to calm down, and your limbs trembled uncontrollably. It wasn’t the kind of fever that came with illness, but a warmth—tingling, like anticipation coursing through your veins. You whimpered as the same warmth settled between your thighs. “I need y-yo—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with an intensity and passion that left you trembling and helpless, while soft whimpers escaped your throat. He’d tug your body fully closer against his own as his mouth claimed yours.

All your thoughts overwhelmed your brain, disabling any rational understanding of what was going on. Gradually, you leaned into Logan, melting into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

Logan groaned as he continued to kiss you with a fierce intensity, giving everything he had. You felt his tongue tracing your lips slowly. Knowing what he wanted you parted your mouth slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and swirl it around yours.

You absorbed all his passion, savouring the warmth of his closeness and the sensation of his rough yet soft hands holding you tightly. You didn’t want to ask how this was happening, nor did you dare question whether it was real or just a dream.

One of his hands roamed over the bare skin of your back beneath your pyjama shirt, leaving goosebumps in his wake, while the other explored the tender curve of your neck. He held you with such tenderness as his mouth continued to move ferociously against yours.

You whimpered against him as warmth and wetness continued to pool between your thighs, your pussy throbbing as his voice rumbled with a chuckle. “You okay there, kitten?” he asked softly, his voice low as his lips brushed against your jaw.

You knew he could smell your arousal, knew he could hear how fast your heart was beating. You bit your lip, trying to stifle another sound, and you tried to bury your face into his chest, feeling the heat spreading across your face and body. Logan was having none of that, his lips quickly reunited with yours. He groaned softly, a deep rumble in his chest, as you trailed your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opened for you without hesitation. His hands gripped at your waist and brought your body flush against his.

You wanted Logan to consume your very being. Claim you as his completely.

Soft little noises of pleasure kept leaving your mouth as he continued to kiss you. His lips pressed against yours, guiding the kiss with a gentle control that made you melt into his embrace. You surrendered completely, letting him lead as you revelled in the sensation. He was so good at kissing that all you wanted was to stay in this moment with him forever.

He pulled away after what felt like hours to breathe, his warm pants fanning across your heated face. He was still holding your face with one hand, and his thumb on your cheek moved a little, stroking your skin with so much tenderness. Murmuring against your lips, he said, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I love you so much.” before delving back in for more.

You whimpered as he nipped at your bottom lip, then gently swiped his tongue over it to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Logan seized the moment to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue once again. As the kiss grew more heated, you moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Surprisingly, you completely forgot about the storm that’s raging outside.

Logan devoured you, pouring all his love into you and claiming your mouth and kissing you with so much passion, your body shuddered with want, from the need for him. He moved his lips with yours and swirled his tongue with your own. His hand then moved to tangle in your hair as he pressed his body to yours completely.

Your hands moved to bury in his hair as well. When you pulled at his hair it was a bit rougher than you intended to and it tips his head all the way back and he lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes your whole body flush with arousal. You whined as he finally pulled away, as he left your body flush and panting and craving so much more.

His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started trailing long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re everything.” He groaned as he bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his own, desperately searching for some much needed friction against your throbbing clit. “You’re mine.” He’d growl against your skin.

You gasped, your eyes flying open when you felt his erection pressing against your pussy. You moaned as your core started clenching around nothing, begging for some attention, his attention.

Logan groaned as you continued to grind against him, grasping your hips into his hands to halt your movements. You whined in protest, as he then rolled you both over, hovering above you as he pinned your arms gently against the mattress.

“So needy.” He chuckled as a devious smile would grow on his face. “Does your sweet little pussy want some attention?” He grinned when you whimpered underneath him, before he continued. “I can always smell how much you need me.” He growled before he rolled his hips against yours again. “This virgin pussy is always begging for me to fill her.”

You didn’t have time to become embarrassed as high pitched whimpers slipped past your lips as he continued to grind against you. You’ve craved this man so bad, and now that he was yours you didn’t want to hold back anymore. He intertwined your hands together as he moved his big straining and clothed cock against your now soaked panties.

“Love those little noises you make for me, such a good girl.” He moaned against the skin of your neck as he pressed open mouthed kisses and licks across your skin.

You whined as he gave you a particular hard thrust. You could feel how massive he felt as he rubbed his cock against your clothed folds. You couldn’t deny that it made you nervous but all you could think about was that you needed and wanted him to take you so bad. More wetness would pool down your heated cunt as you fantasise about him filling your tiny pussy with more than just his cock. “Ah, n-need yo-you Lo…”

Suddenly everything became overwhelming, the temperature in the room rising quickly, the feel of his thick cock thrusting against you, the feel of his touch as it wandered all over your skin and the fact that you were going into a foreign but intimate territory with your best friend had you feeling hot all over.

His features softened as he took in how overwhelmed and flustered you looked. He slowed down his movements and one of his hands would move to hold your face as he slowly leaned down to peck your lips. “You’re okay baby girl, I’ve got you. I will take good care of you.” He whispered against your lips. His low voice sent a new wave of arousal down your body. “Tell me what you need, kitten.”

“You, I need you, Logan. I've always only needed you,” you whimpered against his lips as you reconnected them. His hands gently caressed your thighs, and your mind became hazy with intense lust and overwhelming love for him. Your brain instantly turned into mush as you continued to kiss each other passionately.

The kiss then increased with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him for some friction against your core. You moaned into his mouth as you rubbed against him. The front of his sweatpants strained as he moved along with you.

As you kept losing yourself in the kiss, you felt his hands wander up your thighs up to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, moving up and down your skin repeatedly, his fingertips mapping out every dip and curve as they wandered all over your skin.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, admiring you, making you glance up at him shyly from beneath him. He pulled away just slightly only for him to hold the hem of your shirt, and you could tell what he was about to ask before he opened his mouth. You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, causing him to chuckle breathlessly. “You want me to take this off?” He questioned as he tugged at the fabric gently.

You nodded bashfully, unable to use or trust your voice during that moment.

He smiled softly, his hands gently brushing under your shirt before hooking his fingers into the fabric. Slowly, he lifted it, and you raised your arms to help him slip it off.

You felt heat rising on your skin the way his eyes roamed all over you, taking in every little detail. The way Logan was looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but love, adoration and lust, made you feel so alive.

He discarded the piece of clothing to the side and began mouthing along your collarbone with affection. You trembled underneath him as he showered you with his attention. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered repeatedly as his mouth travelled all over your exposed skin.

His large hands moved to the curve of your waist where it met your hips and clutched it, holding you tight as he littered damp kisses and nips to your shoulders and any skin along the way down to your breasts. You whimpered as he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast.

He smirked as he looked up at you, breathing in through his nose as he inhaled your scent and you couldn’t help but shiver when he exhaled warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “Fuck, baby girl, you’re so hot.”

Then, he wrapped his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucked and licked with passion.

“L-Lo,” you mewl as you try to grind your hips against him, your cunt seeking friction as it throbs with need.

“Feeling good kitty?” He quipped back as he grins up at you. You felt your skin flush with heat as you just stared down at him. Lust was written all over your face and he had no trouble reading your expression. So he resumed licking, long, lavishing licks with the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple as the other hand which was occupying your other breast, travelled all the way down to your panties.

As his fingers slipped underneath the band of your lacy underwear, down to where you needed him the most, his mouth fell open to unleash a loud groan onto your nipple as he felt your wetness, sliding his fingers between your soaked folds.

He explored your wet cunt patiently. Heat overwhelmed your senses as Logan continued to litter soft kisses all over your chest. Your hands found his head, running your fingers through his hair as his mouth continued to wander all over your naked skin.

Logan’s lips moved slowly down your body, kissing every little place he could find on your skin while his hands traced along.

Soon, he would retreat his hand from your heat, leaving you a whimpering mess. He then leant forward, his face meeting your sex, breathing in the smell of your pussy, running his nose against the damp patch on your underwear. You whimpered as he inhaled your scent. “Fuck kitten,” he growled as he couldn’t seem to stop smelling you. “This pussy smells so good, I can’t wait to taste ya.”

A devious smile played on Logan’s lips as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “I am sure you taste just as good as you smell, if not better.” He groaned before taking your underwear between his teeth, while pulling it off your legs slowly. A shuddering breath left your lips, speechless as you watched him take off your lacy panties, becoming needier the longer you watched him. Logan kept looking at you as he slid down your body, pulling it off of you when it reached your ankles.

Once he took them off completely he gently pushed your legs wide for him, whimpering as the air hit your wet slit. He took a moment as his eyes took over you, your glistening centre clenching around nothing as he continued to stare at your wet hole. The man between your legs would moan at the sight. Not much later, Logan smirked as he kissed all the way up to your leg, taking his sweet time to give your body the attention you deserved. He pressed soft kisses from your ankles up to your knees, his hands moving along with his mouth, caressing the insides of your thighs as he gradually moved up your legs.

His lips lingered on your thighs, licking and sucking some kisses on your soft skin, Logan’s lips were so close to where you needed him the most yet he felt so far away.

“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs over either of his shoulders.

You were about to beg as his lips detached from your thigh, only for moments later to feel him nuzzling against your pussy, smearing your juices across his lips and opening you up to his skilled tongue.

You gasp and squirm at the contact of his wet tongue.

He then pulls back for a second, “pussy tastes so good,” he moaned before his fingers moved to spread your outer lips for him. “But I think I'm gonna play with my girl for a bit.” Logan smiled as he slid a finger inside of you, watching the way your body squirmed at the sensation, moaning against the pillow next to you as you tried to muffle yourself.

You moaned as he moved his thick and long finger inside your tight walls. “So wet for me baby girl, you’re literally dripping on my finger,” he said before he pressed some kisses on your pubic bone, making you buck your hips in response. “Easy, kitty, we have all night.”

“L-Logan, please please I need more. Need your mouth and just. More. Pleaseeee need you so ba—” your whining got cut off the moment you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucked it into his mouth, coaxing a loud but broken moan out of you. “F-Fuck!”

You felt like screaming, you didn’t know what to do with your hands, feeling so lost and overwhelmed with the pleasure Logan was giving you already. He dove between your legs, licking a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your entrance along with his finger before he travelled up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet appendage before sucking your button into his mouth.

The whine that came out of you only drove Logan to seek out more of those heavenly sounds. As his one single digit pumped in and out of you, you couldn’t help but appreciate that his fingers felt so much more pleasurable and thicker than your own. As bliss overwhelmed your senses, you felt your whole body start to tremble.

Your core began clenching around his finger, begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a leisurely pace. Instinctively you tried moving your hips, slowly, grinding against his hand and mouth as he moaned. He gave you an intense look as he continued to fuck you with his finger. His eyes couldn’t seem to stay in one place as he admired how beautiful you were underneath him.

You were panting heavily, barely able to think straight, your mind turning hazy as he slowly slipped a second finger inside your tight channel.

Logan moved them slowly at first as your pussy tried to adjust to the addition. The stretch was overwhelming but oh so satisfying. Little whimpers left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. He moved his face back to meet yours, engulfing you in a passionate kiss, swallowing all your little mewls.

You gasped, his tongue slipped inside your mouth, kissing you with so much passion, giving you everything he had to offer. “That feels good doesn't it, princess?” Logan groaned as his thumb made contact with your clit. You bucked your hips and nodded quietly. “Use your words pretty girl,” he taunted while he curled his fingers inside you as he played with the sensitive spot inside you.

“Yes, please please Lo, feels… so good.” You moaned loudly.

Soon his lips travelled all the way down your body as whines and whimpers left your trembling lips, silently begging for more — all while he was still finger fucking you.

Logan inhaled your scent as soon as he leaned forward, but didn’t let you wait in anticipation much longer. He wet his lips before his head dipped between your legs, warm tongue licking a slow stripe across your outer lips, all the way up to your button.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out, your hips bucking off the mattress.

Squeaky, senseless noises bubbled up from your throat wantonly. Your hips stuttered against him and he just sighed like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than this, eating you out on your bed.

You were a mess of his name, chanting and stuttering over and over again like a prayer. Your eyes squeezing shut to the point of tears, his mouth licked up your clit, as he continued to finger you while one of his other hands was holding your hip, pinning you to the soft sheets as you bucked into him, trying to urge him to do more.

The way he build up your arousal by pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling up ever so slightly to find the spongy spot inside of you. The familiar coil in your belly continued to build up as Logan suckled on your sensitive bud. Your abdomen tightened as he began quickening his pace again, his fingers hitting into that sweet spot with precision, had your toes curling as you clenched your thighs around his head.

Logan was lapping at you with determination, moving his fingers continuously as he slowly got you to the edge.

“Oh, my—”you whimpered, trembling digits sinking half into his brown hair and the other against your teeth, as you tried to silence yourself. “Fuck, aahh Logan, f-fuck…”

He moaned against you as his lips sealed around your clit and you bucked your hips at the action. Warmth spread throughout your whole body as he began talking you through it. “Fuckin’- you taste so good. Feels so good. You’re just… everything.”

You whimpered as he continued. “Come on,” he grunted as he pumped his fingers faster in and out of you. “Come on baby, cum for me.”

“Ah, d-daddy,” You gasped loudly as your whole body trembled even more, the hot familiar feeling continued to spread all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Logan’s hand and face. Totally unaware of the word that slipped past your lips as your body tensed as he called you ‘a good girl’ and shortly after you came against his mouth and around his fingers.

“That’s my girl.”

Your whole mind felt like exploding and all you could see were stars. You felt so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and emotions you were experiencing. Your body still trembled as you felt yourself come down from your high.

As you slowly came back to your senses you felt him gently pull his fingers out of your pulsing hole. But you still felt Logan’s mouth on you, licking and sucking at your pussy and it didn’t feel like he was gonna stop any time soon. You whined as he moaned against you while he licked against your tight entrance, licking up your release, his tongue prodding your slick hole.

“‘S too much.” You whimpered at the overstimulation.

Logan ignored your pleas, moaning against your heat as he continued to eat you out. The man you adored so much between your legs kept sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive slit. Your little mewls and other noises of ecstasy spurred him on, to move his lips back up to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips.

“You love having daddy eat your sweet pussy don’t you?” He smirked, looking up at your flustered and embarrassed face as he continued licking your soaked cunt. “No need to be embarrassed, baby. I like it.”

The walls of your pussy clenched furiously, the empty feeling inside you intensifying with every lick, and as your wetness trickled out of you, your core practically begged him to fill it up.

“Oh sweet girl.” Logan tutted as you began grinding your hips against his face as moans kept spilling from your lips. “You’re so sensitive, kitten.” He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your clit.

Eventually he leaned down, finally slipping his tongue into your entrance, he curled the muscle upward to brush your walls, the sight of your fingers bunching the fabric of the sheets in a tight grip encouraged him to do it again and again.

Writhing below him, you felt him lick up and press against a sensitive spot inside that had you seeing stars, while your hips bucked against his face uncontrollably. Your fingers moved once again, gripping onto his dark hair rather harshly as you pushed your hips against his face shoving his tongue deeper inside your hole.

“Please,” you begged. “‘M close.”

“Please what?” He taunted as he continued to lick your heat.

“P-please,” you stuttered and paused before finishing timidly. “Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he said before plunging his tongue back inside you as his thumb came up to press against your little bundle of nerves. Moments later, the tension snapped inside your lower tummy, cumming with a loud whine, your hips stuttered as your vision blurred. You cried out his name, your voice unable to remain steady.

Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershock pass. As you slowly came back down to reality again while you tried to catch your breath, you heard him praising you softly while he continued to lap at your wetness gently. You whined and nudged him away with your leg, only to react with a chuckle.

“Taste so good, baby. Could eat your sweet pussy all day.” He grinned as he licked the wetness off his mouth. Logan smirked, holding eye contact with you as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth.

You giggled as he licked his fingers clean, feeling slightly embarrassed by the action. Trying to hide your flushed face, you lazily raised your hands to cover it, but Logan wasn’t having any of it. With a gentle smile, he placed tender kisses all over your hands, pulling them down slowly. Then, he leaned in closer, pressing sweet kisses to your nose, your forehead, and both your cheeks before finally capturing your lips. Each kiss was playful, filled with warmth, as laughter bubbled softly between you, his grin widening against your mouth.

He pulled away with a satisfied sigh, a warm smile spreading across his face as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You exhaled as you melted at the feel of his touch and kissed his thumb as it came to trace across your lips. Your shaky legs wrapped around his hips, and with a playful gleam in your eyes, you gave his thumb a tender lick, holding his gaze as you rubbed your still sensitive heat against his clothed cock.

“F-fuck, you can’t just do that kitten.” He groaned as his hands came to hold your hips, stilling your movements.

You whined, pouting as you looked up at him. “Why not?”

“It’s hard to control myself around you.” He grunted as he started grinding his cock against you. Your gaze wandered downward, following the line of the vein near his V-line as it disappeared beneath his grey sweatpants. You couldn’t help but whine underneath him as he continued to grind his covered cock against your growing wetness. You gasped after giving you a particular hard thrust, that’s when you realised and felt he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them. He felt massive. “I’ve been trying to control myself for years. I think I’d have to control myself a bit longer.”

“W-why?” you hiccuped as he kept rutting his hips into yours.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya.” He mumbled, as his cock strained against his sweatpants.

“But I know you won’t.” You said, your voice steady, filled with all the confidence you could summon. You watched as his jaw clenched, his grip tightening slightly as he held himself back, resisting the urge to just take you like he always wanted.

“How are you so certain?” His breath hitched when you tightened your legs around him.

“I-I, because I trust you.” You continued to stutter as you both rolled your hips against each other. His eyes darkened with desire, but you could tell he was trying to restrain himself, fighting against what he truly wanted, even though the tension between you was nearly unbearable. Still, you held his gaze, unwavering. “Because you love me.”

Logan groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep control, every muscle in his body tense with the effort. You could see the conflict etched across his face, the battle between what he wanted and what he was trying to hold back. His grip on you tightened slightly, a sign of the restraint still lingering in him, though it was slowly slipping away. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still, clinging to the last shred of restraint that hadn’t left him yet. “You don’t know how hard this is,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice thick with desire. “How difficult it’s been, every day since I met you, trying to hold back while being around you.”

“I think I do, Logan,” you whispered, gazing up at him. “Maybe not in the exact way you feel it, but I’ve struggled too, convincing myself daily that I could never have you. And now, realising I could’ve had you from the start—it’s almost unbearable.” You bit your lip, noticing how his expression softened. “That’s why I don’t want us to hold back anymore. I don’t think I can endure it any longer. Please, I need you, Logan. I love you, and I’ll always want you—”

Your words were cut off as Logan surged towards you, cupping your face as he kissed you passionately. His lips moved fervently against yours, as if he was trying to make up for every moment of restraint. Making up for any lost time. The intensity of his kiss made your head spin, your heartbeat quickening as you melted into his embrace. His hands then started roaming around your body, his hold on you tightening occasionally, pulling you closer, while his breath grew heavy as you felt every emotion as he kissed you. You clung to him, pouring out every feeling and emotion out with every heated kiss.

“I love you,” Logan murmured between tender kisses, breathlessly whispering your name.

Your own hands began wandering all over his body and eventually down his solid chest until your fingers met his abdomen, slipping momentarily underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. With a mix of urgency and desire, you tugged at them while whimpering underneath him as you continued to kiss him deeply.

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered softly after pulling away from the kiss. He eventually took it upon himself to slowly peel back, shuffling a bit to rid himself of the last piece of fabric on his body. He tossed it aside, fully exposing himself to your hungry eyes.

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide. Fuck, he was massive. Long and thick in all the right ways. Just as you thought, the vein between his V Lines moved down to his cock. A spark of heat shot down to your pulsing core as you imagined how he would fit or fill you up. But it was also accompanied by a twinge of nerves.

Logan chuckled as he moved closer to you, his lips chasing your own as he enveloped you in another sweet but deep kiss.

The two of you kissed languidly for a moment, treasuring the heat of each other's bodies as your lips slot together with ease, but soon enough the kisses become deeper, more frantic and hands start to grip tighter and legs tangling together.

It's like you're both starved, this insatiable hunger for each other.

You couldn’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his thick cock. You whined as it turned slick as you kept grinding yourself against him, and he had no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.

You gasped openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You were so wet. Logan swallowed your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against you. He kissed you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.

He held his length in his hand as he kept rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you were squirming underneath him, and back down. The thought of his thickness finally entering your pussy made you wetter by the second, turning you more on. Logan swallowed your little mewls with his mouth, his hips rolling with yours.

You were trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covered your whole body with his. You writhed against him, wishing he was just in you already and filling you up and consuming you with pleasure once again.

“P-please, Logan.” You stuttered, your body trembling underneath him as you waited for his next move.

Logan hummed as he concentrated while circling your clenching hole teasingly. You arched your back slightly as you whined, silently begging to finally fill your pussy the way you’ve always wanted him to do.

“Relax, baby girl.” He whispered after he licked and kissed underneath your ear.

“Please d-daddy, I-I need you.” You whimpered in anticipation. Logan would grunt loudly before nudging the tip of his cock against your soaked hole. Your legs trembled underneath him, a mix of nerves and excitement. “Want you to fill this little pussy. Need you t-to fill it with more than your cock. N-need your cum.” You whispered seductively against his ear as his last bit of restraint snaps.

At your words, Logan gradually put more pressure on your entrance making you whimper underneath him, once he finally slid his tip inside you, a gasp elicited from the both of you.

You’re aware this was just barely the tip of him, but you couldn’t help but feel the stretch burn already. Logan slid in so slowly it was agonising. You cried out as he gradually pushed more of his pulsing cock inside your own clenching hole. He was so big.

You tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly as you whined underneath him. He panted along with you, his warm breath fanning over your face while he kept his forehead pressed against yours. The stretch stung, but his pace kept it bearable. He guided himself a centimetre further, then another, another, until you were digging your nails into his scalp, a gasp spilling from your lips.

His hips stilled instantly once he heard the pained noises falling from your lips. Tears began to prickle at your waterline, a combination of discomfort and the overwhelming feelings that were coursing through you.

“Doing so good for me baby,” he praised as he peppered your face with gentle kisses. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“Please,” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered close.

Logan continued to move almost painfully slow, letting you adjust to every centimetre of him. After a couple of seconds you were able to relax more into it. You whimpered, clutching his shoulders at the stretch, the heat in your abdomen growing as your walls fluttered around him, pleasure beginning to bloom in your stomach.

“So full…” you whined.

“Such a good girl,” he grunted softly. You think there wasn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you felt your heat get even more wet. He leaned down as he kissed your lips gently, as he filled you up bit by bit. He hoped the sweetness of his embrace would soften the sting.

You’re trembling as you canted your hips up, begging for him to fill you to the brim, while you gripped the bedsheets between your fingers. “Please Lo, need more. I can take it, daddy.” You whimpered as you involuntarily and repeatedly tightened around his thick cock.

He groaned at your desperate whines, losing his composure momentarily as he thrust the rest of his length all the way inside your tiny hole. The head of his dick kissing your cervix once he bottomed out. You cried out as you were trembling underneath him, trying to adjust to his size while your pussy kept pulsing around his cock.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ tight.” He hissed as he let you adjust to his cock.

His lips came to press soft and tender kisses all over your face as he let you relax. Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes as you continued to adjust around him. You felt so full, as if he was made for you, and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely had you seeing stars and digging fingernails into his shoulders. You felt one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them with yours as the other one reached up to your face.

His breathing was heavy as you squeezed his cock repeatedly. Small whimpers left your lips as you squirm underneath him.

You needed more.

You hadn’t even realised your eyes had drifted shut until you slowly opened them, gazing up at Logan with a soft, pleading look. “Please, Logan.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in his chest.

“Need more.” You whispered.

“Aww, does my sweet girl need me to move?” he teased, tilting his head with a playful smirk.

“Need you, please.” You begged as your pussy clenched around his thick cock rather hard which made him groan above you. “Please, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

His breath hitched as he exhaled shakily, before nodding quietly. Slowly, he started moving inside you, gentle but deep. One hand reached down to play with your clit, while the other one went to intertwine your fingers together, holding your hand tightly.

The sting hurt for a while, but it easily morphed into a more pleasurable feeling as he moved against you. You’re so overstimulated from all your previous orgasms that the sensation he was giving you was mixed between pain and pleasure.

He grunted as he dropped his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin just below it. Soon enough the pain would completely disappear and all you could feel was pure bliss.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before moving forward. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was so good, gradually he would pick up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. As he fucked into you in languid strokes, the sound of slick skin and your noises of pleasure could be heard in your bedroom.

“How do you feel?” he whispered against your ear.

“Feels so good.” You moaned as you tightened around his cock, this time voluntarily.

You whimpered as he picked up the pace, angling himself in a certain way inside you. He finally leaned down to wrap his arms around you, the action elicited a gasp out of you as you grab at the sheets around you, as he fucked you harder and faster.

Every time he’d thrust inside you, his pelvic bone would drag along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy.

“You’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Doing so so, good for me.” He whispered against your skin as he moved to nuzzle his face against your neck.

Soft grunts fell from Logan’s lips whenever he hit a specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his lips moved back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. You melted completely against him, holding you close to him as he fucked you. He snaked one of his hands down between your conjoined bodies finding your clit as he rubbed two fingers over the sensitive nub.

At a certain point you felt him slide into a pressure point in your core and coupled with the way his fingers circled your clit, it had you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the pleasure he was providing you. The whimpers that fell from your lips became higher pitched as he picked up his pace.

“Feeling good, kitten?” He groaned, as his lips curled into a mischievous smile as he admired the way your face twisted in pure bliss. Too overwhelmed by the new experience. Filth and praise continued to come out of his mouth as he fucked you. “This pussy was made for daddy.”

His mouth covered your own instead as he swallowed all your little noises of pleasure, you could feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tighter with every movement and every touch.

Your whimpers, gasps of pleasure and pants increased as ecstasy and warmth overwhelmed your senses.

“Taking daddy’s cock so well, baby.”

His hands couldn’t get enough of you, sliding around your hips and lower back, wanting to feel all of you, touch you everywhere. You whimpered at the feeling of his speed, feeling another orgasm coming so close, eyes tightly shut and legs locked bruisingly around Logan’s hips. He could feel it too, in the way you clenched and squeezed around his length, and he began to drive even harder into your pussy as he tilted his hips gently, searching for the one place that he hoped would blow your mind.

“Ah, daddy—” you hiccuped as he fucked you so good you felt like a blabbering mess. “Need you to come inside my pussy...”

“Is that what you want?” He growled as you pulsed around him. “Can’t believe it… it’s your first time and you’re already begging for me to cum inside. So filthy. You’re close aren’t ya?”

You nodded furiously as your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, your nails digging in his back as he moaned on top of you. The feeling of the coil tightening in your belly, was tingling down to your legs, ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside your pussy. All full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned as you thought about him filling you up. “Please Lo, baby, daddy… please fill this pussy up.”

He grunted as he buried his face into your neck as he fucked into you, making the whole bed rattle at his force.

“You want to cum pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically at his words while your eyes fluttered close as you bit your lip harshly. You were bucking up beneath him, nails digging into his skin even more as his hand moved back to your clit as another came to intertwine your hands together, pinning them to the bed. He rubbed your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’ll cum around him.

“Cum for daddy.” Logan demands softly.

And when he finally nudged against that spot inside you coupled with his deep voice– you were exploding, shattering, and detonating all at once, as you cried out his name. Blood was rushing so wildly in your ears that you couldn’t possibly hear the way you wail and sob as he crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing all your noises. Your head lolled back, your back arching violently as you twist and contort in pleasure underneath him.

“That’s it, good girl.” Logan moaned in your ear as your walls spasmed and pulsed around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing himself up as he thrust deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were still in a daze but you were able to understand him so you nod vigorously at his words, whining even more at the sensitivity. Your pussy squeezed around his cock in anticipation. “Please…”

“Fuck, take it baby.” It washed over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grew desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he felt his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his seed splashed along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The warmth of his seed filled you up and spread inside your pussy. The feeling made you whimper, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrust into you, making sure you took every last drop.

His warm cum filled you up deeply, the mild heat of it settling deep inside you and causing you to squirm under him. Logan panted as he let his body slump against yours. He rested on top of you, trying to steady his breath. His cock was still nuzzled deep within you, still half hard as it kept his cum from leaking out.

It was a blurry haze when you came back to your senses, your whole body was aching whilst simultaneously feeling the most relaxed you've ever been, equally as exhausted as it was energised, and you didn’t bother trying to question why. Just pure contentment.

Once both of you caught your breaths, Logan leaned his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.

“That was…” He breathed, smiling tiredly at the complete dopey mess he's made of you; hair all over the place and eyes lidded heavily, heated skin glowing and your lips looking swollen from all the kisses you’ve both shared.

“Oh yeah, that was mind blowing.” Your voice came out hoarse, still recovering from the height and volume it had gone, and you cleared your throat gently before you smiled up at him.

“I love you.” He whispered before he captured your lips in a deep and lazy kiss. You could feel his soft mouth smiling against yours as you whimpered against him. You felt yourself melting against his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you too.” You whispered back against his mouth.

You shifted slightly when you felt that he was still hard inside you. Biting your lip, you squeezed purposely around him at the realisation. Logan groaned at the feeling, his large palms sliding up your sides in a soothing manner.

“Don’t do that.” Logan grumbled but you saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Why not?” You giggled as your hands trailed through his hair.

“Makes me wanna fuck you again.” Your boyfriend mumbled.

“Hm, that’s kind of the point.” You continued to giggle.

Logan chuckled as he pulled his head back, looking at you with a mirthful smile.

Before you knew it, he pulled out only to man handle your body in the position he wanted you to be. Manoeuvres your body until you’re on your tummy. His hands came to hold your hips, pulling them up, your ass in the air for him.

He kneads the flesh of your cheeks before spreading them apart for him. Your body slumps slightly forward with exhaustion but Logan is quick to grip your hips, holding you in the same position. “Oh kitten, I’m not done with you yet.” He tutted.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you prepared yourself for a long night filled with passion.

thank you for reading 🩷🩷🩷

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fluff #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x you #my writing

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trashytracktales · 2 months ago

Note

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn’t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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houseofhyde · 29 days ago

Text

last train home.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader mcu timeline. thunderbolts + tfatws flashbacks synopsis. hours after the void swallows half of new york city, bucky barnes finds himself breaking his #1 rule: don't show up at your door. warnings. no use of y/n, ex!reader, exes to ???, angst, suggestive, hurt with comfort that is proceeded by more hurt, pining, bucky is lowkey down bad and pathetic, descriptions of bruises, injuries, and choking (not the sexy kind, unfortunately), bucky is also kinda serving stalker realness (but its okay bc he's hot and in love), flashbacks via bucky's time in the void. thunderbolts spoilers!!! word count. 4k. hyde’s input. thunderbolts reawakened something dormant in me and threw me back into trenches i thought i'd clawed my way out of. idk if this can even be considered a serious fic because i wrote this like it was the ramblings of a madwoman, i can't even lie. no editing, we die like real (dumb) men. in true me fashion, i already have two more parts planned for this couple, including eventual sloppy sad smut bc why write about a man if i don't get to whore him out? read on ao3.

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be here.

Knows that his will not be a welcome face.

Knows that he’s around two years and a sincere apology too late.

The hour is late, the dials of his wristwatch already encroaching on midnight. The city’s starless sky is a darkness that pales in comparison to the heavy shadow he’d watched infect Manhattan earlier. A void of pain too many had vanished beneath, before he and his ragtag team of false heroes had no choice but to dive into it, one last ditched effort at bringing back the light. The madness truly began when the darkness spat them back out onto the chaos of the streets.

The relief of seeing the sun. The shamble of a press conference. The new Avengers.

And all he could think about was making it to this street. This door. You.

Bucky wishes he could say that the last time he saw you was last week, struggling beneath the weight of grocery bags. But that’s no longer true, because the last time he saw you was merely a few hours ago, trapped inside a time loop of his own making, his own memories, his own pain.

The room was colder than he remembered as he stepped in through a balcony door, sheer curtains billowing around him as a storm gathered outside.

At first, he wasn’t sure what memory this was, what new room he’d stepped into. All Bucky knew was he had made his way through the hell of Hydra’s experimentations, picked himself up from those traintracks, let himself soak in the scene of fighting Steve. Whatever haunted him in this bedroom of silence and sin, he was sure he could move through it and make his way to the door on the opposite side. Until a figure stirred beneath the sheets and he found himself frozen at the end of the bed.

Because there you were, eyes closed and head buried in the warmth of his own chest, blissfully unaware of the waking nightmare that awaited you.

He’s not used to crossing this street.

Not anymore.

Nowadays, his place is somewhere just across from you, two steps behind and a head hung low in hopes that you don’t notice him. Because he knows that it’s wrong, and he knows there are boundaries that have been drawn, but he just can’t seem to fall asleep at night if he doesn’t hop off that train a few stops early just to watch you come home safe.

He hadn’t meant to make it a habit. At first, it was just routine, muscle memory. He spent months making his way home to you, he needed more than a few weeks to get used to his new commute. But then he got in his own head, found himself sat in a train cart, knee bouncing out his stress as his mind tortured him with all the what ifs and nonexistent threats you could encounter on your way home alone. Who else could he trust but his own eyes to watch over you? So he let himself indulge, wander out from the subway below just in time to watch you turn a corner. Told himself it was okay, so long as he kept his distance. So long as he only observed, even when it killed him. The days it would rain and he’d fight the urge to shelter you beneath his umbrella. The times he’d notice a smiling stranger getting too close for comfort and remind himself it was no longer his place to ward them off with an arm around your waist. The way he’d catch the polished shine of a necklace resting at the base of your neck and suddenly remember why he could no longer call you his.

He should have noticed sooner. How the room smelt of your delicate perfume. How remnants of your clothes lay strewn across carpeted floors. How the scene before him was plucked perfectly from that trip.

A getaway of his own doing, heart swollen with a little more pride than he’d care to admit over simply figuring out how to book a vacation online. There was no real rhyme or reason for it, no birthday to celebrate or anniversary to commemorate. Bucky had simply felt happy. Blissfully, wholly, perfectly happy, for the first time in too long. In retrospect, that should have been the first warning sign.

But those razor sharp senses of his seemed to go blunt with the brightness of your smile, the tenderness of your kiss, the warmth of your voice. He believed you made him good. Made him right. Made him whole. He’d never stopped to wonder what he made you.

Until he made you hurt.

He’s standing outside your door.

Time seems irrelevant when everything is the same as he remembers it.

The lopsided apartment number. The faded welcome mat outside the door. The chipping paint you insist you don’t mind, all in the hopes of stopping Bucky from chewing out your landlord about another thing that needs fixing. Suddenly, it’s like he can feel the weight of your key in his pocket, waiting for him to fish it out and welcome himself home to the smell of burning incense and the taste of your skin.

His heart’s beating a little faster now. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should start learning to leave well enough alone. Maybe he should be trying to move on. But how can he move on with a life you made him want to live?

He’s fought battles, drawn blood, turned to dust and come back again. Yet this is a bridge he cannot seem to cross: knocking on your door.

All Bucky had registered back then was the soul-crushing weight of waking up to find what he’d done. Standing at the edge of the bed, a voyeur to his own harm, The Void granted him a full perspective of the events.

It began with muttering, foreign words falling from his sleeping lips. Then his head tossed, his leg twitched, his voice raised. You, eyes blinking away sleep and limbs untangling from his, woken up suddenly to his heart racing beneath you. He watched you watch the other him, a few seconds of his nightmarish sleeping, before finally you did what you thought was best, what any caring person would do if their partner was being haunted in their sleep.

You whispered his name, soothed a palm over his cheek, coaxed him out of whatever hell he was trapped in. But when his eyelids snapped open, there was no summer sky or calming river living in the iris but a steely blue, winter cold.

Metal clutched at your throat.

“James?”

Echoes of a past life sing in his ears as he feels himself freeze. His gaze meets the ground, where he spots an open door and a familiar pair of fluffy slippers, looking a little worse for wear than he remembers them being on that Christmas morning, sitting across from you with a stiff jaw and nervous eyes, watching you pull apart layers of wrapping paper. Now time has left its mark on them and Bucky can’t help but wonder how much longer until you replace them with something newer, something softer, something that’ll bring more comfort to your aching feet as you slip into them after a long day at the firm.

The firm. Your workplace. Two blocks down from the building that once stood as a symbol for everything Steve and the rest of the Avengers — the real Avengers — had achieved, a home still haunted by its previous owners whose footsteps Valentina expected him to tread over.

Bucky had stopped believing in God somewhere between the torture and the war against genocidal aliens but as that cloud of darkness rolled over the Manhattan skyline, vanishing people into shadows, he caught himself praying to someone, something, anything that you were okay. That you’d caught a stomach bug or the flu and had called in sick. That you’d been called out of state, sent to work elsewhere on a client’s case. That you’d been anywhere but trapped beneath the weight of The Void’s darkness; lonely, and scared, and reliving the cruelest memories your mind could conjure.

But as he finally looks at you, your face says it all. The troubled eyes, the weary smile, the trembling hands. The Void may have spat you back out alongside the rest of the city — he may have been able to save you from the looping pain, at least — but it left its mark all over you, whispers of fear still clinging to your skin.

Like a wave meets the shore, he crashes over you.

At first, Bucky couldn’t watch.

Eyes squeezed shut, back turned on the scene taking place upon the bed, he tried to block it all out. But then a door slammed, his eyes reopened, and the memory had started all over again. Your head on his chest, his tossing and turning. You waking him up, his hand around your neck. With an ache in his bones, he forced himself to bear witness.

To the way he looked right at you like you were a stranger, a threat, a mission. To the way the metal twisted and screamed as he tightened his grip. To the way your hand found his face. Not to scratch, not to push, not to fight back. But to mollify, the warmth of your palm resting on his icy cheek, tender in your touch even as he robbed you of breath.

And then he snapped out of it. Came to his senses. Ripped himself away from you and stumbled out the bed, hands — metal and flesh — scrambling for the scattered pieces of the same clothes he’d let you peel off of him only hours before, your eyes alive with the buzz of too much wine and his cheeks burning from too much sun and you. Undressing like every layer was an offense, just one more obstacle getting in the way as you both tumbled back into the hotel bed.

You are hesitant.

Arms glued to your side, you stand frozen in the unexpected embrace. He can’t find it in himself to blame you, not when he thinks of how scared you must feel with a weapon wound around your body once more, holding you close to him. The action is not only protective but possessive, too. An antidote to an unwarranted need that took root in his chest the moment he returned to the mania of Manhattan, freshly haunted by a visceral unpresent presence, desperate to confirm with more than just a glance from across a street that you were home. That you were safe. That you were here, even if he shouldn’t be.

Bucky just needs you to give him a moment. A second. To feel the slow rise of your chest against his, and to take in the fading scent of your perfume, and to caress his right hand over the back of your head. To hold you like he still has any right to your heart. Then he can go. Pull away, set you free, stagger back to his apartment. Collapse onto the familiar comforts of creaking floorboards, muster up the guts to return Sam’s fourteen missed calls and sink into a different layer of guilt to distract himself from the fact you’re not sleeping beside him, breathing beside him. That you haven’t been his for two years, no matter how much he’s still yours.

He pulls in a deep breath, tightens his arms around your frame, prepares himself for the inevitability of him pulling away and feeling the much deserved sting of your hand slapping his cheek and your voice spewing venomous words.

Any minute now, he’ll let go.

“Bucky…” it’s barely a whisper, but he hears it — feels it, as the ice in your bones thaws away and you melt into his embrace.

How could he possibly let go?

Bucky remembered struggling to breathe.

Ignoring your weak calls of his name, he dressed himself with so much haste half the buttons on his shirt remained undone. On the bed, you choked on heavy breaths of air, tears welling like the threat of an incoming downpour that was sure to drown him further beneath waves of guilt, shame, hatred. The vibranium virus attached to his left side seemed to mock him as he struggled to pull on his shoes, too blinded by panic to notice your approaching figure.

Bucky grabbed for the door and you grabbed for him, fingers almost curling around the wrist of his metal arm. He flinched out of your reach, head spinning round to take in the sight of you now at his side, shielded beneath bedsheets from the exposing light of the moon. His gaze flickered to your neck, replaying memories of where his mouth had laid claim over your skin and painted you in shades of his love. How many hours would it take for them to fade beneath the mold of his fingers, for the things Bucky hated most about himself to viscerally terrorise him as a bruise upon his most darling delicate?

You tried to reach for him, again. All he could manage was a quiet, “don’t.”

He never meant to slam the door as he left.

“Are you okay?”

He’s no stranger to late night fantasies, the inconsequential thoughts of an idealised life he’s free to play out when sleep eludes him, buds of anxious worry beginning to bloom within his chest. Before, all his what ifs and if onlys projected him back in time, where no draft came knocking at his door or any serum distorted his DNA. Then he met you and, gradually, his pining for the past morphed into dreaming of a future. All the possible firsts of your relationship: first date, first kiss, first holiday, first anniversary. He could relearn the world, reintroduce himself to the possibility of normality. He pondered moving, trading the city for a quieter life, where weekends would be reserved for exchanging body heat beneath the blankets of a bed he’d build for you, and Sunday gatherings with Sam and the rest of the Wilson’s.

Then, the dreams faded to grey, along with the rest of his world.

The past no longer enticed him, and a future seemed pointless without you. All that was left for him was to agonise, stare at his living room ceiling and watch the atrocities he’d committed play on repeat. The Starks’ car, Yori’s son, your neck. With therapy came amends, a booklet of names his conscience needed him to confront with an apology. Yours never made the cut. Because it wasn’t the Winter Soldier that had hurt you, it was him. No amount of therapised language intended to distance him from the harm would be a good enough excuse to lay at your feet, so he stayed away, kept his distance.

Not once had he fantasised he would be breaking no-contact like this.

“A little confused and contemplating why I’m still living in this city after years of it being a breeding ground for supernatural and extraterrestrial attacks, but I’m fine,” you reply at last, trailing off with a laugh that catches on your throat and breaks into a hiccup.

There’s a shake in your voice that nearly has him pulling back but your arms stop him, hold him closer. You shuffle your feet between his own and burrow your face away, out of sight, in the crook of his neck. A layer of ash still stains him, powder remnants of the rubble that had fallen during The Void's attack, but you don’t seem to care.

“I saw you on the news, Buck. Are you okay?”

The relationship was over in a matter of days.

You slept through the train ride home, leaving him with nothing but passing fields and troubled thoughts. Once back in the city, he carried your bags in his left hand while the fingers of his right one threaded with yours. You did most of the talking, comments of where you two could holiday next, if he’d spoken to Sam recently, and how your mother had mentioned in passing that you should bring Bucky with you next time you visit. The silence arrived as you both reached your front door, one glance at the bruise around your neck enough to let him know this was the end of the line.

An inbox of missed calls and unread texts later, he dropped your apartment key through the letterbox.

He blinked and suddenly the scene had reset, your lonesome frame crawling back onto the bed once more, fading away into two figures curled around one another beneath the sheets. Bucky watched it all unravel. And, when the door slammed and your tears fell, he watched it start again. Over and over, he watched himself poison the safe haven you made for him, pushing you away and rebuilding that wall around himself. Over and over, he watched you reach for him, a silent plea in your eyes begging him to stay.

He never did.

It was only when he joined you on the bed — after the other him had slammed the door — and pulled you into his longing embrace, mouth kissing apologies against your forehead as you drifted off to sleep, that the cycle came to a stop. One moment, he was holding some version of you for the first time in years, and, in the next, The Void sent him falling through the ceiling of an old Hydra lab.

He landed in the leather chair with a thud and, as a familiar device closed in around his head, he wished he was back in that hotel room, watching your heart break before his eyes, if only to see you a little longer.

With reluctance, he pulls back.

Not because he no longer needs to hold you, feel you breathing safely against him. But he needs to see you. Properly, as something more than a distant shape across the street. Inches apart now, the hole in his chest seems to scream it’s not close enough. When your eyes meet his and a tear slides down your face, not even Sentry could stop him from reaching up to catch it.

Comfort fills his soul as he feels your hand lay itself atop his own, holding it in place against your cheek. Your eyes slip shut and a sigh slips past your lips. Bucky can’t help but lean in, eyes shutting out the world around you. His forehead finds rest against yours, a gentle pressure against skin that feels more intimate than any kiss he could ever give. “Tell me you’re okay, Bucky,” a delicate whisper that possesses no threat to the quiet that surrounds you both.

For a moment, there is peace. Hope. Time has passed, his life has changed, and, while he’s no symbol of sanity, he saved people today — strangers. Bucky Barnes is officially a hero. An Avenger. So maybe things can be different. And maybe he can ask to take up space in your life again, to be part of your mornings and your evenings, your everyday. He can make amends and make you his.

Something meows and tears him out of his daydream.

A blur of white fur moves cautiously inside your apartment, weaving through a few house plants atop a shoe rack. But that isn’t what leaves him feeling foolish, feeling sick, feeling like he’s been sucker punched in the chest. It’s the pair of shoes carelessly discarded on the floor, shrugged off by someone too impatient to put them away if it means spending another moment away from you — Bucky would know, he used to do the same.

A pair of men’s shoes. “I should-” go, he can’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t want to leave. “Don’t wanna miss the train.”

“James,” his name is a plea on your tongue, a question he’s forgotten how to answer.

“I’m sorry,” for hurting you, for not moving on, for showing up at your door. “I just needed to see you.”

The first step is still the hardest.

As the thought passes through him, a sense of deja vu comes over him. This hallway, your doorway. Turning his back on you, telling himself that it’s better this way. No matter how much it kills him, he can live with the pain of knowing you’ll be safer with someone else. Someone who was born at the right time, and has done all the right things in life that lead them to being rewarded with you. It’s best he goes, before that someone comes looking for you.

He can’t stomach the thought of seeing you with somebody else.

“For someone so good at the fight, you sure do love to choose flight,” your voice is soft yet he hears a bite of anger, a sprinkle of resentment. “Or is walking away a special trick you only use when it comes to me?”

“Don’t do that,” he turns back around to face you, and regrets it the moment he notices more tears threatening to spill. His hand itches to wipe them all away. “Don’t make it seem like leaving you was something I chose to do.”

“But you did!”

“Only because I had to!” Bucky never means to raise his voice, not at you. Things clearly haven’t changed enough for him to stop hurting you when he swears he won’t. “You know what I did to you.”

With a challenge on your face, your arms cross over your chest and you pop your hip out, leaning your body against the doorframe. “What exactly did you do, James?”

“I…” torture of the tongue, he needs to compose himself before he can say it. “I hurt you. With the same hand they gave me when they made me a weapon.”

“Except you didn’t. The Wakandans gave you that arm when they needed another hero on the battlefield.”

A pause, where anything but silence passes between you. “And I hurt you with it all the same.”

“You leaving me like I meant nothing hurt far more than whatever happened in that hotel room.”

“Meant nothing? Me leaving was because I lov-”

“I’ve just taken on a big case, they’ll be expecting me early in the office,” you’ve already got the door in your hand, half closed as your body retreats back into the safety of your apartment, away from the danger of Bucky’s confession. “You should go, James. Catch that train.”

Unlike him, you don’t slam doors.

He doesn’t bother returning to the subway, the time on his phone tells him all he needs to know. He’s missed that last train, and he’s not in the mood to figure out which line will get him closest to his apartment. He’ll just walk, and listen to the voicemail his phone claims Alexei has left in his inbox.

“Winter Soldier! Bucky! We all are drinking, to celebrate team’s first big win. You must join, we can talk more about being co-captains of The Thunderbolts-” “That is not our name, Alexei,” Yelena cuts him off faintly in the background.

Bucky shouldn’t have come home.

Back in the apartment, a sob is forced down.

The tears just keep coming, all you can do is surrender yourself to them, head leaned back against the door, some part of you hoping he’ll come back.

His hair is longer, new bruises mark his skin, yet the way he looks at you — like you are a sin he must atone for — is still the same.

“Was that Bucky I just heard? If yes, let me give him a piece of my mind and save ourselves a whole load of paperwork- Hey, you good?”

You pull in a breath and wipe both hands over your face before forcing a smile towards your guest.

“I’m fine, Sam,” you almost trip over his shoes in your haste to walk back into the living room. “Now come on, we have a lot of work to do if you’re serious about suing the Avengers.”

+ extra hyde !

· finished this instead of working on one of my final essays... priorities!

· idk if it anyone wants it but i'm working on a part 2, and trust i intend to not uphold the sambucky divorce from the post-credit scene

· if you're reading this and thinking "this doesn't look like the aemond fic update hyde's supposed to be posting" i'm sorry, i swear i'll be doing my best to post the next part soon! don't hate me!

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut

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dior-luxury · 2 months ago

Text

How'd They Propose To You

PT.1 [trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver] PT.2 [cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek]

( ✧ ) ────── fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] Emotional Intimacy / Fluff . Marriage Proposal . Mentions of Future (e.g., family, dreams) . Slight Angst (Epel’s insecurities, Silver’s loneliness)

Note: I wrote these with lots of love and character insight — Epel’s countryside roots and yearning to be seen, and Silver’s desire for peace and purpose are central to their proposals. I hope this gives you warm fuzzy feelings 💕 Let me know if you'd like versions with other characters ! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Trey Clover

It started with a letter.

You found it tucked inside your baking apron one quiet Saturday morning—a soft cream envelope, the Clover family seal pressed neatly in wax. The handwriting was unmistakably Trey’s: neat, deliberate, comforting. Inside was a note asking you to meet him at the Heartslabyul greenhouse at sunset.

The walk there was quiet, peaceful. Spring had arrived in full bloom. The air was sweet with budding roses and the earthy perfume of garden herbs. As you stepped into the greenhouse, the world seemed to pause.

It had been transformed.

Fairy lights twinkled through ivy-draped arches. Rows of potted clovers shimmered with droplets of dew, and glass jars glowed softly with fireflies. At the center stood a small round table, covered with a hand-stitched tablecloth embroidered with the Queen’s roses. A three-tiered cake sat on a stand, iced in white and green, decorated with edible flowers and delicate gold lettering.

You blinked. The letters read:

“Every chapter sweeter than the last.”

And then you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Trey said, stepping from behind a row of flowering bushes, dressed in a crisp button-up and vest, tie slightly loosened, eyes warm. “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

You smiled as he approached, his hands gently reaching for yours. He kissed your knuckles like he always did when words weren’t enough.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, voice quieter now, the weight of emotion in every word. “Ever since we baked our first cake together. Ever since you fell asleep in the library with flour in your hair and your smile still somehow sweeter than anything I could put in an oven.”

You laughed softly, eyes brimming.

Trey took a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket—a small velvet box, the color of forest leaves.

“I know life isn’t always going to be sugar and frosting,” he said. “There’ll be bitter days, tough bakes, and cracked crusts. But if I’m going to face any of that—burnt edges and all—I want it to be with you.”

He knelt slowly, the glassy floor reflecting the warmth in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Inside the box was a ring shaped like a delicate vine wrapped around a single emerald, shaped like a clover leaf. Handcrafted. No doubt.

You could barely choke out the “yes” through your tears before he was standing again, arms around you, holding you like a man who had finally found home.

Later, you shared the cake. It was a perfect balance of tart raspberry and soft vanilla cream.

Just like Trey. Thoughtful. Grounded. Honest. And head-over-heels in love.

Jack Howl

With Jack, love had been something sacred. Not loud, not overly poetic—but fierce and deeply rooted. He wasn’t a man of flowery words, but everything he did—the way he protected you, respected you, always supported you—spoke volumes.

After finishing school, Jack had become a respected guardian of the Starlight Expanse—a sweeping range of ancient wildlands west of the Savannaclaw territory. He lived in a modest cabin, surrounded by pine trees, riverstones, and silence. And often, you visited, sharing weekends hiking the cliffs, lying under constellations, and sitting by campfires where he’d sneak glances at you like you were something he still couldn’t believe he deserved.

On the anniversary of your relationship, Jack invited you to hike a new path with him—an old trail he'd been restoring himself. It led high up into the mountains, through narrow ridges, blooming wildflowers, and old stone arches carved with symbols of the old tribes.

As dusk fell, you reached a cliff overlooking the vast wildlands. The stars began to prick the sky, and the moon rose—huge, luminous, casting a silver sheen over everything.

Jack turned to you, looking breathtaking in the moonlight. His hair fluttered with the wind, his tail stilling behind him.

“I always thought I was meant to walk alone,” he said, voice deep and honest. “Wolves don’t… usually need packs like others do. I was okay with solitude. But then I met you. And suddenly... it wasn’t enough anymore. Every mountain felt lonelier without you by my side.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding.

“I wanted to bring you here because this is where I made my decision,” he said, kneeling in the grass. From a small leather pouch around his neck, he retrieved a ring—hand-forged from stone and silver, with a single small diamond embedded in its center.

“It’s not fancy. It’s not perfect. But it’s strong. Like my feelings for you. I don’t want a ceremony or attention—I just want you. Always. Will you be my mate, for life?”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks. Jack’s hands were warm as he took yours, and his eyes—usually so intense—were soft, vulnerable.

You knelt with him, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled, tail flicking once with relief, then pulled you into a tight, protective embrace��one that said “home” more than any place ever had.

And above, the stars bore witness, as the wild and the heart became one.

Jade Leech

With Jade, your relationship was anything but ordinary. From the beginning, he had been a puzzle wrapped in a smile—dangerous in his elegance, but mesmerizing. Over time, behind his teasing words and cryptic looks, you found a man who was curious about love, who had never quite known how tender a connection could feel until you came into his life.

After graduation, Jade returned to the Coral Sea, taking on a diplomatic role that let him travel between land and ocean. He’d often bring you rare mushrooms from distant forests, small ocean treasures, and letters written in his perfect, flowing script—always sealed with wax, always smelling faintly of salt and ink.

One day, he invited you on a private excursion—“an adventure,” he called it, voice light and playful. He guided you to a secluded sea cave he’d discovered, hidden behind a curtain of kelp off the southern coast. The tide was low when you arrived, and as the sunlight filtered through the surface, the cave glimmered like a cathedral carved by the ocean itself. Bioluminescent moss clung to the rocks, glowing faintly blue, and tide pools sparkled with tiny sea creatures.

Jade turned to you, hands behind his back, smiling just slightly.

“You once told me you wanted to see the place where I felt most like myself,” he said. “This is it. This place is both wild and calm… like you make me feel.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the beauty—and the fact that he’d remembered such a small, passing thing.

He led you deeper into the cave, to a small flat rock that overlooked an underground pool glowing with a soft, enchanted light. There, nestled in a tide-smoothed shell, was a ring: a unique band shaped from coral and white gold, with a pearl set in its center—glimmering with the faintest swirl of blue, like moonlight trapped in water.

Jade took your hand gently, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“I’ve watched the tides change, the reefs grow and crumble, the land erode and form again… And still, I’ve never seen anything so constant as the way I feel when I look at you. Curious. Grounded. At peace.”

He dropped to one knee on the glistening cave floor.

“I don’t pretend to be simple, and I cannot promise calm waters every day. But I can promise loyalty, wonder, and a love as deep and eternal as the sea. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered yes.

He kissed your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger as waves echoed softly in the background. Then he stood, pulling you into a slow, wordless embrace as the ocean whispered around you, forever holding the secret of the moment it witnessed two souls choosing each other.

Jamil Viper

Falling for Jamil was like watching a guarded temple open its doors to you alone.

He was a man who had always lived in someone else’s shadow, who had learned to survive by hiding—his talents, his feelings, his dreams. But with you… he had finally started living for himself. And slowly, impossibly, he had allowed love to bloom—quietly, steadily, like a candle that refused to be extinguished no matter how many times the wind tried.

After years of study and work, Jamil had become a renowned performer and choreographer across the Scalding Sands and beyond. He was known for his breathtaking dance performances, his fire magic, and his unspoken magnetism. But despite the crowds and praise, he always made time for you—stealing away into the desert, where the stars were so thick they felt like they might fall.

One evening, Jamil asked you to accompany him to a rooftop performance in a palace overlooking the oasis. You assumed it was one of his shows, but when you arrived, the space was empty—just open air, flowing curtains, and a circle of candles laid out in a ring of red and gold petals. A lone tabla played softly from somewhere unseen.

“Jamil…?” you asked, bewildered.

He stepped into the candlelit ring wearing his traditional red and black, but tonight, his expression was more vulnerable than you had ever seen. No mask. No tension.

“I choreographed something,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “Just for you. And me.”

Then, without further word, he began to dance.

It was a solo piece of story and soul—a blend of fire and emotion. His movements told the tale of a boy trapped in chains of duty, eyes always cast down… until a figure of light walked into his life. His steps became bolder, freer, as if each moment with you was releasing him, piece by piece. And at the end, as the final flame circled him, he dropped to one knee, his hand extended to you.

In his palm sat a ring—ornate and beautiful, inlaid with rubies and obsidian, shaped like a coiled serpent guarding a heart.

“I never imagined someone would love all of me,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Not just the dancer, not just the servant or the schemer. Me. And now that I’ve felt that love… I can’t go back.”

He looked up, his dark eyes glimmering with a fire only you had ever truly seen.

“I want to build a future not in someone else’s shadow… but in our own light. With you. Will you marry me?”

You fell to your knees before him, nodding through your tears. He reached for you, holding you close as music, fire, and moonlight danced around your entwined forms.

The desert winds whispered over the rooftop, carrying the beginning of your shared forever across the sands.

Epel Felmier

It was springtime in Harveston, and the apple trees were in full bloom.

The countryside stretched out in a watercolor of soft pink petals, dew-frosted green grass, and gentle sunshine. You had come with Epel to visit his family for the season — partly for the festival, partly for a bit of a break from the whirlwind of NRC. Epel had insisted on showing you his "secret spot," a place hidden at the edge of his family’s orchard where the trees grew in wild, enchanted arches.

He led you there barefoot, the grass cool underfoot, laughing at the way your fingers intertwined. He looked so at peace here — freckles glowing, violet eyes warm like dusk skies, his country drawl a soft hum as he told you stories about when he used to climb these trees as a boy.

But today, something was different.

“I gotta confess something,” he said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya somethin’... for a long while now.”

Before you could respond, he pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief from his coat. He unwrapped it slowly: a ring made of braided silver and rose gold, shaped like twisted vines, holding a pale lavender gem — the exact color of his eyes. Handmade, by the local artisan. With love. With care.

Epel dropped to one knee in the soft grass, right beneath the blooming apple trees.

“I know I ain’t always perfect. I get worked up tryin’ to prove myself, ‘specially around people who don’t think I’m strong just ‘cause of how I look. But you... you see me. The real me. You’ve always made me feel like I ain’t gotta try so hard just to be loved.”

The petals were falling around you both like snow.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Laughin’ with you, growin’ with you, maybe even raisin’ a family out here someday, in a house by this orchard. Will ya marry me?”

His voice cracked slightly on the last line, and his hand trembled just enough to betray how hard he was trying to be composed.

You said yes. Of course you did.

And as you kissed him under a sky of blossoms and sunlight, he whispered against your lips, “I’ll love you ‘til the apples stop growin’, and even after that.”

Silver

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the forest in golds and violets.

Silver had taken you to a quiet glade near the edge of Briar Valley — a place that few people knew about, where the trees whispered in ancient tongues and the breeze always seemed to hum lullabies. He had told you it was where he used to go to clear his mind, to think, to dream.

You both sat together on a blanket beneath a canopy of willow trees, surrounded by flickering fae lights that blinked in and out of existence like stars caught between realities.

“Do you know what I used to dream about before I met you?” he asked, voice low and soft, brushing a strand of your hair from your face.

You looked up into those calm, silvery eyes. “Tell me.”

“I dreamed of peace. Of stillness. Of finding a place — or a person — where I could let go. Where I didn’t have to always be ready to protect or to run. I thought it was just a fantasy. But then I met you.”

He took a small wooden box from his side — carved with delicate forest motifs, glowing faintly with magic. Inside, nestled in velvet moss, was a ring of moonstone and silver filigree, shaped like blooming lilies and crescent moons. Ancient enchantments laced it: protection, clarity, love everlasting.

Silver knelt, but not awkwardly or with nerves. No — he knelt with reverence, like a knight before a queen.

“I’ve spent my life dreaming with my eyes closed. But with you... I dream while I’m awake. You’re my dawn after centuries of night. Will you marry me, and walk through all the dreams and waking days to come — with me?”

You felt tears rise unbidden, your heart aching with the beauty of it. The way he looked at you — steady, unshakable, serene — it was like every fairytale you had ever read but more real, more raw.

When you said yes, he smiled — that quiet, rare smile he saved only for you.

Then he held you in his arms as the stars lit one by one, and you knew — truly knew — that you were his peace, and he was yours.

⟡ tag list : @dreaming-of-tae @chai-yas @yunar1 @fever-en @sol3chu @alastor-simp

#𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑-𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐘 #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #trey clover x reader #jack howl x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #epel felmier x reader #silver vanrouge x reader #twst silver x reader

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sknyuz · 2 months ago

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Can you please do the prompt "three words. just say the three words." With Na Baek-Jin but make it enemies to lovers and full of yearning😭😭💗

prompt — “three words. just say the three words.” pairing — academic rival!na baekjin x reader genre — academic rivals to lovers, highschool, mutual pining, soft angst cw — academic pressure, tension, one kiss, just that type of yearning where you almost hate both of them for it wc — ~700 notes: i wrote this on someone else's laptop so sorry if the layout or my writing is a lil wonky ToT this was pretty rushed/not proofread

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

you and baekjin have been neck and neck for as long as you can remember. same grade, same extracurriculars, same perfectly neat handwriting across test papers the teachers always returned with that look, the one that silently said, again? you two?

he always rolled his eyes when they called your names together, like it was a curse, and you did the same.

still, somehow, every quiz bee, every debate tournament, every single research camp—you ended up beside him. not by choice. just... fate, or bad luck, or the fact that your scores matched to the decimal.

you told yourself you hated him. but sometimes, you caught him looking. there are stolen moments that you two share. like that one time, late night in the library, when you both reached for the same textbook and your hands brushed—and neither of you moved away.

or the time you caught him staring at you mid-question during the final round of an academic bee, and he looked so focused, like he was memorizing your face instead of the answer.

and then there was that out-of-province regional thing last fall—when they messed up the room assignments and you two were forced to share a bed in some tiny guesthouse. the silence was thick. your backs were to each other. but sometime in the middle of the night, you woke up and he was facing you, but neither of you moved.

and now, senior year. your last nationals together. you’ve both just won it all—a team victory, but the only hand you felt trembling slightly against yours was his. his knuckles brushed yours during the final round, and you should’ve pulled away. but you didn’t, your fingers intertwined as you bowed together, closing off your championship run.

later, when the noise dies and the cameras are gone, you find each other alone behind the auditorium. he’s still in his blazer, medal heavy around his neck. the low light hits his profile just right—jaw clenched, throat bobbing.

"you didn’t have to stay back," you say quietly, as you organized the notes in your bag. “everyone’s at that hot pot place by now.”

"i know," he replies, just as quiet. "but... i knew you would."

you scoff. “of course you do.”

he studies you in that quiet, calculating way he does before a competition—except now, there’s no scoreboard, just the way his eyes soften like he’s tired of pretending.

"you know, bakejin, i kinda hate this," you whisper. it slips out. too raw, too real.

"what?"

"this thing between us." your voice wavers. "i mean, do we really still see each other as rivals, or is this just an excuse to keep whatever this is going?" you say, motioning between you and him. “we’re seniors now, baekjin. not kids.” a few months from now you won’t be winning competitions with him, sneaking glances at him while you studied for the next—hell, you might never even see baekjin again.

but baekjin takes a step closer, and your heart starts counting every second like it’s timed.

"then say it," he murmurs.

you blink. "say what?"

"three words," he says. "just say the three words."

your heart stutters.

"i hate you?" you offer, shaky.

he exhales—sharp, almost annoyed. not at you, but at the space between what you’re saying and what you mean. “no.”

you pause.

you know what he means. you know exactly what he means.

but you’ve spent so long pretending you didn’t.

he speaks first, his voice is quieter now. more raw than you’ve ever heard it.

"i love you."

the words land heavy. like a confession and an accusation all at once. and god, the way he looks at you after—like he’s bracing for the moment you walk away. like he already expects you to run.

but you don’t.

you step in, closing the distance. you let your fingers graze his—not by accident like earlier onstage, but deliberately.

"then i love you too," you say, as your other hand reaches up to curl your fingers around his tie, pulling him into a chaste kiss. you were both winners, after all.

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3

note: i accidentally posted this while doing last minute edits lol so i edited it some more and decided to let it stay up instead of reuploading. ig i offer this as a token of my appreciation for the love surrounding my weak hero class works <3

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ weak hero class ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez @slytherinshua @winnie-bunnie @rexxiiia @mrgzzarella @ilyhachii @youmeshii @actuallynarii @midnight--raine @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @trasshy-artist @crowneve @juicyjam @xh01bri @onyourlisa345 @triciawritesstuff @prettywhenicry4 @dripoftheseus @rosieparkk @gacktsa @sopitadearvejas @satorustorm (ask to be tagged or removed)

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randomshyperson · 4 months ago

Text

Hesitating Hearts - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Between you and Wanda, love has been kept a secret for too long. It's time for one of you to be brave. | This brief story is based on the Brazilian song "Medo Bobo".

Warnings: mild angst of mutual pining, drunk confessions, very fluff, friends to lovers, some kissing | words: 2.572k

A/N-> Hey, there’s a line here from Anne with an E. Also, I wrote this because I’ve been a Marvel fan for years, and it was only after WandaVision that I actually saw Wanda. I need this angst.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

For the first time since she met you, Wanda was being selfish. Not only that, but she was truly determined to be selfish. And to be honest.

And to be heard.

Yet, seeing you cry change her words or tone to something less of a statement and more of a question. An hypothesis. To picture you both in a world where there was time and courage, instead of fear and missed opportunities.

“What if…” She started that from the kitchen counter where she was sitting. Unlike yours - which also happens to be the reason you're standing at the open fridge - her glass was full.

You hum out of curiosity, wishing for her to continue and hoping she would choose a lighter subject now that you were done pouring your heart out in that old compound kitchen. But Wanda takes a shaky breath, and you nearly miss her hesitation while you're leaning down to grab more wine from the bottom drawer. “What if I tell you that I have feelings for you.”

You chuckle. Naturally and immediately, because it's certainly a joke. To ease your nerves and soon to turn your sad tears into laughing ones. A talent that Wanda always seemed to have.

But you turn to your friend - Is that what she is now? Colleague. Work partner, drinking buddy maybe. The girl next door. The temperamental witch you share training schedules with. The strongest Avenger.

Wanda is looking at you, expectantly. Vulnerable.

You frown.

“What?”

You don't mean to sound so surprised, not really because mainly, you're sure she's joking. You're also drunk, the wine making it a little harder to put the thoughts in order. And Wanda is giving you this kicked puppy eyes and you're not understanding anything.

She swallows hard, but her gaze doesn't flinch.

“What would you say to that?”

You laugh again, dryer than before, somehow hurting your throat a little. The wine bottle stared at you from the counter but you don't feel like drinking anymore.

“Wanda, what are you…” you stop mid-sentence, reaching for your face to rub your eyes. You really shouldn't be drunk for this conversation. But then again, why is this conversation happening in the first place? “Why are you saying this?”

Wanda knows you're drunk, knows you're hurt. So she doesn't mind you're not taking this seriously. She gets up but doesn't move closer.

“Maybe I'm just tired of listening to your whining about your terrible partners.”

You cross your arms, pouting as soon as you mutter “I don't whine”. But Wanda is moving closer now, slowly walking past the counter and towards you.

“Or maybe I just meant it.” She whispers, green eyes nearly hypnotizing. “I am right here. I've always been. Why can't you see me?”

The question is too close to your lips, suddenly it's too real.

This is Wanda fucking Maximoff. The most incredible, world-changing amazing person you know.

Her cheeks grow a little pink and it's her time to giggle.

“I'm flattered.”

You huff, looking away. “Don't read my thoughts.”

She doesn't pull back, gaze searching yours even though you don't look up. “How else would I know what you think if you never tell me?” She challenges, but your head is spinning, and Wanda's perfume is not helping. You step away, putting more distance and a counter between the two of you again, and it works a little.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.” You declare, suddenly serious. You sound hurt and Wanda hesitates immediately once she catches the tears forming in your eyes. “I know it is not fun, having to endure my drunk nights. But you're the only person that stays so I thought…” You take a deep breath, Wanda shakes her head. She's gonna clarify that she didn't mean it that way - she was not complaining about your company at all - but your rambling shuts her out. “I know I'm not an easy friend. I can be self-centered and absent. And I'm so terrible at feelings. But we have known each other for so long, and it took us years to get here. Just to have comfortable silence. I don't have this with anybody. So, I'm sorry if I'm being too much but please, this kind of teasing… I really don't like it. You're… not the type of friend I can have this kind of joke with.”

Some part of her is hurt by that: She recalls how often you would flirt and joke with your other friends, most of them to be honest. Sometimes, even playful touches, that would make Wanda's blood boil.

Hearing this kind of joke is not for her hurts. But Wanda is not sure if it is a bad thing.

“I wasn't joking.” She insists, but you chuckle before stealing her full glass and the wine bottle.

You change your tactic because Wanda changed hers. It has always been this way between the two of you, a never-ending push and pull with a never giving up side.

“So you're obviously drunk. I'll take this.” That is what you say before grabbing the items and moving to the living room.

When the compound is empty and quiet like this, it's almost like a normal residence. The way things are arranged now, one could be fooled into thinking that was a normal living room in an old house instead of a high-tech secretive environment for superheroes.

Wanda takes a deep courage gathering kind of breath once she's alone in the kitchen.

Those feelings have been asleep, pushed back for way too long. Now that she said them, she's simply incapable of numbing it again.

“Why is it that the idea of me liking you sounds so absurd?”

She's not being sweet anymore - just like her feelings, she's demanding. Craving for validation and correspondence.

You chuckle during a gup and there's wine falling down your chin. Wanda let out a shaky breath at seeing the drops across your chest, exposed by the poorly bottom-up shirt, and you chuckle again when you catch her staring.

“Don't give me those eyes.” You sneer, as hurt as before but somehow, angry. The bottle is tightly grabbed in your left hand, but you finish Wanda's glass before speaking again. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You are drunk.”

“I'm not drunk.” She retorts, arms crossed when she stands in front of the couch you're sitting. You smile but it doesn't meet your eyes. “How could I be drunk if you have my glass?”

You grimace, putting the item away on the small table. Your head is hurting and Wanda gives up trying to read your messy thoughts.

“If you're not drunk, you're mourning.”

She raises her eyebrow at your audacity, but then, she catches the near despair in your eyes and takes a deep breath again.

Instead of cursing you, she uncrossed her arms and knelt down on the carpet to have your eyes at the same height as hers.

“I'm not running away from any of my feelings. It's quite the opposite.” She starts softly, hands moving on your things to take the bottle away and find your fingers. “You said yourself. We have known each other for so long. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?”

You let her hold your hands but only for a second. Then, you take your bottle back.

“Of course you love me, Wanda, I'm your only friend.” It's not meant to be hurtful, not the way she thinks so. Yet, there's a form of venom in your words that leaves her speechless. You pull back to rest completely against the couch but Wanda doesn't move an inch. You try to laugh but it's almost a sob. After another long sip, you point at her. “I'm the only one who really understands you. And your silly jokes and your questionable morals. And because of that, you think you have to thank me somehow. That's why you're saying all of this love bullshit. You don't really mean it.”

She takes a peak, deeper this time, at this painful life-changing memory that you have of a first relationship. Hurtful and toxic behavior that traumatized you for life and would never stop coming back whenever you found yourself a good partner.

Wanda doesn't say anything at first. She gets up and decides that maybe you really are too drunk for this conversation.

There's a glass filling itself with water when she offers her hands for you. This time, to help you to your feet.

But you hug the bottle and give her a sad look.

“Just leave me here. I'm not being a good friend right now.”

“You're an amazing friend, sweetheart.” She retorts immediately, a sincere smile on her lips. “You're snarky and clever and loyal. And you're so fun. You're my favorite person. I wish you could believe me when I said it.”

You hide your tears from her, there were too many tonight. Wanda grabs the water floating in her direction and waits for you to look up again to give you the item.

The wine bottle flies away in colorful red sprinklers when you make the exchange.

“Can I take you to bed?” Her question is innocent in every aspect, but you grin and her cheeks warm up.

“One love confession doesn't make me that easy, Maximoff.” You retort playfully and she smiles while this time, you accept the help to get up. The wine glass is forgotten because Wanda's powers do the job of taking everything to the right place in the kitchen, perfectly washed if needed.

The walk to your bedroom is silent, excluding familiar guidance of “watch your step” or “let me help you with the zipper” when Wanda helps you off your work clothes to pajamas.

Those are things you have done together a dozen times now, but not quite like tonight. Wanda never took off your shirt after saying she had feelings for you. She was never in your bed after you didn't believe her words.

There's a tense silence now, while you're lying next to each other.

She tussles around before suggesting “Maybe I shouldn't sleep here tonight.”

You sigh deeply before it's your turn to tussle around and look at her.

“You never sleep away when we are drunk.”

She turns her body in your direction, using her hand as a support for her face.

“Well, I am not drunk. And it's different now, darling. Tonight is different.”

You hide your grimace against your pillow. Wanda smiles.

Her fingers move up, to play with your hair and she takes some pride in how she can catch some of your reactions: the blush, the shudder, or the hard shallow.

“What's in your head?” She risks it very quietly.

You look up just a little from the pillow and almost lose the ability to form a coherent thought with such pretty eyes looking back at you.

“As if you can't tell.”

She smiles at the impolite answer, never moving her fingers away from your hair. It's such a lovely and comfortable gesture that you're struggling not to fall asleep.

“Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not willing to read every mind I come across. It's often overwhelming and also disappointing.”

You smile at her, pulling the comforter up a little, nearly enough to cover your face. Wanda wishes you wouldn't do it, if there's something she likes to do is to look at you.

“You gotta admit there's fun in knowing what everybody thinks. What keeps them up at night, what's stealing their attention, and who they are thinking about. How they feel, what they fear.”

She gets a little closer, to count your freckles. To see your honesty.

“Is that what you want me to do with you? Read your every thought, know your fears, know your feelings?”

You swallow, look down at her lips but then pull back, gazing at the ceiling. Wanda just keeps looking at you.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.”

She's ready to start another argument, maybe even tell you to go to sleep so that you can talk in the morning, but you keep talking and she decides to keep listening.

“We were never like this. I'm a fucking mess and you're a fucking mess too, and I had James, and we both know how shit that went.” You continue with a tearful voice. “Then I had Natasha and fuck me, that was even worse. And you had Vision and Simon, and that is probably a lifetime of bullshit. So I don't….” You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You end up giving a sad chuckle. “What I think I mean is that we have been around each other from the start. And I never saw you. Not like this. And it sounds fucking ridiculous that I just stand there, next to you for years, wasting my time with everything else instead of looking at you. And seeing how perfect for me you always have been.” There's this crack in your voice and Wanda really wants to kiss you but you don't look at her, not even when your tears start to fall on the sides of your face. “Now I'm so scared. It's like you put on the lights on this thing that was going on in the dark, this precious and special thing we have. And I am terrified that it could end as bad as any other relationship I had, because you're not like any other relationship I had, Wanda. You're… fuck, I can't even-”

She gets closer, enough to touch and to take your face into her hand to make you look at her.

“I wish I knew sooner too. We would have saved us so much time and heartache. But you can only know something when you know it. And I know this now, I'm certainly of it. How much I care for you, how important you are. And I think we have wasted too long being scared.” Her forehead falls to yours. “Maybe it is time we are brave together.”

You kiss her first. Wanda has this memory of your eighteen-year-old versions hiding from Avengers training with cigarettes and shared headphones, making stupid jokes that were ridiculously funny. She recalls the teenage hormonal urgency she used to push down right at this moment, how your breathy sighs cause her head to spin, or how every little sound sends a straight wave of heat towards her body.

But she also tastes the wine and pulls away with the same accelerated breathing and dark eyes as you have.

“You shouldn't have drunk that much.” She whispers against your lips, ignoring your attempt to chase her mouth as she gets up. She knows her willpower wouldn't survive another round. “See you tomorrow, dekta.”

Just like this, she's out of the room.

You pull back at the bed with a huff and a silly smile on your lips. Every bit of skin Wanda touched, especially your lips, tingled. Your chest was as warm as your heart, and you were sure it had nothing to do with alcohol.

You may be just as drunk as you were the countless times your past relationships started and ended. But this time you are sure it will be different, the person means too much to you not to be. You will make sure it is better.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff imagines #elizabeth olsen

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zaynessbeloved · 1 month ago

Text

Suppressing desires

Synopsis: You never expected your quiet friendship with Zayne—the cold, brilliant cardiac surgeon—to spiral into something that burned beneath your skin. Between long shifts, cold coffee, and fleeting moments, you tried to ignore the pull between you two. But life was hard, and desire was harder to suppress. Filming yourself became your secret escape. You never thought he’d find your videos. You never thought he’d watch. And when the truth breaks free, so does everything between you.

Content warnings: Friends to lovers, slow burn, camgirl x viewer dynamic, explicit sexual content, masturbation (camgirl content), mild voyeurism (consensual context), sexual tension, emotional angst, miscommunication, guilt, soft dominance, possessiveness, power dynamic, soft dom Zayne, oral sex, begging, overstimulation, rough sex, aftercare, cute shower scene, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, confessions during intimacy, possessive!Zayne, light choking (consensual), hand on belly kink, manhandling, praise kink, deep emotional release, cuddling, vulnerability, comfort after conflict.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 5.3k

A/n: not necessarily canon, although i do believe that if zayne stumbled into a similar situation, my poor baby would feel a little guilty for indulging especially since he would think it's like breaking some sort of trust. so i indulged myself too and wrote this hehe

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - more soon

There are days it feels like you live in thirds. A third of you is bent over textbooks and digital coursework, chasing a degree that always looms just far enough ahead to make your knees ache. Another third is spent on your feet at the café just off campus, the one with creaky floorboards, overcomplicated drinks, and regulars who tip more in compliments than cash. And the last third… that part stays behind a locked screen, wrapped in pseudonyms, soft lighting, breathy sounds, and a silence that speaks louder than any script ever could.

Your mornings start like most others. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm again. You wake with a groan, limbs heavy with sleep. You shower quickly, half-conscious, dress in the kind of casual comfort that passes for effort, then stuff your laptop into the overstuffed tote that’s already begun to fray at the edges. Outside, the campus air bites at your calves. Inside the café, warmth greets you in the form of sputtering espresso machines and the low hum of indie playlists stuck on loop.

You smile easily there—for coworkers, customers, your manager who thinks you’re too quiet to be anything but sweet. It’s the kind of smile that comes from muscle memory, not comfort, but it works. People don’t ask questions when you wear that kind of smile.

Sometimes, you catch your reflection in the brushed metal of the machines—tired eyes, a faint smudge of concealer from rushing, lips bitten raw from absentminded nerves. No one looking at you now would guess what you filmed just two nights ago. Your knees spread wide, thighs trembling, back arched off soft bedsheets as you pressed the toy in slow, torturous circles—silent except for the gasp you couldn’t hold back when it hit too good to ignore. You never look into the camera unless you’re about to come. That’s your rule. You like the power of it, the control, the way eyes across the world wait, hungry, breathless for that moment. And you give it to them only when you decide.

Your videos are never live. You prefer the curated performance, the soft power of editing, of trimming away anything that feels too messy or raw. You don’t talk much on camera either. It’s all in the act, in the rhythm, the tension, the wet sounds of your fingers and the breath that catches when your body starts to shake. You don’t do it for the money—not necessarily. Not even for the thrill, entirely.

You just like being watched. You like the heat of unseen eyes. You like being wanted.

That side of you never bleeds into daylight. Not when you’re pouring oat milk into a cup or typing essays in the corner of the library. Not when your professors call your name or classmates ask if you’re coming to the party and you shake your head, smile, and lie. They don’t know you. Not really. No one does.

————

Zayne’s world is built on precision. Timing. Structure. A sterile kind of order that makes everything else easier to bear.

His days begin early—not in the reluctant, groggy way most people drag themselves out of bed, but with mechanical efficiency. The alarm never needs to ring twice. He moves through his apartment like clockwork: a clean shave, black coffee left to cool slightly while he reviews patient charts. His suits are always pressed, muted tones in grays and blacks, crisp lines and subtle textures chosen with the kind of quiet deliberation that fits his nature.

The walk to Akso Hospital is usually silent, save for the muted rhythm of traffic and his own measured footsteps. He prefers it that way—mornings still and untouched, like clean paper before the ink hits. By the time most people are settling into their first meetings, Zayne has already scrubbed in, gloved up, and cut through someone's ribcage with the focus of a man who knows what’s at stake with every breath.

He is known across the hospital for many things—his brilliance, his meticulous work, his ability to navigate even the most complex cardiac surgeries with unnerving calm. But also for his silence. His unshakable, unreadable stillness. Nurses whisper that he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink when things go wrong. Interns dread rounds with him, fearing the weight of a single, unimpressed glance through his silver wire-frame glasses. No one ever says it to his face, of course—no one dares—but the nickname floats down the halls in quiet breath: Ice Doctor.

They don’t know him. Not really. Zayne doesn’t mind. In fact, he prefers it. Distance is clean. Distance is efficient. But lately—for the first time in years—he’s started to notice the cracks.

They began with you.

He met you by chance. A standard consult. A low-priority case, routine enough that he barely glanced at the file until you sat down across from him, looking half-exhausted, half-annoyed, a mix of vulnerability and fire he wasn’t expecting to deal with on a Tuesday. You misunderstood him, at first. Most people do. You thought he was being cold, uncaring—but then you caught the subtle tilt of his mouth when he made a dry remark, the pause he took before speaking, as if weighing whether you’d understand what he didn’t say aloud.

You saw through him faster than most. And he saw more of you than he meant to.

A week later, he walked into the café down the street and found you behind the counter—your apron askew, hair pinned up messily, hands moving on autopilot while you poured milk into a to-go cup. Your eyes widened when you spotted him. Not in fear, not embarrassment. Just surprise. Warmth. A flicker of something real.

It became a pattern after that. Not always intentional—he never made a point to come in on your shifts, not at first. But somehow, more often than not, the time aligned. He’d stop by after his rounds, fingers aching from holding instruments too tightly, the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to his sleeves. And there you were—tired, smiling, sometimes annoyed at the espresso machine, sometimes lost in thought. But always there.

Over the past year, you’ve kept in touch. A message here. A passing conversation there. Long gaps. Quiet ones. But the thread held. He doesn’t say much—never has—but he remembers things. How you hate hazelnut syrup but pretend to like it when it's free. How you always carry a pen tucked behind your ear. How your smile changes when you’re genuinely amused, eyes squinting just slightly at the corners. How your voice softens when you're talking about something you care about.

He regards you as a friend. A curious one. Interesting. Sharp. Bold in ways he isn’t, soft in places he thought were best left untouched.

He hasn’t allowed himself to want anything more. He tells himself it wouldn’t be fair. That he doesn’t have time. That you deserve someone softer, more available, someone who doesn’t carry the ghosts of too many open chests and sleepless nights.

And yet… he remembers your coffee order. He notices when your wrist is wrapped in a brace. He sends a message to check if your fever has gone down—not phrased kindly, not overtly. Just, Did you rest? Did you take anything for it? Delivered without a hello.

You think he’s sweet underneath it all, and maybe you’re right. But he doesn’t know what to do with that…

It’s nearing six when you finally manage to drag yourself behind the counter again. Your body aches in places that shouldn’t ache from standing, your backpack’s digging into your shoulder like it has a personal vendetta, and you’re pretty sure your brain has been replaced with coffee grounds and static. Uni was a blur of deadlines and professors who didn’t believe in compassion. Work has been nothing but loud blenders, passive-aggressive customers, and the espresso machine threatening its own slow death.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you hear the small chime above the café door. You don’t even bother looking up right away—it’s probably another regular wanting decaf with oat milk and something gluten-free.

"You're still standing. Impressive."

The voice is dry. Smooth. Low and effortless, the syllables pressed clean like he’s never known exhaustion.

You look up. And just like that, something in your chest—tight from the weight of the day—eases.

Zayne stands in the doorway, his coat collar slightly damp from the drizzle outside, a few strands of black hair fallen out of place and curling ever so slightly at his temple. His silver glasses fog faintly from the warmth of the room. He adjusts them with his thumb before sliding one hand into the pocket of his coat, scanning the near-empty café with that practiced calm he always carries, like he’s already memorized the layout, like he’s always a step ahead of everything.

You blink once, twice. Then you smile, slow and tired, but real. “Dr. Zayne. Back from the dead, I see.”

His brow twitches. “Haven’t died yet. Just caught up in hospital bureaucracy. And you?”

“Dying,” you say flatly. “But still clocked in, so. Yay capitalism.”

Something flickers across his expression—something subtle but warm. The corner of his mouth lifts just enough to pass as amusement. It isn’t a laugh, not quite. But you’ve learned his language by now. It is a smile.

You haven’t seen him in a while. A few weeks at least. You’d assumed he was buried in OR schedules or buried under paperwork—both likely true. But the thing is, with Zayne, distance never feels like absence. He doesn’t text daily. He doesn’t send memes at midnight or call just to chat. But he always replies. He always remembers. Always shows up when it matters.

Even now, even on a random day like this—he’s here.

You take his usual order before he even asks. “Black coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar. I’d say you’re predictable, but somehow I find it comforting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmurs, glancing toward the window as he tugs off his coat, revealing a light gray vest under his dark suit. His sleeves are rolled up today, and you catch sight of the faint pale scars that line his forearms—surgical, clean, some old, some newer. You never ask about them.

While the coffee brews, you sneak over to the pastry case, grab a small box, and tuck a trio of macarons inside—lemon, raspberry, and pistachio. You know he has a sweet tooth. It’s not something he ever admits out loud, but you’ve caught the way his eyes linger on the dessert menu longer than necessary. The way he once looked genuinely betrayed when the last slice of tiramisu was gone.

You place the cup down in front of him along with the box. “On the house. Consider it a thank-you for being the only person today who hasn’t complained about the wifi or asked for gluten-free milk.”

Zayne glances at the box, then at you. His eyes—green threaded through gold—soften ever so slightly behind the glass.

“You shouldn’t,” he says, but his voice betrays him. It’s low, rougher than usual. There’s a flicker of concern there, just under the surface. “You look exhausted.”

You shrug, wiping your hands on a towel and avoiding the way your throat tightens. “I’m always exhausted.”

“That doesn’t mean it should be ignored.”

You meet his gaze. There’s something in it—something steady. Not pity. Not obligation. Just… attention. Care, measured in his own quiet, deliberate way.

And for some reason, that makes everything feel a little less heavy.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” you tease, leaning your elbows onto the counter, allowing yourself to sink just a little into the warmth between you. “Beneath all that brooding, you’re secretly a softie.”

He exhales slowly, looking away, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a smirk. “Don’t spread slander.”

“Too late.”

And just like that, the tiredness doesn’t disappear—not fully—but it softens. You feel it in the space between you, in the silence that isn’t awkward, in the way Zayne sits down at his usual table but still angles himself toward the counter, still watching you as you move, still present in that solid, dependable way that only he is.

You don’t know what it is between you exactly. You’ve never asked. Never pushed. But maybe that’s what makes it feel so steady—whatever this is, it’s growing on its own, slow and sure and real.

And right now, that’s enough.

The day ends like so many others—not with rest, but with collapse. A few more hours of wiping down counters, smiling politely, pretending like your spine isn’t screaming, like your brain isn’t soup from back-to-back classes and closing shifts. Zayne stayed for a while. Long enough for a few more quiet exchanges, a few soft jabs that made you roll your eyes but smile without meaning to. He left the macarons box empty, like always. You found a note under the lid—small, scrawled in his impossibly neat handwriting.

Try sleeping for more than four hours. Just once. Indulge me.

You didn’t text him about it, just tucked the note into the front pocket of your backpack like you weren’t saving it.

By the time you get home, it’s past eleven. Your shoes are kicked off somewhere near the doorway. Your bag drops with a thud. The floor is cold beneath your toes, and the tiny studio apartment hums with that late-night stillness that always makes you feel like you're the only person alive.

You should sleep. You know that. But your body is buzzing, skin prickling with something close to frustration—a dull, gnawing ache that’s been sitting low in your belly for days now. The kind that builds under stress, under pressure, under the exhausting demand to keep yourself contained.

You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. And then you decide—fuck it. It’s been too long.

You rise, slow but certain, and flick on the soft corner lamp. Warm light spills across the sheets as you pull open the drawer under your bed. Camera. Tripod. The sleek little toy you’ve come to know like a second pulse. Everything exactly where it always is.

You don’t think too hard about it—you never do. The setup is instinct by now. Angle. Lighting. Camera set to record, not live. That was always your boundary, and you’ve stuck to it. You like knowing you’re watched—but on your terms.

You undress slowly, peeling off each layer like a ritual. Tank top. Shorts. Underwear last. You stretch out on the sheets, limbs loose, eyes half-lidded as you glance toward the lens. Red light blinking. Recording. You inhale, long and steady, and slide your hand down the length of your thigh.

It’s not about pretending. Not for you. This part is real.

You reach for the toy—curved just right, smooth and familiar in your grip. You turn it on, the quiet hum teasing in the air, and press it against your clit. Soft at first. Just enough to make your legs twitch. Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as you sink deeper into the rhythm.

You don’t speak. It’s all movement, all sensation—the way your back arches, the way your fingers curl, the wet sound of slickness growing louder as you press harder. You imagine the way they watch you—faceless men, thirsty and obsessed, paying just to see you like this. To witness you unravel.

You don’t care who they are. You don’t need their names. All you need is the heat. The eyes. The knowledge that somewhere out there, someone is watching you lose control.

Your free hand grips the sheets as you circle tighter, faster, chasing the edge that’s been just out of reach for days now. Your breath comes fast, uneven, your hips rolling against the toy like your body’s forgotten how to be quiet.

And then it hits. It crashes through you all at once—your thighs shaking, a moan ripped from your throat before you can stop it, drawn out and helpless. You ride it through, breathless and twitching, clenching around nothing as your mind blanks out completely.

The toy drops from your fingers. You exhale like you haven’t breathed in hours. Chest rising. Falling. Sheets damp beneath you. Muscles trembling, toes curled.

For the first time all week, you feel light. Not fixed, not whole. But calmer. Fulfilled. Like the storm in your head finally went quiet.

You let the camera roll for a few more seconds, your eyes drifting lazily toward it. Then you reach over and press stop. You’ll edit it later. Upload it for your subscribers sometime tomorrow. You know it’ll do well—they’ve been waiting. But for now, you just lie there. Naked. Spent. The room warm and humming around you. You feel the ache in your thighs and the slow, heavy pleasure in your limbs, and you think—just maybe—you’ll sleep better tonight.

The next morning, you uploaded it with little fanfare—just a title, a few tags, and a click. That was it. No teasing caption. No promo. You didn’t need one. Your followers were loyal, patient, and generous. You’d built your small corner of that world on consistency and intensity—no gimmicks, no exaggerated moaning or roleplay. Just you, real and raw, caught in the haze of your own desire.

Then life resumed. Papers stacked high in your bag. Three hours of sleep, back-to-back lectures. Your manager texting you last-minute to cover someone else’s shift. The usual chaos. You moved through it like you always did—bleary-eyed and running on caffeine and quiet stubbornness, earbuds in, listening to soft background noise or lo-fi playlists just to keep yourself from mentally combusting.

But that week, a quiet thrill stayed beneath your skin. A subtle spark in your blood every time you checked your balance or saw the little notification pop up on your phone: another tip, another purchase. The video was doing well.

And so, despite everything—the exhaustion, the growing mountain of responsibilities, the ache that lived in your neck from sleeping on your desk—you smiled more. Just a little.

Meanwhile, across the city, Zayne was unraveling slowly in the background of his own life. Back-to-back surgeries. Consults stacked like dominos from 6am to well after sunset. He moved through the sterile halls of Akso Hospital like a ghost—crisp white coat, clipped strides, glasses slightly smudged from forgetting to wipe them between rounds. No one questioned it. Zayne lived in work. Always had. No one expected otherwise.

But when he returned home, keys sliding into the lock of his cold, quiet apartment, silence pressed down on him like a weighted hand. No music played here. No voice greeted him. Just the dull hum of the refrigerator and the soft click of his bedroom door as it swung open. The lights were automatic—they greeted him better than most people did. He unbuttoned his vest slowly, fingers tracing the familiar shape of the scars on his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing skin that rarely saw daylight.

He wasn't the type, they would say. Zayne? A man like that? Too cold. Too principled. Too composed.

But they didn’t see him like this. At 1am after his third emergency procedure of the week. When his body ached, his brain wouldn’t shut off, and the weight of every decision clung to him like blood under the nails. On nights like this, he needed release, not gentleness. Just something else. Something that burned hotter than the sterile quiet of his apartment. Something that could blot out the silence.

So sometimes, rarely, he gave in.

He didn’t browse. Didn’t search for fantasy or romance. It wasn’t about who. It was about rhythm. Sound. Timing. That quiet build-up of heat that pulled him out of his head long enough to forget the last chest he’d cut open. He’d scroll, eyes half-lidded, not even really looking, until something felt right. Click. Background noise. His belt unbuckled, trousers shoved down just enough. He’d stroke himself in silence, face calm even as his breathing stuttered, the faintest hint of a flush beneath the angle of his jaw.

Tonight was one of those nights. Dinner sat forgotten on the kitchen counter—half a reheated plate of something he didn’t taste. He stripped down to just his shirt, buttons undone, hair mussed from raking his fingers through it too many times. He dropped into bed, long legs splayed out, one arm propped behind his head, and opened the app.

He scrolled. Absentminded. Mechanical. Half-lazy strokes already beginning, just enough to coax his body into tension. He wasn’t really watching. Just letting the static buzz of arousal settle in his bloodstream like it always did. Something to quiet the chaos.

Until his eyes caught on a thumbnail. His hand paused. No. No, it couldn’t be.

He blinked. Stared. Dragged the screen back down and hovered his thumb over it. There you were.

At least… it looked like you. Same mouth. Same eyes. Same curve of your jaw when your head tipped back, lips parted, bathed in amber light.

He didn’t breathe. The blood drained from his face, pooling instead in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he wondered if this was a hallucination. Maybe he’d passed out mid-surgery and was dreaming. Delirious. This couldn’t be real.

But the thumbnail moved. A preview looped—a low gasp, a roll of your hips, your eyes half-lidded and unmistakably yours.

Zayne sat up slowly, his hand falling away from himself like it no longer belonged there. The room was suddenly too warm. His heart was hammering, tight and confused in his chest.

He didn’t mean to watch it. At first it was just the thumbnail—looping on its own, as if daring him to look closer. A breath caught mid-gasp, your chest rising and falling in the low flicker of warm light. He told himself it couldn’t be you, over and over again. Tried to convince himself that he was tired. Imagining things. Misreading familiar shapes in unfamiliar context.

But when he tapped the screen, when the preview expanded, the sound came. Soft. Involuntary. Yours. It slid into him like a knife between the ribs.

Zayne’s breath stilled in his throat, muscles tight, body caught somewhere between instinct and denial. He was still touching himself—hand firm around his cock, half-hard from the lingering pressure he’d started absentmindedly before this whole thing derailed—but now it wasn’t mindless anymore. Now it was you.

And the video just kept playing. There wasn’t even a buildup—it dropped him right into the middle of it, your legs spread, your fingers glistening, mouth slack with pleasure. You didn’t say a word—you never needed to. It was the sound that did it. The staggered breaths. The slick rhythm. The choked noise that slipped out of you when your hips rolled just right.

Zayne felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

It was real. You were real. His friend—if he could even still call you that—was there, laid bare on his screen, fingers buried between your thighs, glowing in candlelight and shadows, and the worst part, the part that made his pulse thunder in shame and disbelief, was how fucking hard he was.

He knew he should stop. He knew it. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the phone like that could will the image away. This was wrong. Invasive. You hadn’t sent it to him. You didn’t know. You couldn’t. You didn’t film this for him. You didn’t look into the camera with his name on your tongue.

Your moans, soft and breathless, ghosted across his skin like smoke—like heat, curling low and unforgiving in his gut. His cock twitched in his hand. A hot flush climbed his neck, and still he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He sat there—flushed, breathing unevenly, hazel eyes locked on the screen as you reached the edge. As your body shivered through release, legs shaking, head tilted back in the sweetest surrender he’d ever seen. Your thighs flexed, your chest rose in short, panting bursts, and a broken little sound spilled from your throat, caught somewhere between pleasure and relief.

Zayne exhaled sharply. His grip stuttered.

This wasn’t you, he tried to tell himself. Not the you he’d seen bent over a register, rolling your eyes at broken machines and slipping him macarons like it was a secret only you two shared. Not the girl who smiled at him after ten hours on her feet, who made him feel less hollow without trying. Not that version.

But this was you too. Unfiltered. Wild. Raw. And Zayne—private, controlled, unshakeable Zayne—couldn’t lie to himself: he wanted this version too.

His head fell back against the pillows, throat tight, his hand moving now not from boredom or stress, but from need. Desperate and hot and shameful. He pictured your voice, your expression, the exact shape your lips made when you moaned like that. The exact second your back arched, and your hand trembled, and you pressed the toy tighter between your legs.

He came harder than he meant to—panting, flushed, his body jerking once, twice as release flooded through him, leaving him wrecked and breathless in the dim glow of his bedroom.

The video ended. The screen faded to black. And for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt ashamed of how good something had felt.

He lay there, bare chest rising slowly, still holding the phone like it might burn through his fingers. Guilt curled in the pit of his stomach, thick and sour. His heart was still racing.

This was a line he should never have crossed. He cleaned up in silence, showered with water too cold, as if punishing himself might undo what had happened. As if it would rinse the memory from his skin. But it didn’t. And the worst part wasn’t that he watched it. The worst part was the next time he saw you.

A week passed. Nothing changed. Life resumed. But when he walked into the café again, the familiar chime above the door sounding, and he saw you—tired but smiling, apron crooked, hands covered in a dusting of flour—he hesitated. Just for a second. Not enough for you to notice. You greeted him with the same warmth, the same tired spark in your eyes.

But for Zayne, the moment your smile reached him, the image played behind his eyes with ruthless clarity—your lips parted, your back arching, your fingers sinking between your thighs as if your body couldn’t stand to be empty.

And he felt it again—that sharp, helpless ache. Nothing changed, he told himself. But it had. And now, he didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

You were running on fumes and spite that afternoon. Your professor had spent the entire lecture acting like compassion was a foreign concept, refusing to grant you an extension on a project after you’d explained, calmly, that working double shifts at the café wasn’t something you could magically pause. That if you didn’t keep working, you’d have to cut back on food. Rent. Tuition.

He didn’t care. Of course he didn’t. The world kept demanding, and you kept bleeding for it.

So by the time you made it to your shift, still fuming and running late, your jaw was tight and your heart was thumping with quiet rage. The café smelled like burnt espresso and too much vanilla syrup, and you were already three orders deep before you even realized the bell above the door had chimed again.

"Coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar."

You glanced up. And your breath caught—not in any special way, not dramatically—but just for the slightest pause. Like your heart forgot which rhythm it was keeping for half a second.

Zayne stood by the register, his coat open over one of his usual three-piece suits. Grey today. Darker than usual, tailored to the shape of his shoulders like it had been made with reverence. His glasses sat just slightly lower on the bridge of his nose, as always. But his expression—it was… off.

You didn’t notice at first. You smiled like you always did, too wound up in your own chaos to analyze anything.

“You say that like evolving would mean drinking bitter bean water voluntarily.” you started prepping his drink. “No, Dr. Zayne, I’ll leave the self-torture to your operating rooms.”

You meant it lightly. A jab. Something to ease the day. You even added one of the pistachio macarons you’d stashed in the back—he never asked, but you always noticed the way his eyes lingered on that flavor. It felt like your small way of saying I see you.

But when you looked up again, something in his gaze snagged. It wasn’t tired. Not exactly. Zayne always carried a quiet exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, the weight of long hours stitched into the seams of his suit. But this… this was different.

His eyes didn’t meet yours the way they usually did. His expression wasn’t unreadable; it was withheld. His replies, when they came, were shorter. Clipped.

“Rough shift?” you tried, voice softening as you slid the cup across the counter.

He glanced at it. Then at you.

“Long week,” he said finally.

That was all.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. That inner radar you’d honed from years of pretending things were fine when they weren’t—it started to twitch. Zayne was reserved, yes, but never cold. Not with you. And now something was pulling back from you, like he was afraid to stand too close.

You debated pushing. But in the end, you let it go. If anyone had earned the right to stay quiet, it was him. Maybe it was just another surgical complication. Maybe a patient. Maybe grief he didn’t name.

You didn’t ask again. He took his drink and sat at his usual table by the window, but didn’t stay long. You’d barely managed to sneak a glance over your shoulder—just to see if he’d eaten the macaron—when you noticed he’d already left. The box still sat on the table, unopened.

The shift ended, and you walked home with a strange heaviness curling around your chest, even heavier than the bags under your eyes.

Weeks passed. You posted again. Two more videos, both different in style. One was slower, softer—you wore lace and touched yourself with delicate fingers, teasing, stretching the moment until the moans came high and breathy and desperate. The second was rougher—new toy, deeper angle, your face flushed with exertion as you came harder, louder, lost in something deeper than just arousal. You didn’t talk in either, as usual. But you felt—and the screen captured every moment of it. Every arch of your back, every quake of your thighs.

And they both did well. Better than expected. The payments trickled in. Your following grew. You should’ve felt triumphant—and you did, a little. But there was still that weight.

Because Zayne hadn’t come by the café again. Not really unusual—his schedule was brutal, and you never expected regularity from him. But this time, the space between you felt different. His texts were fewer. Drier. When he did message, they were practical at best—neutral check-ins about health, about classes, never personal, never playful. Gone were the occasional sarcastic remarks or small jokes he used to slip in. Gone were the conversations that left you smiling at your phone like an idiot.

And it hit you, quietly, in the middle of a late shift—that something had changed.

You leaned against the counter as the espresso dripped, staring out the window at the blur of headlights, and whispered to yourself, “Did I do something?”

Maybe it was you. Maybe something you said. Maybe he saw the cracks in your mask and decided he didn’t want to see what was behind them. You tried not to let it sink in, but you’d always been too good at internalizing. Too good at filling in the blanks with blame.

So you told yourself he was busy. That it didn’t matter. That he was just Zayne—cold, private, unreachable Zayne. But a part of you… the part that always noticed when he shifted slightly closer, or how his eyes lingered a second too long when you handed him coffee—that part of you knew something was wrong.

And it was starting to hurt.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deep space #loveanddeepspace #doctor zayne #zayne li #zayne #zayne x reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #li shen #dr zayne #zayne x mc #zayne lads #zayne x you

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frissonmei · 3 months ago

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lover or love her? / sylus

DETAILS: non-mc!reader, best friend!reader, fluff, pre/unestablished relationship, some slice of life, flirting, best friends to lovers, pining, petnames (sweetheart, sweetie, kitten, baby), banter, slight angst if you squint (as pining always does include), slight jealousy, somewhat suggestive, tense consistency issues, slight misunderstanding, bars & alcohol consumption, i make up my own places in linkon, may be ooc? SUMMARY: you’ve been close (maybe a little too close) friends with sylus for a very long time; one of the few people sylus engages with outside of his business dealings. however, with how busy he is, you don’t see each other often. finally, after months, you’re able to get him for a day, and who knows what might happen as your always flirtatious friendship teeters on the edge of something more. NOTES: more fluff because if i read another story of angst i might cry, slice of life because i didn’t really know what to write? i wrote this on an airplane to pass time lol. wc. 4.2k

“Hey,” the deep voice cut through your music. You looked up, yanking out one earbud. Ah—Sylus. He was looking at you curiously, a light smirk on his face. He towered over you, shoulders relaxed. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“What are you reading?” he asked once he knew he had your attention.

You glanced down at the book in your hands. You showed him the cover.

“Yeah, I have no idea what that one’s about,” he said.

“Figured.” you laughed, stretching one arm above you and scooting your chair back.

“You gonna order something or are you ready to go?” you asked, glancing at him sideways as you shrugged your coat on and shoved your book into your bag.

“I had coffee earlier.” he replied, rolling his shoulders.

You stood up. You jumped as you almost smacked into his jaw, “Why are you standing that close?”

He laughed, “I don’t know. Maybe so I can get smacked by a pretty kitten every once in a while.”

You recoiled, “Ew. Save that ‘kitten’ shit for your precious hunter, Sylus,” you said heatedly, completely ignoring the part where he called you pretty.

“What? You don’t like it?” he teased, grabbing at you.

You blocked him, “Haha, very funny. Now let’s go before I get sick of your ass and leave you here.” you started walking to the door of the quaint cafe, not bothering to check if he was following.

“Ouch, sweetheart,” he drawled, sarcastically, trailing behind you leisurely, “Careful or I might start thinking you hate me. Are you always this rude to people giving you a ride or is it just me?”

“Just you.” you grinned, spinning back toward him and walking backward on the sidewalk.

“Wow, I feel so special.” he deadpanned.

You reached out to pat his cheek, “You should. Really, it’s a privilege.”

He rolled his eyes, hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him. You stumbled and you looked at him with wide eyes, “What-"

“Look behind you, sweetie.”

You turned your head, mouth forming into an O shape. You had almost walked off the curb. “Ok, we don’t talk about that.” you said as you released yourself from his hold and hopped off the sidewalk next to his motorcycle.

“Wow, no thank you either. What bad manners.” he teasingly chastised.

You rolled your eyes, “Oh I’m soo sorry. Thank you so much for saving me Sylus. You’re so big and strong and awesome! I just can’t imagine what it would be like if you weren’t here.” you purred at him, looking at him with faux adoring eyes, hands clasped together in false gratefulness. “That enough for you?”

“Aw you really think so?” he said, placing a hand over his heart in pretend thankfulness.

Your lip quirked, “You know what? Sure. Whatever makes you sleep at night.” you laughed as you leaned over to grab the helmet attached below the seat of his bike.

Sylus laughed as he swung a leg over the bike. He situated himself, turning the key to turn the bike on. When you stood up he smacked your visor down.

“Hey!” you exclaimed. Glaring at him as you flicked it back up, “See that’s not fair because you don’t have a helmet. I can’t get you back.”

He shrugged, “That’s too bad I guess.”

“One of these days.” you muttered as you swung yourself onto the pillion seat. You locked your arms around his torso tightly. Your heart jumped for a second—you’d forgotten how well-defined Sylus was, even through the leather he was wearing.

“Alright, where we headed?” you asked over his shoulder.

He shrugged, “Dunno. Wherever,” he paused before adding, “Anywhere as long as your with me.” he looked back, grinning at you cheekily and wiggling his brows as if to say: That was a good one, right?

You blinked at him, unimpressed, “Stop trying to woo me, Sylus. Is this what you say to that hunter?” you sighed, exasperated.

“What, not impressed?” he frowned at you in faux sadness.

“No,” you stated dryly.

“Sheesh, tough crowd.”

“Just drive.”

Sylus took you to the boardwalk across Linkon.

You shook out your hair once off the bike, “I haven’t been here in forever.”

“I know.” Sylus said.

The way he said it made you pause. You looked at him trying to catch something—anything—in his gaze that would suggest something. He was already looking at you—passive. You looked back down, shaking away the thought.

As the two of you strolled down the boardwalk, you told him about work and he told you the less grisly details of his last deal.

“Wait—so you’re telling me this Chavez guy tried to scam you by going through Luke and Kieran?” you exclaimed, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Yes, exactly. I don’t know how someone can be that idiotic.” he confirmed.

“That’s crazy. Please tell me you shot him.”

He glanced at you mirthfully, “I won’t confirm or deny that for legal reasons.”

You looked at him, “Oh come on! You think I’m gonna turn you in? Wow, I’m offended.”

“I’m kidding. Yes, Luke shot him immediately actually. I didn’t even know until they told me later.”

You laughed, “You know what, that’s fair. He wouldn’t have made it far if he didn’t know who the twins were connected too.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” he agreed.

What kind of person knowing and laughing about Sylus’ lifestyle made you, you weren’t sure. But it kept you safe so you tried not to think too much about it. You knew Sylus kept tabs on you even if he asked what you’d been up to as if he didn’t have it recorded already. Like you said, it kept you safe. Not that you had much to run from; an average citizen of Linkon city but… the assurance was nice. Also a bonus, you could come and go into the N109 Zone freely. Not that you ever had, but Sylus had given you a brooch in case you wanted to.

“Come visit me.” he’d said.

You hadn’t. You’d stuck with him coming out of the shadows to masquerade as a normal man every now and then. He hadn’t said anything about it.

“Hey look! It’s you!” you exclaimed.

“What?” Sylus asked, brow furrowed.

You pointed to a mosquito buzzing around your heads, laughing.

It was his turn to look at you unimpressed.

“Wow, riveting. Please, do tell, why you think so?” he asked, voice low and looking at you with all the severity of a man such as himself would.

You paused. His voice… did things to you. You’d admit it, and when he spoke like that—well, decency was a mere speck in your thought process.

“Hmm?” he pressed at your silence, shifting closer to you.

Your mouth opened but not words came out, “Uhh-“

“C’mon, sweetheart, I’m just dying to know here why you think I’m a mosquito.” he smirked at you.

“Because you’re annoying, hover around and—and, I don’t know— suck people’s blood!” you stuttered out.

Truthfully, you’d almost wished he was one. Small, annoying, and easy to kill—insignificant. It would make it so much easier to be his friend. He was in fact, the opposite. He was like a crater that had smashed your world. Drawing your thoughts to him every time you aimed to sleep at night. His teases, no matter how much you pushed back at him—“Save that for your little hunter!”—coming out of your mouth quite often, lingered in your mind for too long. His little pet names; you had to steel yourself against the hundred of “sweethearts” and “sweeties” and “kittens” (the only one you could actually ignore) that fell from his mouth in an hour. You’d almost think you weren’t just friends if it wasn’t for that hunter. His soulmate as he’s told you before. It made you a bit mad, the way he could say that and then flirt with you shamelessly. Truly, like a mosquito in that regard.

He frowned at that, “What you don’t like Mephisto? Don’t let him hear that—it’ll hurt his feelings! And secondly, you’ve just made me sound like a vampire, not a mosquito.”

“Excuse me! You know, Mephsto’s kinda creepy at first! And he’s metal, he doesn’t have feelings. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who says that all the time. Also! You may as well be a vampire Sylus. Dark, brooding, red eyes, nocturnal, killing people left and right; seems right to me.” you shot back.

“Ok, tell me what you really think.” he laughed, “Also I’m almost certain your vampire lore is kinda off.”

“Shut up!”

The bell dinged as you pushed open the cerulean blue door. You held open the door for the man behind you. Once you’d finished catching up at the boardwalk, you’d had the brilliant idea to get ice cream.

There was this small ice creamery on the Eastside of Linkon. It was painted a cloud gray with light blue accents. It was a quaint little place—an extension of an unassuming townhouse. The owner of the parlor lived in the floor above it. It was known for its unique flavors and ocean themed decor.

Sylus had heard all about it. It was your new favorite place as of late. Mephisto had caught you going there four times in one week once. He had yet to visit however, too busy with deals and his aether core issue.

“What can I get for you?” the employee behind the counter asked once you walked up.

“Hi. Could I get two scoops of Midnight Moon?” you said.

“Midnight Moon?” Sylus raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s really good!” you answered, “I forgot you haven’t been here yet.”

“I feel like I have with how many times I’ve seen you come here. I mean, four times in one week? Really, sweetie? One might begin to think there’s something wrong with you with how often you come in here.” Sylus said pointedly.

You scowled at him, “It’s really good, okay? You wouldn’t have even known that if you hadn’t been stalking me with Mephisto. For the record, that’s usually something only creepy people do. And by one, you mean you. You think there’s something wrong with me,” you pointed an accusatory finger at the white-haired man.

He put his hands up in defeat, “Sue me. I’m curious what you do when you have to be away from me.”

“‘When I have to be away from you?’” you quoted, in disbelief, “If I recall correctly, I’m not the one in shady business. All underhand deals and such. I’m just a simple office worker.” you teased.

Sylus sighed, “I know, I know. It kills me to be away from you,” he said sincerely.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your cup of ice cream from across the counter, “Order.”

There he went again; saying romantic things when you tried to deflect with sarcasm. He’d been doing that a lot lately. It drove you nuts. He was already so shameless, and you used to be too—when back and forth flirting didn’t feel so real. You’d started being more sarcastic meeting his flirtations with deadpan humor instead of coy words in hopes to rebuild that fragile wall around your heart, but all it did was make it worse—made him worse. It’s like he noticed your switch and was determined to wear you down. Make you fall for him even when he had Miss Hunter hanging on his every word.

“I’m good. I’ll just get a taste of yours,” he shook his head. He grabbed a second spoon from the container on the counter while nodding in acknowledgment at the worker.

“What, no! Get your own! I am not sharing my precious Midnight Moon flavor with you. Plus, you’re making me look like a fatsss!” you complained, smacking his arm.

He smirked at you, licking his lips. His eyes had a less than innocent look in them. You glared at him; you knew that look. He definitely had something to say about your “fat ass” comment. “Don’t even.” you warned.

“Don’t even what? What if I want a bite?” he asked, feigning innocence—voice a gravel tone that betrayed him.

You sighed, pulling open the door to the shop, “Let’s go you horny freak,” you tugged him along.

“Aw, baby, you know I love your hands on me.” Sylus continued.

Your jaw dropped, “What is your problem today? Miss Hunter not give you enough last night?” you snapped—irrationally upset.

You were frustrated with your own heart. He’d been flirting with you at every turn today. You couldn’t handle it, not when just yesterday you’d just been crying over what could never be between you too. You’d forgotten since it’d been so long since you’d seen Sylus. If you couldn’t have him the way you wanted, you just wanted to feel normal about your best friend again.

His eyebrows rose in shock, “You actually believe Miss Hunter and I are together?” he asked, confused.

“What?” you replied, just as confused, “Are you not?”

“No, we aren’t together, not like that. What made you think that?”

“I thought that was given, considering she’s your literal soulmate—your words, not mine by the way. That and the lengths you went to get her attention. And you also never corrected me whenever I assumed so.”

Sylus was quiet for a moment. A lot of things made sense to him in that moment. Why you’d stopped flirting back being the main one. He supposed he should’ve stopped when you had started returning his flirtations with quick banter, but he was desperate to return to the status quo. At first, he’d just thought it was a change of pace, but then he’d realize it had been your effort to shut him out—even in the flirting disguised as jokes there was something intimate for Sylus. It had assured him that the chemistry he had felt wasn’t just a delusion. The two of you had always bordered on friendship and romance. It was only natural; the way you two had first met, had been less than friendly to say the least—sultry words, wandering hands, and suggestive looks in the haze of a bar Sylus owned. You ended up not doing anything, your friends interrupting before things could escalate—whisking you away. But the tension had stayed, even when you’d called him the next day, sober that time.

You’d met up the next week. An intended date, potential x-rated escapade, turned into earnest conversation. Why nothing had come to fruition after that, Sylus didn’t know. Maybe you’d both gotten so lost in the cat-and-mouse game you two were playing that it developed into a staple of the true friendship you created as time went on. He came to rely on your direct truths and easy understanding. You had relished in his security and musings.

And then he’d met her. His fate, his other half. Miss Hunter—the aether core in her heart matching his own. He’d focused more of his time into her once he had received news of her condition. Once he’d confirmed what he suspected, he’d worked tirelessly to resonate with her. In his efforts, he lost time with you. Before he knew it, he hadn’t seen you in months. You hadn’t questioned it too much, knowing what kind of life he led. And when he finally saw you again, he told you all about it—his past life, his death, his soulmate.

You had been shocked, but accepted it nonetheless. You had encouraged him and teasingly lamented your lost time with him as priorities shifted. And yes, once he’d resonated with the hunter, he spent a lot more time with her…but he found himself missing your familiarity. While something in his soul rested near Miss Hunter, something in his mind calmed around you. Things were new and a novelty with Miss Hunter since she did not recall their past together. However, you remained the same. Doing the same things, thinking the same things. All things Sylus knew. And so he found himself wandering into Linkon, not in search of his beloved hunter, but his precious best friend instead. He found himself less and less enamored with Miss Hunter. While he cared deeply for the woman; she was kind and strong, he didn’t find himself longing for their old life anymore. He started wishing he’d been able to finish what had started at that bar forever ago, maybe then would you be in his arms freely. He wouldn’t have to rely on light provocative words to share his interest.

“Oh. We’re not.” was what he said instead.

You grimaced. This had gotten painfully awkward, “Sorry, I thought you were.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylus said softly, insistent on keeping you from shutting down.

“I won’t.” you said, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth. It tasted kind of bitter. Or maybe that was the aftertaste of all the tears you’d shed over a man you thought had been taken.

Sylus cleared his throat, “Anyway, are you coming by tonight? I heard they’ve got some impressive performances lined up.”

“Ah—maybe.” you replied. Your mouth still felt like sand, “I’ve got some things I need to catch up on though.”

Sylus wasn’t so dense as to know that was his cue. He extended the moto helmet out to you, “You still live Westside right?”

“Yep. Pretty sure you already knew that though.” you teased, trying to ease the uncomfortable tension between you too.

He laughed quietly, “Maybe. Thought I’d ask. Since, you know, someone told me it was creepy.”

“It is.” you insisted as you climbed onto the back of his bike once more.

Once you got home, you went straight to your bed. Your mind was reeling. Sylus and Miss Hunter weren’t together. They were just friends. But they were soulmates. Contradictory, no? You supposed soulmates could be platonic. You’d considered that when Sylus first told you about her. And then that had shattered the longer he talked. Their past lives for one—but the way he spoke of her was the real seller. There was no way they could possibly be platonic.

And yet, here he was, telling you it was platonic. What changed? you wondered.

Regardless, it almost made you more confused. It should be clear really, but it really really wasn’t. And then he’d invited you back to the bar, the one you’d first met in. The one on the border of the N109, but not in it. The one where you’d first felt his hands touch you, his enchanting words, his sharp gaze—the one that made you feel exposed and devoured—one that you felt yourself succumbing to.

You looked at yourself in the mirror across your room. Your eyes looked exhausted, your skin looked stressed and your hair looked like it had been electrified. Should you go? You “had some things to catch up on”, remember? Yeah, that’d been a lie. A cheap escape. You figured Sylus probably knew that too.

Sighing, you rolled out of your bed. If you were going to submit yourself to a torture of missed gazes and sexual tension then you’d at least look good.

Ah. The smell of booze and sweat. What an enticing aroma, you thought sarcastically. It’s loud in here.

You smirked. You remembered this place well. Not much had changed and Sylus hadn’t lied about the energy in the bar tonight. On the stage, dazzling women twirled and danced. Lights strobed across the room, washing the space in red light. People thronged together, dancing and drinking and dealing—all money that would end up in Sylus’ endless pockets.

You headed toward the bar-top. You needed some alcohol if you were going to make it through the night. You didn’t know what Sylus wanted specifically, but it probably wasn’t something that was going to be easy on your heart.

After taking a few shots and greeting the bartender who somehow still recognized you even though it’d been months, you headed to the dance floor. You weren’t sure where Sylus was, but to be fair, you hadn’t searched very hard. You figured he’d make himself known when he wanted to. It felt good to move so freely. You’d forgotten what it was like, so caught up in work and life. Maybe you should come to the N109 Zone more often. Just kidding, you weren’t trying to get jumped unless it was someone jumping your bones.

You rolled your shoulders as the melody of the music flowed over you. You could feel the beat of the track in alignment with every pulse of your heart. Your mind became a mix of lyrics and elation. You let the music overtake you, dictate your movements.

As you swayed to the music, you felt a body press up behind you. Your eyes shot open, turning over your shoulder to see who had intruded your space. There he was, the man of the hour. Sylus’ arm wrapped around your waist, “I see someone decided to come have a little fun. Thought you had some things to ‘catch up on’?” he questioned into your ear.

You leaned back into him, humming coyly, “I suppose I could spare some time.” you brought one hand to rest on his shoulder behind you, still swaying to the music.

“It’s good to see you here.” he continued.

“You just saw me though.” you replied, giggling. You weren’t sure if it was the buzz from the alcohol or the excitement from the dance floor that kept your mood pleasant, the sour mood of your last interaction with the man behind you the last thought on your mind.

“I know, baby. But like I said, it kills me to be away from you.” he muttered, teeth grazing your neck.

You jumped, shivering at the contact. You tilted your head up at him questioning. “Just relax.” he purred, pulling you closer.

Against your better judgement you did as he said. You closed your eyes, pushing your head against his.

“You look gorgeous, sweetie.” he said, voice low, meant just for you. “Breath taking, really. You’re almost too good. Someone might think they can take you.”

“Oh yeah?” you sighed back, barely audible, “And who would that someone be. Tell me Sylus, who’s going to come take me?”

“Who do you want to take you?” he replied, hands sliding to your hips, “Tell me that first, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you grinned, coyly, “Maybe somebody strong and big. Somebody who’s pretty awesome, and a little nocturnal—maybe a little vampiric.”

He huffed a laugh, head dropping to your shoulder, “Or maybe someone mosquito-like?” he questioned.

You smiled loosely now, “Yes, maybe. You’re kind of proving it now.” you could feel the beginning of light marks forming where he latched to your neck.

He made a contented noise against you before drawing a breath, “This feels familiar, you know.” he breathed out.

You gazed at him, salaciously, “Perhaps a little. I don’t know though, you might have to remind me.”

“Would you let me?” he asked.

“Only if you were truthful about Miss Hunter.” you stated, voice a little more edged this time. You hated to do it but, you couldn’t, in good conscience, go the way this interaction was headed without it. Even though you were content in his arms, the deep sensical part of your brain brought your most recent conflict back up.

He paused behind you, hands slackening slightly. You brought your own down to keep his there.

“Baby,” he started.

“I know.” you cut him off, “I know and I’m sorry but I-“

He drew a circle into your side with his right hand, sucking in a breath, “It’s okay. I get it, I promise. Miss Hunter and I, no matter what may have once been, do not love each other like the way you think. It means nothing now.”

“But you care about her, no?” you questioned. You hated that it was going this way, but you just couldn’t shake your feelings of inadequacy.

“Of course I care about her, sweetheart. That is to be expected, I’m sure you know that. But the way I feel about her, and the way I feel about you are very different. She may have been my soulmate, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t the opportunity for a different love to take its place, and you have. I will always love Miss Hunter, but not in the way I crave you now. Not in the way I love you now. I promise you that.” Sylus spoke with the most sincerity you’d ever heard from him. There was no extra bravado nor any teasing quips, only unfiltered truth and conviction.

You didn’t think anything would happen between you two. Not since the first time you met and nothing happened, even with all the tension between you too. But now, you felt that everything could happen. And you were eager to explore it.

“I love you. More than a best friend should.” you told him, although you figured he knew.

“I love you too.” he replied instantly, “More than a best friend should.” he added.

You took a moment to appreciate the man above you, meeting his gaze with the intensity of desire.

He tilted your head up, lips nearly brushing yours, “Am I allowed to take you now?”

#lads sylus x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x non mc reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #sylus qin x reader #lnds x reader #sylus x you

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steveslevis · 3 months ago

Text

i want your things in my room

azriel x roommate!reader

summary: azriel is your roommate and one of your best friends. it's normal to have a crush on and have horny thoughts about your best friend every once in a while...right?

warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love!!!!!, angst, alcohol consumption, masturbation (m), dom/sub dynamic, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, so much dirty talk from az, slight degradation kink, praise kink, sir kink, semi-unprotected (?) rough piv, slight breeding kink, choking/breath play, size kink/big dick azriel as usual, dacryphilia, probably some things i missed idk

word count: 8.2k

a/n: based off of this ask!!!! don't ask how i wrote this so quickly idk what took over me

“Are you ever going to admit that you want to fuck Azriel?” a low, unamused voice murmurs in your ear as you feel the couch cushion behind your back dip slightly with the weight of their elbows.

You whip your head around at an impressive speed, coming face-to-face with your best friend and neighbor, Nesta, who is smirking at you as she extends a plastic cup filled with a mystery concoction of alcohol towards you.

She’d caught you staring at your roommate from across the living room, ignoring the rest of the people bustling around you to essentially undress him with your eyes. Well, it didn’t take too much to undress him with your eyes, considering he’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a fully open button-down short sleeve shirt, accenting the gold chain dangling around his neck and the swirling tattoos over his bare chest and arms. It’s not your fault that he’s attractive and nearly shirtless, it’s just distracting.

“I will never admit such a thing, because it’s not true.” you retort matter-of-factly as you pluck the cup from her hand with an incredulous glare.

“Oh, sure.” Nesta hums unconvincingly before rounding the couch to stand in front of you, holding a hand out to you to help you stand. “Let’s go, the boys want to play beer pong.”

A groan falls from your lips as you stand, letting her pull you across the room to the corner where Cassian had set up a folding table and ten cups on each side. Azriel and Cassian are standing on either side of the table, practicing tosses while poking fun at each other.

Cassian is the first to notice you and his girlfriend walk over, a wide, drunken grin spreading over his face as he sets the ping pong ball down to pull Nesta in for an embrace. As he does, Nesta grumbles something about how she just saw him ten minutes ago and that he’s so clingy when he’s drunk, but there’s nothing but love behind her eyes as she jokes with him.

Oh, how you wish you had someone to look at you like that.

An arm slings around your shoulder as you stare longingly at the couple, breaking you from your desperate trance. You look over to see your roommate tugging you close, a half-smirk on his lips as he stares down at you.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” you say to him before looking back to Nesta and Cassian, who are giggling to themselves in between kisses, in their own little world. “I’m so happy Nes finally found someone who actually makes her happy.”

“Oh yeah, they’re disgustingly adorable.” Azriel replies, a slight cringe playing on his face as his eyes flicker to the couple as his hand falls to the small of your back to guide you to your side of the pong table.

“What? Not the affectionate type, Azzy?” you tease, a twinkle in your eyes as you try to hide the disappointment at his disgust in the public affection, though you’re not sure why you’re disappointed considering you’ll never be on the receiving end of his romantic affection.

“I don’t know, not really.” he hums thoughtfully, arranging the cups to his liking as he avoids your gaze.

“You wanna know what I think?” you question, bringing your drink to your lips to take one long gulp. The two drinks you’d had prior to standing up are finally catching up to you now, leaving you with more courage and a warmer chest than you had five minutes ago.

“Pretty sure you’re gonna tell me what you think regardless of if I want you to or not, sweetheart.” Azriel teases, looking down at you as you take a step towards him, a smirk plastered on your face.

“I th–think that you just haven’t found the right girl to make you want to publicly display affection.” you say confidently, chin raised high to lock eyes with him. “I think you just need to find the perfect girl that you’ll want to claim as yours and scream it from the rooftops.”

The two of you have a momentary staring contest as you search his eyes for any sign that you’re right, but finding none. Azriel opens his mouth to give you a smart retort, but before he can speak, someone backs into you and makes you lose your footing. You stumble forward, your chest falling flush with his bare abdomen as his hands reach for your waist to keep you from falling. He looks down at you then, eyes glued on your breasts as they threaten to spill from your top as you wrap your arms around him.

All he can think about as he watches you scramble in his arms is how much he wants to say fuck it to this party and take you back to his room to see what those perfect tits look like in his–

A giggle falls from your lips, interrupting Azriel’s lewd thoughts when you finally stand up straight and take a step back when he lets you out of his arms. Your cheeks are flushed when you pull away, as if you’re just as flustered as he is about the interaction.

“S–Sorry about that.” you laugh nervously, turning to look over your shoulder to make sure nobody else is going to knock you over.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Azriel chuckles dryly, moving to stand halfway behind you in order to prevent you from being knocked over again.

“Are you two done being idiots for long enough for us to play or not?” Nesta calls over the table, raising her brows at you, which makes you roll your eyes at her as you nod.

To any outsiders, the game of beer pong definitely looks like it’s being played by two love-sick males and the females that they’ll never get enough of. Nobody would guess that the “couple” being exceedingly touchy and overly-affectionate was the pair who just discussed his hatred of public affection, especially by the fact that he can’t keep his hand off your back, and how it keeps almost falling to your ass every time you jump with happiness when you make a cup.

To anyone watching, it’s extremely obvious that Azriel is so infatuated with you that it’s almost ridiculous. To you, it’s anything but obvious as you tell yourself with every touch that he’s just your roommate and he’d never look at you that way.

________________________________

Azriel can’t sleep.

Usually after a party at the apartment, he’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but not tonight.

He’s plagued by thoughts of you, thoughts he probably should not be having about his roommate.

The two of you have always denied any feelings for each other in front of your friends, but there’s no denying how you run through his mind every night.

“We’ve just grown very close since living together, we’re best friends.” you’d said one night when your friends asked, as you were clinging onto Azriel’s arm on the couch drunkenly, “and best friends can flirt with each other and shouldn’t get any shit for it. Sometimes it just happens, alright?”

His mind races as he stares at the ceiling, unable to focus on anything but you, thoughts of you racing through his mind at breakneck speeds.

Thoughts of you underneath him, your breathy moans ringing in his ears as he thrusts into you mercilessly. Thoughts of tears streaming down your cheeks while you choke on his cock as he fists your hair, fucking your face while cooing to you about how you’re such a good little slut. Thoughts of bending you over the kitchen counter to take you from behind, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other over your mouth to muffle your cries.

Fuck.

He should not be fisting his cock to the thought of you, especially with you sleeping one room over, but he can’t help himself.

Ever since you moved in with him after you switched apartments with Cassian to escape the nightly fuck fest from Nesta and Cassian, Azriel hasn’t been able to keep you out of his late night thoughts. He knows it’s wrong, knows that imagining you riding his cock as he pumps his spit-slick length is fucked up, but you’re stuck on his brain.

Tonight specifically, he does not give a fuck. He’s too horny for his own good, especially after seeing directly down your shirt when you fell into his arms. So, he continues to stroke himself, breathy grunts falling from his lips as his imagination runs wild.

Azriel typically isn’t one to cum too quickly, but things have been different since you’d moved into the apartment. At first he’d told himself that he wasn’t having girls over so you wouldn’t have to listen to that, but deep down he knows that’s not the true reason. He’s utterly touch-starved and desperate for you only, so it only takes a few pumps with images of you flashing in his mind for him to finish into his fist, chest heaving and heart thumping against his ribs.

It’s fine, it’s totally okay that he just came in less than five minutes to the thought of you riding his cock.

Best friends do that sometimes…right?

________________________________

“So have you guys fucked yet?” Elain asks as she plops down on the couch next to you, making you nearly choke on your wine.

It was your turn to host so-called “girl’s night” that Feyre and Mor insist on having every month, so you’re sitting in your living room with all three of the Archeron sisters, along with Mor and Amren, drinking wine and chatting about nothing in particular.

You turn to look at the quietest Archeron sister, eyes wide in disbelief at her question.

“I’m sorry?” you question, raising a brow at her as she smiles innocently at you.

“You and Az,” she clarifies nonchalantly, pouring herself another glass of white wine as she speaks, “have you guys finally gotten over yourselves and decided to confess your feelings and fuck?”

Elain is the last person in the room that you’d expect a question like that from, especially considering she’s the only one in the room with a history with your roommate. The two of them hooked up for a month or two last year, right before she met the love of her life, Lucien. There were no hard feelings between the two of them, but it was still an unexpected question coming from her.

“Okay, you’re the second sister who’s asked me almost the same exact question about Az this week.” you say with narrowed eyes, shooting both Elain and Nesta glares as they smirk at you. “There’s nothing going on between us and there never will be. End of story.”

Your voice is firm, but that doesn’t stop the strange feeling that spreads across your chest as you speak.

“Oh come on!” Mor calls out, shaking her head at you. “You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that you feel nothing for him at all. I see the way the two of you look at each other and how you shamelessly flirt all the damn time.”

“I don’t feel anything for him, I swear.” you retort quickly, trying to push your feelings down as they threaten to bubble over. “Even if I did feel anything for him, he doesn’t feel anything for me, so it doesn’t matter.”

Silence falls over the room as everyone exchanges knowing glances, making you groan as you feel out of the loop.

“Why are you all looking at each other like that?” you huff, a frown pulling your lips down as you take another sip of your wine.

“You really think that Azriel doesn't have feelings for you?” Feyre questions, making your frown deepen as you shake your head again.

“You’re surely blind then, girl.” Amren calls out casually, shaking her head at you with slight disappointment. “That male is in love with you.”

“N–No he is not!” you nearly shriek, cheeks flushing at her words. “He is not in love with me! Like I’ve said before, we’re best friends, that’s all.”

Unconvinced murmurs spread through the room as you speak, making you laugh nervously.

“Can we just–just drop it? I don’t wanna talk about Az anymore.” you ask finally, reaching for the remote on the coffee table, “We’re supposed to be watching that stupid dating show and taking shots every time someone cries for no good reason, so let’s do that instead.”

Nobody argues with you as you fumble with the remote, but exchange more knowing glances before continuing the night without another word about your roommate.

After four episodes of the cheesy dating show Mor had picked out to make fun of, everyone decides to call it a night, leaving you alone in the silence of your apartment. You know Azriel will be home from Cassian’s apartment soon, so you make quick work of cleaning up the living room so you can sneak into your room before he arrives.

Unfortunately, the door to the apartment swings open and closed as you’re putting the last wine glass into the dishwasher. You look up to see a very annoyed Azriel standing in the middle of the living room, running his fingers through his hair as he sighs loudly.

“Hey,” you say softly, frowning as you take in the exasperated expression on his face. “Are you alright?”

The harsh lines on his face soften slightly when he looks up at you, a frown mirroring your own replacing the scowl that he had before.

“Yeah–Yeah, I’m fine.” he replies, shaking his head quickly. “Cass and Nes just need to keep their noses out of my business is all.”

“Oh? Are they very invested in your sex life too?” you say, forcing a teasing smile on your face.

“Yes, it’s fucking annoying.” he groans while striding into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge, “I’m sure they say the same shit to you, I’m tired of them trying to push this fucking ridiculous idea of me asking you out. It’s getting old, they should know that’s never happening.”

Fuck.

Your smile falters for a millisecond before you let out a forced laugh, shaking your head as you ignore the way your heart sinks at his words. You knew he wasn’t interested, but he seems absolutely repulsed by the idea of asking you out.

Is the idea of being in a relationship with you that disgusting?

“Yeah–That will definitely never happen.” you reply, your voice sounding a lot sadder than you’d planned. You point your gaze to your phone in your hand, pretending to check the time as you blink back a tear that threatened to spill at his reaction before taking a step towards your room. “I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight Az,” you say without looking up at the male once.

You close the bedroom door behind you and throw yourself on your bed without a second thought, letting your tears finally spill down your cheeks as you tug the comforter over your body.

If you weren’t thinking about finally letting your little crush on your roommate go before, you definitely are now.

________________________________

The environment in your apartment flips on its head after that night, mainly because you forced it to change. While laying in bed crying yourself to sleep after hearing his disgust, you’d decided that you wouldn’t allow yourself to get caught up on Azriel anymore, that you wouldn’t let yourself flirt with him constantly or even let yourself touch him because it would only complicate things more.

So you’ve been keeping to yourself, not spending any time in the shared spaces of the apartment, and avoiding him unless absolutely necessary.

Azriel always seems halfway offended when you shy away from his touch now, something like hurt swimming in his eyes when you don’t feed into his flirtation, but that’s not something you should worry about anymore, so you don’t let yourself think about it.

Everyone around you is extremely worried about your well-being, as you haven’t shown interest in going to parties or dinner or doing anything with the group in the last few weeks. Little do they know, you’ve been avoiding them for two reasons; because you don’t want anyone to ask about Azriel again and because you don’t want to put yourself in the predicament of getting drunk enough to flirt with him again.

Unfortunately for you, Nesta dragged you across the hall to their apartment tonight, insisting that you come spend some time with everyone instead of holing up in your bedroom like you have been every night. You let her drag you over to their apartment, mainly because your hurt has fizzled into anger now, so you’re okay with getting tipsy tonight to dull the sizzling irritation.

After three too many seltzers and a few slices of pizza, you’re feeling less annoyed by your roommate’s presence. You’re sitting on one of the couches in Nesta’s apartment with the Archeron sisters and Lucien, giggling about anything and everything with the females while Lucien busies himself on his phone and massaging Elain’s scalp as she lays against his chest. Cassian and Azriel are on the adjacent couch, while Rhys, Mor and Amren are carrying on at the kitchen island in a heated argument about nothing in particular.

“So, Y/N.” Feyre starts after taking a long sip of her white wine. “What have you been up to? It feels like we haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Oh, don’t even start with her.” Nesta groans, shooting a glare in your direction, “she won’t even tell me, her girl best friend, what’s been up her ass lately.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Nes, I’m fine! I’ve just–just been trying to expand my horizons lately,” you say halfheartedly, slightly cowering under your best friend’s glare. “Just been trying new things, I even went on a date last night.”

“What?” all three sisters say in unison, eyes wide as they stare at you sitting between them.

“With who?” Feyre questions, and you realize that all other conversation in the room has stopped and all eyes are on you now.

“It’s not that big of a deal, guys–”

“With who?” Nesta repeats, silver eyes narrowed as she stares you down.

“E–Eris Vanserra.” you murmur, only loud enough for the sisters to hear clearly, a blush spreading across your face as you speak.

“Did you just say Eris Vanserra?” Cassian questions from the other couch, staring at you expectantly.

You can feel Azriel’s eyes boring holes into you from next to Cassian with his gaze, which makes sense considering you went on a date with a male that he’s hated for years. Little do they know, you two had a great time but decided it would just be a one-time thing due to some differences in relationship expectations, so things ended swiftly after you hooked up.

“I did,” you say with a smirk, finally sliding your gaze to Azriel for just a moment, who seems extremely annoyed by your revelation, “Seems like going on a date with me isn’t a fucking ridiculous and repulsive idea to every male out there.” You turn back to the sisters, trying your hardest to avoid seeing how Azriel reacts to your snide remark, opting to describe the date in detail for the girls instead of looking at him.

You successfully avoid any interaction with Azriel throughout the rest of the evening, though you feel his gaze on you multiple times. Eventually, the night dies down and you decide to head back to your apartment, in desperate need of some good rest. You hug your friends and promise you won’t disappear for so long anymore, knowing that Nesta will drag you out of your bedroom by the hair if you even try.

You finally make it to your bed a little after midnight, cozying into the covers as you try to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest that feels a little too similar to yearning for your comfort as you attempt to fall asleep.

________________________________

Azriel can’t sleep. Again.

And it’s because of you. Again.

He’s not plagued with horny thoughts about you this time, but he truthfully wishes he was. It would be better than whatever this feeling was that was overtaking his chest. Every time he thinks back to the look on your face after your remark about going on a date with you being a fucking ridiculous and repulsive idea, his heart threatens to squeeze itself to death in his chest. He can’t shake the image of your pain-filled eyes, can’t shake the thought of how you’ve avoided him at all costs since he made that remark all those weeks ago.

He knows he fucked up, knows he hurt you in a way that he’s unsure how to fix right now, but he knows that he has to win your trust back somehow.

________________________________

A week later, Azriel is leaning over the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal at 10pm when he hears the apartment door slam shut, followed by a sniffle and a stifled sob.

Before he can stand up straight, you round the corner to the kitchen a small gasp falling from your lips when you see him standing there, fucking shirtless and too sexy, like he’s mocking you for another failed date.

“S–Sorry, I didn’t hear you in here.” you say when you look up at him.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mean to scare you.” he chuckles dryly, taking you in as you stand frozen in front of him. You’re wearing a satin emerald green cocktail dress that hugs your curves in the best way possible and black heels that make your legs look like they go on for days, your hair is mussed now, but he can tell that it was perfectly curled and styled before you left, along with your smudged mascara and worn-off lipstick. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, the remnants of tears pricking the corners of them as you try to blink them away. “Are–Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” you say, finally brushing past him to grab a glass from the cabinet before filling it with water. “Just another shitty date.”

“With Eris?” he questions angrily, shaking his head. “I swear, I’ll kick his ass–”

“No–Not with Eris. We broke things off after that first date.” you say with a humorless laugh before taking a sip of water, “It was some other guy that I thought would be nice, but he tried to fuck me before taking me out and got really–really fucking rude after I told him no, so I left. I hate stupid, one-and-done hookups like that.” you sigh before muttering under your breath, “Guess finding a nice guy who wants to actually go on a date with me without me putting out is a ridiculous idea.”

“Well, they’re all fucking stupid if they say they don’t want to date you.” Azriel mutters, rolling his eyes at the thought of someone turning you down when you went out looking like that. “Can’t believe some stupid fucker would see you turn up to his place looking like that and decide that he doesn’t want to show you off to the world.”

“Az–”

“I’m serious, Y/N!” he all but yells, brow furrowing as he looks you over again. “You look beautiful even after crying half your makeup off, I can’t imagine how good you looked when he first saw you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me out of pity, I know you don’t find me attractive, Az.” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the male as he takes a step towards you.

“Who ever said I didn’t find you attractive?” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he reaches for your chin to make you look up at him. “Just because I fucked up all those weeks ago and said the idea of asking you on a date was ridiculous when I was angry and drunk doesn’t mean anything, I still find you so fucking attractive.”

“Azriel,” you warn, voice shaky as your mind races. Everything is happening so fast that you can’t truly process what he just said. “D–Don’t…”

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he retorts, careful not to touch you anywhere else as he tries to think of how to navigate this situation, whether he should get on his knees to beg for your forgiveness or if he should just take you in his arms and kiss you until you forgive him.

Your knees buckle at the nickname, one that you haven’t heard from him in so long. Usually, he only calls you that when you’re both tipsy and feeling extra flirtatious, but you know he’s stone-cold sober right now, making it all the more intriguing. In your mind, you’re convinced he still truly thinks the idea of going on a date with you is ridiculous, but he did just admit to finding you attractive, which makes you more turned on than it ever should.

Oh, fuck it.

Without a second thought, you stand on your toes to lean up into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for a heated kiss. Azriel almost stumbles away when your lips press to his, but his hands fall to your waist to steady himself as you deepen the kiss. His mind is buzzing as your tongue slips out, teasing his lower lip before biting it between kisses. After a few seconds, Azriel pulls away, panting slightly as he looks down at you with wild eyes.

“I–I, what are you doing, sweetheart?” he questions in a hushed tone.

“I think I need you, Az.” you say desperately, a slight pout on your face as you stare up at the male.

“But, you were just complaining about how you hate hookups.” he murmurs as you stand on your toes in an attempt to reach his lips again.

As much as he wants to take you right here and right now, he doesn’t want it to be because of an emotional tirade on your part.

You know it’s fucked up that you’re so turned on for your roommate right now, especially after getting mad at the male who tried to fuck you earlier, but you don’t care. You don’t want anything or anyone but him right now, despite your clouded emotions and any hurt you still carry for the male in front of you.

“Is this just a hookup to you?” you retort before shaking your head to cut him off before he can speak, “A–Actually, don’t answer that right now. I just know that I need you right now. I don’t care if you hate me or however you feel about me.”

“Gods, I do want you.” he murmurs, pulling you up for a quick kiss. “But I need you to tell me that you want me right now.”

“I want you, Az. I need you.” you say against his lips, “I–I’m yours tonight if you’ll have me. No strings attached tonight, I just–just need you. I’ll never mention this again if you don’t want me to.”

Something snaps in Azriel then and he can’t hold back anymore. He grabs your hips then, pulling you up to sit you on top of the kitchen island with your legs wrapped around his waist. The kiss he pulls you into is desperate and hot, your tongues and teeth clashing as his hands hastily push your dress up to your waist, revealing the black lace thong underneath. His hand glides between your thighs, fingertips grazing over the lace to feel the heat already pooling at your core.

“Fuck, love.” he murmurs against your lips, “You’re so wet, aren’t you?”

“Y–Yes,” you squeak out, hips bucking involuntarily against his hand. “So–So wet for you, Az.”

“Yeah? Just for me?” he teases, a smirk growing on his face as he circles your clit through the fabric, “Want me to taste this sweet cunt and make you cum on my tongue?”

You breathe in a ragged breath at his crude words, nodding feverishly at him as your mind spins at the sudden change in his demeanor. He just chuckles then, pulling your hips to the edge of the counter while also pushing your thong to the side to give him a full view of your glistening core as he shifts to his knees. Azriel mutters something under his breath then, two fingers teasing your clit before licking a stripe up your cunt, making you gasp loudly.

“F–Fuck!” you whine, hand falling to his head as he eats you out like a man starved with loud smacking of his lips to match.

“You like that, baby?” he says when he pulls away momentarily, positioning your legs over his shoulders before sliding a finger into your heat. “I bet those other stupid fuckers didn’t eat you out like this, did they?”

“I–I, they never did, n–never have.” you gasp, grinding your hips against his face when he dives back in with a chuckle.

“What a shame, a cunt this pretty deserves to be devoured at any possible time.” he murmurs against your slick skin, slipping another finger in, “Want you to cum all over my face before I even get a chance to fuck you tonight, you deserve it, love.”

“‘M already–already fucking close, f–feels so good.” you retort, tugging at his hair as he pumps three fingers into your cunt while focusing his tongue on your throbbing clit, pulling moans out of you in a way you didn’t know was possible until now.

Azriel only hums against your clit, letting his fingers set a brutal pace inside you as he licks and sucks on your sensitive bundle of nerves. He wraps an arm around your waist then, pulling you close to him to stabilize your squirming body as he continues his assault on your core.

“Such a good girl with such a sweet little cunt,” he praises, gazing up at you while he licks at you once more, “Can’t believe I’ve never gotten to taste you before, don’t know if I’ll be able to share after this, love. You’re making the prettiest noises for me and I don’t want anyone else to hear them.”

“Then d–don’t share, o–oh fuck!” you whimper, thighs quaking as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Let me claim your pussy, sweetheart. C’mon, make a mess of my tongue and fingers.” he coaxes between licks, three fingers pressing into you quickly as you cry out loudly, “That’s it, baby. Yeah, I know, I know. Let go, love.”

Your vision blacks momentarily when you reach your peak, chanting his name loudly as he fingers you through your orgasm, cooing softly while pressing kisses to your inner thighs when you finally come down from your high.

There’s a smirk plastered on Azriel’s face when he finally rises from his knees, lips glistening with your slick while he continues to slowly pump his fingers into you. Your mouth gapes slightly when his thumb presses into your overly-sensitive clit, and you reach for his wrist to stop him as overstimulation wracks your body.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” he coos, ignoring your silent protest for him to remove his fingers as he leans down to steal your lips in a kiss. “So good for me.”

“A–Az, I–I can’t.” you whine, bucking your hips when his thumb brushes your clit again.

“You want me to stop?” he questions, though he already knows the real answer.

“I–I want you to fuck me.” you plead, shaking your head to cut him off before he gives you a smart reply about fucking you with his fingers. “Want your cock, please.”

“How could I say no when you ask so sweetly?” he coos, finally pulling his fingers from your dripping heat to pull your body flush with his. “Let’s go to my room, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” you say jokingly, but the nickname triggers something in Azriel as he wraps your legs around his waist to carry you to his room, a low growl ripping from his throat.

“Don’t call me that if you can’t handle what will come after.” he warns, eyes dark as he pushes through the door to his bedroom.

“What if I can handle it, sir?” you tease, biting your lip as you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, sweetheart.” he growls, tossing you into the middle of his bed, “Strip for me, baby.”

Both of you make quick work of stripping out of your clothes, desire thick in the air as you make desperate glances at each other. After tossing your underwear and dress to the side, you crawl on your hands and knees to the edge of the bed in front of him. You reach your hand out for his cock once it springs free from his boxers, ignoring the nervous feeling in your chest when you see how large he is.

“So–So big,” you remark, eyes wide as you stare at it.

Your eyes meet his as you lean into his cock, eager to wrap your lips around the leaking, red tip, but his hand in your hair holds you back before you take it into your mouth.

“As much as I would love to see you choke and cry with your pretty lips around my cock, we’ll save that for another time. I need to fuck you, right now.” he says in a low voice, pupils blown with lust as he tugs you up to be face-to-face with him. “Is that alright with you, sweetheart? Can I fuck you senseless with my big cock?”

“Y–Yes, sir.” you say, nodding desperately at him.

“Good girl, now lay back on the pillows for me.” he instructs, following you onto the bed to kneel between your spread legs.

One of his large hands rests on your inner thigh while the other grasps his thick length, tugging on it lightly as he guides himself to your entrance. There’s a beat of hesitation as he slides his tip along your dripping folds, and he looks up at you for a moment.

“I’m–I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, please–please Az. Just fuck me.” you beg, hips canting up into his to make him groan loudly.

“I’m clean, too. You sure about this though, sweetheart?” he questions, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation but finding none, “Because once I start, I’m not gonna be nice, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give up this sweet cunt, you might be mine forever once I fuck you.”

“Yes–fuck, yes. I’m all yours, sir.” you say breathlessly, a pout on your lips as you beg.

“Alright, sweetheart. Now be a good girl, stay still and take what I give you, alright?” he retorts, gripping your hip as he finally slides into you with a groan. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby.”

Your mind goes blank when he bottoms out, feeling so fucking full as his cock nudges against your cervix at the perfect angle. A strangled moan falls from your lips when he starts to move, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as pleasure nearly blinds you.

“Look at you, such a good little slut.” he teases as he picks up the pace. “Already crying for me, sweetheart? Is my cock that good?”

“Y–Yes, so fucking big, sir. F–Feel so good, so–so full.” you whine, eyes squeezing shut with tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to pound into you.

“That’s it, your tight cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it?” he grunts, one hand falling from your hip to wrap around your throat experimentally, fingers splayed over the soft skin gently for now.

Your eyes snap open at the feeling of his hand around your neck, looking at him with wide eyes as he smirks down at you mischievously. He gives your throat a squeeze then, making you moan wildly at the feeling of your breathing being constricted and relinquishing control to him. There’s a feral look in his eye at your reaction, making him chuckle while his hips connect with yours roughly.

“Ohh, look at that.” he purrs mockingly, letting his hand squeeze around your throat a little tighter now. “You like being choked don’t you?” he asks, earning a subtle nod from you, “You love it when I’m in control like this, huh? You like it when I hold you down and make you take everything I give you and take your breath away?”

“Y–Yes! Fuck, I love it so much, sir.” you reply eagerly, hips bucking up to meet his as your fingers find your clit. “I–I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, s–sir.”

“Go ahead and cum on my cock, love.” he growls, his length pumping into you relentlessly. “I’m not gonna stop until I cum deep in you, though. Gonna let you milk my cock like a good little whore and then fill you with my cum, alright?”

You can only nod, mind blank once again as your walls flutter around him while he mutters degrading yet praising things to you as he continues to bully his cock deep into you. After this second orgasm of the night, you’re on such a high that you can’t think straight anymore, only babbling nonsense falls from your lips as Azriel’s groans and the smell of your arousal fills the air.

“I’m close, sweetheart.” Azriel warns finally, pushing your own hand away from your clit to rub circles around it with the hand that’s not wrapped around your neck. “Gonna cum with me, baby?”

“Y–Yes, gonna cum on your cock, sir.” you moan, the first coherent sentence you’ve said in a few minutes, feeling that familiar coil winding in your gut once again. “C–Cum in me, please.”

That’s all the encouragement Azriel needs before he’s reaching his own high, cock fully seated in you as his hips stutter. He mutters sweet words to you under his breath as you cum with him, bodies as close together as they can be without melting into each other.

It takes Azriel a few minutes to collect himself, panting against your skin as he finally releases you from his hold and rolls off of you. He looks to you then, seeing a blissful smile plastered on your face as your eyes are halfway closed, euphoria mixing with exhaustion as you catch your breath.

“Hi, sweetheart. You did so good for me, such a good girl.” he mumbles to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you murmur to him under your breath. “Gonna go get some stuff to clean you up, alright?”

You nod tiredly at him, watching as he slides some boxers before leaving the room. He returns only a minute later with a glass of water, a wet washcloth and a makeup remover wipe. He rummages through a dresser drawer for a sleep shirt as well, setting it next to you on the bed. Your heart flutters as he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to help you sit up.

“Drink for me, sweetheart.” he coaxes, smiling down at you while holding the cup of water to your lips.

You almost finish the entire glass before you pull away and he sets it on the bedside table, then gets to work wiping off your thighs. He switches the washcloth out for the makeup wipe once he’s satisfied, reaching up to clean off your face.

“I can take my makeup off, Az.” you giggle, trying to reach for the makeup wipe but he pulls it out of your reach.

“No, no. Let me.” he insists, wiping gently at your cheeks, lips and eyes to get the remnants of your makeup that wasn’t wiped away off.

You sit up fully after he finishes, reaching for the shirt he’d sat next to you in order to slide it over your body. He walks to the other side of the bed after that, pulling himself under the covers as you turn to look at him with wide eyes.

“What?” he questions, brow furrowed as you stare at him with a sad look in your eyes.

“Can–Can I stay in here with you tonight?” you ask meekly, afraid of how he might react.

“Of course, why would I kick you out, love?” he says gently, pulling the comforter up to invite you to cuddle with him. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get some rest, okay?”

You smile weakly at him before climbing up to his side, letting his arm fall around your waist as you rest your head on his chest while he presses a kiss to your forehead. You know you should be worried about what’s to come tomorrow, but in the moment, while sitting in Azriel’s warm embrace, you couldn’t care less.

________________________________

Knock, knock, knock.

The most peaceful sleep Azriel has had in months is interrupted by an incessant knocking on the front door of the apartment. He groans loudly before opening his eyes while rolling over, eyes falling onto your sleeping form.

His heart skips a beat at the sight of you snuggled into his comforter, chest rising and falling steadily as you sleep peacefully in his fucking bed. Warmth fills his chest as he admires you, but is soon interrupted by another annoying knock on the front door. He leans down then, pressing a kiss to your temple that makes you giggle softly in your sleep, before sneaking out of the bed to slip a pair of sweats on to open the door.

The front door swings open to reveal Nesta and Cassian on the other side, both with amused expressions on their faces and bags filled with food in their hands.

“What do you guys want?” Azriel questions, narrowing his eyes on the couple.

Nesta shoulders past him, pushing into the apartment to make her way into the kitchen to rummage through the bags of food at the kitchen island.

“Excuse you,” Azriel scoffs, internally cringing as his mind flashes back to what he’d done on that very counter the night before. “Who said you could just barge in here like this?”

“It’s Saturday morning, we always have breakfast with you guys and neither you or your roommate were answering your phones, so we thought we’d just come over.” Nesta says casually. “Where is Y/N anyways?”

“Sleeping.” Azriel says too quickly, panic spreading through his chest as he watches the couple make themselves at home, knowing that you’ll likely wake up soon and have to face them as you walk out of his bedroom. “Why don’t I just let you know when she wakes up and you guys can just come back when we’re ready?”

“Sleeping? Where?” Cassian says incredulously, glancing at Y/N’s bedroom, noting the open door and empty, perfectly made bed before realization falls over his face. “No fucking way.”

“Cassian, I swear to the fucking Gods–”

“What? What just happened?” Nesta questions, finally looking up from the counter and to Azriel, noting his mussed hair and the ghost of a lipstick stain on the corner of his jaw. “Holy fuck. You guys finally did it.”

“Can you both shut the fuck up?” Azriel interjects, a frown etched onto his face as he glares at the couple. “Yes, we fucked. It was a heat of the moment thing and–and we haven’t really discussed what happens next. So I’d appreciate if neither of you were here when she wakes up so I can actually say what I need to say without you two fuckers staring at me expectantly.”

“Are you finally gonna confess that you’ve been in love with her since you first met her and that you can’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else but you?” Cassian questions with a knowing smirk, earning a withering glare from Azriel. “What? Those are your drunken words, not mine!”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say yet, but I know that you both need to get out of here.” he hisses, starting to usher the couple out. “Breakfast is on me today, repayment for bailing on you guys, okay? Just request me the money and get the hell out of here. You two will be the first to know about what happens, I’m sure.”

Both Cassian and Nesta make their way out of the apartment begrudgingly, leaving Azriel alone to walk back to his bedroom. You’re still asleep when he walks in, but stir slightly when he closes the door and slides under the covers next to you. Your eyes flutter open only moments after he presses his body against yours, your brow furrows as you take in your surroundings, obviously forgetting what happened last night in your post-sleep haze. Eventually, you look over to him, an expression somewhere between a frown and a half-smile on your face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, giving you space to sit up in the bed as you stretch your limbs and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Morning,” you say with a tired smile, a blush creeping up on your cheeks as you look over at him. “I–I almost forgot about last night.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles, smiling down at you adoringly, “I definitely didn’t.”

You’re silent for a moment, mind whirring as you think of what to say to him. Your chest feels like it’s going to cave in at the thought of Az wanting to continue being your fuck-buddy, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle being sexually involved without romantic involvement with him. It would fuel your crush way too fucking much. You tell yourself that you just need to lie to his face and say that it was a mistake, that it didn’t mean anything, but he speaks before you get a chance to let your word vomit come out.

“Okay, okay. I can see you internally freaking out already.” Azriel chuckles nervously, fully sitting up in the bed before reaching out to cup your cheek and get your attention. You look up at him and his hazel eyes are swimming with a mix of wonder and nervousness. “Let’s talk about it, okay? I, for one, had a really good time last night.”

“I–I did too.” you stammer, heart pounding against your ribs as your stomach churns. “B–But I can’t do it again.”

“And why is that?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down.

“Because I know you don’t want anything out of this, I–I know you wouldn’t want to be involved with me romantically and–and I can’t handle that.” you say, forcing yourself to look away from him, eyes focused on the comforter in front of you instead.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s not want at all.” he starts, shaking his head rapidly. “I want to be involved with you romantically, I was drunk and upset when I said that it would be a ridiculous idea to ask you out. I only said that because I thought you didn’t want me. I didn’t know you felt the same and was trying to protect myself. But–But now that I know you feel the same and that I hurt you by saying that, I’ll work my ass off every day to prove to you that this is not some meaningless fooling around and that I need you in my life. That I need to wake up next to you every morning and that I think I might’ve been falling for you since I met you in all honesty. I need you to know that you mean so much to me and I’m not just here for some quick fuck, okay?”

“I–I,” you stammer, at a loss for words at his confession. “You better not be lying to me, Azriel. Because I think I’ve been falling for you for just as long.”

“Oh thank the fucking Gods.” he sighs, finally leaning down to pull you in for a sweet kiss. “I promise to prove to you every day that I’m not lying, that I’m in it for the long haul.”

You giggle against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him as close to you as possible, heart filling so fucking full as his warm lips press against yours.

“Was I dreaming earlier or did I hear someone pounding on the door a little bit ago?” you question when you pull away from the very long-winded kiss.

“It was Nes and Cass coming here for Saturday breakfast, but I told them to fuck off.” Azriel replies with a chuckle.

“Do you think we should go tell them what happened?” you ask, eyes wide as you think of your friends finding out about you sleeping in Azriel’s bed without you knowing.

“I think they’ll get the memo if we take the day to spend by ourselves, don’t you?” he retorts, peppering soft kisses down your neck.

“I definitely agree,” you giggle, leaning into his embrace, “I don’t know if I wanna leave this bed today.”

“I definitely agree.” Azriel mimics, laying down on the bed and pulling you up to straddle his waist. “I have just a few things I’d like to do instead of visiting with them.”

tags (add yourself here!!): @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @Bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace @feyretopia @mad-hatters-lover @kissesfromnovalie @mulledwinetea @saltedcoffeescotch @mrsjna @chillymountsjess @azriels-human @messageforthesmallestman @delphinefour04 @kbear8863 @secretsicanthideanymore @randomgurl2326 @shushsstuff @Caitm1 @eeniemeenie @esahintzkanen @lafawndiaries @homeslices @juliebluehufflepuff @portkeytomyworld @ashjade19 @wildfloweroutlaw @lilah-asteria @dreamsandatars24 @korebringerofded

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel fanfic

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hypotheticalkiss · 2 months ago

Text

CLOSE ENOUGH TO BURN | JK [00]

You always carried dreams too big for your small town on the east coast — a place caught between the sea and the mountains, between reality and something softer, more distant. And your dream was clear: to become an artist, someone who could inspire a generation, just like you had once been inspired. Your place was on stage, singing the songs you wrote in the stillness of sleepless nights, in the dark quiet of your room.

But you didn't expect that once you got there, once the lights found you, you'd meet someone who understoo — the fear, the hunger, the ache. You didn't expect your heart to race louder than the notes in your songs. And what do you do when a feeling threatens everything you've fought so hard to build?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIRING: jungkook x (fem.) reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ TAGS: mature language and content, yearning & longing, miscommunication, ups and downs of idol life and fame, pining, it's gonna be a journey!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ GENRE: idol!jungkook & idol!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, smut, slice of life, celeb au, angst

PLAYLIST I MOODBOAD

⊹ ࣪ ˖ A/N: hi, i'm julia and this is close enough to burn! i'm been thinking about writing this history for while now, since 2023, and finally i have the guts to actually write. and i wanted to do a summary of this story first, i love angst and stories with miscommunication that span through years, and i decided to do my own. and i wanted to develop human characters, who make mistakes and get things right, and fall in love and are afraid and worried. i really like this story and i hope you do too! expect a slow burn, idiots who are in love with each other but can't see it so clearly and the ups and downs of fame, and how much a dream can cost. i really like this history and i hope y'all like it too ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

PROLOGUE: First Notes

Gangneung, 2009

You wrote your first lyrics when you were thirteen, after spending days obsessed with a song you heard on the radio while your mom was driving you to school. “Don’t Know Why” was playing softly in the background on a quiet, uneventful morning when the second verse caught your attention — and that one line stayed with you all throughout the school day. Of course, you didn’t fully grasp the depth of its meaning back then, but you loved it so much that you wanted to create something just like it.

You started listening to Norah Jones every single day, and each day you tried to write something similar. But it always felt like something was missing — maybe a melody. So you devoted endless hours to learning the guitar. Your father, a longtime music enthusiast, had one at home, and one afternoon you managed to learn four chords. That alone was enough to light a spark in your eyes like never before.

You were beyond excited, and you dedicated every day after that moment to it — plucking the strings, trying to make sounds, or at least trying to. Every day, the moment you stepped into your house and felt the warm wooden floor beneath your feet, the first thing you did was run to your room, grab the guitar — now yours — and start playing. Your house wasn’t old or overly modern, just warm and cozy. The simplest room in the house was yours: light-colored walls, a low bed, and a large window overlooking the backyard and your dad’s pseudo-garden.

There was a study desk that held most of the mess — scattered books, crumpled or scribbled papers, and your beloved journal. The wall behind it was covered in posters, pictures of you, your friends, and your parents, and with all kinds of collages — your own little world.

Right next to it sat the guitar, once your father’s and now your favorite thing in the world. You spent countless afternoons with it, not worrying about anything except a chord, a progression, or maybe a melody. After listening to what was supposed to be the pleasant sound of strumming strings for so long, your dad decided it was time to teach you how to really play. Before long, you were in love.

Music was your passion, the guitar was your partner, and your lyrics were your love letters — or maybe something a little less dramatic than that. After all, there aren’t that many thrilling things for a thirteen-year-old to write about. But for you, there were. You wrote about everything: your cat, a chubby, lazy gray Scottish Fold with brown eyes named Tteok, one of your comfort foods.

You wrote about your school days, about the weird hairstyle that one girl in your class insisted on wearing, a song about your mom, or your dad, or sometimes both, and the life you lived in Gangneung — wrapped in a soft mist with the sound of waves in the background. Sometimes, it felt like your town existed outside of time, like nothing there needed to change too quickly.

And your parents loved your songs. Your mom would say you were incredibly creative and quick-witted. Slowly, they started to see that there was something more to this — maybe it wasn’t just a hobby or a phase. You and music had started to exist together, and neither of you seemed ready to let go.

It was an ordinary Saturday. You had finished all your tasks for the day and had gone to your best friend Jiwoo’s house. Her parents were in a chaos of fights that seemed to have no end, and you always kept her company so she could forget about an imminent separation. The two of you spent the afternoon watching Twilight, a shared obsession ever since you first saw the movie in theaters. Posters of some characters were already up on your walls, and you both sighed dramatically whenever you stared at them for too long.

You were lying on the living room floor, wrapped in a navy blue blanket, your feet cold despite the thick socks. It was December, and winter had already settled in — icy sea winds blew in from the east coast, and snow had started to fall. Your hands wrapped around a worn mug filled with ginger tea, the same one your mom always made — a little ritual you had at the start of every winter.

On Jiwoo’s old TV, a music program was playing — your latest obsession. You watched them every day, getting excited over the singers, who you soon learned were called idols, performing and singing. Sometimes, you just wanted to be like them — extraordinary. Watching those people sing and dance made your eyes light up, but deep down, you believed you’d never be like them. You didn’t think you had enough talent. Jiwoo even had a favorite group — 2PM — and she never stopped talking about them.

You liked some groups too. It was fascinating to watch those performances, to witness all that talent, and to imagine how hard it must have been for them to get there. But the song that caught your attention the most wasn’t from a group with flashy performances or complex choreography — it was from a woman.

She was allone on stage, wearing a white dress, she looked like she was floating through a mist. It was breathtaking. And then, she sang one of the saddest songs you had ever heard. Her voice was sweet, yet strong. You felt your eyes welling up with tears. You didn’t fully understand what she was singing about — you hadn’t gone through that experience yet — but somehow, it felt like you had.

You felt every word that woman sang, as if she was singing just for you. And something stirred in your heart — a feeling unlike anything you’d felt before. You wanted to be like her. You wanted to move people with nothing but lyrics, music, and your voice. You wanted them to feel with you what you were feeling with her. You wanted to be an artist.

“I want to be like her.” It came out like a whisper, a prayer, a promise — and a wish.

At fourteen, you started applying to every audition possible — almost every day, you recorded videos of yourself singing and playing instruments for any company that had open applications. Your mom and Jiwon helped you edit and send the recordings, and your dad even bought a camera just to film the videos. When the auditions were in person, your parents would drive you all the way to Seoul and wait outside with a corn dog and a smile.

You already played the guitar like a pro and took piano lessons three times a week. You also had singing lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the afternoon. Your vocal coach was a middle-aged woman named Mi-sook — she was extremely strict but had more faith in you than anyone else. She rarely gave compliments and always pushed you to your limits. She was an amazing teacher, and you were lucky to have her.

The studio where she gave lessons was small and sat above a ballet school that her sister owned. Lessons always took place by a long black grand piano, aged and worn; its ivory-white keys had turned yellow with time, but still, you had never heard a sound so beautiful.

You practiced pitch, projection, breathing, and diction. Sometimes, you left the class barely able to speak. Your throat would sting, your eyes would burn, and you’d feel a strange weight in your chest, like you were chasing something still out of reach. Mi-sook said it was normal — “your voice is a muscle, and every muscle hurts when it grows” — and you believed her. You never dared to complain, because even with all the strictness, there was a quiet care in her gestures. When she saw you were on the verge of emotional exhaustion, she would simply put on a song and let you sing freely. During those moments, she’d sit beside you, eyes closed, listening as if every note mattered.

Your schedule was intense. In the mornings; you went to school, in the afternoons; you had singing and piano lessons, and somehow, you still found time to help your parents at their grocery store, which served the whole neighborhood. You barely had time to see Jiwoo, and she loved to complain about how her best friend had abandoned her. She could be quite dramatic, but deep down, she understood what you were doing and supported you completely.

Sometimes, you’d stand at the cash register with your headphones still hanging around your neck and your school notebook stuffed with folded sheet music. The floor always smelled like bleach and spices, and the sound of plastic packages scanning mixed with your mother’s voice calling out for more change. It was a familiar kind of chaos — cozy and known — you knew every corner of that place, from the always-tilted shelf to the register that jammed when it got too hot.

Even when exhausted, there was something comforting about the store’s routine. It was the place that grounded you, even when your mind was off dreaming about being a famous singer on stage, performing for thousands. Your dad would give you a quick smile when you arrived and sometimes leave a peeled tangerine in a little container by the register. “So you won’t skip meals again,” he’d say, in that practical way of showing love.

Jiwoo sometimes came to keep you company, especially when her house turned into a war zone — her parents fought constantly. It was hard to go a full day without some kind of argument. You didn’t quite understand how a couple could be like that. Sure, your parents argued too, but they always worked it out. You tried to be there for her; it was clear how much the situation affected her.

“I think if there was a Guinness World Record for longest continuous argument, my parents would win it easily,” she said, leaning on the counter while opening a bag of seaweed snacks — her favorite.

You gave her a sad smile. That must’ve been a terrible way to live. “Are they arguing again?” you asked while sorting some money at the register.

She shrugged, chewing.

“They always find something. From where my dad left his shoes to some ridiculous thing my mom bought. I stopped trying to keep up.”

You closed the cash drawer and locked it, stuffing the money into an envelope to hand to your mom. Then you shut down the computer and looked at Jiwoo again.

“Do you want to sleep over and watch an episode of You're Beautiful?" You asked as you picked up the seaweed snack and popped a piece into your mouth.

“I’ll sleep over, but only if your mom makes sundubu!” Jiwoo replied with a mischievous grin. She leaned on the counter with her elbows and made an exaggerated pout. “But it has to be her special version — with the soft tofu, warm white rice, and the pickled radish banchans, you know I love.”

You laughed, taking the key from your pocket. “I’ll ask her now. But if she’s in a bad mood, that’s on you.”

“If she’s in a bad mood, I’ll do the dishes. And you give her a shoulder massage. It’ll work, trust me,” Jiwoo said, grabbing her backpack and following you out the door. “Today, we cry watching episode five. I feel it.”

It was early March. Winter was slowly leaving, the cold air still lingered in Gangneung, making a slow, unhurried farewell. The sky was pale blue and clear, and the wind from the sea carried that salty, damp smell that clung to your skin.

You could still see traces of snow everywhere — little remnants in the corners of streets and sidewalks, memories of the winter that was on its way out. It was a strange feeling, like time was moving too fast, and yet you didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

School had already started — high school now — and it was weird to think about that. Your mom kept saying how grown-up you looked, and it stirred something restless inside you. You wanted to grow up, wanted to make all your dreams come true, but at the same time, it left you paralyzed.

It wasn’t exactly fear, but a mix of everything that was coming. You weren’t afraid of growing up — maybe what scared you was losing control. You felt like you were about to step into something bigger than yourself, and somehow, that made you feel vulnerable.

You kept auditioning. You were getting positive feedback — people praised your voice and the fact that you could write songs and play instruments — but no approvals came. You started to think maybe this dream was too far-fetched, and sometimes, desperation would creep in, and you’d only be able to picture a future you couldn’t quite grasp. It felt like chasing a mirage, and the closer you walked, the farther it seemed.

Life went on as usual — school, music lessons, helping at the store, and in your free time, writing every song you could. The guitar was your escape valve, the piano keys, your sanctuary. It was in the silence of your room, late at night, when everyone else was asleep, that you could pour your feelings onto paper.

Until one day, when you received the news that would change your life forever.

It was a quiet afternoon in Gangneung. The wind still carried a chill, but the city was slowly saying goodbye to winter and welcoming the promise of warmer days. It was mid-March, and spring was beginning to show its colors.

You were sitting on the couch, Tteok in your lap, purring while you petted him. He had been extra clingy lately. You were working on a school project — one you had, unfortunately, left to the last minute. The phone rang, and your dad, who was in the kitchen, rushed to answer it, drying his hands on a dish towel. His voice rang loud, as usual, but something shifted in his tone when he responded.

“Yes, this is Mr. Lee… Ah, yes, she’s here.”

You looked up, confused. He covered the phone with his hand and spoke with a barely-contained smile.

“It’s for you. Is that company that tou auditioned for in February, remember?… Dalbit.”

Your heart jumped.

You stood up quickly, causing Tteok to complain about the sudden loss of attention and warmth. You whispered sorry and walked over to your dad, heart pounding in your chest.

“Hello…” Your voice came out small and unsure.

“Hi, how are you?! Y/N is this you?” asked a man on the other end. You recognized the voice but couldn’t remember who it was — nerves had taken over.

“Yes, it’s me. Good afternoon.”

“Y/N, I’m calling to let you know and congratulate you — you’ve been accepted. We want you as a trainee at our company.”

The world stopped for a second. Your eyes widened. Your dad stood in front of you, anxious. The words hadn’t quite sunk in yet — had you really heard that?

“You… are you sure?” you asked, not realizing your voice was already choked with emotion.

“Absolutely. We’ll also send an email with more details, but we wanted to call you personally. You really impressed us!”

The compliment brought tears to your eyes, and your dad broke into the biggest smile in the world. After the call ended, he pulled you into a tight hug, nearly lifting you off the ground, shouting with joy. The noise brought your mom to the kitchen doorway, still holding a towel and looking alarmed. But she didn’t even finish her sentence. She stopped in her tracks when she saw you — phone in hand, eyes brimming with tears — and your dad laughing with quiet tears streaming down his face too.

“I did it!” you said as they wrapped you up in a hug, protective and warm, like they were holding the whole world in their arms.

You called Jiwoo, and she ran to your house. When she saw you, she threw her arms around you, shouting with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a famous best friend!” She was dramatic, as always, but her eyes said it all: she was proud, happy, and already feeling the distance.

Some neighbors who heard the news stopped by the store to congratulate you. And your teacher Mi-sook left you a handwritten letter at the studio — a neatly folded piece of paper that read:

“Keep singing like your life depends on it." written in her elegant handwriting. It made you smile.

In the days that followed, you packed your suitcase carefully. A few clothes, a composition notebook — the place where all the compositions were written, you most precious possession, the guitar that now belonged to you, and a small box of keepsakes — a seashell from the beach, photos with Jiwoo and your parents, your childhood teddy bear, and your journal.

Your room slowly emptied out, but your mind didn’t.

The mood at home was a mix of joy and longing — both feelings quietly present in every shared moment between you and your parents. They were proud, but also scared about you being alone in a big city like Seoul. You tried to act confident, but deep down, fear had made its home in you too.

You thought about everything — what waited for you in Seoul, the people you wouldn’t see as often, the life you wanted now, and how your dream suddenly felt just a little bit closer. And on the nights when you couldn’t sleep, and anxiety overtook you, you found yourself asking: am I really good enough?

And then the day came. The car was full, but quiet. Your mom held your hand in the front seat. Your dad kept his eyes on the road. The radio played some song that ended up becoming the soundtrack of that moment. And you watched Gangneung fade into the background.

When the signs for “Seoul” started to appear, your heart pounded harder.

It was a huge city, full of tall buildings and fast steps, but also full of possibilities — your possibility's. You would be staying in a small apartment with other girls around your age. You were happy not to be entirely alone, but also nervous to meet new people.

The building was in a quiet neighborhood. Simple, but cozy. You went up to the floor they’d told you, hands sweating and heart racing. Your parents helped you with your bag, and one of the other trainees opened the door and pointed you to your room.

It was real — you were in Seoul. You were a trainee. Your dream had just begun.

— i hope you enjoy the prologue, if you wanna be add in the taglist just comment 👇🏻✨ and i wanna hear y'all thoughts 💭

#bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #jungkook x oc #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jungkook x y/n #bts jk #bts angst

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alleyangelss · 3 days ago

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there's nothing else it could mean

- playing cupid; matchmaker

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

''truth is, I knew. I should've expected to get this attached to you."

pairings! brother's bff sophia x fem! reader

tags! heavy angst, childhood friends, highschool, fluff, mostly fluff I think, the plot is fucking everyone up, sunshine x grumpy, y/n plays hockey, pining on sophia's side it's crazy, kinda oblivious y/n, god they're all emotionally constipated, switching povs, someone is down badd, i lied they're both down bad, theater kids at the back, Gabriela mentioned:), what in the situationship

synopsis! your brother's best friend is nothing short of a ray of sunshine, coined by everyone, and you agree. and it's obvious now, that they've got a love story set for themselves. it is the kind of friends to lovers trope, childhood best friends, everything and every trope that is full of sweethearts in books and movies. everyone expects it. especially you, when you're the one who's been trying to play matchmaker to your brother's crush on her for years. it seems that fate wants them together. you're sure she sees you as nothing more than her best friend's sister...right?

wc! I don't know I wrote it on here but def long

a/n! ok I admit I read puppy love by @zuhaism and uhh I kinda fell in love with the idea of the brother's bff trope, especially the childhood bits. Biggg creds to them their writing is amazing I would buy billboards to promote them. also um you're kinda in for a hell of a ride. one shot! for once! maybe! Also Alex slander we hate Alex in this house!! + my writing style is wildly different but the Alex slander remains

disclaimers! Guys. I know nothing about hockey. I also know nothing about West Side Story I was making up shit that is not the plot alright guys

Your first lesson in romance isn't your friends, your cousins, your relatives. It isn't from the movies and books either. It's from the fake tree with the ugly spikes that Mom complained about, that ended up in the corner of your house anyway.

It starts slowly. All things do. You still remember the car, the sound of it's tires testing through the harsh pavement of the drive through, rubbing and scrapping sounds of earth. You remember the wailing sounds of the sirens, no in the roads, but in your own head-blaring, screaming at you as the shadow behind you makes a move for the door. But you don't, of course you don't. It doesn't run after the leaving vehicle, just slumps again the door frame, the open door frame, and weeps.

He leaves with a simple suitcase and luggage, as if he could pack up the five years of life he'd spent here within less than one room of confinement. As if he could pack five years worth into one tiny bag, one tiny slip of space. But he leaves nonetheless, bringing just that and leaving everything else behind. Your twin brother, Theo for short, mirrors mom and slumps against where he is now. He is becoming a shadow, too. You rush to him, your feet flying across the tiles on the floor to him. You feel for his face, something wet already touching your palms, flowing down his cheek. Theo, your twin brother older than you by about a minute and a half, the one that always called you a baby for doing that, is crying. It's cold, and the car had just trudged through layers of snow to get out, as if the snow was barricading it and begging it to not go. It's collapsing now, falling from the mailbox, the planks of the fence, the sharp points of the gate. Falling in, caving in on that driveway, hiding them. The absence of the car. It's cold, but not just because of the snow.

The sky is turning from blue to red. Like the sirens, like in your head. It doesn't flash, it flows down. Like a river.

If you stay here anyway longer, your fingers and lips will turn blue, not the baby blue of the painted mailbox, but the exact dark blue of the colour pencil you're missing-Theo stole it to colour a picture of the sea he drew. Not that the mailbox was still blue anyway, but it was. It's scrapped now, the wood at the top splintering onto it and the paint cracking at every corner. It's aged, but Mom has never asked to repaint it.

It is that exact day you paint the mailbox that Theo discovers his fascination with the sea. Baby blue. A colour that Mom and Dad and argued over, because Mom's preference was clearly white while Dad's was some horrid shade of red. Personally, you agreed with Mom on that, but you weren't about to argue with Dad, especially when he had just handed you yet another lollipop-something Mom wouldn't have done even if the devil had threatened her. You also completely agreed with the fact that Dad chose that particular shade of red was just to spite Mom. Not that you could fault him, of course. Mom did look extremely funny when she turned red, and her cheeks puffed up like a cartoon character. Honestly, you couldn't tell if Mom hated it or loved it when Dad did that.

You end up choosing the colour of the mailbox, the first thing that comes to your mind after looking at the sky-the colour of the sky, of course. Mom laughs, a nice, loud and full sound, saying that perhaps your simple way of thinking is best sometimes. Theo tags along to the shop, tripping over his laces again because he still hasn't learnt how to do his shoelaces. He spots the marine creature themed wallpaper at the edge of the room, near the paint shop, and falls in love with it immediately. Seriously. You almost think you can see hearts and light sprout in his eyes the moment it comes into his vision. Red hearts, golden lights and freckles sprouting in his brown eyes that clearly came from Dad. Sure, Mom had brown eyes too, but the shape didn't quite match. Dad's, on the other hand, were oval in shape and narrowed at either end. Brown, brown eyes with sparkles in them. Marine life and sea-creatures are Theo's first love, Mom jokes, even though you don't understand then. First love, Dad agrees. He joins in on the laughter, chortling loudly, the funny sound further prompting yet another giggle from Mom. And Theo, Theo who is still gazing helplessly at the fishes on the wall with not a clue as to what they were talking about, laughs too. It is all different laughs-Dad's loud guffawing, Mom's small but light giggles, and Theo's pure and adultered squeals of nonsensical words. The corners of your lips raise despite yourself, and it breaks from your throat, rising up into the air and out. You laugh too, and you feel the bucket of paint almost drop from your fingers. It rattles and shakes, balancing precariously on the tips. It doesn't fall.

It gives you a rough idea. Dad's eyes are no different from Theo's. Brown and sparkling. Mom's eyes, blue, the blue of a darker day, no sparkles at all. No glitter, no sparks. Empty.

Now, the snow still falls, but your eyes are locked on your brother's. They look more like snowglobes than those brown doe eyes you're used to, glistening and reflecting the view of falling snowflakes, mirroring them as they fall down, down, down into the gray pavement and cover up the traces that anyone had ever left, on that day.

You can hear Christmas jingles from across the street, blasting from speakers at every corner, at every single department store. You can bet you'll hear one if you switch on the radio now. The campfire has put itself out, ashes remaining and the soot leaking out, not to the chimney, but rather towards you, as if gravitating. You move aside, wrestle with yourself for a moment before grabbing your brother into your arms, holding tight, tight, even tighter when his fingernails start digging into your back and you can feel the tears, oh, the tears fall into your shoulder. Suddenly, it doesn't bother you that he's almost a head taller than you despite you being the same age. It doesn't bother you that he didn't give you anything for your birthday, it doesn't bother you at all.

Mom is still at the door. Her lips are turning blue, but she stays. It is one thing to feel pain, but another to wish for it. You watch the snow beneath the doorframe, climbing to it, icicles clinging to it for dear life. It melts, melts down as the warm, salty tears drip down onto the ground and puddle into it. Melts, burns down and forms a crater in the center of that frozen winter landscape. Soon, multiple more craters form. There are small, tear-sized potholes in the snow by the doorframe.

On a better day, Mom would say they were like polka dots. Black dots against the white black fabric, something Mom loved and Dad hated. Yet another thing they saw opposite about.

The red wrappings and shimmering lights on the artificial tree in the room feel dizzying as you keep gazing into it, purposely missing your mother's eyes. No. You break free from your hug with Theo for a moment-just a second, to flick the switch off with your pinky, just the way Dad did. Just the way he did a week ago, when he came with steaming cups of hot chocolate piped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, all while holding a huge wrapped gift for Mom. He'd flashed a smile at everyone, feigned being dramatic and gasped in exaggeration, when the christmas tree lights turned off and he then turned them on again. A cool trick, though you'd already learned it seconds within performance of it. Just a day ago, he'd come home with flowers wrapped in a big red ribbon for Mom, who had almost cried at the sight. The tree that he turned on a week ago stayed light, never turned off, and funnily enough, Mom-who usually hated wasting electricity, or anything for that matter-didn't protest.

The lights go out, the cycle, the blinking orbs on the wall disappearing with them. You tear your gaze from the walls.

"No, turn them back on," Mom says, the words slipping from her lips the way a sled would do a slope. Haphazardly. You don't understand then, why she'd want to do that when she's clearly crying. You never do. She doesn't mean it. She doesn't. You hesitate to flick on the switch again, your finger hovering over it. It's as if she knows, because she turns her head towards you.

"Hey, baby, it's Christmas. Turn it back on." That's not a smile, but you do. She smiles when the lights come back on, now red and green, those same colours illuminating the wall.

You don't flick it with your pinkies this time, instead using your index finger. The tree stays on for days afterward, days into January and the snow keeps barricading the gates. Days on, weeks on, and until the lights on the tree finally give out and spoil. Even then, the tree remains there, artificial and all. It'll never die, that's what Dad told you. He bought it so that they could keep reusing it, so that they'll never have to replace it-and then he whispered, conspiring with you, that it was to appease Mom. She hated wasting money, after all. She hated wasting anything-and you'd always been fed up by that. She'd always tell you to finish your food, never leave the carrots, those horrible carrots, on the plate. Eat them all up, otherwise they wouldn't get to play. Finish keeping up everything before you start something else. Dad was different, the complete opposite, the parallel of Mom, and yet, he didn't seem fed up at all. He'd allow you to eat ice cream before dinner, allow Theo to go to the arcade and go to the playground before doing homework.

So the tree remains on. And you remember thinking vividly, for days afterward, how unfortunate it was for that to happen on Christmas.

That's how you have your first lesson in romance-from a trick, the driveway, and the Christmas tree lights. Keep it in, keep it on. And when your Mom still didn't keep the tree after months, you make yourself a stupid yet perfectly sound promise at the same time.

Don't break anything, don't break friendships, don't break relationships, and don't break hearts. Don't.

Your mom's lips and fingers always seem purple afterwards, and Theo's eyes have become snowglobes, his golden sparks becoming empty white flakes. You don't change, because you'd seen Dad kiss another women in the mirror when you came home early one day months back because you were sick, and you saw them just on each other, and your Dad call her names you thought were reserved for Mom, and Mom alone.

You'd seen them, as you dropped your bag on the front porch, and you'd ran, ran all the way to the park, losing your breath and yet still going. It is then that you lost what Theo had always called the swirls in your eyes for the moment. They disappeared for a moment.

You are wary at first when Theo's friends show up at your doorstep. Sure, not your doorstep. His, and Mom's, too. His friends come with nothing this time, now of their bikes, and now of their badminton rackets. You almost wonder if they're coming in-god no, you'd never let them in, when Theo comes up behind you and pushes the door open, and you too. You get pushed out too, and the sun hits your eyes and you flinch and wince at the same time, which you just discovered was possible. The moment the door opens, the group comes in, trampling and pushing you aside to even risk a peek of Theo at the doorstep. It's the usual crowd. Theo, with his fluffy brown hair, and the other mess of blond and brunettes that blend into each other. All with blue, blue eyes and one of them perhaps green. They all look the same. But one stands out, perhaps when Theo picks her hand out of the crowd and drags her out first. You wouldn't have seen her otherwise-she is even shorter than you, despite looking around the same age as you. She had long, long black hair that falls down, way past her shoulders, and black eyes the colour of shadows, the colour of the shade the tree casts when the sun hits it just right. She looks so, so different from everyone else that you feel the axis of the world tilt when you first meet her.

She is all smiles and loud laughs when Theo drags her down the steps to the front door, and she jumps-she jumps down the steps that you're too scared to even skip two of for fear of falling. She lands perfectly, and Theo too, still grasping her hand, as they both stand on the grass, still and not falling even as you feel the earth tilt again. The rest of Theo's friends try jumping too, all either missing the grass by inches or just falling flat, and getting scrapes on their legs and arms, and one on their face-and yet, they laugh it off. They bleed, and they laugh it off. You wouldn't dare to do that. The world is still spinning-

But then it stops. She glances over at you, and her eyes light up again. It is the first time you see what you've heard Theo say you've been missing for years, swirls in her eyes. They are not golden, they are not silver, but they are near translucent. Like she cut out pieces of the sky and placed them in her eyes, like little gusts of wind as they moved about, circling her pupil. They are hypnotizing, reminding you of those lame magic tricks that Theo used to try to pull on you, and the magic set that still lay in some corner of the house. Probably Theo's room.

The swirls are there, and you blink again to make sure you're not seeing things. Blink, and suddenly she's up on your doorstep again. She moved within the blink of an eye. You find yourself ironically blinking yet again in surprise, and let out an audible gasp when she grabs your hand firmly by the wrist-and how is her grip so tight? She runs you down the steps, and you're forced to keep up with her pace and leave the door open as you and your brother's friends, and this strange girl run to the playground. You've memorised this route now, the amount of times that you've needed to run here to tell Theo that Mon wanted them to eat dinner. You run, the wind hitting your eyes, your face and your hair, and you glance at the girl. Her face is red and she's close to panting, yet she still goes. In fact, she goes until you hit hit the sandpit of the playground, your shoes drawing lines in the ground.

You can see Theo bouncing over impatiently on the soles of his feet, sprinting over to you faster that you'd ever seen-though he doesn't spare you a glance. His gaze is locked on the girl with the black hair and matching eyes beside you, still holding your hand.

"Soph! God, why'd you break free of my hand? I told you to stay close!" His gaze finally shifts to you, giving you attention for a few seconds. But his expression contorts, changes to something far, far different from what was on his face when he was talking to 'Soph'. He moves over to Sophia, nudging her shoulder while she playfully pushed back, and to your shock-he grins. You thought he'd frown and push harder, but he took it. He pushes again, lightly, and dashes to the side when the girl turns around to shove him harder. She ends up pushing the air, and she angrily stomps the ground. They end up chasing each other around the playground, their friends cheering both of them on, before your brother lets the question slip.

"Hey, why'd you bring her here? We're going to play hide and seek-do you even know who she is, anyway, Soph?"

Clearly the girl doesn't, shaking her head. You almost want to palm yourself in the face. She'd dragged a complete stranger to her out to play in the playground-she's an absolute idiot, and you're about to tell her that when she grasps your hand again, and all the words in your throat get shoved back down. The girl recklessly swings you to her side, sticking out her tongue at your brother, who looks at her as if challenging her to something.

"Yea, and you suck at it. I bet I'll beat you if we went now." Her voice rings confidently in the air, though she has anything but a promise of winning. Her voice is still hoarse, she is still trying to recover her lost breath from the run, and she is still clinging onto your hand for dear life.

"Really? You were the one that lost last time, remember?" That's your brother's voice. It comes with a light teasing smirk this time, and it seems to trigger the girl beside you, because her grip on you tightens ever further somehow, and she shoots back an answer without much thought.

"And that was only because you cheated!"

Either way, cheating or not, the game starts when Theo starts counting down from fifty, leaning on the tree nearest to the playground swing. You start running, but you turn around and the girl isn't there. Your hand clenches around itself, and for a moment, you scold yourself for forgetting she'd already let go of your hand.

Sophia is so focused on running as far as she can from the place where Theo is counting down from that she forgets that she actually needs to hide. And before she can think of a smarter way, to prove her right before Theo catches her immediately, and she loses her bet, she hears someone whisper. A soft, different voice. A voice definitely not suited for a game like hide and seek, which is rough and fast and hoarse. She looks around for the source of the voice before a hand drags her and pulls her under the slide. She's about to scream, but the other matching hand of the voice muffles it. She struggles, using her hands to hit their face before she gaze catches into their eyes.

Oh. It's the girl she pulled here, the girl from the house.

"God, why were you just running? Didn't you make a bet with my brother? And don't you know how this game works?"

The same voice. Annoyed, frustrated almost, and yet angelic. Not like Theo's, of course. Theo is a natural singer-that's what she heard the music teachers say at school. But this girl, this girl's voice has hoarse and deep undertones and sounds so unlike hers, so different from her own that she likes it. She likes the way it bobs up the girl's throat and rings out. Sophia likes it more than she'll admit. She ends up blinking stupidly at the girl before realising she'd asked a question-and god, so much for first impressions.

"I-I do! I just got distracted, that's all." She ends up blurting out a ridiculous excuse and feels her cheeks heating up from it. She hears the girl huff in frustration, and Sophia's getting pissed herself. If her cheeks weren't already red from running, they definitely are now. The girl is so close-one wrong touch, and their noses would touch. It's very cramped in here, and she's willing to bet that the girl didn't think about that before pulling her into this space. One move, and she feels goosebumps forming on her arm. She gasps in surprise, her chest suddenly hitching upward when she feels the girl's breath float near the arm. The girl turns around, face still as pale as the sand they're standing on. She's even more pissed now, definitely. Still, Sophia feels her cheeks burning even more now, when the girl looks at her again. She looks away, on the pretense of scouting out for Theo, but that lie falls flat and dies immediately when she realises that she's looking straight into the thick, blocked plastic of the back of the slide. Her neck, the tip of her ears turn the same colour as her lips and cheeks surely are now. The girl scoffs loudly, but looks away as well.

It must be by some absurd stroke of unfortunate luck that they both look back at each other in exactly the same millisecond, turn their heads straight to each other at the same blink of an eye, and Sophia looks straight into what must be an angel's eyes.

If she was close earlier, that feels like a mile compared to the mere centimeters that separate them now. She sees everything. The brown of her hair, the roots distinctly a deep, dark and rich brown colour like milk chocolate. Exactly the same as Theo's, and the same curls, just much longer. Curls that fall past the shoulders, and almost matches the length of her own hair. Curls that look silky, heavenly, like waves of silk and swirls of milk in the coffee she's seen Dad drink. The colour fades as it goes down, like shifting, playing with a colour meter, pulling down the saturation gradient. Her hair goes from a deep brown to almost the shade of a fox's coat, ashy red. Sophia's proud of herself for knowing that term, she's used it to impress multiple people already, including her friends. And especially Theo. Theo was always particularly intrigued by anything related to colours and the sea.

And the sea. She can't help but match that with the girl's eyes. Her eyes are so wildly far from Theo's it's almost crazy. Maybe she is crazy. She doesn't know why she keeps comparing them, they're definitely not related. But they seem similar, and Sophia swears they have the same noise. The girl's eyes flicker and have the shape of a angry cat's, and Sophia can certainly imagine her hissing like one. This girl is just like a cat-she scowls and flinches like one, and her eyes-

Her eyes are the sea. Sophia isn't the best at colours-Theo is the expert when it comes to that, but even then, she's not sure Theo would be able to tell her for sure the colour of this girl's eyes. They are a mix of everything green and blue, like a whirlpool, the waters sucking down into the pits of it, causing a swirl. A big, deep swirl in the center-the pupil. Like the center of a tornado, a hurricane, but a whirlpool was better. Pulling her in, for sure. With the little swirls floating around the pupil of her eye individually. The sea, with all its clouds floating above, blending into each other and she could still pick up each individual swirl.

She takes another breath. She inhales, and yet the girl is still there. It's like they are frozen in time, mere decimals of meters apart, and none of them moves. But then, of course she messes up. Her hand, planted on the sand, slips. It slides, and Sophia collapses, her head onto the girl's shoulder, so that her hair brushes her face and her eyes and lips are met with the girl's exposed skin on her neck. The girl flinches, and she hurriedly gets up, almost hitting her head on the slide. Sophia moves backwards, her face too red to fluster even more.

Instead, the girl's cheeks turn pink. She wants to say it's pretty, but she stops herself when the girl has a murderous look on her face. For a second, she's caught a wisp of her. She smells like antiseptic. Medicine. The thing that mom always brought out to treat her cuts and scrapped knees from falling down on the pavement while chasing Theo, or from biking after him.

The memory of the smell doesn't distract her from her eyes on the girl's cheeks, which are turning increasingly pink under her gaze. Sophia continues looking, as her cheeks finally blossom into red and climbs up to reach her ears. Her eyes narrow down and her eye brows furrow, and it confirms Sophia's comparison of her to a cat.

"What are you doing? What was that?" The girl scowls again, but Sophia can tell it's not genuine. She's flustered, there's hesistation and panic in that tone.

Of once, Sophia should retort back smartly, like how she does with Theo and everyone else. But she can't. She's usually called witty and out-spoken by the teachers and everyone else, but here? She can't. Sprawled on the sand, one hand on the edge of the slide, and one hand still firmly planted in the sand, she meets the first person that's managed to shut her up.

The person that's shut her up is a girl that's mirroring her position, her legs both on the sand and both her hands on the side of the slide. She's scowling and hisses like a cat.

Sophia feels something warm again, and she brings her fingers up from the sand to run them over her face. It's not that. It's closer to her chest. It burns, and it's like there is a little fireplace in place of her heart. It burns, and sends its soot and ashes up the chimmey-her throat, and renders her speechless. It burns, and her blood feels like it's on fire and her vessels are thumping against her skin. She looks at the girl, and she feels like her heart is about to burst.

Before Sophia can do another stupid thing, there's a loud rustling sound of leaves, as if someone ran them in a wild race. It's really, really loud, and it vibrates in their ears and resounds in her head louder than it should be. It overpowers the other girl's startled gasp, and god, Sophia's angry at leaves now. She wanted to hear her voice, her slightly rough voice that sounded like no other. She wants to wallow in pity for herself and what she's missed, but she doesn't get the chance, because she's suddenly pulled back into the whirlpool that is this girl's eyes.

It is the second time this girl has grabbed Sophia's hand, and her grip is firm and softer than it ever could be at the same time. It is gripped in a hurry, her fingers wrapping around when wrists like vines around a tree, suffocating, her pulse throbbing loudly beneath it, like the roots of said tree spiraling on the ground. The grass, the soil beneath the tree sprouts plants, ferns, mushrooms-as her arm, her skin, the tree's soil, has another wave of goosebumps again. All because of this girl's second touch. Her hands are very warm, warmer than the sun on the playground. Warmer than the heated sand they are sitting on, and somehow Sophia is sure that they're somehow warmer than the metal hooks on the swing that would burn her, scorch her if she even so touched them. They are warmer than everything, all of that, and she her skin doesn't burn away into flakes. Her blood boils and heats. It skips right through her skin to her very blood. It is so loud, and Sophia can't tell whether it's the continuous rustling of leaves or the loud pulse she hears echoing in her ears.

"Hey! Listen, and be quiet. I mean it," the girl's face was serious now, eyebrows creasing yet again and her lips pressed down into a pout. Perfect cresents, like the moon. On some nights. The moon doesn't distract her from what the girl's saying, though. She doubts anything could interest her as much as this girl's voice. "They're going to catch us here if we both stay. I'm going to make a run for it, and once you hear them come after me, you go hide behind that tree at the evey edge, you hear me?"

Sophia nods, she nods without really listening, her face blank. There is something else distracting her, and the girl seems either really angry that she's not getting through her, or frustrated at the fact that they'll be caught soon.

"Hey! Hey! You have a bet, right? You have to win this. Run when you hear them scream again, ok?" The girl picks up her hands from the slide, and bends her knees, waiting for the perfect moment to dash out, like a cat getting ready to pounce. Sophia hastily puts her hand on her knee. The girl's knee is not scrapped. And that should be normal, except that Sophia's are always raw and constantly bleeding-and when she continues travelling down, her fingers flying, fluttering down the girl's legs, she feels nothing. No scabs, no scars, not even a slight bump or abrasions. There is nothing. Her legs are perfectly clean, and her skin-god, her skin is silk. She feels like the cool bedsheets Sophia presses to her face every night, the one after the cold air in the room hits her. It is so pale-and it's the same colour as the skin of her cheeks. That's rare.

Sophia's own legs are tanned and she has a tan line near the end of her legs, where she covers her feet with socks and sneakers. But this girl, this girl has none of that. It's as if she's never been in the sun at all. As if she is ur stayed locked up, locked up in a some tower like the fairytsles. Sophia's eyes still lock on them in wonderment, trailing up and up, until she feels a hand slap her away. Sophia hisses in pain for a split second, before recoiling on herself when she sees the girl's expression change. Her face is pink now, a different shade than the legs. Pink.

It's pretty, that's the first thing she thinks. Seeing when flustered expression, her lips slightly parted as if to hide a gasp, and her eyes shifting to look at everywhere but her. The second is that the girl is mad, and yet, she's still looking away. But Sophia doesn't feel any anger radiating off her.

"Wait-how about you? Theo runs really fast, you'll get caught!"

The girl's expression flickers for a second, but it disappears just as fast. Confusion, then right back to determination. "It's fine. I'm not that important. Your bet is more important, besides, it's the first time I've ever seen someone make Theo stick it to himself like that," the girl huffs. She looks back at Sophia before whispering another thing.

"Oh, and if you do win, make sure to never let Theo forget. Make him never hear the end of it," and she says it while grinning. She's smiling, and Sophia finds herself to. She's smiling. Close to laughing, almost. She finds herself mouthing a thank you, a thank you to the air when the sand around her flies in her face and she knows, she knows that the girl has started to pick up the pace. And then she hears the sound of Theo and her other friends screaming and probably chasing wildly after the girl, and she makes a run for it, booking it for the the tree on the other side of the playground. Sure enough, from behind the tree, she can see Theo and the people he's caught-everyone besides her at this rate-chasing after the girl. They catch her, and Sophia feels her pulse race again when she's won.

Afterwards, when the group is sprawled on the grass, she sticks it to Theo. Theo flushes red, and Sophia knows he's a sore loser inwards, but to his credit, he doesn't say anything. He vents his feelings on the girl, teasing her relentlessly about being caught and not being able to run fast enough. Sophia's about to speak up, about to tell Theo that the girl should've won-because she would have, if not for Sophia's mistake at the start. She should've lost.

But even before she can tap Theo's shoulder, the girl sends her a glance, and puts a finger to her lips. Her eyes narrow, and Sophia feels yet another flush of heat go to her cheeks. Theo tries to get her attention, and she turns around to him, her other hand searching for the girl's-and she feels it. The girl holds onto her hand while they still lie in the grass, and Sophia might just shift towards her direction. Because the shade is there, of course.

The group trek back uphill to Theo's house before dropping him off at his doorstep, as well as the girl. The girl almost lets go of her hand completely, as the door almost closes between them and she's left on their doorstep. Sophia pushes the door open with her other hand hurriedly, almost ending up on the floor of the living room with the girl under her. But she doesn't. The door swings wide open, hitting the frame with a click, and the girl stares at her, eyes widened. And of course, she doesn't expect it. Sophia doesn't expect it either, and she doesn't know what she's doing, but she grasps the girl's hand in hers again.

"Hey! I didn't find out your name!" It bursts from her throat, and lands on the floor between them. She's so earnest, she can hear it herself. She curls in on herself, and she's sure she looks like a small kicked puppy. The girl looks up, looks at their joined hands, looks at Sophia's flustered face, and giggles. Sophia thinks her giggles sound like raindrops hitting the harsh pavement, bursting into even smaller droplets when they break. It spreads, like ripples, and she feels her pulse in her hand feel suffocated again, her heart thumping harder than when she's running.

The girl looks at her, looks into her eyes, and her lips feel parched. Dry. Cracked, grainy, dry, like the sand of the playground. Like the heat of her hands. Like splinters, her teeth start digging into the walls of her mouth. It tears, it breaks.

"It's y/n, y/n l/n. And what's yours, unless you'd like me to call you red, from the colour of your face?"

Her breath breaks. It is not just her lips. It is her whole throat, down to the very nerves of her fingers and her tongue.

"Sophia. It's Sophia."

She swears she sees the slightest smile on y/n's face when she closes the door shut.

The last thing she hears, that stays in her head, is her very own name. Said from y/n's mouth.

"Bye, Sophia!"

The last thing she sees, though, is golden freckles. Golden freckles in y/n's eyes. They've appeared suddenly, as if they were shadowed earlier by the sun and now they were gone. The cloud stays away, the shadows are no longer in her eyes.

Sophia stays on her doorstep, freezes there for a second too long, her hand on the door handle, before walking back home with red on her cheeks. Her hands fall cold again, and she tucks them into the pocket of her pants, but not before rubbing them against each other. Even the heat of the sun is not enough.

Sophia thinks about the freckles when she dodges the sun again, and suddenly her cheeks, her palms are heated again.

The first time you realise Sophia is nothing short of perfect is when you all play a game on the floor, on the floor of your basement. You've joined their little group now, despite your brother's protests. Sophia has always stuck by you, and if your brother resisted, she'd just hold your hand with her death grip-and even after two years, you still haven't figured out how she does it-and never let go. Your brother would have no choice not to give up then, grudgingly. This group has changed much over the years. There is not a single person here that has remained over the two years. Oliver moved out of town a year ago, and you distinctly remember Theo had a large falling out with the other two boys. Now, there's two new boys that you don't bother to learn the names of because they'll go, for sure.

But then the doorbell rings, and you and your brother race to get it. Because you both know who's standing outside. The one person that's stayed, Sophia. You remember her crying, sobbing, over the fact that the group fell out a while ago. And when your brother was still fuming, you'd taken her up to your own room, made her hot chocolate, and let her sleep in your own bed. It was weird. She liked to sleep with the lights now, even if they shone down in her face and pierced through her eyelids. She liked to have the curtains closed, even though that made it darker-which directly contradicted the point of turning on the lights. She liked to have the blankets tucked up to her chin, and not just barely up to the chest, despite it being too hot that way. And that also made the blanket leave her legs uncovered, where they were quivering from the cold-you had then taken some socks from your wardrobe to give her, the soft pink ones that someone had gotten you for your birthday. Everything else in your sock drawer was plain white, and you didn't like pink. That was the reason. Sophia was a strange girl, that's what you thought, as she laid on the bed with her eyes still open and looking at you, her eyes still half-lidded, red and puffy from crying her heart out earlier.

But strangest of all, Sophia wanted you to sleep with her. She'd open the covers again, even after you tucked her in again and again. She'd insist on it, pulling your hand again, with her signature death grip and latching onto you like super glue. Eventually, she even pulled puppy eyes on you, which always seemed to work on your brother-and you admit, you could see why it was effective. Her brown eyes like melted chocolate had a way of attracting every atom in your body, making your breath shudder and gasp slightly as you felt your hands start to move out of your own will. Magic. Like magic.

Eventually, you'd lie into the bed with her, cuddling with her, and she'd tell you how you made a much better stuffed toy than anything else Theo had ever gifted her. And that makes you proud, happy in a way. Something wants to claw out of your chest and hold this above you, claw out of your chest and pull the girl in front of you closer, till the back of her head was flat on your chest and she curled, curled in. She looks so small, like this. Very different from the usual fiery menance that she was. Her lips pressed into a soft frown, rather than her usual bright grin, and her eyes closed, rather than staring into something in the far away distance, distracted. She feels soft. She feels as if she could melt into the sheets, and stay there forever. You find yourself brushing your finger over her hair, over her forehead, your eyes still trained on the back of her head. Her hair is tangled and messy, and you almost pray, you almost pray for more tangles so your fingers can soak into it for longer. They keep your fingers locked in for longer, until your knuckles and nails undo the locks, pick the key holes. You move in tiny circles, getting closer to the back of her head while she squirms a little.

Running your fingers through her hair feels like running your hands through the sand of the beaches, sometimes finding tangles like that of seashells on the beach. Dig a hole around them precisely, and then scoop them up. Part the tangles with your nails and undo them. They flow under your finger tips and palms like fabric. Her hair, her hair feels more like a huge sheet of cotton rather than it's individual threads. It feels continuous, never ending, together. Until it goes end, and it runs down her spine, where it snakes towards the start of her waist. There is something wrong, just wrong about Sophia like this. The Sophia you know isn't their quiet, isn't this soft, and is more of a sun than the one shining bright outside. And yet, Sophia turns around to face you, and your hands in her hair fall to your lap.

"Sleep, y/n. No wonder Theo's so much taller than you," ah. Of course you were mistaken. Everything is suddenly right again. This is Sophia, this is the Sophia that always has something to say and giggles so hard that it's probably the most replayed sound in your head.

You scoff, opening your mouth dramatically to look back at her, your hand hovering, fingers apart, over it. "Short? Look at you, Sophie, and you call me short?"

She simply gives you a simple eye-over, her eyes narrowing as if judging you, and you feel goosebumps racing up over your body. Why? You don't know.

"It's ok for me to be short, but you need to be taller! I want you to be as tall, no, taller than Theo!" She says it with a spring in her voice, not paying attention to the way your cheeks are starting to heat. Sophia's hands have subconsciously travelled to yours, and god, you've gripped it. You take her hands in your, and lace your fingers together, because that's how you've always done it. But what she says breaks you out of it, even just for a minute.

"Taller than Theo? Why? I thought that you liked taller boys, Sophie?" You smirk as you say that, referencing the fall out of the friend group. One simple incident caused it, and there was a reason for why Sophia felt so guilty about it. It was partially caused by her. Alex. The only reason you still remembered that name was because of the disaster that happened at the playground.

Alex, that stupid Alex, you clench your fists, the blonde of the previous friend group, had an obvious crush on Sophia. But clearly Sophia didn't want it, nor did she reciprocate his feelings. It was obvious though, he turned from a cocky jerk to something resembling a sleazy business man when Sophia was around, always offering to get her something, and finding ways to hang around. And also, the fact that his face would turn scarlet at the slightest mention of his name from her lips. It always pissed you off, seeing someone like him tag around her like a little lost puppy. He was an absolute jerk, always pushing over others at the playground, and you couldn't think of a worse match for the sunshine that was Sophia. He lurked around her like a shadow-like slender man, Sophia had compared him to, due to the fact that he towered over absolutely everyone. He was the height of some of the older middle schoolers, even though they were barely eleven.

Once your brother had caught wind of the situation, he'd confronted Alex. And Sophia and done nothing, simply standing frozen in the corner while the fight escalated into a full on brawl. She'd stood there, tears streaking her face, while she fiddled with her own fingers. Her feet wouldn't move, but then you were there. You were there, and you pulled her out of that mess, screaming at your brother and Alex that they were absolute pieces of shit, and that the person they were fighting over was scared. And maybe that snapped some kind of sense into both of them, as they paused and immediately ran over to hug Sophia, and comfort her. She'd slapped them both away and ran back to you, as she buried her face in your shoulder and cried, cried again. Your shirt was soaked afterwards, and you had a lesson later, but you let her stay there. Your arm felt frozen in place for hours after what, and you were surprised when her eyes and lips weren't imprinted in the shirt after she finally let go. Either way, you'd talked her into forgiving Theo, after he did some bribing with ice cream and allowing her to choose the next round of games they'd play, the next time they met up.

Sophia's cheeks were puffy and red afterwards, and she was cute. But you weren't going to say that, because she looked like she would break any moment. Like a doll, like a perfect tiny doll with black beads for eyes. She was pretty like one too, and maybe more. You didn't find a need to want to buy pretty dolls and dress them up in tiny scraps of fabric when there was a much prettier one with you, and she was human. Sometimes you're surprised she's not a doll. She seems too perfect, too much of a sun for this world. She seems like something that should, should be locked behind a glass case for preservation behind lock and key because she was simply too separate from this world. So she couldn't be touched, so she couldn't be hurt. Because someone like her never, never would have deserved that. She was the princess in all the movies, she would have fit every single fairytale involving them quite nicely. The world already had one sun, there was no need for another. And what was Sophia of not another one?

But Sophia is not a doll, and that is evident. She has slightly tanned skin, and when you zoom in, freckles, from being out in the sun. You've laid in the grass with her, while she looked at the clouds and they reflected in her eyes. But you never looked at them, even when they were just a tilt of a head away. You only ever saw them through her eyes, looking at her, and the little marks sprinkled on she face. While the dolls you once had had perfectly white hands and were cold to the touch, and would break a limb or two when tossed on the floor, she once again is not a doll.

Sophia's hands are not soft. They are rough, from months and months of gripping into the rope of the swings and from getting scrapes and splinters from the trees in the park. They are not soft, and yet you can run your fingers over them, and it feels as though you're touching something else entirely. The lines on her palms have almost blended in with the healed scrapes, and you can't even differentiate them anymore. It's as if she carries multiple lifelines on her palms now, all leading to different ends, before the stretch of her fingers. She'd pointed it out once, that the second set of lifelines she'd gotten from scrapes looked suspiciously like your own, the ones on your right hand. You remembered her racing across the room to tell you this while you were rushing some last minute book reports. You'd turned around, and she had shoved her palm in your face. You'd brushed her off, and told her to play with Theo. But she stood there, adamant, and you gave in. Afterwards, whenever you gripped her hand, you'd try to trace those very same lines, but they were covered under other lines now. Other lines, but never another matching someone else's perfectly, not even Theo's. That was your biggest regret. But you still wonder how she knew the exact lines on your palm. You'd never showed her, and you certainly never told her.

You'd joked that she now held your lifeline in her hands, your life in her palms. You expected her to laugh about it, and threaten to end yours then and there, like how she'd done it to Theo once when he tried to trace his own palm lines on Sophia's hands. But she doesn't. She was serious, her expression mirroring yours when you were often deep in thought. She said she'd protect it, and never let it end. It worried you at first, that expression. Because she couldn't be like you. But then it melted away into yet another smile, and she said that maybe she'd get it tattooed when she was older, just for the sake of keeping that inside joke alive. You had gone into a frantic rant then, telling Sophia it was a joke for a reason, and she'd laughed again. You wish that you'd remembered the original lines on Sophia's hands so you could get hers tattooed on yours.

Maybe all the lines on her hand are really lifelines, lifelines of the people she's enchanted. And you, you're buried at the very bottom, the first victim.

Perhaps you should've just not let Sophia lift a finger, and let all her scrapes heal, so you could find them. But then again, Sophia would never agree. She liked to do things herself, she was stubborn, very, very, stubborn. Perhaps that was why she never did forgive Alex after that, after he got into a fight with Theo. And it was rather funny, though pathetic, watching someone as tall as Alex trail after Sophia like a stalker, trying to apologise desperately as she avoided him at every step.

Sophia flusters when you reference that. That reference, because Alex was a giant. She flusters, and you give a small smile as your hands go to her hair again, tugging a few strands out of her face and towards you.

"That's different! He was a giant! But I want you to be tall-you need to be tall, because I...because I want you to be!" She's turning redder by the second, looking away from you. Your smile turns into a smirk, and you take on a teasing tone as you dive in for the kill.

"Oh, so you do like taller boys, huh?"

You're surprised she doesn't smack you across the face with how red she's getting. It almost rivals the levels of Alex, though he did set new records for you personally. You didn't even know someone could match that shade of colour pencil. If Theo wasn't so focused on fighting him, he'd be marvelling over it, and ask Alex to stay mad for longer so he could get a direct colour match of his skin. You leave her speechless, something you rarely do, and you like it. Her mouth moves, but nothing comes out, and she just stares at you, red and angry. Pouting even, and maybe her eyebrows would crease upwards in an attempt to look angry, but she just couldn't. There was one way Sophia could look angry when she pouted like that.

You gave in, and you remember waking up later in the evening, to find Sophia snuggled to your chest, and your head buried in her hair, where she smelled of your own shampoo. You didn't dare move, even when your arms was killing you, and your spine felt like it would fracture any moment due to the position you slept in. You pull the covers from your side and drape them over Sophia, even as tiny bumps rise on your skin.

You watch her like the sunrise until she wakes up, the ticking of the clocks on the wall, the beeping of the digital watch on her wrist, all fading into the background.

When she wakes up finally, when your mother calls you both down for dinner, you and Sophia both, she sleepily rubs her eyes and sits up, stretching like a cat. She mumbles quietly, far too quiet for Sophia. Her voice is slightly hoarse, and when she opens her mouth at first, nothing comes out. It's like she's still in a daze, and she only breaks out of it when her feet finally touch the floor from when she's sitting on the edge of the bed. You can smell spaghetti from the stairs, and you smile. Not you favourite, not Theo's favourite chicken pottage, but Sophia's favourite.

" Soph, I think you're mom's favourite, she made spaghetti-" you want to tease she again, but the words, just like Sophia's die before you can get them on your tongue. The light of the sun hits her from the window, sneaking in from every corner of the room and hitting the ends of her hair, her body, her eyes, and her shadows lies on the floor in front of her. You're shocked her body is not covered in jewels, because she seems to be shining. Sparkling, as if her skin is glass and mirrors and the light just knows the exact angles to hit. You feel as if glass has cut up your throat, and you're unable to breath. Breathtaking. A funny word for you, and you've always made fun of it because of how literal it is. But it is. You'd just never experienced one of those sights, until now. You feel strangled, suffocated, as the rays, the beams of light wrap around and curl around Sophia like ropes. They snake up her skin, her legs, and up to her neck. If you'd taken a picture then and there, you'd have it forever. But you don't. You simply watch as the light shatters onto Sophia, spilling onto her skin like liquid, and your hands fall to grip the railing. The light continues to spill from where it breaks on her bed, and it soaks, soaks into the sheets, the ground as the sun moves away, until the light is just on her hair and she's looking at you, finally out of that daze. That daze that you were in as well.

It is something you're both trapped in for a while, and you finally break. Earlier, when you wanted her to break from it, now you want the opposite. You wanted her to stay still, so you could sketch that image into your eyes, not your mind, so you could see it reflected whenever yours met hers.

"It's fine, because you're mine. You're my favourite, y/n." Those are the words that come out of her mouth when she breaks from the trance. It startles you more than you show, your feet suddenly almost tripping over the same step and your breath hitching. Then, that slips from your lips.

"Even more than Theo?" It comes out quieter than it should, because this shouldn't be important to you. You phrase it like a question, because it is. To you. Only now, that's it's spoken, do you realise how much you want it to be answered. You expect her to think for a moment, and you shift your gaze to her to watch her adorable thinking pout, but that serious look of yours comes on her face again.

"Obviously! I think I like your mom more than Theo, ugh, he's so stupid sometimes! Didn't he fight Alex?" She says it like a fact, like it was a question that never needed to be asked. As if it was a simple fact in her maths textbook. As if she knew, as if it was imprinted in her head like one of the laws of the world that everyone accepted-humans couldn't fly, gravity existed. She says it as if she's known it her whole life.

But you didn't.

Back at the doorstep, she flies in the moment the door even creaks open slightly, and yet she fits. Because she certainly hasn't sprouted a feet over a few days.

Someone gifted your brother a logic puzzle for you and your brother's joined birthday a few weeks ago, and it seemed like a scam at first-even you thought so. A box filled with paper grids, a five by five, then a six by six, all the way to a ten by ten. All that, and then three separate stamps. A instruction manual slipped out when you all flipped the box over, but besides that, nothing. Theo's face slipped into a disappointed look, and the other two boys had already lost interest the moment the paper grids were revealed. But you and Sophia stayed, you reading the instructions booklet while Sophia went through the paper grids and stamps. Oh. This type of game. Well, the boys wouldn't understand for sure. You turn around, but the three of them are gone. You can hear the sound of racing footsteps up the stairs-they've probably gone up to watch television. But Sophia stays, and her eyes light up when she realises you're here too.

Knights tour. A game with simple rules, and a simple concept. Fill up all the squares on the grid, the ending number differing, all with the moves of a knight. An L. Three spaces to the right or left, one down or up afterwards. You don't even manage to finish explaining the rules when she grabs one of the five by five grids, the first level, and a stamp. You give out a soft smile at the sight, and grab one yourself. You notice Sophia's opened the stamps incorrectly-she's going to have ink on her paper and dirty the table later. You make a note to pass a wet cloth to her later, to clean up her fingers. Starting at the grid, your mind scrambles for a while before making a few crosses to make the moves that would allow you to fill the squares. You hesitate to start stamping, but clearly Sophia is the opposite. Her fingers fly over the the paper immediately, as if without thinking, and she doesn't make any marks. They just fly, one to two and suddenly she's stamped all twenty five on the grid, make no mistake. You were a bit to grab her a new sheet of the five by five grid when you notice this. She's done it without error, and her hands are alread moving pass yours to get the six by six.

You pause, the paper in your hands falling to the floor. You'd messed up on yours and only managed to get to twenty before running out of potential links to stamp. And with prior planning, too. But Sophia just...does it. And she flies through the six by six too. She does them all, and within a span of minutes. You want to say it. You should, you've always praised her like this, and the words bubble up in your mind. You're a genius, soph. Come on, let's go show Theo, I bet he can't do it.

It is the first time you've felt so far from her. Because the girl, the girl that lets herself get hurt on the playground, the one that struggles to tie her own shoelaces, is a genius. A mathematical genius. When she looks back up at you, her fingers smudged with ink, you're speechless. She is in front of you, but then again, she is not.

She is not. Surely this problem wasn't meant for people your age? You've considered yourself quite smart, smarter than your brother at least, since you always ranked high in class. But this feels like a punch to the guy, straight into your stomach and you can feel it burn as it sprays up your throat. She is something else entirely, a girl with a body prettier than a doll's and a brain smarter, far smarter than a normal human's. You can almost feel the whiplash when she still struggles to get all the ink off her fingers. She acts so human. She has all of it-she's clumsy, she laughs, she cries, god, she feels. She feels. She is the most tender hearted, the softest person you've never met in your life, all the while being the most passionate. She would give up everything to save a random stray cat on the street and yet wouldn't care for herself even if she was bleeding on the ground. She gives far too much than she takes, and it scares, it scares you. Because you have to admit to yourself, you will not be the only one that gets to know Sophia like this. People will realise, they will realise that her laughter, her love is as much of a normality as it is for them to breathe, and it just comes to her.

They will hurt her, they will use her. They will add more lifelines onto her palms and cause her cheeks to be streaked with tears. The light, the tint of her laughter like the clinking of beads on glass, will dissolve into nothing. She might break down into porcelain fragments like those old, vintage dolls. It will be dark, maybe the shadows will do it. You've already seen it once, with Alex and Theo's fight. She will be eclipsed. Your sun will be eclipsed, and the sunflowers will wilt and die. Your neck will snap, and you'll crumble on the floor, like a sunflower. The heat in your palms and your hands and your cheeks, and the burning, stabbing pain of needles in your chest will melt and stain your skin.

This is the pain that needs to last, this needle -like sensation in your fingers, as if balancing on a bed of spikes. This is the pain, this is the pain that you wish to be forever, because it means she's here. This is the pain of the doorframe, slumping against the doorframe, feeling your fingers turn purple and your lips matching their shade.

You space out for the rest of that time. You only come back when she's on your doorstep, and you have to close the door. This time, you're the one that grabs her hand in ours, and you can see her look up in visible confusion. But no. Her hands are still rough, still as rough as weeks ago. She hasn't changed, but so much has changed. You can't look at her the same, even if she is the same.

She has the same smile, but has she always smiled that way? Maybe her eyes were narrower than usual today. Maybe the dimming lights of the kitchen hid another shade of her skin. The doorway feels like it's separating far more than you from her. It feels like closing the gate on something, locking something away, twisting the lock equivalent to thrusting the needles everywhere now, in your eyes and in your mind, deeper and deeper, until you bleed out while standing, holding the door knob.

But you should've known. She has always seen more fiction than reality. She is a rose without thorns, impossible, impossible, impossible. She is someone whose picture should be kept in a lockette and never let go. She is someone whose birthday date should be a password, she is someone whose name and initials should be burned into flesh. The wind should blow towards her direction, the curtains should draw them selves for her, and the very flavour of the universe should change itself for her tongue. Clocks should be retimed to every second of her breath.

You were never religious. But you fully believe it now. They follow religion because they believe in something else, something guiding them. She is not a Goddess, but she should be. Maybe there has always been something, something influencing you in some way. She is perhaps, one of those people that would become an angel. Maybe you've been living, playing with an angel. An angel that lived down the street, nine blocks away from yours, and yet still preferred to use the long bike path behind her house to get to yours.

She looks like one, too. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe she really is one. Maybe she'll go back to the sky tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. Either way, you know. You don't want that to happen. But can you really rip an angel from the sky? You'd have to rip off her wings for that. Her wings. What, her talents? She has far too many to even begin to guess which ones could be her wings. Is it her hair? Is it in her eyes, is it in her mind? Is it her genius? Or maybe it's her voice, her laugh, god, the way that she teases you after you lose in a petty fight with her. Those are the best ones, even if you leave flustered afterwards. Her cheeky grin, her smug little smirk, and all the 'I told you so's, except she's still struggling to pronounce her 't's because of her recent loss of one of her side teeth. And even then, you remember. When she was sitting in the dentist's chair, blood in her mouth. She was still smiling, though her little fang was then gone. You still mourn it's loss, it make her look like a vampire. That's what she told you she wanted to be for Halloween last year, and she didn't even need fake teeth, her little fang sold the deal. You both went around as mini Dracula's and got so, so much candy from everyone. Maybe the candy was what caused the cavity in that fang, anyway. Huh. Maybe things did come back and go around. But she still smiled, she smiled that night when you both went to her house to dump out and count the candy, and she smiled even when the dentist pryed that tooth out of her mouth.

Her smile. Her lips are the perfect shade, right between pink and red, never a gap too far. You can trace the lines on her lips, run your fingers on the edges and back.

That is the second lesson you learn, when your foot stops the door and you hold back her hand. Angels do exist among humans. That is what you think of when she gasps when she realises you're pulling her back, and she looks at you. You are in the same positions you were the first time you introduced yourselves, with her asking your name with the constellations in her eyes, freezing on your doorstep with her laces untied. You are about to close the door, your hand on the doorknob. You are there, breathing hard, even when there's no reason to be. Maybe it is the same thing, from all these years ago. What comes around goes around. Because you force the words from your throat, from behind the door, just like she did on your doorstep. You choke them out, when it's dark outside and the only illumination is the kitchen lights, and she still looks. Dazzling. Stunning.

"You're coming back tomorrow, right? And the day after? And after?"

It is a stupid question. Of course she is. She always has, and always will. Maybe you just wanted to hear her voice again, maybe you blanked out. Maybe you just wanted to check something.

She looks at you, confused. "Yea? Of course, and we'll be playing tag in the playground with Theo, don't forget!"

She still has her laces undone, as if she's never learnt how to do them. She's going to trip if she doesn't tie them. She still lingers on the doorstep after you ask the question, the very same face that stared at you back when you first said her name. Sophia. Soph. Sophie. She has the same face, and maybe she hasn't grown at all. She still barely reaches the mailbox. It feels like deja vu, seeing this again. You've lived this before. This, the lights, the shoes, the clothes, the laces. Have you both changed at all?

"y/n, what's wrong? You look sick, you should ask Theo to check on you," she steps past the door again, and comes back inside, with her shoes still on. Then, as if out of habit, she kicks them off, and brings her hands to your forehead. She gasps. Loudly. "You're burning, y/n! You're sick! And you didn't tell me?"

Burning. You're sick, probably. And Sophia's hands are warm, they're hot, as usual. They always are. This should be uncomfortable for you, if you really are sick. And yet you want them to stay, you want the warmth of her hands on your already heated forehead. You see deliriously, and the lights are still positioned on her.

"Sleepover tonight? If you get sick today, you don't need to go school tomorrow-" that is all that comes out of your mouth. You don't even need her to tell you, because she's slamming the door shut immediately, and racing up the stairs to your room, your mild fever completely forgotten.

You glance at the door, at the lock, at her shoes now laying on the floor in front of you. Later, in bed with Sophia, when she's once again cuddled against your chest, you think again. You'll let her go later. Later. She can stay.

The cramp in your neck from Sophia lying there feels like you've been born with it, and the set of pink socks disappeared from your closet weeks back are on Sophia's feet. Your brother's best friend is stealing all your clothes.

Your brother's best friend lives more in his house than in her own.

You are walking down the school's hallways, getting your stuff, shoving it into your backpack hastily and about to rush home, when you see a familiar head of golden-brown curls that's splayed into a pony tail. Dani. She's rushing up to you, practically running in fact, and her face is red, completely red, matching the colour of your lip gloss. You instinctively pause, and wait for her to crash into you, putting one arm on your shoulder and the other one the lockers, all while her own bag is slowly slipping off her shoulder blades. She tries to speak, but then she doubles over again, trying to catch her breath. You almost laugh. Typical Dani behaviour, to act like this.

"What, cat got your tongue?" You smirk to her, all the while leaning against the lockers and looking down at her. You appreciate your growth spurt at these times-Dani is average height, but you are taller. You tower over her like this, and it also allows you to easily dodge her potential slaps and smacks at you. She's smoldering down there, and you just know it. Her eyebrows are probably creasing and she's most likely pissed off right now.

She hisses out a reply, all the while still trying to catch her breath. "I just say your brother, yes, Theo, beat the absolute shit out of someone. And honestly, remind me not to fuck with him. Ever. I think his name's Anthony or something...? The band kid? I'm not really sure-"

You don't let her finish, immediately rushing over. You should've known. There was the sound of a fight in the second floor hallways earlier, as you went down the stairs, but of course your brother had to be the cause. Why? He was usually a peacekeeper, and you thought that his petty fits and fights had been just a childhood occurrence. Your feet fly up the stairs again, your shoes skipping steps that nine year old you would have turned pale to the face at. You think your laces have come undone, but you couldn't really care less. You can hear Dani racing after you, her voice ringing in your ears to slow down and wait for her. She's not moving nearly as fast as you, probably because she's chosen to wear shoes with slight heels today to school. Of course she has, she's Dani. Always with the fashion over practicality. And you agreed too, of course. Your pierced ears and bracelet didn't do much to serve you except to hinder perhaps your writing speed, and your hair would get caught behind your piercings sometimes. But still, you would never give up your running speed and ability.

Over the last five years, you've taken up sports, a wild difference from where you were back when you were nine, when you'd barely leave the house-until the angel went to your doorstep, of course. You'd joined hockey in middle school, and you still play it now. Theo also decided to join hockey, though you're not sure whether it's because he's really interested in the game, or if it's to watch you. You're trying to be kind with your words, but...he wasn't exactly the best hockey player, constantly missing the goals and hitting the puck elsewhere. Your hair has also grown out, and you haven't cut it. It'll be around where your angel's hair was a few years back, trailing down to your waist. An absolute nightmare to wash and style, but perfectly worth it because Sophia loved it. She loved to bury her face in it, like how you liked to run your hands through her hair years ago. She cuts her hair every few months, however, leaving it around halfway down her back. But her hair is still black silk while yours is wavy and always tangled. Curse your wavy hair, of once. You've always liked Sophia's straight hair. That was one of the things you bonded with Dani over, having curly and wavy hair.

Five years. Sophia and Theo had spent those five years close together, learning to bike together, doing mostly everything together, and Sophia pulling you out occasionally to join. Your brother's best friend, Sophia, your angel. Even after all these years, she still holds your hand tight whenever the two of you are together. Sadly, while you got a growth spurt, she did not. She's grown to a fairly average height once again, like Dani, but she still quivers beneath you. But you like it, since you can lean your head on her shoulder, rest your chin on the top of her head, and lean down to whisper into her ear and watch, watch her flush as she's startled by the sudden breath on her neck. The fact that she still hates eating her carrots remains, and your conversations on the doorstep remain. And the lights still obey her, and she is still. Stunning. Even more so, now. Beforehand, some of the clothes she wore were baggy and crumpled around the edges, the ends. But now she grew into them. Her eyes, her eyes were perhaps always the point of her for you. The swirls got bigger, as if focusing a camera, and there looked like there were little orbs of black and brown swimming about. She's grown taller, she's gotten prettier, god, as if she could have gotten any prettier. You could go on and on about it. It's as if her skin was made from jewels, from the sun itself. It's as if her voice was specifically chosen for her soul, you can't think of anything better. Whenever she came to you while your headphones were on, it was as if the music blasting in your ears dimmed down just to hear her speak.

When Sophia was younger, she was pretty. You still remember the thing with Alex, which was the start of your brother's streak of childhood fights, which always resulted in Sophia ending up in your room, and Mom cooking spaghetti afterwards. She was pretty, the kind you'd just accept because it was true. Like a pretty flower in a field. Pretty, you'd acknowledge it.

Maybe she has changed, after all. Your angel is now the kind of pretty, no, gorgeous, that makes you pause mid-sentence. You didn't forget what you were saying, no, it just faded into the background, it's importance dying because she was there. Nothing felt as important as looking at her. The kind of flower always picked to make flowers crowns, the flowers that would be picked and adorned in a bouquet.

But there is one more thing. There is one more change.

Dani finally makes it up the stairs, panting yet again. If it wasn't serious, you'd joke about her not being able to get a break. But you don't, because the sight that greets you is your brother, slumped against the lockers, bleeding from one nostril, but a crazy grin on his face and glint in his eyes. The flickering light in the hallway-the school would never, never get them fixed-shines off his eyes and lips, and you can see the red from his split lip. His eyes hold no pain in them, and you...You can tell he's won the fight, and he's gotten quite a few scrapes, but that's not what makes you freeze in place. Of course it's not, you've seen him through much, much worse than this. This fight is pathetic almost, and Theo would probably suffer no lasting bruises or scars if treated properly.

No, the thing that freezes you-as if the spotlight stopped on both of them, the light cascading down to trickle down both of their skins and soak into their growing shadows-It's the girl hovering over him.

Sophia, your angel. Suddenly, you're kind of reminded of the one last thing that changed. It's not about Sophia. It's about your brother, Theo. Theo is bleeding, the red trailing down from not just his nose now-you notice-but also the side of his head, his ear, and god, it's running down the side of his head. But he doesn't care about that. Maybe that's one thing he and Sophia have shared since young. They have always, always been reckless and impulsive. Like one of those domestic Huskies, going after a stick the moment it was thrown, no matter what. He's bleeding, but he's looking up at Sophia, and he's grinning. But that's not it. No, that's not it.

Sophia's kneeling on the ground in front of him, a concerned expression on her face, and you just know she's about to cry. Her eyes are getting red-rimmed again, and oh, her brown, chocolate eyes are glistening again. Her hands are on the ground next to her, as if she doesn't know what to do. Her fingers thrum on the ground, the rhythm of your heart beat. Theo's hands are on her face, already wiping at her eyes, getting blood streaked on her face. She looks like a vampire now, the blood on her cheeks and at the side of her lips. If she still had that fang from when she was a kid, she would have absolutely sold the look. She looks like she's been kissed by one. Theo's grin grows wider when Sophia slaps him on the face lightly and collapses onto his shoulder. There's a slight sobbing sound, and you just know-your heart clenchs around nothing but itself, but you spot it. The change. Theo's eyebrows crease, and there's goosebumps on his arms. And he hugs her closer, his hands digging into her skin, while she picked up her head from his shoulder and checked to make sure he was ok.

The change. Your twin brother has fallen hopelessly for his best friend.

It is simple. It is expected. They have been friends forever, and she's stuck by him even when everyone else left. All the friends in the group, all slowly replaced as he grew up, and his interests changed. And yet, the girl that lived nine blocks down the street always came back to your doorstep. He knows all her favourites and she knows all his dislikes. They are the living trope itself, and they match. They are both sunshine in the hallways, both with the matching grins that could either be pure happiness or plotting. something. They spend all their time together, and all of their classes are together, as if fate itself wanted to bring them together. Theo, at the arcade with her, gives her everything he wins at the claw machine-something he's an absolute ace at. Sophia, on the other hand, not so much-and yet, she'd always walk out with an armful of plushies, and red and happy in the face. Theo, nothing, but a soft smile as he gazed at her. He looks at her softly, like he's admiring a flower. A small one, and he holds her face like she's a dandelion, gentle and careful so she doesn't flow away. So not even a single strand on her head gets misplaced, so that not even a single gust of wind can send shivers down her spine. So that no one can hurt her. He looks at her like she's looking in a mirror, like he's found someone exactly like him, and he's right.

They share interests. They share the same smile, they share inside jokes, where if you even mention it to one of them the other will start laughing within seconds. It's like they have telepathy. They think almost in sync, and they even finish each other's sentences. That one, in particular, has a way for freaking everyone but them out. Especially when either of them would just start voicing out a random thought, and the other's voice would travel from another room and finish it for them. Somehow, it never unsettled them, the strange concept of sharing the same thoughts. Maybe it was because they were around each other so long, maybe because they're too used to it. They share traits of the sun, both of them. Warm, warm hands and body, and the kindest people you'd ever meet. You imagine it must be like finding someone exactly in the same orbit as you, and Theo's extremely lucky for having his for so long. Perhaps Sophia is too, for finding him. But you acknowledge it. Some people are just loved. Some people are angels, and some people are just humans.

Theo has grown. It would make sense, you tell yourself. He's tall now, too, but perhaps Sophia's wishes a few years back at some impact on your height. You're around his height, actually, no-perfectly matched. You are the same height, without the shoes, and without counting that one strand of hair that always insists on standing upright and staying there on Theo's head. Soph joked that it was like an antenna, like one on those satellite phones, or those old televisions that would need two of them. But still, that particular strand of hair added at least two inches to his height if counted. Still, without it, you both are the same height. And you hope it stays that way.

Theo is not in the same classes as you, sharing all of them with Sophia. From what your hear, the two of them are near the top of the class ranks all the time, despite them definitely fooling around and doing everything but playing attention in class. Of course, you'd expect it from Sophia. You've known since in the basement, since Theo's present, since the time you first realised and started realising, she was an angel. Sophia's a genius, and she probably has no problem coping with it at all. In fact, you're surprised she's not higher on the class rankings list. Maybe because conduct plays into it. It's definitely the conduct, you've seen Sophia's grades. Sophia clearly had no interest in any of her subjects, besides maybe chemistry, and Theo is no different, but his focus being on mathematics. Both science and math respectively, very different from your interests in English literature and history studies. Humanities, that's it for you.

Theo...he's never been the best student, has he? Though, you've never been in the same class as him to judge. The schools have always separated you too, most likely due to the fact that you were twins, to prevent any conflicts-you never really understood, either. You briefly recall Theo failing chemistry in the past, and suddenly you're riddled with greater suspicion. No way Theo's a top rank in class without doing something. Cheating? No, that's not in Theo's nature-no matter how desperate he is, he'd never resort to that. Theo has always had his own unwavering sense of justice, and you've joked that he should've become a lawyer. It shows. Maybe he'd been born with it. Though, you do agree that his idea of justice was flawed at times-he got into multiple fights during middle school due to this, due to people picking on Sophia for god knows what. Now you think of it, you probably would have thrown hands too, if you found out that people were bullying Sophia, of all people.

Sophia continues running her hands on Theo's face, checking for any scrapes. You can't see when face-its covered by her mass of hair, but Theo's expression gives it away. And then, Sophia slaps him. Hard, on the face, twice. You can almost hear the sound rebound throughout the empty hallways, ringing off all the metal lockers. Sophia will have a newly added line to her already laced palms. Theo will have a new scar added to his face, adorning his other scrapes further, like building chain mail armor.

And Theo still smiles. And you two are too similar, then and there. You have that smile, too. Maybe that's how everyone looks like when Sophia's with them. Because that's how you look, too. She's not real, is she? The difference is like gravel wrapped in silk. Something curls up from your toes, travelling up your spine to the depths of your eyes. You can see the swirls of Sophia's eyes sprinkled within the golden freckles of Theo's. They compliment each other. It's a mix of different, different colours, all splashed together. A bouquet of hyacinths and lilies. A variety of chocolate candies. There is no overlap in their eyes. It is like when the seas meet. Similar, but completely different. And they do not clash. You can pick out each of their individual traits in them with surgical precision. You can connect the dots in them with thread, sewing them up like a doctor would a wound, and still, their freckles and swirls would not get caught in either path. It is as if her swirls fit perfectly in every spot his golden freckles are not in, filling in the blank brown canvas that is their eyes. It is like painting the clouds, the meteors, and the stars in the sky. Theo's eyes contain stars. Her eyes contain everything but. They match, they go together like the sun and the sky. Always there, never questioned.

When you look at Sophia, the swirls in your eyes match. They merge into the other, and a mix of flowers in a bouquet will always be prepared over a singular rose. Your blue clashes with her brown incessantly, and you never see your eyes. Brown with blue is always brown, and your colours melt together, your blue dirtying her shade. Her, your angel, has always overshadowed your own eyes. And you don't mind. Her brown is not a shadow. That is the best way you can put it. It does not shadow anything, it lights them up. She is the hot white sun on a black canvas, amber through glass. When you look at her eyes, you've never wanted to see your own. You want it to be a one-sided mirror, just looking at the brown, the brown feather like eyes. You hope that when she looks at yours, she only sees herself. She doesn't need to see you. Your eyes, you wish for your eyes to just be a mirror for her own. Look at you, and see only herself. Possess you, and feel her own skin beneath your palms. Possess you, and look at herself, look at an angel from a human's point of view. There is no point looking into the dull blue of your eyes if her sky is right above her. There is no point for the bark brown of her eyes, the tree to reach towards the false sky of your eyes if the true one is above her. You want the swirls in her eyes to turn into clouds. They cannot fizzle into nothing at all.

She has said your eyes are like the sea. Maybe then the swirls in your eyes would be the seafoam as the waves hit the shore. As the low tides and the high tides went about the schedule of the moon. But the swirls in her eyes are made for the clouds. She is meant to be above, she cannot cycle with you on the ground. The sky and the sea are the furthest apart. Mirror. Yes, the sea mirrored the colour of the skies. Yes, you would be her mirror, her blank slate, her grounding. You would swallow her up and keep her afloat if she ever fell. Stay right below her, always.

What else was Sophia? Something that made everything better. Whipped cream on hot chocolate. Melted chocolate to dip strawberries in. The cool gust of wind on a summer day. Sophia would like all of those. She would like all of those.

You think her laughter to your inner thoughts would have made them better, too.

"Fucking dumbass-Theo, why would you do that? I told you, I could've done it-" Sophia is still hovering above him, her hands now grabbing his chin to force him to turn his head-and expose the bleeding cut on the side of it. You can see her face clearly now, Theo having brushed that lock of hair to behind her ear. She is crying, like a flower wilting. Every tear, and she loses a small petal. She curls up like a withered one, bending into herself.

"I'm alright, can't you tell?" Theo flashes her a pathetic grin that just earns him a fierce glare. "Besides, he was being a jerk. He's the one in middle school, right? That one...can't really remember the name, exactly. I think you used to call him Pinocchio because of his nose."

Theo is not exactly helping his case. He's already been slapped twice. But he continues anyway, your twin brother, always digging his own grave. "If you think of it like that, I was doing him a service, giving him free plastic surgery. I shrunk his nose with that punch, think of how much it would've caused to get a surgeon to do that-"

Soph giggles. Her eyes scrunch up again, and even though her lashes are still laced with tears, it comes out. It slips through the curtains, the window blinds like sunlight. Oh. Maybe Theo wouldn't end up with an early death. "I didn't call him that because of the nose, and you know it-I called him that because he was always bragging about his dad owing some sort of huge company, and it was clear he was all bullshit." The words somehow manage to make their way through her laughter.

Something slips through your own blinds and stings the edges of your fingertips. It's poison. You can feel Dani put her hand on your shoulder. She glances at you, then pointedly to Sophia and Theo, before putting her hands to the side of her face and announcing loudly, "Ah, young love. When I was your age-"

Just by looking at Sophia's face, which has snapped up from Theo's right to yours, you can tell she's about to argue. She's flushing pink. The very cute pink of the socks that you know Sophia still keeps, the ones that she stole from you, even if she can't fit into them anymore. Sophia snaps, retorting back.

"We're literally the same age, Dani." She says it in a deadpan tone, but you can see her slightly shifting away from Theo, as if just realising her position. She's almost right on top of him, slumped against the lockers.

"Soph, you barely made the year. December 31st, remember? You were about to be a whole year younger than us." You find yourself joining the argument, and you regret it immediately, when Sophia's gaze shifts from Dani to you, and she's fuming and red and looking like she's about to slap you too.

"Still made the year, didn't she? Though, it would make sense if she was a year younger. Sophie is quite a bit shorter, isn't she?" That's your brother's line. A dangerous move, given that he's still right next to Soph. And you predict correctly, because he gets another slap. You should start keeping a counter.

Sophia, sensing that she can't win the argument against Theo's point, shifts her focus to attack someone else. "Isn't Dani literally shorter than me? And she's older too,"

Dani makes an affronted gasp, putting one hand to her heart and the other to her forehead, flicking her palm outwards to feign a dramatic gasp. "Your words pain me, dear princess. I sincerely apologise for all my actions and their dearest consequences,"

Princess. It slips from Dani's lips at first, but it comes back for everyone. Princess.

"Oh dearest princess, kindly forgive me, give me your mercy, I was merely jesting about your height," Theo comments again. Sophia seems to have completely forgotten about what she was mad about before, now wringing her hands and her gaze shifting between all three of you. Sensing the opportunity to save your brother from more of Sophia's attacks, you make your way to her, gingerly getting on one knee like a knight. "My dear princess, would you please allow me the honour of taking your hand to bear the burden of you standing up? My dearest graces."

Sophia is a extremely fun person to tease, everyone knows this. She often loses track of the argument once ganged up on, and she has no further retorts. She just stands there, slowly getting more flustered and wide eyed as the teasings keep going on. She is also a very cute person to tease, acting like a lost puppy. Now, she just keeps getting redder. You take her hand in yours, guiding your princess to stand up and not over Theo. Sophia follows your lead in her daze, standing up too, and moving over to the side. Once you are far enough away, you bend down again, so that you are grovelling on the ground, kneeling before her. With her hand still in yours, you bring your lips to brush over her knuckles, the final stroke on a masterpiece. Your lips linger longer than they should, leaving in the form of a crescent moon when she frantically yanks her hand away from you and stumbles back.

"You-!"

Her cheeks are flushed, and you know it. But you continue as though nothing happened, keeping your gaze to the floor. You hide your smirk from her to prevent yourself from being smacked. She's cute, she's so much like a puppy when she's flustered. She almost recoils completely, and if you look up you know, you just know you'll be hit in the face-probably on the forehead-with her hand.

"Are you alright, princess?" You whisper to the air, and sure enough, you're hit on the head. You laugh, you laugh, as she smacks your chest with her hands continuously, and then buries her head in it in pure embarrassment. A lost, flustered puppy.

Sophia's pulse races when you leave. It races, as if competing with the speed her thoughts are moving in her head. You don't notice her holding the hand you've kissed to her chest, holding it tight afterwards, her eyes sparkling, pressing the hand, the knuckles to her own lips. You don't notice her fumbling to tie her laces with one hand afterwards, still holding her knuckles to the air. Ànd you definitely don't notice her tracing out the shape of your lips on the back of her hand later, moving in lines, pressing her own once again to fit in its mold.

It is evening by the time Sophia gives up trying to recreate the feeling of your lips on her knuckles. Feathers, like a tickle. Yet it sends spikes up her nerves and stops the air entering her own lungs. You shouldn't be able to control her biology like this. It is her body, and yet a simple touch sends everything, everything she has into overdrive. Your lips are much rougher than every other part of your body, even if you use lip gloss. They travelled like glass shattering on the pavement, not like rain hitting the windows. But it feels more real, more rough. Everything you do is so distinctively you, she can feel it. Everything is slightly rough around the edges, as if hastily added, and yet fits just so well, like the slotting of a ring around a finger.

Your lips are the mirror to your voice. Both slightly rough, despite everything she knows you've done to change it. When you were kids, your voice had a slightly hoarse tone to it-everyone, everyone told you that you'd grow out of it, but the opposite happened. Sophia adores your deep voice. Sandalwood, sandpaper, it is the motion of your fingernails running through her hair, scratching her scalp. She can feel it, like brushing against a brick wall, the concrete and lumps coming up beneath her fingertips. Parts of you falling with her. She collects those, molds them into something, something resembling you in her head, either your touch or your voice, but nothing matters because one grain of sand is nothing to a beach. Your voice. Do you know? Every song she's ever liked has been because you sang it for her, that one night when Theo was in the hospital from a fight, trying desperately to comfort her. You sang your lungs out that night, needing to take lozenges after. She bets that ever song you'll ever sing would be her favourite.

Biology. It is human biology that the people flushes when embarrassed or panicked, but then what makes you? She becomes flustered, her eyes shift nervously and her lip quivers faintly whenever you are around, even when she's feeling none of the above. You defy science, the very matter of this world. She cannot understand you because no one has. There is no way for her to know how to act around you, because nothing, nothing explains why she acts the way she does towards you. Chemistry. This is why chemistry is the better science, she reasons. Just chemicals and reactions and calculations. No need to worry about why her hands instinctively curl up against yours whenever you even slightly brush her hands when you walk past, why her cheeks turn pink whenever you call her anything but her name, why your voice is the closest thing to sunlight in her opinion. It shines, she knows. She can pick you out from a crowd of a hundred, a thousand. Just by your voice. It is hollow at the right areas and thick and windy around others. It is like a conch shell on the beach, that's what she's always liked to compare you too, especially because she's always thought of your eyes as the sea.

It is unexplainable by human biology why she is so breathless at your voice, and why she still keeps the very same socks you gave her years ago, even if she's outgrown them. And she is not a hoarder by any means. People tend to keep things that comfort them, make them feel safe. Sophia doesn't agree with this. If anything, you keep her on edge. You tease and flustered her constantly, somehow always there when she messes up even slightly to quip at her and then offer her a hand, and somehow always there whenever she's thinking about you. Still, if she were to keep something that comforted her the most, she wouldn't have picked your sock. She'd have taken your whole human being and kept you next to her. God, but the way you'd talk about yourself sometimes. As if you were the rain tormenting people's nights and the chills on winter days.

She'd give up the umbrellas if you were the rain, let it kiss her skin and her eyes and her mouth, her lips, as you fell. She'd be jealous, jealous of the ground and the flowers and the grass, because they'd soaked up more of you than she could in her own skin. Jealous of the trees, because their roots seeped deep into the soil and had more of you than she ever could. She'd be mad at the sun, for taking you, her rain away. She doesn't understand you sometimes, when you say she's the sun. She doesn't want to be the sun. Burning everyone at even their slightest touch sounds like nightmare of all sorts. And yet, somehow she doesn't mind that you are.

You could be her sun, and she could be your sunflower. She'd face you, she knows it, and she'd miss you and spite at the moon for taking you away at night. She'd wish for it to be summer forever so she could see you for longer. You would be her sun, and she would live, live just for you, to see you in the morning and cry for you in the night. She will, forever, believe that you are perhaps the best thing the world has given her. Her life changes with you, she knows it. Everytime you open the door for her, everytime she keeps through the doorframe, everything had changed. The positions of the shoes have switched, the clock hands have struck a different time, but you have stood there, exactly twenty degrees to the left, holding the door knob with your right hand, your left hand reaching out towards her. You are the same, and too cannot change, because you'd leave. You, of all people, can't leave her.

Her world will plunge into the darkness of an eclipse. Her bones will brittle, her spine will eat into her own flesh and her eyes will hollow into nothing but cherry pits. But even then, she would not beg you to save her. That would destroy her. Sit in the corner and watch, watch from the windowsill of your two-storey house. Dying is nothing but devotion. Losing a few petals due to lack of you, just a few petals, is nothing.

You should be trapped in a hourglass, so she can spin you around and keep your in rotation, her rotation. Unchanging. She thinks that if your smile even tilted one degree to the north, it wouldn't be the same. Your smile, god, your smile. If someone asked her to draw out happiness-those stupid activities they would make her do in middle school, she'd probably have traced out the shape of your smile. No matter what, she'd like to keep it on your face. It is her favourite expression from you.

Unchanging, huh? Your features never changed. You just grew taller and your hair grew wavy. Extremely wavy. She adores the swirls in your eyes, matching with her own. She feels like she's plucked a piece of you into her own. She always has a part of you with her. Do you know? She always has something of yours with her. She knows the exact words you say when you close the door after she leaves your house, she knows the exact rhythm of which your feet fly down the stairs whenever your mom shouts out that she's made any sort of dessert. She knows the exact shade, the exact way your eyes light up like fireworks whenever you see a high grade on an assignment you expected to flunk. You are in everything she sees.

Sophia's favourite part of herself is her eyes. Because of you. Everything is for you, of course. And she feels pathetic, she is pathetic. She is always by your side and yet she doesn't dare speak a word. You have a way of creeping into her heart like a weed, moving faster than the wind blows. You've compared her to a dandelion. But you move in her heart, through her blood as fast as the seeds scatter. The weeds sprout, they pop up across her body, covering her eyes and her mouth and her thighs, and she wants the stems to wrap around her heart like a parasite. She wants to be able to give to you, so you can take from her. You never take from her. If anything, you have always given her everything. More than that. You've given her things she didn't even know she needed, like a cool towel on a warm day, and a pack of candy on the way to the doctor. You, yourself, when she opened that door and saw your matching eyes. Something she didn't even know she needed.

There is nothing she can do to name you. You have always been that girl. That girl, who pulled her into the hiding spot for the hide and seek game. That girl, who always seemed quiet, until something mechanical was mentioned, and then she'd light up, and it was like Sophia could see imaginary ears sprout on the top of your head. Y/n, that's when she learns your name. And then, that girl changes to y/n. And over the years, it changes to more. Y/n to Sol, for the sun. Y/n, to Dracula the second, for Halloween. She has called you, so, so many things. A piece of shit, a dumbass, a 'moderate disgrace to society'. A large majority of them being teases and insults. And yet, you have only called her gentle things. Sophia, Sophie, Soph, and then, your princess.

She thinks the closest thing she's ever called you to that is puyo, because of the swirls in both your eyes. Really, she's a horrible person for that. All the more to show that you've always given and never took. She knows, though, she knows exactly what you'll say, and it brings another flush to her cheeks.

It's because your one word is worth more than hundreds of mine, soph.

You, she decides, are too perfect. You are akin to-no, more. More than the male leads in movies and TV shows. More than the princesses in them. It is as if you were created by mirrors, judging and sculpting you, everyone's best trait in one. A marble statue, perfectly carved. You are the idiot that stands below windows to serenade someone, to get them flowers even if it's a downpour. You are the kind of idiot to cook meals for someone, even when they're sick. You are the kind of idiot that takes every insult, flashes a grin and shrugs it off-and yet, she feels like she's lost.

You know. The kind of idiot that gives up their heart for the princess even if they know they don't stand a chance to the prince in those movies, and god, she hates those movies. Maybe it's because she sees you in them, or maybe it's because she's just too soft hearted to stand the sight of someone being left alone. Left alone and accepting it.

You know? You know. You've always said she was too soft hearted for her own good. But that's no problem if you just treated her softly. Like you. You, with your warm touch, you with your free pick-ups after school, you with allowing her to crash in your own room unprecedented just because she doesn't want to be alone at night. Letting her cry on your shoulder whenever she met even the most minor set back. Not scolding-not even a warning when she ended up ruining a surprise you we're planning for Theo. Soft? You, you're soft. She was never the soft one.

Do you know that? You're the soft hearted one. Oh. You have always been too much of the sun. Resembling the sun? God. You might as well have been another one. Wasn't there a myth about seven suns in the sky, with an Archer having to shoot down all six before leaving just one? Well clearly, they forgot to shoot down the second last one.

She's going to get sunburnt.

Out of all the things Sophia expects to see when watching the school's latest hockey match, this is not on the list. By far. Oh god. She did not know the hockey players played in outfits like...that. Not that she minds, of course. Far from that. Besides, it confirms her suspicions that Theo is built like an absolute twig. He has not a single ounce of muscle on his body. If anything, he is the small tree in his own back yard, the one that they always rush out to check aftestorm-though somehow it does not collapse. The shirt looks baggy on him, but Sophia already bets it was the smallest size they'd offer. Theo might be tall, but Sophia knew better. He was ninety percent leg and ten percent upper. Skating across the rink, Theo slid the puck to another player-a blonde one, nearing the goal. Sophia snuggled deeper into her sweater, her eyes tracing Theo as he continued to lurk around the area nearing the scoring zone. The blonde passed again, though Sophia can't help but question why-he was so, so close to the goal. Perhaps he just chickened out over the pressure of scoring.

Oh, and he does indeed. His pass goes haywire, hitting the walls of the rink, and Sophia almost rolls her eyes, fully expecting the team they're playing against to get the puck. Her eyes follow the puck, dead set on it, and watches to see what the home team will do. But it doesn't, and Sophia has to blink to understand what she just saw. What...?

Someone saved the puck, just by an inch, from going to the other team. By a feather, like the gods were on their side. She feels a surge, suddenly far more interested in the game than she was minutes ago. You've saved the puck, you, who was positioned nowhere near it. If she had an eye tracker on, it'd be constantly pinned on you. You move faster, skating around the opposing team members in a loop, leaving them slightly dazed before they snap out of it and start chasing after you-but it's too late, and even they realise that-they stop once you enter scoring radius, and you swing your hockey stick in a perfect loop, sending the puck into the goal. The whole rink, no, half the rink, the ones all wearing your school logo, cheer loudly. It's deafening, and Sophia almost wants to plug her ears. She can't, of course, because she's the one cheering the loudest. There is a big smile on her face, and she thinks this is the happiest she has felt in weeks.

You are there, still panting and slightly hunched over your hockey stick. Your team mates start huddling towards you, giving you high-fives and whooping. Three to one so far, and not even halftime. Before you regroup and go back to your positions, there is a slight moment. That moment is all Sophia needs to be reminded of why you've always thought you were like the princes in the movies.

You pull up your shirt lightly, tugging on it to wipe the sweat off your chin. Your eyes are narrow, as if studying the stadium. Oh god. Oh. Sophia can see it from where she's sitting, the very front row. You must've accidentally switched your shirt with Theo by accident, because it cannot be that short on purpose. It must be made illegal. Tugging up your shirt, even slightly, has revealed your skin underneath. Sophia knew Theo was lean, but she did not know you were the exact opposite. She could run her fingers down the valley of your abs, the toned muscles contrasting with the fabric barely covering more above. She wants to trace it, as you lay down on the bed, with eye hovering above, she wants to run her tongue down and taste you right now. God, she wants to. She wants to scrape her teeth against your body and leave little marks along those lines, she wants to rub both their palms against them and feel. Your hair is splayed on either side of your face, tied back into a high ponytail-and yet, some locks have escaped and fallen to the sides of your face, covering your ear piercings. The locks framing your face stick to it, stick to your skin as you sweat and pant, your tongue running across the rim of your lips as you decide where to position yourself next. It rims the red of your lips, exposes your teeth. She wants to push away those locks of hair, she wants to press her nails into your skin. All of her thoughts ram through her brain, all suddenly on caps lock, screaming, hollering at her.

Her collarbone, her whole neck and up to her ears feels tingly. Even the slightest brush of fabric from her own cotton shirt, and the jacket you gave her to wear beforehand-'it's cold, you said'-triggers it. It is suddenly too itchy and not sticky and god, why is it stuck to her skin like that? Everything is too tight suddenly, and it's all because of your goddamn lips. She needs to cool down, and she wrings her hands in her lap. She should look away, but she can't. Her vision is locked on you, even when her brain swims and threatens to overheat. She thinks her lungs are failing her, she can't breathe. The air in the rink has suddenly become thicker and misty and five whole degrees higher. She feels like she's in a sauna. Your messy hair, the sweat dripping from your forehead, the blood on your leg from a previously bad swing from an opposing player...your teeth still rim your lips, now on the bottom lip, and she knows. She knows it's a habit. And she also supposes it must be God's hobby to play little tricks on her like this and make you this-this...

Is there even a word to describe what she wants to say right now? Your tongue rims it, your teeth too, and she squirms silently in her seat. All too suddenly, she can feel your hot breath, your warm breath on her shoulder, closing in on her neck, her mouth getting closer. It goes down, sucks down, and she muffles a little moan of want-oh, and your lips continue sucking, your tongue playing with her skin, dotting it with your taste and mixing it with her scent. You let go far too fast, and she almost-she almost begs, she almost whines, she almost reaches for your hands to pull you back down, for the warmth of your lips to linger down her spine, but then she feels your teeth. Your teeth, clamp down on the area you've kissed with the inside of your mouth, and bite. Maybe vampires do exist after all. Didn't people in the olden tales describe them as fascinating, and their bite on suction for blood an exhilarating experience? To be fair, others must've written about how horrific that must've been, to have had their own blood, their own product of their soul sucked out of them. Sophia agrees wholeheartedly with the latter. You bite, hard enough, hard enough to pierce through her flesh and draw blood, and she feels her knuckles curl, her body shrink inwards on itself. She can feel the sound unfurling in her throat, another pathetic whine because god, it feels so, so good. Your tongue feels like drizzling honey on her skin, and your scent is so dizzying. Your teeth leave that spot on her skin, training downwards, downwards onto another spot, as if following her pulse. It skyrockets again, when your teeth press down even slightly, the pressure doing things to her that she can't even see. Her eyes are watering now, half-lidded, her head falling onto your shoulder. You go down again, fully, and she just knows, she just knows there's blood. When it finally sets in, your mouth lingers over the wound, hot on it, until your tongue slides over it. She lets out a little 'ah-!", a panicked gasp before the feeling sets in again, and then it's quickly replaced by another slightly muffled moan.

Your lips are replaced by your hands, and they roam down her neck, sketch out her collarbones, search her face, your fingers pinching her lips between them. Your fingers feel like snowflakes, slowly landing and building up on her skin. She wants to collect your finger prints from your fingers on her cheek like how the snow collects footprints from boots. They circle, they circle her eyelids before her lips come back and press themselves against her forehead. Her eyes open wide, and she lets out yet another gasp. The pretty pink flush spreads across her face again, like a ribbon, wrapping around her canvas and her ears, where she still wears those earrings that you got her for her fourteen birthday. The ribbon, the ribbon goes around her throat and around her hands and around her legs, and she doesn't move. She sits still, as if tied up by just your presence of lips alone. Her breaths come between jumps now, skipping to the rhythm of every beat your heart misses. For every empty spike that yours does not. On her forehead, you leave fluttering kisses. Teasing, never fully there. The brush of wings across her eyebrows, a stroke of a feather across her eyelids. Her breath hitches, cheeks scrunching up with every teasing kiss, and she just knows-you have a smirk they could rival the Cheshire cat at that moment.

Lips move down, they move underground. It starts with one on the very tip of her nose, while her eyes are still fixed on the flexing of your neck muscles. Her vision locks on one of the sweat droplets making it's way down from the side of your head, all the way down to the hollowness of your neck. It traces the muscle lines, eventually slipping between the ends of the fabric, travelling down your body. Another movement, goosebumps jumping on her arms. Another movement, when you breathe out again, on her ear. Another movement, and she feels your fingers lace with hers and wrap around her wrists. You are warm, but you are not this warm. She is really touching the sun. She feels scorched. It is too, too warm.

The lights in the rink suddenly seem brighter than they should. Everything is increased-everything from the sound of the crowd to the sound of your breathing. Another small moan, and it disrupts the rhythm of your hearts. Because you're still hovering over her, and god, does she like that. The lights somehow blending both your shadows into one monstrous, large being. Your fingers still snake around her wrists, as if tracking her pulse and purposely plotting how to make it spike.

Your lips don't leave her face, proceeding to hover around your cheeks while your hands drop hers to her lap, going up to her neck to pull you both closer. When she looks at you, everything overlaps. She can see herself in your eyes, she can see everything align as if measured by a master craftsmen. She has never believed in anything being a perfect match until now. Her head hits the railing as you push her, and she whimpers again as her body instinctively arches towards you. Sophia never knew what shade of lip gloss you wore until now. Sophia never knew that you had a small patch of freckles near the edges of your chin, that your bottom lip was slightly larger than your top lip. Sophia never, never knew if you were a good kisser.

"Sophia! Over here!" Theo's shouts are what interrupt her from her thoughts. And cause her to flush, harder than she ever has before. There is nothing she can do. She meets Theo's eyes, hoping he doesn't notice-he probably can't, even if he's in denial, his vision has been getting worse-and waves towards him in silent acknowledgement. She can still feel you, your lips on her neck like you're sewn inches below her skin, sewn and embedded, embossed onto her nervous system. Where everything she hears vibrates off it and sends spikes up her spine. It only sets in now, your touch on her, your teeth tickling her ear, and your lips on-

Hers. Your hands go behind her neck, press her head forward, as hers circle your body and settle on your chest, pressing against it, as if it's keeping her afloat. Your lips part, letting hers sink into it. Your skin is on hers and it melts, it dissolves in her like waves hitting the beach. It all crashes down. Her brain fizzles out and goes blank. Her eyes are filled with your chest, your neck, your hands-

She doesn't think, she doesn't feel anything except for the heat when you kiss her. The only thing she can confirm is that she wants you to do it, over and over again, on her lips and on her face, till your lips were molded onto her face. Wherever your lips go, heat bursts from below, her blood boils and it erupts into her skin, spreading its petals like a blooming flower. You lean your head to the side to deepen the kiss, and she does too. Your hands cave in to her cheeks, as if keeping them enclosed, trapping your lips and hers together under lock and key. She is right. Your lips, your body is the sun. It burns where you kiss her, dragging out sounds from the bottom of her lungs. Her eyes flutter shut, just to open a moment later, when your hands suddenly disappear, and the sensation of your lips latched on hers dissipates. The cloud hovering over her brain evaporates and rains down on her.

Her eyes ram open again. "Soph! Hey, are you looking?"

It's Theo again, waving madly as they start going back into formation. The players are all going back to their zones, and yet, Sophia's eyes can't leave your figure standing back in the very last zone. You are no longer hunched on your stick, instead leaning to the side and getting ready to skate towards the puck. She tears her gaze away from your shirt, from your neck, and settles on the back of your head. So she doesn't think, so she doesn't think of that-oh, now she's thinking of that. She's doing a fantastic job about not thinking of you on her. Breathing in, she calms herself, hiding her face behind her hands though she's sure no one is watching her, all locked on the game. A gust of cold air blows in the rink, right in her face to cool down her flustered cheeks, and she thinks that maybe God is merciful after all.

And the game continues, with you getting the puck five times and passing it to the nearest player. The defender blocks the next player's passes, sending them back to your zone. You swing in and intercept one of the opponent's passes, before lurching forward and aiming it towards your teammate two zones in front of you, avoiding the next zone's defender immediately. The pass succeeds, with you successfully tricking the defendant, and you heave in a breath as you leave it to the rest of your teammates, your hand still gripping your stick tightly in the event the puck could get sent back to your zone. You take these few seconds to scan the rink again, and of course, your gaze gravitates towards Sophia, sitting in the very front row, wearing your sweater.

She looks so small in it, yet another slight tease towards her height. There's a flush on her cheeks-you told her she would be cold, but she insisted no. Maybe you'd get to tell her you told her so later. She would probably give you a slap to the face for that. Stubborn little thing, always barking back at you like one of those big white Huskies on that animal show you both used to watch with Theo, who was only watching it for the fishes and the dolphins-because god, you couldn't group those two together, they were completely different things! In his own words, at least. Yet another thing those two share, being too stubborn for their own damn good. You just know Sophia would've willingly suffered in the cold if you hadn't offered to give her the sweater, and you know she would have still insisted that she was fine even if her teeth were chattering from the cold and her hands were becoming icicles. She would probably still say that even if she was so frozen you'd have to mine her out of an ice box.

You want to call out, you want to, but the game's still going on. You're about to shift your gaze away from her, back to the floor-you could hear the sound of the puck whizzing closer-but fate interrupts you. She meets your eyes, and suddenly everything aligns for you. You wonder if it's the same for her, too, watching the swirls in both of your eyes clash into each other before merging into one. The gaps in the others complete yours. If it wasn't for your firm grip on the hockey stick, you would've dropped it with a loud thud on the floor. You are more than fifty metres away from her, and yet, she feels less than fifty millimeters away from you. She blinks once, then twice, as if she's confirming whether you're real or not-and god, her pink cheeks, and her pouty lips as she concentrates on you are far more than enough to send your mind into overdrive. In front of you, with her head buried into your shoulder, your nose in her hair, your hands on her hips. Her pouty lips-god, you feel like a fallen soldier. She presses her lips together, still looking at you as if she's adjusting to the sight of you, as if she's in a daze. Of course she is, you find yourself thinking fondly.

Sophia is a daydreamer. You'll always have them with you, stored in the attics and basements of your mind, memories and pictures of her taken through your eyes. Her, her head on your lap, her head on your shoulder, everywhere but the car headrest as mom drove you both and Theo to school the morning after she'd had a sleepover, which was more often than either of you would like to admit. She would drool slightly-something she still doesn't want to admit to this day, though she's been doing it her whole life. And she's zone out like that, her eyes going into a blur as if she was travelling at a hundred miles faster than the car she was in, dashing through her mind and all its alcoves. And her head would always be on you, because Theo forever insisted on sitting in the passenger seat. Sophia would give you that heart-wrenching pout, like she'd let her big wide dreams be shattered. You'd tease Theo for not being a gentleman. But he wouldn't budge, and Sophia wouldn't either.

You'd promised her that the very moment you turned eighteen, you'd get your drivers license and drive her anywhere she wanted in the passenger seat. She could sit there, watch you drive, fiddle with the air conditioning controls until she was bored and would pass out on the dashboard while the sun stroked her back. And yet, you're sure, even after you turn eighteen-she'd still zone out in the car, with the windows down and the wind bustling in like a busy marketplace, like the lights as they refracted off your windshield and onto the shadows of her silhouette, and the umbrella of her skin over your passenger seat.

She never tells you her daydreams. Sometimes she's giggling afterwards, laughing so hard that tears spill from her eyelids, seep down from the corner of her eyes. You can see everything reflected in those tears, in those eyes. When the tears are just threatening to break through, to fall from her eyes, like someone breaching the water surface in a pool. Sometimes the light is on her, and you get blinded for a second. Sometimes nothing is on her at all, and you're left in the dark with her warm, warm laughter, which feels more like light than light ever could. You don't even need to say it anymore, do you? You love her laughs of all kinds. There is only one adjective that comes to your mind when she does it. Adorable. Absolutely adorable. Utterly adorable. She's like a huge teddy bear that you want to squeeze, the one stuffed toy out of the mountain that you have that you specifically choose to cuddle with. Her laugh, everything about it-the lips, the eyes, her face-feels special. It feels like a blanket, it feels like a special hoodie that you favour over everything else. Of course, because it's...hers. No one can hate sunshine.

Oh, but you should, apparently. Since she keeps calling you a vampire. You snicker quietly to yourself, keeping it in your mind.

There are so, so many human emotions in the world. Maybe you haven't experienced most of them. But you don't need to, to know that the other half-the other horrid, painful, half-is full of emotions like being on the brink of death and feeling heartbreak. You'll do anything to keep her from experiencing that half. You'd speed through red lights for her, even if she had a concussion or just a mild paper cut. These are just the things that you'll do to keep your sun shining on earth. Her smile is no different from yours, Theo's, or mom's. There is nothing that makes the change.

Or maybe you just want her to be happy. You do, don't you? With her laugh comes her smile, her smile capable of causing all flowers within a fifty mile radius to bloom.

You love her laugh, you love her smile, you love the way that she always jumps down the doorsteps to your house, and yet goes up every single one slowly when she's stalling and doesn't wish to go yet. You love the way she immediately brightens up when she sees the bell hits three and rushes to your classroom because she knows your literature class is over. You love her. You love the way that she still insists on trying on some of your clothes even if they definitely don't fit her.

Sophia snaps out of her daze, finally, and truly meets your eyes. A wave of heat rushes over her cheeks, and you feel it start to creep in yours. Her lips, previously pressed together, part. Your eyes break from hers and down. Oh, you realise-she didn't wear lip gloss today. Oh, she's holding flowers in another hand for Theo. Oh, she's brought Theo's drink on the bench beside her. Something sticks its claws from the outside, into your heart.

The puck comes flying towards you, and you almost want to jump at the sudden sound. You swerve your stick to the front, narrowly managing to hit the puck back in the blink of time it spent in your zone. You should complain back to your teammates about her failed scoring zone passes, but you don't. The thing, the thing suffocating you and taking hostage of your lungs and heart still holds. It moves faster than the speed of light, creeps on faster than Sophia's sunlight seeps through the half-drawn blinds. It hits right on target, sending you internally reeling. It pinches your heart, grabbing it, and squeezing. There is pain, somewhere in the haze-but you don't feel it. A different kind of heat overwhelms it, shooting up every single one of your veins. It will go away-like the ocean that swallows up everything. But it doesn't. It's like oil, sticking to the surface of the water and stubbornly staying afloat. Immiscible.

And yet, when you think of your jacket on her, there is a smug, dark satisfaction. You feel like you've won. The claws are shot down and tied up tight by this feeling, and it's a battle of a defender and an attacker-though both have come from the same root cause, and both have always, always laid dormant in your heart. Why they would come springing up suddenly is a question you'll ask yourself later.

You should start giving Sophia more of your things.

Another failed pass, and the scores are equal. You almost want to groan and slump on the walls of the rink in frustration. Seriously, could any of the other players even do anything? Halftime, soon. You're seriously going to consider quitting the team if everyone else is going to play like this. The team's morale is low as you huddle together, exiting the rink from the right side while shooting glares at the opposing team. You find it amusing that the people acting the most hostile towards the other team are the ones responsible for the failed passes-maybe they feel a need to compensate, or maybe they're just trying their best to mask their inner disappointment as rage towards the other team. Either way, it's kind of pathetic and you snicker to yourself. The whistle for time rings and you make your way off the rink for a break, finding yourself moving towards the front of the stands.

You've barely started taking your skates off when hands go behind your back and almost make the both of you collapse onto the floor, and you inch your head slightly upwards to see a very, flustered Sophia with her hair in a high ponytail down her back, standing with a drink and flowers in hand. Her ponytail is off her shoulder, leaving one side exposed. Your throat goes dry. You definitely wouldn't survive in the desert if something like this made you...but this isn't just anything. It's her, for gods sake. There are many, many things you want to say when you look at her exposed neck. Half of those things involve leaning forward, and carving the swirls of her eyes on her skin. Your breaths both hitch at the same time, as she leans down to, almost stumbling-to which you reach up to stabilise her. Your hands grab either sides of her waist, and her hands, in the fumble, grab the sides of your shoulders.

"Hey," you breathe out, as if it's the first time you've seen her today. It is far from it. You have seen her more times than you've seen yourself. You've watched her in the stands, you've seen her everytime you turn on your phone, where her face lies plastered just beneath the time. Your voice breaks when you say it. It comes out far too breathy, far too high pitched for you. The reality of where your hands are on her settles in, and you stiffen slightly.

"I...I saw you score earlier. Way better than Theo, already," Sophia looks away, giving you the chance to shift, taking off your skates and standing up till your height shadows hers. Her hands, on your shoulders, before, now fall to her sides, still holding the drink and those flowers in her hand. "Wait, let's go sit down first. You should rest a bit before playing again," she continues, gesturing to a bench at the side.

Even before you can lean your hockey stick to the side of your seat, something gets shoved in your face by her hands. The drink. With the cap, and the whipped cream on top. Just eyeing the receipt tells you that it's your usual drink that you get from the café nearby. You would have picked one up earlier, if you didn't need to rush to practice. You'd also debated going out after the game just to get the drink. But now, it seems there's no need to.

"Oh? Did you buy this with your own allowance, or did you steal Theo's again?" You let the words soak in for a bit, watching Sophia's expression morph between confusion and dismay, as if deciding whether you're teasing her or asking a genuine question.

She scoffs in your face, as if she didn't spend five seconds in front of you deciding a response. "My own, of course. Do you think that little of me?"

"Maybe I do. Remind me how tall you are, again?" These teasing words slip from you as fluidly as your heart beats, like another constant rhythm in the universe. You watch as your angel flusters yet again, tossing her hair to the side in an attempt to still appear composed and in order. "A perfectly normal height, thank you. You and Theo are giants, the both of you," ah, her usual retort. You chuckle lightly and bring your hands to the top of her head, petting her, and you know. You know that she knows it's meant to be a tease, to remind her that she still is, and will probably always be, shorter than you. And yet, she takes it with just a pout. Which. Probably affects you more than your teasing affects her, it's unfair.

Your head hits the edge of the seat, groaning as you regret doing that almost immediately. God, the seat is made of plastic, isn't it? Why does it feel like reinforced chain mail armor? You go to rub the back of your head, and another hand-one that isn't yours, meets it. Your fingers brush just the slightest, before her fingers reach for your hair, but it's enough. Enough to send your pathetic, weak, useless heart into heat stroke, into a heart attack. Just one touch. You feel like you've taken fifty shots of espresso, in Sophia's words. You're so, well, gone-that you don't notice Sophia's hands parting, reaching for the bouquet, and starting to braid your hair.

"Which flower means good luck again, y/n?" She mouths silently to you, her eyes still shifting through the bouquet. Isn't that for Theo? Yet another thing you've stolen from him besides the multiple brownies he keeps leaving in obvious places and expects you not to eat when you find them. They're made by Sophia, of course you're going to eat them. Yet another law of the universe. Never, ever, miss out on one of Sophia's dishes. With her hands still in your hair and tracing your scalp, you look at the bouquet.

It's a regular bouquet, but something's off. There's no shop label, and the ribbon is tied messily with the same grace that Sophia ties her shoelaces in a rush. Because it is tied by the same person. It sinks in, your limbs and throat filling with quicksand, when you realise that she's picked everything from this bouquet by hand. The girl that resembles a flower more than anything else, picking a bouquet for you. Ironic. Sunflowers, daisies, yellow peonies sprinkled in with a bit of baby breath. It's a mix of yellow and blue, with some forget-me-nots sprinkled in as well, with blue hyacinths circling them. A unique bouquet of clashing colours and no clear ideal. And yet, you feel it. Yellow for your favourite color. Blue for your hockey team, even if she's listened to your rants about it constantly and has surely grown tired of them by now. Arranged by an amateur, the sunflowers a bit too clumped together, but it doesn't matter. Of course. It's her, of course. The flowers seem to be blooming bigger than normal, their petals more vibrant and saturated, probably because they're being held by the sun itself. You feel terrible for constantly comparing her to the same thing like that. You're a literature student, you should know better. There are so many other words to use. So many other words that are shoved back down your throat when Sophia's hands brush your face.

" Hey, I asked you a question. And you call me the daydreamer?" She snaps both of her fingers in your face twice, and you blink according to it. Your hands travel down the edges of the bouquet wrapping, brushing over the flower petals and reaching in for the stems.

"Sunflowers...and the yellow peonies, probably. Good luck, right? For me? The most honourable princess Sophia is bestowing upon me the honour of her grace?" Of course, you recover quickly. It is not a conversation between the two of you without teasing her and watching her turn pink, which sadly isn't a colour in the bouquet. You would rather the blue be replaced with pink, since it's her own favourite colour. Yet another pink and yellow thing the two of you would share, besides the same two flavour ice cream cones of strawberry and Mango, and the same two pairs of slippers with mismatched straps. Though, knowing her, she probably avoided plucking the pink flowers because she couldn't bear to let them die. Another laugh to yourself, and yet, she still dares to pluck out the blue and yellow ones.

You'd expect your princess, oh, you've said it. It sounds better than good on your tongue. Your princess. Possibly the best sounding and tasting word you'll ever say. You'll expect your princess to turn the shade of the pink peonies and roses she adores so, but no. She always serves to surprise you. She leans closer to you, and her eyes are sharp with something you didn't know she had-maybe a surge of spite to pester you. Her lashes flutter over you, flutter like little wings that threaten to fly. Just like yours, her voice changes. It's lower, deeper than usual. Missing her usual octave by far more than five semitones. Closer to twenty.

"Oh? What else could you possibly wish for, to be my prince?" She raises one of her eyebrows as she says that, and her lips press together afterwards as if she's just asked what the weather was.

Your breath stops. It doesn't break for a second, doesn't pause, doesn't hitch. It just stops, and your heart seems to fail you for the few seconds that she still looks at you as she says that. No. You do not think of anything else.

"Sophia Laforteza, proposing marriage to me at the ripe age of sixteen? What have you become? Besides, where's my ring? I want my sapphires, you know."

No. You don't think, you will the red on your cheeks away. This is the first and last time Sophia will ever retort back and fluster you again. She doesn't seem fazed at the slightest, though the Sophia you know would be a puddle on the ground, or soaking through your sweater by now. It's as if she's been given liquid confidence, liquid luck. But of course, right after that, she does something that reminds you she is still, and always, Sophia.

"Pass me that-no, the one closer to me-" she reaches for the locks of your hair, pulling three of them together to start braiding them. She holds the smallest peony between her middle and ring finger of her right, while she braids with her thumb and index. She slides the stem of the small peony in, slowly, slowly covering it up with the barricade of your hair.

Letting out an exaggerated gasp, you speak up, "Why so bossy today, Soph?"

She grumbles a bit, clearly with something poisonous to insult you on the tip of your tongue but doesn't let it slip. She's focused on the braiding now, and she slips into silence. Filling in the sudden gap of noise in the air, you start mumbling about the other flowers in the bouquet. "I think that the baby breaths are faith...mom must've told me that somewhere. The hyacinths would be forgiveness, and of course, the sunflowers and peonies would be happiness and luck. The forget-me-nots are love, you know, soph, your eternal fairytale kind," you trail off, searching the bouquet for other times. "Oh! And daises are purity, I think."

You start talking animatedly about the rest of the flowers, only stopping to mumble a few 'sorry's to Sophia whenever she tugs on your hair to ask you to stay still and sit straight. You huff and yet, you stay still like a dog on a collar. You feel like one of those domestic dogs, all tamed by simple collar words. Kind of cruel, you'd always thought, and yet, you've never had a dog. Sophia has one though, and when you think about it...yeah, maybe domesticated dogs are better. Chanel would be an absolute nightmare without commands and the leash, and we can't forget about Yoonchae, Sophia's cat. The exact opposite of Chanel, where Chanel is energetic, Yoonchae is...a couch potato. The amount of times you've brought up that comparison and the amount of smacks you've gotten from Sophia are in direct proportion. Yoonchae is the laziest creature you've ever met in your life and you aspire to live the life she does, sleeping and eating and repeating the cycle.

You feel Sophia's hands leave your hair for a moment, and she's done. From the small slip of reflection on the metal railings of the you can see the small peony in your hair. You want to stand up and go to survey the opposing team now, but you feel another hug on your hair-more rushed this time, as if in a panic. And sure enough, still from Sophia.

"Wait-I'm not done yet, stay still for a moment," Sophia whispers.

You could've sworn she was done, but you stay in your chair, because it's your princess, after all. She makes a few more hurried movements before finishing you off, just in the time for the whistle to go off, signaling the start of the second half-halftime is over. Sophia shoots you a grin and a heart, and you wave goodbye to her. The braided lock of your hair swishes to the front, to the side of your face, as you fumble to hastily put on your skates and step back onto the rink. You reach for your hockey stick before practically jumping to get back into your position onto the rink, just in time for the puck to start flying across the ice on the rink.

Your hair feels heavier and slightly undone, and you use your left hand to feel down the braid, landing at the very end. You look. The peony is braided near the top of it, while this is stuffed near the bottom.

Nearing the bottom of the braid, is a small bunch of forget-me-nots, hastily added, their blue sticking out of your hair and clearly a last minute addition. You wonder if Sophia was playing attention when she chose this as her addition, but that doesn't stop the very same flowers from blooming in your lungs. Oh. You find yourself touching the petals, reaching for the unsteady positions of this bunch of flowers rather than the beautifully fitted yellow peony on top.

Flowers. She's braided one yellow, right, so she needed to braid one blue. That is it. There is no other meanings to it. She probably added it because she wanted to show other colours. Her and Theo's, yet again, their stupid sense of fairness and justice. Theo, and Theo's best friend, always sharing the same traits and the same light.

But the hyacinths were blue too, right? There were two blue flowers in that bouquet she chose for you. Fifty fifty. Twenty five percent chance and less that she actually chose the forget-me-nots on purpose, and more than seventy-five percent chance that she simply, in her daydreamer style, chose it in her daze. Again.

Right. There was no other meanings to that. There is just one.

You remind yourself, again, and again, that there is no other meaning to it, and yet-your left hand continues to circle around it.

Of course. Theo's best friend would share the same traits as him. Theo's best friend.

When the game nears it's end, five minutes to go, the puck whizzes to your zone of the rink again. It hits you, and you dive into position, serving about as you pass the puck around. You're dangerously near the scoring zone now, and you notice that the opposing team has made a fatal error of leaving the space in front of you unguarded, with all of them desperately racing behind you-you can hear the sound of the ice scrapping underneath their skates, all three of the guards in the zone on your tail. You're near, you're practically just a metre away. It's right there, it's right there. It's right there.

It's a clear shot for you, but your stick moves sideways, and you pass the puck to someone else. Someone closer to the scoring zone with a much worse angle than you, even though you can make it. You can, can't you? They look startled, as if not expecting the pass, and it's justified-they shoot and miss just by a small angle. Five degrees, give or take. The home team groans in despair and you feel yourself shrink into your skeleton. You should've taken that shot. You are no better than the rest of the team that you called pathetic earlier. You could have made that. Why didn't you?

The game ends in a disappointing tie, and you don't think, you just move, move off the rink as everyone else does, in a somber tone. It started off so well, but ended off with so many missed pauses and lost opportunities to score again. You beat up yourself internally. Everyone will, everyone will blame the poor burnette that missed the shot that was so close to him. But you, you're the one that had the best range, the best angle. You're a hypocrite, talking about how all the other players are horrible and clearly don't wish to try, even as you purposely ruin an opportunity to win for the team. You're revolted at yourself, even as you snap off your skates in frustration. You don't know if you're disappointed, mad, or simply just disgusted with yourself. The hands shake. The hockey stick drops at the nearest bench once you collapse to sit on it, far away from the rest of the team, who is playfully bullying the burnette that missed, all supposedly in good fun-though even from metres away you can feel the bubbling anger and blame underneath. All the silent words unspoken aimed like arrows to be shot from the crossbow of their lips, open, load onto the very tip of the tongue, and shoot. All missing the target on the brunette's back and hitting the palms of your hands.

You don't think you can listen any longer. You move, move to the very front row of the benches. And there, at the left side of where you collapse, is your girl wearing your sweater and sunflowers. She's silent as she moves towards you, and perhaps you've always been a bit too harsh while teasing her about being tender hearted. She knows when you're sad, she knows when something, even the slightest, is wrong. Her emotional intelligence matches her genius at studies, and that is something that lifts the weight, the sand pouring down and filling the chambers of your heart. It's your girl, of course. Your lips part to silently laugh, only to be met with salty tears in your mouth.

Of all the things you are not, you are definitely not a pretty crier.

You feel the sweater being thrown around your shoulders, you feel her fingers running themselves over your tears as your limbs start quivering. Is it panic? Is it a panic attack? Don't think. You are the cause of all your problems. First it was your swing, then not shooting, then now crying. Tender hearted, Sophia? You're crying over a simple mistake that anyone could've made. Sure, a simple mistake that cost the team. You don't wear your heart on your sleeve, you jokingly tell Sophia. That's what you say all the time. You are the world's greatest liar.

You feel her body press against yours on the left side, and you lean on hers. This in the car, you both on the hockey benches. Her head on your shoulder, your head on hers. Her hands are on yours, on the lap. Letting your tears run down your chin and soak into the sweater you just know that she'll ask to steal later. And yet, she doesn't stop them. She doesn't wipe them away, she lets them fall.

She speaks before you ever do. "I'm not saying this to spite Theo, or to comfort you. There is no shame in being scared. You just are."

Scared. That's the best word. Something that she manages to come up with before you do, a chemistry student managing to conjure up the all compressing word faster than a literature student. Scared. Yes. You are. You're a coward. That is what should come from your lips. And that is exactly what does.

"I'm stupid, Sophie. I should've shot. You saw me, didn't you? I could've scored. But I didn't."

It's not a problem now, but you're not stupid enough to think that it won't be later. This isn't a one time thing. Being scared is not a one time thing. It was an instinct, it was your reflex in that situation. It was always inside you, it was etched in your biology. It is in your nature, it is brewed in your nature. You have cowardice as an ingredient in your blood and has a pattern on your system. You will continue, you will always be a coward. Even with the sweater, there is a layer of cold fluttering between your skin.

She scoffs quietly, as if she can't believe you. "Your literature vocabulary really is a drawback sometimes, you know. I know what you're thinking, y/n," she puts two fingers on either side of her head, and you would laugh out loud at the sight if your throat wasn't parched and seemingly frozen solid. "I'm a psychic, you know. I have mind-reading powers." She looks straight into your eyes, as if trying to hypnotise you, read deep into your soul.

You manage to choke out another retort for her. "I hear new things about you everyday, huh, Soph?"

"And I debunk your lies everyday now. Me, the tender hearted one? Lies. All lies. Look at you, softie."

How does she do that? The tears are still spilling from your eyes but she's managed to scoop out the suffocating piles of weights choking up your lungs. Maybe you shouldn't ask those questions anymore, it's clearly witchcraft. You would believe she was the products of your dreams. Don't even question it anymore, her existence is just one of those things that will never be explained. Nonsensical, impossible. Magic.

"Really, me, the softie? What about you the time you accidentally spilled your food on the playground floor?" She makes you recover so easily, your mind chained back to life, her lifeline, which you are so desperate to be a part of.

She lets out another exaggerated gasp, and that really should be the trademark of your relationship at this point. You think you have both done that more than you've said each other's names. "That was years ago, mind you. What we're talking about was five minutes ago!"

You nod your head sarcastically, continuing on your teasing streak. "Yes. But it should be in your bloodline, by now, right? It'll be in your future children's blood, and it'll continue to haunt it like a generation curse." Nature. In your nature, that's what you want to say. It will stay in your nature, and expose you for how you are at very moment, destroying you and haunting you like a ghost until you greet the grim reaper on the other side of life.

Soft. It's silent for a while, before Sophia makes a shift like she has to move, and you let her. Because of course. Your nature. Your blood. You are too scared to tell her you don't want her to leave. You were braver years back, when you asked her to stay while she was on the doorstep. It is the same scenario. You've regressed. All there was is a change in location, the door step to the hockey rink benches. That slimy, sticky feeling clogs the inside of your lungs as the walls press together, as you frantically pull them apart to separate only for them to dance back into their place within seconds-and you feel stuck under, pressing your neck and head underwater.

Has it always been in your blood, or are you just inflicted it now? You never said it directly to her. On the doorstep, you asked her for a sleepover. The word stay never opened up from your vocabulary, never made its way into anything you said later into that crescent night. She leaves once again, her hand skipping from your grasp.

Then you remember that she's completely the opposite. The first time you told her your name, she asked for it. Straight. You can remember her lingering on your doorstep, as if building up courage to ask such a trivial question. Such a small question for you, but if she had never asked it, she wouldn't be with you right now. Such a trivial question. This is what they all talked about, the butterfly effect.

Maybe if you asked her now, that would be trivial for her too. Maybe you've missed something. If you don't ask her, how much of her are you losing?

You can see her reason for leaving now, far in the distance, with brown hair and brown eyes. With golden sparkles. Theo, Theo waving at Sophia from a distance. They're probably going to celebrate afterwards, just like they've always done after a game. Somewhere in the back of the playground, on the dual swings, both taking turns to push each other. Theo will practically throw her in the air, while Sophia will brutally aim to push him towards the end of his life.

Sophia, Your best friend's brother is leaving the ocean foam for the stars. She's going closer to the sky, closer than she ever will be, closer than airplanes and spacecrafts and satellites.

"y/n, you are not a coward. I'm not an optimist, you're just a pessimist. That is a biggest myth I've heard since the fact that the earth was flat."

"I can't believe you still think like that. Weren't you literally the one that saved me from that stupid bet I made with Theo for hide and seek? Or the haunted house? Don't forget that, you were in front of me the whole time."

"You think too much, sometimes. Way too much, you know."

Not a coward in her words.

She leaves. For a moment, for a second, for the split particle speed between moments where she gets off the bench and where she starts moving, you wonder. You let yourself believe that the impossible exists, that your angel has mind-reading powers. That you haven't revealed too much to her that she's managed to pierce into her mind. It is only now that you realise, she has more of you than you have of yourself. That she infiltrates every corner, every alcove, even the attics and the basement and the windowsills. There is something of her in every matter of your short, sixteen year old life.

Stay. Can you wait for me for five minutes? Can you give me a minute? Wait for me, Sophia. Those are the words that your mind supplies. Not a single one of those sentences have the word in it. And yet, you can't say it. You break the promise Sophia's made for you to the world with your existence. Sophia, I'm a coward.

Admitting you're a coward is so much easier than saying you want her to stay. Coward. Six letters. Stay. Four letters. Your true nature comes easier to you than the lies, it is natural. It is easier to speak the truth-that you are the coward, rather than lie to the angel, that you aren't. One of those is the lie. By human nature, honesty comes first. That's right, isn't it? That's right for the humans. Would the opposite be for the devils?

Sophia, I'm a coward.

Sophia, can you stay for a second?

It takes less than a second to realise that both are the truth.

You can hear one of the doors to the hockey rink open and shut, and you know Theo and Sophia have left, probably the way they both came, on their matching bicycles with the bells that don't work and they refuse to change.

You've turned your beloved angel into a sinner. Oh, Sophia, you've sinned. You are a coward, and Sophia is spiting lies in your face, drilling them into your ears. You have corrupted the brightest thing in your life. Your angel is tainted with your sins, the sins sticking to her wings, weighing her down, like oil to the corner of your throat.

How many times you made her lie for you? Lie to you? More than the strands of hair on her head. She is proof that you can love a sinner, especially if you are a devil. Maybe it occurs to you that she's made you an angel. If that is true, she is the world's most angelic devil, and you are her most devilish angel.

The door Sophia and Theo leave through doesn't fully close, a peek of light still pouring into the rink. It is a small opening, a small opening of light and a small opening of time. If you move now, you can reach Sophia. You can still stop her from sinning. If you tell her the truth now, she will remain your angel.

There will always be more 'No's in the world than 'Yes's. No, you've ruined her. No, Sophia, I'm a coward.

No, Sophia. You still left. I didn't ask you to stay. And I didn't say anything. You have turned an angel to a devil.

To you, that is the most cowardly act of all.

It is your finals week. Correction, it is everyone's finals week. By not everyone is acting like it is. Especially not the people in front of you. Theo, Sophia, Manon and Megan. Oh my god. You've chosen possibly the worst combination of people to attempt to study with. Two out of the four, which you will not name-now you think of it, this could apply to all of them-could not give a better damn about their grades. It is a wonder if they'll even make it past high school at this rate, but that is certainly not your problem. One of the four seems to somehow surprisingly, you might add, get high grades in class...with what, luck? The other one in question is just a genius, you don't even question it at this point.

So, what happens when you have four people who don't study, sit with someone who needs to study? Well, contrary to popular belief, it's not as bad as it seems. They all...entertain each other well enough. You feel like an absent babysitter, watching them fight among each other. And yet, somehow, the one that you expected to be the root of the chaos, is. Quiet.

Probably because she's beside you, trying her best to teach you chemistry. The one subject, and coincidentally, her favorite one. You will never understand. Words are so, so much easier to understand than chemical formulas, and why acids react the way they do to alkalines. Words are so, so much easier than understanding why iron has at least two different types and why lead has five.

You've got your earpods in, and Sophia is humming some tune that you can't make out. You wouldn't put it past her for it to be one of those nursery rhymes, the ones that you know pop up in her head randomly. Judging by the swaying of her head, you'd say that it's probably something bearing the resemblance of the cat and the fiddle. Sophia is a sworn earphones user, and you've always been a headphones user until her. You'd remember.

You've had a hobby of listening to music in the cars while mom was driving the three of you to school after a sleepover night, listening to something you actually liked over the radio mom had blasting in the car. Clearly, Theo and Sophia didn't mind, of course. Because they were sleeping. You've told this story before. You would plug your wired headphones into your phone, and Sophia would constantly bump into it as she tried to lay her head on your shoulder. You should've shoved her head away, or told her to lay her head in your lap like she did sometimes. But you didn't. You let her lay there. Refusing her would be like cruelty-it would be a sin in itself.

For your next birthday, you bought a pair of earphones with the money that your money gifted you. So that she wouldn't bump into your headphones anymore, that's what you told yourself. So that you could listen without interruption, when her head eventually slacked towards your direction, your seat, completely missing their headrest-to your shoulder. Earphones, so she would have space on your shoulder to rest. Show and tell, and you'd written those earphones as the best purchase you'd made in your life. And the teacher had asked, but you'd froze. Sophia was there, front row and center, looking at you. You couldn't say it. She makes you say all these things and yet she's the same reason they can't come out of your lips. She puts them in everything you do, and yet you can't talk a single thing about her if she's in front of you. The best thirty dollars you'd ever spent, on a pair of cheap earphones that broke on one side a few months later. Even then, you'd kept it. You just listened to the music on one side, leaving another free for Sophia to rest on. You're surprised the left side of your neck, your shoulder, doesn't have an imprint of her face.

You only replaced those earphones, when Sophia said she wanted to listen to what you did. So you got new ones, and shared them with her. The only reason you got new ones, and yet you still kept the old ones in a location that girls kept their diaries in. Like a dirty secret no one else could know, despite it not being anything of that sort. It was just a pair of earphones, and yet, you feel the need to hide it. It is the feelings when it comes with it. You feel the need to bury them, hide them away-especially from her. There is chemistry in the air when Sophia puts her head on you, and you want her hair to fuse into your skin. It tickles the side of your neck, frustrates you, and yet you can never shake her off. It might something to do with the fact that she cuddles you like a panda on bamboo, but you'd like to think otherwise. That action from her, on the car, on the drive out, brings your heart so close to bursting at the seams that Sophia has stitched back herself. She has built the chambers and pillars of your heart herself, herself and her fingernails that claw into your skin when she comes closer. She has constructed the entrances and the exits, the glamorous chandeliers that lines in your lungs. She has connected them to the rest of your body, letting you feel. She makes you feel.

She has stitched it, sutured it. A fail on a test, a tear, a stitch. One tear from your eyes, a tear on your heart. She has stitched, sewn everything together. You truly believe that Sophia must have more than one heart. There is simply no way someone can be just that much.

She is the best thirty dollars you've ever spent, which is far, far too low of a cost for how much she's worth. You wouldn't be able to afford her even if you had all the gold and diamonds in the world. Even one touch would be twice the price. But they'd vary. You'd argue that one touch from her fingertips on your chin is worth more than her taking your hands in hers, despite the area difference. The feeling of a light curtain breeze dancing over your skin to the feeling of having your fingers threaded and fitting perfectly with hers, resembling the sand dunes for the desert that your throat seems to aspire to become around her.

Front row and center, she sat there. Bright eyes and bright smile and bright lights on her. She looks like something out of a telenova, sparkles everywhere, the lights flashing crazily all overhead with no clear direction-and yet, somehow hitting everything right. You'd brought the very same earphones with you, the one broken on one side. She is there. You don't say it. You don't say a lot of things.

Sophia has chosen something she hasn't allowed you to see, a secret, she claims. After you make up some stupid story as to why the earphones are so important to you, something about how you'd saved up to get them-which you did, but that pales in comparison to the actual reason-it is Sophia's turn. She steps up, and the class claps, the tables and chairs themselves stepping aside and parting like the sea when she walks up. The object is in her pocket, and when she takes it out, there is yet another thing added to the list of things you can't say.

Out of her pocket, she fishes out those pink socks. Maybe not pink anymore, they've faded. They've changed from a hot pink to something white that just barely, barely carries any traces of pink. She launches into the story about the fight, leaving out Alex's name as she eyes Theo's reaction, and how the sleepover happened. You can feel people's eyes on you after this. Their eyes all on you. They all press on your bag, and on your front, she looks straight at you. How ironic it is that you feel the most alive when your heart skips a beat for her, and you feel the closest to death when it's beating rapidly like the continuous stream of a river. The pink socks. How much further will they haunt your life? How much further will you remember them, all because you gave her a pair of socks you knew that she'd like the colour of? This is another ripple effect. From the moment in the doorstep when she asked your name, to the moment you took those socks out of your closet and gave them to her. One for one, you're tied, you suppose.

But maybe it's not seen as important to her as the earphones are. She doesn't hide them away. She's quite open about it all, in fact. Unlike you, who's already coiled up the earphones in your fingers and stuffed them into your pocket. Your feelings don't quite match with these objects, you suppose. What do you feel when you look at your earphones anyway? A feeling that makes you feel dirty for enjoying it, the rush that comes with it. Maybe Sophia doesn't have that when she's showing off the socks. You don't quite realise, back then, that people are different. Some people wish to keep important things to themselves while others wish to show off their importance to others.

There is a part of you that wants to keep her under lock and key, and it is the same part of you that does not wish to ask her to stay. Cowardice. You would not be able to fight if they ever took her away. But it is not genetics. Theo is brave, Theo is brave enough to jump straight to violence and fight for what he thinks is worth. Of course he is, it is not genetics. It is just the importance of your own nature. It has been embedded in your skin even before you were born. There is nothing you can do about it, the way that your throat seems to shrink and collapse into itself when it comes to anything about her. There is nothing you can do about it, about why your body seems to bend to follow the rhythm of her heart. Just like there is nothing you can do about allergies, health conditions, and pure emotion.

But one thing you'll never understand the importance of is the order of elements in the periodic table. Which is fantastic, because Theo brings up something else immediately, something that you eagerly begin to listen to despite having no real interest at all. And also, the fact that your tutor, Sophia, has given up on chemistry and has started teasing Theo again. One topic goes to another, and eventually the study session is completely forgotten-something that you're completely on board with, to be honest, even if you're the one that arranged it in the first place. No, the conversation shifts to something else, the posters on the walls, next to the lockers. To be fair, they weren't extremely noticeable, despite their location. Your locker was next to one, but in the hurry you always had to grab your books and head to class, you had simply acknowledged its existence. You never read the details on it, but the four of them clearly have. It's about theater. Or rather, the auditions for the musical that the theater will put up soon enough. The auditions for West Side Story. You've...you won't lie, you've never heard of that musical before. Though, you have minimal experience with them. The only ones you've seen so far are the sound of music and perhaps a badly put together rendition of Hamilton in middle school. But the other four, oh, the other four-you understand why people say there are musical theater kids at heart. They are vibrating in their seats. They probably have enough energy combined to launch a rocket to the moon and back. West side story. What was that, even?

Megan's eyes are doing that weird thing again, but that is the least of your concerns right now. The very least of your worries, something that you only register in the corner of your mind and don't pay attention to. One, maybe it's because that's one of the least weirdest things about your friend, or two, the most probable reason-because everyone else is doing something worse. You don't...Sophia was absolutely wrong because even your literature vocabulary fails you for a word to describe what Manon is doing. She's balancing on the chair behind the tables while Sophia and Theo cheer her on. For the very first time since you've known her, you can say that Megan wasn't the worst one here.

"y/n, you don't understand. It's the feelings, you know? The wide west, the oh, you should try out for one of the characters, you know?"

Absolutely not, and you tell her so.

"Well, the rest of us are going to, aren't we? I feel like Theo should shoot for Tony, he resembles him anyway," Sophia snipes at Theo, and you can only imagine whoever Tony is to be a large burly man with a mustache and cowboy hat.

"Theo as the main lead, then Manon, you should go for Anita-you want to, don't you?" Megan brings it up, and you realise they're going in an order, clockwise from Theo.

They seem to assign roles to everyone around the table, and you know it's only a matter of time before they start to pick on you, you're going after Sophia. You're sitting to Manon's left of course, and Sophia's right.

"Wait...then Megan should go for Bernado-no, trust me, I'm not joking. It could work! I see the vision!" Manon practically screams this at Megan, and you can see Sophia and Theo stunned for a few seconds before seemingly actually considering her in the role. "It couldddd work, I agree," Sophia nods her head, and when she notices Theo daze out for another moment, she smacks him on the shoulder and he nods along with her, startled. He blinks slowly, raising his eyebrows at her, and she scoffs in his face, rolling her eyes. At that, he snickers lightly, trying his best to muffle it to no avail-Sophia notices, and she smacks him again. Really, he's going to have more bruises from Sophia at this point than for Sophia. You're not blind. You know. You're not the only one that knows the reason behind Theo's other fights, and you're definitely not the only one that knows that Sophia is. Beautiful.

That is something no one here will argue against. Theo will not, you will not, Megan and Manon will not, Sophia will...

Well, Sophia might. But does her opinion really matter here?

Now their gazes shift to Sophia, and your guess is right on the money. After all, what role for her besides the leading female? "You should be Maria for sure, though I heard that a lot of others are auditioning for her. But I'm sure you'll get it, you're practically a Disney princess yourself." The leading female for Sophia. You have no idea or vision of what this musical is, but you're already sure that the leading role is for her. She is made to be front and center.

And now, there comes you. You, who is reluctant to perform and yet being begged by everyone here to just try and do it. Sophia eyes you, looks over you for a moment, before bursting into another fit of giggles, Megan and Manon slowly following, while Theo has gone into his daze again. He's always like that whenever he's not looking at Sophia, as if she's the only thing worth snapping out for. That is the point you and your brother will always meet. Still, the girls are laughing louder and louder and you're sure the librarian is about to chew all of you out. As if she wasn't done with you all already. Usually, she'd shout at you much earlier. You wonder if she's simply given up on you all, and you're not even shaming her-you would too, if they weren't your friends.

Sensing your obvious reluctance, they pretend to ponder deeply about what role they'd like you to try. They might be crazy and persuasive, but they are not cruel by any means. Just try for a side, Manon suggests. That is probably the best deal you'll get. Try for a side, get three lines or less, and just try to enjoy the experience for the first time. You don't even need to really appear on the front stage.

"It's for the experience, the performance experience!" You can tell, Sophia is far far more invested in this than you. She could have become a child actor with her talent. You'd like to imagine Sophia growing up in Hollywood rather than the area you do now. Somehow, you're certain that she'll still find a way to become the exact same person she is now. People say that the environment changes you, and sure, while that might apply to some, it certainly doesn't apply to her-she herself seems to be the one changing the environment around her. If she had gone to Hollywood as a child, it isn't Sophia that would have changed. You wouldn't be the same person, Theo wouldn't, and none of your shared friends would. Even your mom probably wouldn't be the same, Sophia's basically her third child now with the amount of times she's been over to play with Theo. She has changed everyone around you.

Have you changed her too? Sophia still has all of her childhood habits-daydreaming, drooling, a very, very sweet tooth-but maybe something has changed. Appearance wise she has, all of you have. She has gone from the cutest girl in the world, someone that you've compared to a teddy bear that you just want to keep hugging, suffocating it slowly. Cute enough to warrant near death attempts for you. But now, you suppose people would really, really take their lives for her. You wouldn't be surprised. She has gone from the kind of beauty you wish to kiss on the forehead to one you wish to kiss on her lips, her collar bones, her chest. So many tragedies have happened because of god-like beauty like hers. You accept your fate to be her next.

Scoffing loudly, you let out a sigh. You've always given in to Sophia. That's something that you can't ever change. Thinking again, maybe that is something that was built into your biology as well. All the inabilities and limitations when it comes to her. "Fine, but as a side role. And keep in mind that you still owe me the five dollars you used to buy lunch before."

"Seriously? You're still hung up on that? I can't believe you agreed though. y/n actually agreed for once...?"

Oh my god, what have you gotten yourself into? Yet, her unchanging smile still shines in your face. You want to learn too much of her so that you can't learn anymore. Theo as the leading male and Sophia as the leading female is. Theo, probably playing as her love interest. Expected. That's what it tells you, despite everything. Maybe because it's always been like this, since Theo somehow stumbled upon an angel and befriended her. That is the greatest stroke of luck that both of you will receive in your life.

The devil crawls up from your heart. It has always been there. You pray that Theo's luck runs out for his audition.

When you get to the audition rooms, Sophia dragging you there just after your failed study session, it's more packed than you thought it would be. Huh. You must have really, really misjudged the amount of people in your school that wanted to take part in a musical. There's already a line, a string of people so long they've had to book three rooms and take another one. The room at the very end of the fall must be the room where you audition, since it's the only one not brimming with noise. It is also the same room where a very intimidating looking woman, probably the main runner of this musical program, is sitting next to, with her blue clip board held in a threatening matter and a red pen in her other hand. But maybe you were right after all, because the line seems to pass faster than it should. Either a lot of people backed out the moment they saw the women judging their auditions-truthfully, you would too if not for Sophia's relentless teasing later, which you'd take anything to avoid. Especially if Theo joins her and gangs up on you, which has a very high possibility of happening. Well, either that they backed out or the majority were just there to support their friends who were trying, and you could have been one of them if not for...well, your friends.You huff, laughing inwardly. Really, if they weren't your friends, you feel like you would've killed them ages ago. But, then again, knowing that they're your friends, you know that they would find a way to revive themselves and come back to life purely for the reason of tormenting you.

"y/n l/n, I assume you're here to audition today, judging by the fact that you're standing in the audition queue. Now, what role are you auditioning for?"

Wow. She is scary. You would back out too. You scramble to remember the name of the side character, the one that Sophia told you to go for because of their supposed 'comedic relief', whatever that meant to a girl that found the most ridiculous things funny. Knowing that, you could be signing yourself into playing a villianous character, or even a tree in the backdrop of the play. It has happened once, and she might do it again. Sophia is not over doing dirty tricks like that.

Ah. Martha. You think that was her name. A very, very, minor role. With less than three lines or so, not even appearing in the same scenes Sophia and Theo would. Sophia going for Maria, you recall, and Theo going for Tony. He's going to play her love interest, he's probably going to kiss her on stage. And something strikes you, just then on the spot. He's going to kiss her on stage in front of everyone, and knowing the romantic your brother is, he's going to confess on the opening night just after, appearing behind Sophia with flowers. He's going to start her fairytale, turn the key in the lock. His key, his lips, the only perfect fit.

"Hello? We don't have all the time in the world for you, you know. What role are you going for?" The women's voice cuts through your throat, a clean beheading.

No hesitation this time. Coward.

"I'm looking to play the role of Tony."

Sorry, Sophia. This will be the first time your prince disobeys your orders. Princess, please have mercy. What irony that the one time you don't act like a coward is when you're going against your princess' orders.

[Ten photo limit reminding me this is getting long af]

You are not looking forward to checking that list. You just know that you aren't on there, because you never went for the side role of Martha...yes, Martha. And you certainly aren't going to get the role of Tony either, with what Theo and an absurd amount of other people going for it. Even the woman at the front gave you a questioning look as if you were insane when it came out of your mouth. You, as a girl too. You were insane, what were you thinking? And yes, you can see Sophia running up the halls now, meaning that you have to face the music. It brings you some reassurance that Sophia has most likely gotten the role she wanted, so she'll hopefully be too giddy with joy to be too mad. You don't even need to tell her, since your name won't appear on the list. You should just pretend to sheepishly admit that you chickened out and didn't audition. You change your mind, either way, you won't be able to escape reading. Teasing for chickening out and not auditioning in the end is much more easier to admit than telling her that you went for Theo's role, the leading role, of all things. You don't even want to try to guess what her expression would be.

Her hand jumps into yours before dragging you down the hallway without even a word-she knows you'll follow, and you do. There is a list at the very end of the hall, dramatic almost, as if calling you towards it. Calling everyone towards it to bask in its glory. That piece of paper, flimsy, glossy paper barely clinging onto the old paint of the wall, with those words printed in the world's tiniest font size. You can't even make out the words from here, whether that be by the light shining onto the poster, shadowing the words, or the huge crowd in front of it, some of them with grins on their face and the others the opposite. She sprints towards it, the crowd parting for her, and you're expecting her to jump on you in joy when she realises that her name is there, her name is there for the leading female role. And then afterwards, then her eyes will shift down to try to find yours, and you'll have to tell the truth. You practically brace yourself. For the screams, then the smack, and then the teasing when she reaches her incorrect conclusion. It doesn't come. It never comes. When you open your eyes, she's blanked out. Her eyes, those swirls you love, they've really turned into the mist, fogging up her vision. You can barely see her pupil over the clouds. Her face betrays nothing, her mouth wide open. You can tell she's shocked. For what? That you didn't get it? That you didn't tell her? Besides, she shouldn't be making that face right now. She got the role, didn't she? You scan down the list to check. Beside the role of Maria, the second name from the top, it's Sophia's name. She got it. So why isn't she...?

You go down the rest of the list from there. As expected, your name isn't on it. Because you didn't go for any of those roles. Why is she...did Theo not get his role? Is that it? Her grip on your hand tightens as her gaze drops to the floor. When she looks up again, her lips have parted into a small. One masking confusion, one masking shock, one with something else you can't decipher. You direct your vision towards the very top name on the list.

It's Theo's. Theo will be the leading actor to kiss her. As you predicted, as everyone predicted, as Sophia predicted. She told him to go for it, after all. But beside his name, in a smaller font, is yours.

Understudy for the role of Tony: Y/n l/n.

Oh. The list didn't give you a chance to lie. The list is not human. The list doesn't have expressions or sarcasm or a shocked gaping mouth. It just has words in that curly black font. Sophia knows, she knows that you tried out for it now. That you went for Theo's position. The list doesn't let you lie, you coward. Why? Why is it that you can never escape your cowardice? Is it really that ingrained into your soul? You went for the role, and now you can't, you don't even want to admit it. Did you really think you were being brave by going for Theo's role?

You are a coward, you know. You know you went for his role for a reason. It is her. It is always her. She smiled, and she was perfect, and you liked her instantly. It is very hard to dislike perfect things like her that seem molded by the hands of heaven. Things like the sun and beautiful faces and warmth and the feeling of sand beneath your feet. Things like her eyes, her lips, and her tears. She is a beautiful crier, her crying like the light hitting the horizon, the very window of time for the orange in the sun to merge with the blue. Her tears latch onto her lashes and never fall. As if they're waiting for her to let them go, let them go and race against her cheeks and finish at her chin, painting her face to the surface of the lake, like letting varnish flow on a painting. These are the easiest, the easiest things to love that don't require an explanation. The things that everyone loves and knows and knows they love. She is simply one of those things that goes without saying. And yet, it is hard to admit you love her. Is there even an explanation for that? No. You yourself are a most interesting puzzle that you wish to claw your heart out of your ribs and dissect it. Undo all the threads she has sewn to keep you together over the years. A muscle tissue of grief, a vein of mystery, a chamber of her. How much of your heart has the parasite already consumed? There will be nothing left of yours soon. You can't put yourself into words. Maybe you could put her into them. If you ever could, you'd read her over and over again, even if she were the ingredients on her shampoo bottle.

You know, you'll do anything for her. You will do everything for her but those three words from your lips. Every part of you will love her but your lips. That takes a different type of cowardice.

"You're the understudy for Tony," she mumbles, softer than she should be. Something that soft, that gentle, less than the sprinkling of dew on the grass, shouldn't be able to cut. Should not be able to stab, and should not be able to kill. But a dull knife is still a knife, after all. And your angel, with her knife, can still be a killer. Her silhouette, knife in hand and blood on lips, will still be mistaken for the grim reaper. "I don't think the others know about this yet." That is all she says before the knives turn back into feathers falling from her wings. She doesn't bring anything else up.

"You got the Maria role, though," you're desperately trying to change the topic, and you're sure she can sense it too. She agrees though, and her eyes fall on the list again-and you realise, she hasn't checked her own name. She looked for yours first. She just gives you a small smile and a nod to compliment it. You won't say sorry, though. God, how many times will you say this again? She is kind, too kind. Her heart must be made out of cotton and wool to be this soft. An apology would evoke guilt in her heart for the way she most likely feels towards you. Anger? Frustration? She shouldn't feel guilty for something you did. That is, the one thing you can still do for her.

You are a horrible person, you know? You have turned into one for her. Is she really the devil, then? Maybe that is the secret your heart has been holding out for you, the only reason it is not fully hers. Because your angel is the devil, because she has made so, so many people sin and fight for her, because she has turned so many into sinners just for the sake of being close. That secret, that reason, is the only reason your heart keeps in a piece.

It is the fifth week of rehearsals that lands you in hot water. At least, it seems like it. The strict women with the clipboard-you've now learned that her name is Mrs Carla, calls you to the side after rehearsing a scene, the scene where Tony realises that he's fallen for Maria. You know, the plot of the musical just seems to get worse and worse every time you try to retell it to yourself. You find yourself cringing internally when you try to imagine Maria in your head, and Tony wringing his hands together when he realises. Mrs Carla doesn't groan, doesn't point anything that you do out, just pulls you to the side. She's absolutely silent. That's how you know. She purses her lips together, the thin line in her forehead creasing again.

"Y/n, I know you're trying. And your acting is good, it's improving. But that particular scene, it's...try to work on it, alright? You're acting like how Tony would, rather than how you would."

Your eyebrows crease in confusion. Is that not it is supposed to work? Even for being an experienced theater teacher, this seems a bit much.

"I'm playing Tony. Shouldn't I...act like him? I've read the script, watched the movie it's based off..." It doesn't make sense in your head. You are playing Tony, that stupid yet reckless man that loses it when it comes to love. You've analysed his character deeply, annotating the script and making sure you read his lines in the same way you think he would. Even if you were just an understudy.

Mrs Carla doesn't sigh, but she doesn't do much else either. She just gives you a look. "I don't want you to be Tony. I want you to be yourself-and, before you protest, yes, I can tell you want to," she puts a finger in front of you as if to stop you. "You are playing Tony, so you are the Tony now. Deliver your character through his lines. You are him, you are not simply acting him."

Your look of confusion makes her sigh. Finally. A sound out of her. That's been worrying you. "Maybe you should talk to someone that's good at emotional scenes. They could help," her gaze leaves yours for a moment, as if scanning the room for potential victims to burden them with you. You can feel the shame burning through your finger tips when her eyes manage to scan over most of the room before finally reaching the last corner. Finally, her lips part again. You pray for the unfortunate soul that will be forced to help you.

"Ask Sophia. Here's a reason we chose her for that leading role, after all. She's free right now too, always playing around. Go ask her now, to help you later."

Oh. Ok. Well, it's not the best, but it's not the worst that could happen. You can imagine the teasing you'd get if she'd asked Theo. Not that there wouldn't be teasing from Sophia, but milder. Less. Sophia is kinder, after all, much kinder than your devilish twin brother. But she would still absolutely tease you. But you feel indebted to her, after she didn't say a word about the role you ended up getting. She deserves to laugh. You took at from her today. She should have smiled, jumped up until the locks of her hair kissed the ceiling, but she didn't. When she saw her name on that list, right beside Maria, she should've bloomed and the lights in the hallway should have dimmed in the sun's presence. If teasing you about your acting, something you don't particularly care about, can bring something your sun back into its orbit, you'll let it happen.

But later, of course. When you glance over, Sophia is busy talking with Manon while chewing a mouthful of fries very loudly. You swear Mrs Carla must've seen her by now, and she's made it very clear multiple times-but there's always favoritism, you suppose. You can't blame her either. You don't even register that Soph is saying, but you know that she's in her own element. The fries are hanging out of her mouth and her tongue is somewhere caved into it. She is most likely channeling the character she's playing, Maria, but all you see is Sophia. She's playing Maria, but she's still so vividly Sophia you can feel it. She is Maria, but she is also Sophia. She plays Maria in a different way than everyone else does, something with her own charm and that shining smile. Maybe it is the very fact that you can imagine Maria playing hide and seek in the playground and eating fries with sprite because of her. Once she chews and swallows, she almost chokes, and you can see the lump go down she throat before Manon offers some water. Sophia gulps it down, only to send herself into another choking fit, sending Manon into pleas of laughter. Like a chain reaction, Sophia sees it and starts choking even worse, the one only shutting up when finally given a look by Mrs Carla. And even after that, you see Manon stuff another handful of fries right in her mouth. They really do not learn.

Later, after you've asked Sophia hastily while she was packing up to leave, you both meet again at her door step. She left earlier, while you had to stay behind due to extra poetry club duties. You really shouldn't have agreed to taking up the role, you probably wouldn't even be playing it. As you make your way to your house, your bag slumped against your shoulder, you sigh again. She said yes, and she looked no different than before. But something has changed, since that day that she saw your name under Theo's. She hasn't changed in your eyes, but you can sense you have in hers. She looks at you different, shifting her gaze from you to Theo and everywhere else constantly, and she doesn't lean on you in the car anymore. If anything, you miss her warmth. You miss one of her smiles again. Sophia is a happy person. She smiles all the time. In the morning, when you both head to school. A sleepy smile, where she's rubbing her eyes and she can't even talk coherently. Lunch, where you occasionally meet, and she's sitting on the benches with Theo-a excited one, her eyes scrunched up and trying to call out to you despite her mouth being full of her food. After school, now, the doorstep, when you both head home, and she shoots you one before she sprints back to her house nine down.

You barely make it to your room, feeling like a stranger in your own house. You grip the railings, and your doorknob seems colder than it should be. The opening, the lock, the turning, rings in your ears. The dim lighting that you never bothered to fix illuminates her again, her back facing the window. She's sitting on the right side of the bed, always her side. She's got the blankets cuddled up to her chest, her arms on her lap. She turns around when you come, and immediately, the air is different. She still looks at you and smiles, but your cheeks heat the moment that she touches your hand, pulls them to her as you settle on the left side, your side of your own bed. Something spikes like dopamine straight to your heart when she starts chattering and mumbling about something she saw and heard in class today. But when she finally gets to the point, you see something.

She's got no socks on.

"So, since Mrs Carla says that you lack...what, character? Your own character. When you're playing Tony, that is," she mumbles on, the blankets now to her chin, and you debate making the temperature of the air conditioning higher-but that would take away the bundle, the cocoon of blankets going up to her face and wrapping around her like a spider's web to its prey. She moves with it, like a butterfly escaping. "I've seen you act. You just have one problem, y/n. Just one, and once you get over that you'll be better than Theo already."

It is only natural for her to have seen you act. You might be performing together, after all. You might. It all depends on whether Theo will fall sick, or have some sort of problem with his acting coming up. It is only natural, and yet you feel your cheeks burn up to your ears at the very mention. She's seen you act, act out those ridiculous scenes with all your heart. As much as you were reluctant to do this before, you agree. You are truly earnest about this now. You want to do this with your heart.

"So, what's the problem? Also, you're going to overheat if you keep bundling in those blankets like that," you start to brush the blankets off her, peeling them off like layers, unwrapping a ribbon on a present. She hisses at you and pulls the blankets back up, further curling into them.

"Your room is cold! Really, really cold. Like antartica levels of cold!" It is only now you notice that she has slight goosebumps on her thighs, that are still peeking out. But still....

"It's not that cold! Besides, you didn't even answer my question!"

"That's not fair! I can't help you if I'm going to freeze to death first!"

You pretend to ponder this, sarcastically acting genuinely worried for her. She scowls at you, lurching for the remote that you quickly snatch away from her grasp. You hold it above your head, where you're certain she can't reach, especially with her being all covered up in blankets like that. She quickly realises the same and settles for scowling and smacking your shoulders. This is something you can leverage, you think.

"Alright, for everything you help me with today, I'll up the temperature by one degree,"

Her eyes widen, but she quickly composes herself again. She huffs and sends you one last scowl. "Fine, but you lower it first. I'll help you after you lower it."

You have your first question, so you ask her. She eyes the remote, and you grudgingly press the button to up the temperature by one. It doesn't even make a difference, but Sophia seems satisfied enough. Probably because she doesn't even feel anything under all those layers of hers. "So, what was my problem? You still haven't answered."

She sighs as if you're asking her to reconstruct the great wall of China, such a weary task, and you eye her. If there's one thing you've learned from Mrs Carla, it's how to give her a look. She shoots up immediately, shuddering slightly. "What the fuck? Did she teach you that?"

You don't answer, simply continuing to shoot her the same look that you've received thousands of times now.

"I think it's because you see them in third person. Like, as in, Tony is separate from you. But you are Tony now, you are him. You think like 'Oh, Tony would do this-' or 'He would act like this-', but he's not the only thing that would influence your character," she pauses for a moment, gauging your reaction. "Mrs Carla wants unique versions of the characters, so she wants you to portray your own character in the role of Tony."

How can you even do that? The two of you are separate things, one human, one fictional. It doesn't make sense to lump either together. You cannot put yourself in Tony's shoes. Sophia seems to sense your hesitation-she has always been able to do that, of course. Sometimes you regret feeding her so much of you that it seems she can predict your every action. Suddenly, she stands up, and walks to the door.

"Hey! What are you-" Why is she leaving? Why?

"Right! That's right! Now, what's the first line you saw when you see Maria?" She stops, turning around to face you again. She seems so satisfied, as if she's achieved something when you've barely muttered more than a few words. Has something already worked? Has her magic, her magical touch, her magical voice done something?

"Hey! What are you doing?"

Her smile slacks a bit, and she comes closer to you again.

"See, that's the problem. The first time you did it was perfect. It was you, very you. Don't think of the character, Tony. Remember, it's your own character in his situations. Not him," she crosses her arms, tilting her head to the side, as if asking you to try again. You have to say it ten more times minimum, constantly reminding yourself to forget the image of Tony you have in your head, and trying to think of what you would do instead.

Finally, after what feels like the thirteen time, and about to be your thirteen reason, she claps her hands together. She lets you go, finally, and it's only the first line. She's laughing and she's practically vibrating on her feet. She's so squirmy today that you wonder if it's because someone gave her caffeine again. Manon. Definitely Manon. You feel like you all have definitely learned your lesson for the last time you gave her caffeine, more than two years ago. Which just serves as a warning of how bad it had really been. You know, some people don't even have reactions to caffeine at all, and Sophia, Sophia is not one of those people. She's far onto the other end of the spectrum in fact, and you all should have suspected it, given her already hyper nature, but of course you all didn't.

It is the weekend, the one after the last few days of middle school ends, and you are nearly fifteen while she is still a long way from it. You both divert from your usual path of walking right to your house, making your way to the front gate of the school for once, maneuvering your way through the complicated tapping system. Which is why everyone avoided the front gate, you included, until today. Because Sophia saw one of Theo's other friends drinking a drink with whipped cream from one of those new stalls supposedly on the way from the front gate, and decided she needed to have it. She'd hyperfixated on it, and she'd spent the rest of the day talking to you about it, her hands and eyes all shining animatedly, the light dancing off her fingertips. It is only after you conquered the front gate, which you considered to be the biggest problem, does the biggest problem come. Sophia. Is indecisive. Extremely. "Which one should I get, y/n? Help me, choose one-"

"Sophia, it's your drink."

She pouts again, crossing her arms over her chest like a fuzzy toddler. "Fine!" You both somehow end up drinking the same thing, Sophia's just loaded with whipped cream on top and caramel. She blanches at the taste, the taste of the coffee you've ordered. You did tell her not to do the same as you did. She is adorable, sticking out her tongue slightly as if she could air the taste out of her tastebuds, but still pretending to enjoy it whenever you looked directly at her, not realising you could see her other reactions in the corner of your eye. Sighing, you check your wallet again. You have five dollars to spare. You mumble a lame excuse of needing to get some tissues from the counter, leaving Sophia sulking at the benches you've chosen to sit at. You order her an iced hot chocolate, one with extra whipped cream and caramel. Sophia likes to swirl the whipped cream until it's completely mixed into the drink, forming a marble, dream-like texture on the surface of the foam she creates. You lean against the counter after you fork over your final five dollars, until they call your name and you come to pick it up. You practically march over to the benches, and Sophia perks up. There are lights visibly turning on in her eyes and soon enough they engulf her pupil. You hand the drink over to Sophia, who grabs it and immediately tosses the other drink to the side. A feral Chihuahua, a small husky, is what she resembles.

"How'd you get the drink?" You can't really make out what she said, but you get the idea of it. She's trying to swallow and gulp down her drink while asking you this, suffering and ending up choking when the cold drink slinks down her throat.

"Oh, I-" your throat feels dry, despite you having drank something just seconds ago, your drink's straw barely inches away from your lips. Lips. Sophia has a white line of whipped cream and chocolate foam hovering just slightly above her full lips, and they're slightly parted like a half-closed window. She licks her lips, successfully getting the chocolate foam in one, leaving her lips like a mirror, images floating on the surface of their skin. "It was just a free drink since we were first-timers there,"

She seems satisfied enough with the answer, not that she was paying much attention. She's gulped down more than half her drink now, and it seems brain freeze just doesn't exist for her-it fits well with your theories, about how she's just too warm for the cold to affect her. Melting away like popsicles under the sun. On the way back after you've both dumped your drinks, Sophia seems a bit jumpier, and she's skipping about, but that is still such typical Sophia behavior you don't think much of it.

Until it's one in the morning, and she still can't sleep. You can hear she tossing and turning on the right side of the bed, and today she's thrown off the covers despite the temperature being low enough that you have one to your chest. Peeking your eyes open, you can see her pressing her eyelids down firmly, as if trying to force herself to sleep. You throw off your own covers, and you hear Sophia let out a gasp-then promptly muffle it because she probably thought you were still asleep. You roll over, and turn to face Sophia, sitting up on the bed. Her eyes are open now, and despite them being brown and the room dark, they seem almost amber. The colour of melted caramel to the brink of burning over.

"Can't sleep?"

She yawns, clearly tired. She sits up along with you, stretching her arms behind her head before nodding quietly. Her lashes flutter as she blinks twice to focus you into view. The shirt you've given her to wear is riding up on her stomach, the blankets she's thrown off herself just barely covering from the starting point of her navel to the rest of her legs. You snuggle closer to her, so that her head is resting on your shoulder again, and then you and her both lean back onto the pillows, her head still resting on your shoulder. It feels like a nail and hammer jamming her head into yours, sticking the two of you together as she tries to fall asleep again.

After a few minutes, the toll of her head onto your own shoulder is showing. You can feel it go numb, and you're almost certain it'll feel like a static beanbag in the morning. She still shifts about, not even close to sleeping, but her eyes remain shut. Her eyelids are perfect semicircles, and her eyelashes are curled up naturally. They curl up as if protecting the eyelids, guarding her sight from some great evil out there. She mumbles something again, when she feels her gaze on you, and you let your own head fall onto hers to hear the words spewed from her precious lips.

"Is it uncomfortable?" Her voice has a slight change in tone compared to the morning, now more light and flowing like a stream. She's getting sleepy. The words taken from her throat feel like pearls falling off a broken chain, every syllable falling and rolling away onto the ground. Each one equally as precious and priceless as the last. Every pearl, from the startings of her lungs to the ending of her tongue. Every sound, bigger pearls than the last, till she feels five meters away from you and breathing in static. Like her voice is coming from the hallway down the corner instead of right beneath you. She smells like you today, your shampoo again and her having used that expensive body wash you told her not to. So of course she did. Her scent is faint, but it's there, unlike her voice. She speaks like the earth is parting beneath her, her voice slowly slipping away into the gaps. Your shoulder is burning, and her head is falling into its craters and its valleys before landing into the canyon. Your muscles have been stretched over a tightrope, acting like your hands as they cradle her head and keep it stable.

"No, it isn't. Just sleep, Sol. Sweet dreams." Another whisper of a breath. Even the humming from the air conditioning was decibels louder than that. Still, her lips curl up, still slightly glistening.

"Sol? That's nice. Sun, right?" Her voice falls through the gap, tearing her away from you. It comes out like an afterthought, the last few grains slipping from her fingers, the few drops of water after she wrings the tap off. Sun. Yes. Speaking beneath you. Does that make you the sky?

She doesn't wait for your answer, simply taking your silence as acknowledgement. "Why Sol though? I didn't even remember it until you said it," and she pulls the blankets closer to her chin.

You smile and you laugh and you breath sunshine. Even one look from you is enough to change the course of someone's life. Your timeline runs on her. You know that it's eight in the morning when she appears on the doorstep, you know it's three in the afternoon when she jumps on you in school, running with Theo straight to their lockers to get their books before going. You know it's precisely one hour and thirteen minutes into today because of the way your nightlight, placed on Sophia's side, shines on her hair. It makes one full orbit during the night, much like the earth around the sun. You will tell yourself it was merely a coincidence that you bought it right after you met Sophia. The light circles her head like a halo, and you're reminded of your very first comparison of her. An angel, wasn't it? Now, you don't see how you could have forgotten. It goes up half her face, making her look like night and day. You know it's night when Sophia either climbs out your window and down the tree to her backyard, or when she jumps onto the right side of your bed again and scoops up all your blankets without question. Everything seems to close off in her presence, like a curtain being draped over them. The small blooms quivering and hiding away in presence of the blooming flower.

She holds your hourglass in her hand. She takes exactly forty-six seconds to tie her laces. She takes fifteen minutes minimum to shower with her mass of hair, and she takes about two minutes to fall asleep the moment she's comfortable, so the girl mumbling on your shoulder will become mute after about thirty more seconds.

"Why? You never answered me, y/n," her words are disappearing into the veil of mist, not behind it, but becoming it.

"...because they start with the same letter?" You look down for her reaction, but she's asleep, her cheeks dusted pink from the lights and her smile stuck on her face. Your shoulder finally collapses on itself, locking it into place, and you just know that you'll have torturous pain tomorrow. But the pain of it dissipates in the aftermath of what you've said. Can she tell? The moon has come out, and the sun is asleep. Can she tell? That's the third lie you've told her today.

She sleeps, and even then, you wake up first later that same day. Lights pools at the windows, and you think, as Sophia starts rubbing her eyes again, that there are two suns in the sky.

Unfortunately for you, Sophia doesn't seem to be resting anytime soon, unlike the time she took caffeine. Stupidly, you've left the remote to control the air conditioning on the bed, while you're now standing far from it. Sophia seizes the opportunity, and it's not even close. She's still sitting on the bed, she just dives to get it while you hit the edge of the bed. She presses to up the temperature five times, and suddenly the place feels like the Sahara.

"If you're going to keep the temperature that high, you might as well not switch on the air-con at all," you dive for the remote again, but she completely covers it with her body, and you're left fighting with her back, your fingers running down her spine. She tosses the remote behind the pillows, and before you can make a mad dash for it before the heat bakes you both, she throws one of the blankets that's been covering her while she luxuriously laid in bed while you were forced to recite your lines on the floor. Unfair. You rip the blanket off your head and throw it at the bed, hoping to aim at Sophia, but it lands flat. She has climbed onto the pillows near the headboard, and she's wielding the remote like it's a gun, pointing it straight at you. You jump onto the bed, balancing precariously on the mountain of blankets that Sophia's made, all lumped up together with the stuffed toys. You bet that she placed the silky blanket on top in hopes that you'd fall. You growl at her, shocked at the noise that comes out of your own mouth, like a feral dog, and lunge at her, to which she easily jumps off the pillows, evades you, and moves to the other side of the room, still pointing the remote right above your eyes, to your forehead.

"Tony, drop the gun. Look at me!" She finally brings the 'gun" to her side, letting her arm swing and lock behind her back. She's reciting her lines along now, and her eyes are telling you to play along with her.

You make a gesture with your two fingers to resemble a gun, bring it over to cross your chest, and advance forward to her. "No, Maria, I cannot-step aside, Maria. You do not need to get involved in this cross-fire," there is a pained expression on your face, one resembling guilt and a lump in your throat forms naturally. Tony-no, you, are going to have to kill your love's friends and family. Guilt. Is that what you'd feel? What you'd feel towards Maria if you took away your family? Die. You'll becoming a murderer, and that thought alone sends shivers down your neck to wrap and quiver around your nerves, pressing down and making your fingers around your supposed gun to tremble. These are instinctual reflexes, you truly are Tony as of this moment. Your breath hitches, feeling the sun of the desert that the musical is set in, as well as Maria in front of you. Your steps towards her get smaller, shorter, as the mass in your throat starts to choke you. You stop, a meter away from her, your gun shifting from her shoulder to her heart.

"Please, Maria, please move. You do not need to get hurt, love. You can run, this is not your fault," The harsh wind, the sand blows into your eyes. It prickles them, sticking to your lashes and sending shots of pain through your eyes. You cock the gun, loading it before positioning it again, straight to the center of her heart. Maria's curls fly across her shoulder in the wind, yet her eyes remain determined and on you. She stands proudly, almost. Not wavering. She is the one unarmed, and yet, she acts nothing of it. Even though you know, you know one shot from Tony-no, you-will have her bleeding out on the ground within minutes. She does not give. If anything, Maria steps closer, throwing her hair to the front, as if walking down the aisle of a fashion rather than closer to the shooting range, her now mere inches away from her death. You hesitate, your hands failing you. The gun falls to the floor between the both of you, still locked and loaded. You curl in on yourself, Maria gasping aloud when the thud is heard.

"Maria, I can't do this-why must you risk it all for them? They are not worthy, darling. Please, I beg you, I cannot-I will not, shoot you," the gun has dropped, and yet Maria does not dive for it. Her eyes go half-lidded, as if thinking of something beyond the situation. She steps forward, voice brushing past your ears, her hair brushing the skin of your cheek, as they seem to curl around her face and the wind seems to brush the top of her head. The world blurs around you as the sandstorm approaches, as Maria's brother seems to go invisible, calling the other members for more backup. This was your one chance, and you couldn't take it. The gun is still at your feet, there is still a chance.

"These are my family. What makes you think I would drop everything, all I have, just because of someone like you? You've missed your chance now. You'll be dead by dawn. Were you really so certain that I'd give in to a bastard like you? I know what you did, Tony," Maria chokes it out in one breath, already starting to move away, to retreat back into the family shelter. The guns and horses will be at you in a moment. But something rips the threads of your heart open, rips your throat and takes the words right out of them yourself. Her eyes are glassy clear and her hands are in front of her, guarded. You are dead, she's made that clear. You realise it, too. The sun is setting. Within minutes, you'll be surrounded and tied with their ropes and whipped with their lashes. She turns to leave, all so certain of your fate.

Tony is a coward, you know. You've read the script, you've seen the movie. He leaves. He should turn and run for the hills. Maria will then move away, and lie her heart out that it was merely a mirage-a lie that, if caught, will get her cast out and otherwise killed by the penalty of fifty shots. Maria, oh, Tony's Maria. She should turn around right now and ask Tony to leave. Even as she's risking her own, she still wishes for him. Prays for him. Tony is much too pathetic for someone like her. Tony is a coward. And you are Tony. It strikes you then, you know. The Tony you've been playing this whole scene has been a coward. But he hasn't always been, has he? He's saved Maria from the bandits and protected her from his side of the gangs. So why? Why is Tony such a coward now? Why, when faced with the sun setting and the gun on the floor, does Tony hesitate? This is not in the script. This is you. You are a coward, you've made Tony a coward. It slips into his skin and you see through his eyes. He is suddenly two heads shorter with hair that falls to his waist. The gun is still at his feet. He is too much of a coward to pick it up, and shoot Maria to achieve his goal. He is too much of a coward to shoot the woman he loves.

The lump in your throat feels real for a second, and you can see your vision swimming between the harsh sand of the desert and the room with the blankets still behind you. It feels as though you are truly in the sandstorm. You heave, your palms gripping the ground, hard sand clumping and falling from the gaps between your fingers. You get to your feet, in front of the silhouette of Maria, who is leaving. You, you get to your feet and dash-and you catch Maria's shoulder, you catch her shoulder before she disappears again into the mist. The yellow mist, a whirl of sand, one that closes in on you every minute. Maria gasps, and yet, she turns again. Eyes red and lips pale. You can feel the sand, the wind eating at the fabric of your skin. You sink to your knees, in awe of the woman in front of you, the one whose tears are falling past her chin and melting into the sand. Melts and seeps into your soul. There is nothing more in the distance.

"Maria, am I not part of that everything?" There is pure defeat in your voice, at her knees, as you gaze down, and yet, it comes out as a tease. "Maria, will you run with me? We'll grab the horses and be gone within minutes," stay with you, is what they scream. Is what you scream. It is not written in the skies, the sand, or in the lines. It gives you a glimpse of what the parasite has made of your heart. Of what it has fed on, sewed up and attached to. It slips through the stitches, the carefully done stitches that you and her have put together. The adlib. It is an adlib.

The brother comes back. The sand is gone. And so is Maria, saying her line before disappearing into the shelter. Tony runs for the hills, the gun still on the floor, loaded for however picked it up next. Tony runs, but you are there. The sandstorm is there, and Maria is there-even though she had gone minutes ago. She comes closer, gun in hand, gun off the floor, presses it against her chest. Shoot, she mouths, her tongue moving with the motion. Shoot me, the words unfurl.

The skies unfurl, too. The red and the yellow turn into something of the darkest blue. The ground sinks and the sand turns into hard, hard ground, and the hot winds turn into cold, shivering ghasts. Instead of sand prickling your eyes, a snowflake falls onto the tip of your nose. The world forms around you both, the points of an open gate forming, and the open doorway. The snowflakes continue falling, landing without a shiver on Maria's hair and body. You can hear the sound of a car engine revving. You can hear the cries of a small child. Maria's hands climb to the sides of your head, turn your head around like a doll. She locks you into position, the gun still against her. The snow continues to fall. It builds on the ground and covers the black road with white. It covers you, stains the gate and paints it white. From the very corner of your eye, you can see flashing reflections of greens and red lights, and then a sudden switch as they disappear from the walls. Her hands slither to your eyes, covering them, as if shielding you from something. But it's not use, is it? You saw the lights. You know where this is. The lights coming back seconds later proves you right again.

The ground isn't the only thing turning cold. It sneaks into your skin too, and Maria-Maria still has the gun. You need to get her to drop it. Maria never died in the musical. But to never told her that, either. You didn't stick to the script. It's hard to move. The car moves. It's there. It leaves and there's tire tracks in the fresh patch of snow and more comes down to cover it up. The snow melts beneath your feet, drips upwards into your eyes and falls again. Maria's hands are around you, her head on your shoulder and she's suffocating. It's so cold and she's freezing. Her skeleton collapses in, sticks to your skin. She sticks to you, clings to you and you can't get her off. Your cheeks and wet and sticky with the melted snow and mix of your tears. It is freezing. Your teeth chatter together, feeling the cold barrel at the end of the gun you know, you just know that Maria is holding. Why, why this? How could she know of the driveway, of all places? You've never told anyone, and you're certain Theo can barely remember it. Mom never mentions it. The snow swirls into bits in the air, and this is where everything looks like the canvas of her eyes. And all within a flash, it happens again. The revving sound of the car comes back. The car is still in the driveway, is pulling away slowly. The piercing screams of the child in the house. The open doorway. Maria's hands continuing to slide further down your neck, the gun in either one. The ground is still black, only the first drops of snow falling, yet to blanket the ground. But the car pulls away again. The snow falls again. The ground is covered again, your shoes are covered and wet with melted snow again and you cry again, scream your throat hoarse as the barrel shivers behind your ear. Maria. She's playing with the gun, twisting it between her fingers, as if it's not loaded and could snipe someone dead with one misclick. She eyes you as if she's waiting for you to ask her something, but you don't need to. You know what this place is. You don't need to ask why your mind brought you back here.

Feelings of despair, right? That's what Tony feels in that moment when he runs away for his life with Maria's group after him. What better way to show that than play through your own, shift through your own mind? The human brain is sick, sick at times. You want to laugh, your expression contorts as the tears keep falling. You smile, you laugh, the sounds coming straight from your chest while something hollow seeps below. It crawls through your body and finally, finally finishes your heart. The red and green lights flash again, and then off. Gone. Maria waits patiently, the gun twirling in an ever going circle. Something claws through and rests its head on your shoulder, taking up the space Maria once did. This is ages ago. This is years ago, this is locked and binded away. The snow can't be this cold. Your lips can't be this purple. Your finger tips can't be so blue. The car can't be this loud. The person driving the car away can't be your dad.

He's just going to go get more Christmas presents. He's just going to get some food. It can't be. He looks years older than he should at the moment. He should not have white hairs sticking out and an unshaved beard. He should only look like this in the future. He drives away, the gate opens, trampling the blanket of snow once again.

There should be red in your eyes right now, the gun shooting him in your hand. There should be everything you've missed, everything he's missed. You should be running to smash open his windows and punch him, strangle him, for leaving your lips purple and your feet like glass. There is none of that. There is something slipping through the cracks again. There are icicles piercing through your lungs. They are filling with snow. The church bell tolls. The digital watch on your wrist rings one, two, three. You should leave. You can leave. Just snap out of it. This is your mind.

Dad looks just as he would now. He's aged eleven years. The car goes away again, and you look at the man in the seat. The car goes away twice, and you look at the man in the seat. The car goes away thrice, and your gaze is locked on the man in the seat. The car goes away again and again, until he looks no more than a stranger. You don't recognise him after eleven years. He could be a random fellow bus passenger, a random market seller you'd meet on the street, and you'd have no idea. You cannot hate a simple stranger. It is much easier to hate than to miss. Hate doesn't require having loved them. Missing does. Once, eleven years ago, you loved your dad. You loved the way he turned off lights switches and the way that he'd let you eat candy with your brother while Mom wasn't watching. When he pulled out of the driveway, you loved the way that he'd always start the car before opening the gate.

Eleven years ago and one minute later, you hated him.

Maria. What she'd said to Tony. Before he ran. Of course, she'd loved him. That's the whole point of the musical, isn't it? But no, Maria is brave. She is perfect. She has defended her family like that for so long. Hating instead of missing isn't a coward's act, it can't be. You can't have been one since your birth. Are you just so much of one that you see it in everyone? You can't have been one before you met her, because she was the one that turned you into it, wasn't she? She was, she was, she was. She is the one that makes you so scared of what she'll react sometimes that you don't say anything. She is the one that has made you lose the ability to ask her to stay, purely because she always has. She has always stayed. You became a coward the day you met her, right?

The day you met your beloved devil.

She gave you that sin. She is a horrible person. She has fed on your heart and made it her own. She has made it so that your every word to her is like a prayer. She made it so that you were a vampire, so you didn't need the sun when you had her. She clawed your heart out of your chest and placed it, beating and bloody, on your shoulder. She placed her head on your shoulder. She burned every inch of your skin so that whenever she touched you, you flushed. She waited outside on the doorstep for you that day, so you'd be forced to ask her to stay.

She has taken control over the sun, so it'd always somehow illuminate her, so she'd never be shadowed. She'd charmed people on purpose, made then sinners, made them fight, so you'd let her cry into your sweaters.

She has replaced, she has changed your heart to an erratic one that beat and spiked whenever you saw her. Maria seems to quiver before you. Has she always looked this small and scared? Has the gun always been in your hand? Have you ever thought of shooting her?

Your fingers click on the gun as lightly as a foot on the snow. The bullet flies, the one loaded within it. Just one. Maria falls. The blood covers the snow. It's red now, matching with the flashing red lights. The car doesn't come back now. Blood leaks from everywhere but the hole in her chest that you've shot. Her eyes go unfocused. The snow turns from pure red to brown to black within seconds. The snow falls. Snowflakes land on her face and her soaked clothing, and they fall. They cover her face, as she gets smaller and her eyes get browner. They start to layer over her clothing, covering her hands, her legs, up to her chin. Her hair lays bloodied behind her. The blood around her is covered up by white. She is painted over, as if painting a ruined canvas to start over. Have her eyes always been that brown? Have her lips always been that red? Has Maria ever had swirls in her eyes?

The devil has died, then. The saints and the people of the earth and the heavens are cheering. It sets it fast enough.

Dig. Kick. Anything, anything to get her out of there. Your fingertips are turning black, your breath turning into mist. Your clothes are being soaked in red. Red, while the snow continues falling. It is building her a coffin, it is burying her above ground. Her chin goes under, and then her hair and then her beautiful brown eyes. The snow is up to your waist. You didn't even get to close her eyes.

Blink. In the distance, someone with her eyes and her hair and her body enters the driveway. But it isn't her. It might be her She is dead below your feet. She might be dead below you. Those brown eyes are of one of a million and that face is that of a billion. It doesn't mean that she's the one here, or the one there.

"You haven't told me your name yet!"

She is the one there. Blink, and the snow gives way to blue skies and fluffy clouds and the door halfway closed.

There is a whisper from your lips again. "y/n. y/n l/n,"

She looks up at you with confusion. "That's not your real name! I've heard Theo call you something else before-the nickname doesn't match. Trust me, I won't go telling anyone else! What's your name?"

"y/n l/n," you whisper.

She stomps her little feet in anger. "I told you, I know that's not your name! Why won't you tell me your name?"

"What did Theo call me?"

What did Theo call you when you were younger?

Blink. The remote is in Sophia's hands, and you are on the ground. She has the same face and the same eyes of the devil buried in the snow in the driveway. She is as beautiful as ever.

"Woah, you adlibed...I'm not sure how Mrs Carla would take it. I felt it was pretty good, though. You really felt like Tony," she is pacing around the room, still gathering the rest of her thoughts-until she shifts her gaze to you. Concerned. "You really spaced out for a while just now, you know? Are you sure you're ok? Maybe you're tired, I told you not to go through with the literature club,"

"I'm fine, Sophia, really," in your eyes, she is bleeding on the ground. "Let's do the next part now."

If cowardice wasn't your sin, dishonesty would be it.

You both flip through the rest of the script, both mouthing out small lines that you have, but mostly deciding which one of more important scenes you'll want to do today. There are a few. The balcony scene, the confession of love, the scene where they first meet. Sophia is a romantic. You flip to the pages of the confession scene even before it leaves her mouth. It is awkward at first, getting into position, but Sophia starts her lines anyway with pink on her face.

"You know, there is no reason you should be here. They'll always come after you, you know that." Maria walks up towards you.

"I don't mind. I have never minded, Maria," it comes out forced. You honestly can't believe these words are coming from your mouth. The desert turns back into the room when Maria whacks you over the head with a gun, which turns out to be Sophia with the remote.

"What was that, even? In Mrs Carla's words," Soph made an exaggerated accent and with her fingers pointing at you in perfect imitation of her. "There was no real character in that! You need to feel it" She looks at you, and in less than a second she changes back to Sophia. "You're not feeling it. You're in love with Maria, you know. You're in love with me,"

She brings herself closer to you as she says it. "You're in love with me, remember that, alright?"

Love. Act like you're in love with Maria. Like you're in love with someone. You can love, you don't doubt that. You love Theo, you love mom, and sure, you can love Maria. But romantic love is much more different. You cannot love Maria the way you love Sophia. Sophia is the only one you can love differently. She has always been different. Theo loves her too, after all. There is always one thing that the two of you can agree on. You love her. See, why was that so easy to say?

She is playing Maria after all, it shouldn't be too hard. When you open your eyes again, it is Sophia there, standing in the harsh heat of the desert with you, rather than the curly brown locks of Maria. The sand is shooting around both of you again, and Sophia shouldn't find it so easy to dodge it. She just seems to weave around it. Of course. She continues on with the next line seamlessly. There is not a single season that doesn't suit Sophia perfectly. Even in the harsh heat of the desert, the flush that appears on her cheeks because of it suits her well. Every does, doesn't it? You go up to her side, already slightly kneeling down due to height difference, and also to allow her to lay her head on your shoulder.

As she predicts, the next few lines are easy to say. They are natural. You think nothing of what she said. Remember that you love her. There is no other meaning for you. You don't need to remember. She has taken too much of your heart already; it could no longer be yours. There is too much of her, and nothing left of you, your heart will never be put back together. Maybe it hasn't been yours since the door. Maybe it hasn't been yours since she stepped on your door. Maybe it hasn't been yours the moment she looked at you, and you saw her eyes. It is easy to say that you love Sophia. She probably wonders what changed. She can't know that you have always pictured her eyes on Maria's. You will never say that.

You will do everything for her but tell her you love her. Because you don't, because that's Theo's role and because you've sworn on lesson one. Don't break people's hearts, and most importantly of all, don't break Theo's heart. You've noticed his room anyway. He's preparing something big for her. It is clear that Sophia will say yes to him. He's been a big, blundering idiot around her recently and unless they were blind anyone would be able to tell that he liked her. It will be easy for Sophia to say she loves him back, because she has. She does. You are not blind. She has always been his best friend. They were always going to be together eventually. Always. Since the moment he befriended her. Since the moment they were in the same class together. When they drew lots for seating partners every year, and without fail, Theo and Sophia would be together. They would do group projects together, in Theo's room, and then Sophia would come over and sleep in your room if she wanted to sleepover due to her complaining that Theo's bed was messy. Not that yours was any better.

She steps into the alcove of your heart. The door was wide open for her. How could you forget? You have never forgotten her, even for a second. Even if they were to remove her name from your lips, it would still be in your veins, carved into your bones. It is so damn easy to say the lines now. So damn easy. You light a candle for her, in the chamber of your heart. It burns. Her eyes shine in the dark due to the dim flame and you never put it out. It catches fire, sets the curtains aflame but her eyes have always remained shining. She leaves her voice in the windows, her scent in the air. Every part of this place afterwards rings of her laughter. The floor has been personally molded to her feet. Not even you can enter any more, you'd trip on the steps. Mispronounce the creaks of the floorboards. You have built a shrine, a room, a hole in your own heart for her before she even finished speaking. It rains, there is a downpour when she leaves. Of course. The blood pools into the chamber and cleans it out, the curtains and the scent and her sound. It rains. Your blood knows better than you do how to say goodbye.

What else could I love you mean? Really, what else could it mean?

You get on your knees, bending down in front of Sophia. "Maria, I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry, if this is too late."

There is a pause.

You can only love Maria because you love Sophia. Is that right? But you don't. You don't. You lost that chance before you even got it, the moment the universe made Sophia and Theo meet. For the first time, you want to believe in coincidences. That it was a coincidence that you opened the door that day and saw her. Purely a coincidence. If it was planned, you truly are the most unfortunate soul in the world. Who loses someone before they can even get them? Who makes someone do that?

Tear down the curtains, sweep the floors and change the floorboards of the chamber. Repair the indent in your shoulder. Replace your heart. You twirl her around so that her feet just barely graze the ground and she feels that she's flying; you tell yourself that it's because you wish to serve her for her enjoyment, but you lie-you just wish to see her eye to eye with you, and her hands grasping your waist, holding tight as if you're cradling her to sleep. On the right side of the bed, as usual. And the background melodies serve as lullabies as we rock and sway, and you put her down and wonder how much of a doll-like beauty she is. When they play slurs you find yourself spinning her, and when the violin bows reach their ends you find her face to face with me. You would've composed thousands of melodies just for Soph, just for that moment. For the moment that she looks up at you, her lightly dusted with pink, and you're the one that she looks at, with the chandelier betraying both your shadows. It is a dance. Just a dance. The chandelier betrays the colours of the sunset.

The cello starts to play. It has low notes but just one string lower. They play their staccato in little jumps, matching your heartbeat. The bass follows.

Her swirls in her eyes. She is the girl that belongs to the sky. That's probably where they got the saying from, you'd bet. The swirls of her eyes are the silver linings of the clouds. Silver lining in every situation, the very best part. The silver lining of your life, silver. How can you not love someone like that, y/n?

Everyone will love someone that resembles an angel. It means nothing. Too much of something is nothing. So, no. It is equivalent to the idea that two negatives make a positive.

You can briefly remember that. It must have been taught to you sometime in middle school, maybe only really drilled into your head in the very last year of it. Perhaps your least memorable year of middle school, the only thing popping into your head when you think of it being Theo asking Sophia to the graduation dance. It is a small ceremony for a small school, but all the parents chipped in. You remember watching Theo slouch as he watched yet another person ask Sophia to the dance, only for Sophia to turn them down. Everyone else had just walked up to her and asked, getting turned down instantly with barely a blink. It seemed that Theo thought he could secure his chances by doing something more.

But it's not like he needed to. She was waiting for him to ask her, of course. Theo has always been a bit blind when it came to Sophia, but you really thought he'd realise soon enough after she'd rejected practically every guy in class but him. So, no. Your poor twin brother, blind as he might be, was struggling to ask his beautiful best friend to go to a dance. And he had his own fair share of problems, too. He was getting asked, too. Funny how they both had the exact same problems yet both were blind to their own. They are so much of the same person that they are symmetrical to each other. Their lives mirror the others. If Sophia had broken a bone when she was nine, Theo broke one too. Both the exact same one, too. Their index finger. They also both proceeded to use their middle fingers to point while in recovery period.

You do not love Sophia Laforteza.

Sophia wishes that she really was a psychic sometimes, many having a telepathic connection to your mind. There are so many things left hanging, barely-just by a thread, and yet, the wind does not come to take them to fall. They hang there precariously, and she watches, she waits for even the slightest breath for the fall. It does not come, but it feels so, so close to the edge. One of those things she wishes to ask you is simple. Were you lying, that night when she fell asleep on your shoulder, that it didn't hurt? Because she's almost certain it did. You did not do a good job of hiding it.

Then again, another one of those things that she wishes to ask you is far more difficult. Do you love her? Knowing you, you'd say yes and brush it off as nothing else. But she can tell. She has never seen you like the way you act around her with any of your other close friends. She's certain you never fed candy to either Manon or Megan or Dani through the slips of your fingers, letting her lick your fingertips dripped with honey. She's certain that you've never written letters, poems like that to any of them. You say that she can't keep secrets and yet she's kept this one for so long.

Oh, she knows Theo didn't write that poem to ask her for middle school graduation. Theo doesn't have such beautiful words to spill from his lips. No one in her life has been able to command words like this. She recognises it is you the moment that she reads the first sentence and the 'z' has a line through it. She recognises it is you by the way the writing flows, by the slight curls of the 'y's and yet the almost straight 'j'. It is a poem full of pretty words. Words that Theo would use, believable enough, but not yours. Words that are not yours, because she's never heard you use the word 'pretty' by itself alone, her whole life. It has always been accompanied by something else, a superlative, a comparative, as if you always wish to say something above and beyond that. It is not enough for something to merely be pretty.

You remember helping Theo write the poem. The words for her, to describe her, overflow and drown easier than you would like to admit. There are far too little words to describe her and yet every single one pours out of your lungs.

She knows how to act because of you. She stays, she retains her own because of you. There is always a part of you that she's stolen from your heart, sewn and stuck into a little pocket of her own, that keeps her there. She is so much of herself around you that she'd argue she is not the same person around anyone else. It is as if her words and her smiles are reserved for you with the matching swirls.

She is not a fan of double meanings. She is direct, first and foremost. At least, that's what she tells herself before she realises. She thinks she's in love with you. And then, everything but courage comes. The hollow pit in her stomach swallows all her words and her cheeks burn like the sun whenever she tries. She has not been able to say it directly ever since she's realised that. Her lips betray everything, but do not allow those words to slip from her tongue. It is as if their very syllables are suppressed, the way that knots form and gnaw at her throat whenever they try to escape. Sometimes her heart beats so incredibly loud, she's surprised she doesn't have two of them. The times her heart swells when she tries. It grows with every time she fails, collecting all the fallen words and the feelings, all behind lock and key. She doesn't dare to open the door. She will never be able to fit anything back together again. But she has to. She is running out of places to keep the words. They gave clogged up her arteries and frozen her veins. They have latched onto her nervous system and started filling up her throat. Those very same words are building to the very roof of your mouth, and it feels as though the very act of opening it, simply parting her lips, and the mountain will bubble over and spill. She gulps it down, feels the stings in her stomach and the pit opening up again.

But they still build up. It feels like flowers sprouting in her lungs, constantly imagining your presence through your scent and seeing your swirls overlap hers whenever she glances at her reflection. A part of you she will take till death. She has told you this multiple times. She will tell you that you're the luckiest thing that ever happened to her, she will say it within a breath. Her tongue twists itself into flower crowns and she feels the scent of your backyard and those plants on your windowsill on her tongue.

The hockey game makes her feel differently. You called yourself a coward. She wishes to laugh at the irony. She acted like one in front of you just minutes earlier, at half time. She is worse than you, in so, so many ways. She has known she has loved you since the moment she turned fourteen on the very last day of the year. She has known she has loved you for over a year, closer to two, and she has not yet managed to force those words out. The hockey stadium, where the lights shining in from behind the windows at the very corners, and the lights seeping in from the smallest gals beneath the doors to the exits. Your hair, which she has turned into a messy looking braid with a peony and a small forget-me-not at the very end. She'd braided in the peony for good luck.

She'd braided in the forget-me-not as her first 'I love you'. You mentioned it, and her heart sends itself into static when you ramble again about flower language. She knew. She knew that you've always been interested in flower language. She wanted you to know. Part of her wishes that you'd taken the flower seriously. What is she saying? She planted that in the bouquet in hopes of it. A mix of blue and yellow, just laying under the guise of being for you and for the team. So she had a safety net, so there would always be other meanings to it. So that there would be other meanings, so that you'd pick up on them and assume so. It is stupid, she knows. She wishes to tell you and yet she wishes for you to think otherwise.

It is stupid, she agrees as she sits back on the bench. It is absolutely stupid how stunning you look with that braid.

In total, she has confessed to you three times. That is her very first confession. It goes about as well as she expects. She didn't even dare to put a rose.

Perhaps something more fitting would have been a lily. Even though she's given you sunflowers, you could be anything but. They face the sun, but you couldn't possibly look at yourself like that unless you constantly had a mirror.

She does admit to wearing that particular shade of blue more often afterwards. It is also the first time that the words piled up to her throat spill out, in the form of a small flower in your braid and a drink from the store you both constantly went to. She is holding a candle she lit herself, and the wax drips onto her fingers and smothers her finger prints. She holds the candle, lets you blow it out again, and again, and the wax drips onto her fingers and burns them, destroys the finger prints yet another round. But it doesn't matter. They grow back anyways, and your smile melts even the harshest of things. It cannot be a coincidence that she never gets caught in a snow storm with You-she's gotten into at least five with Theo alone. Your smile must be that warm, able to melt snowflakes within a five meter radius of yourself.

So, for her first time breaking open the shell of her heart, she fails. But it doesn't matter. She has built up many others over the years, all stuffed to the brim from the moment on the playground.

Her second confession is possibly worse. Her third, even more. She chooses double meanings, every form of evasion possible, every gap for escape from the meaning of it. She sets mouse traps and yet leaves the cages open.

But she sleeps in your bed more than in her own. Her clothes take up more than half your closet. Your mother knows the exact position to place the fork on her plate whenever she comes over. There are stones piling up at the very bottom of the lake, and she keeps them. Collects them, till the day she can throw them at the glass house that is her own heart. It will shatter in an instant, and it reminds her of the questions she has hanging for you. Just one blow. When it finally shatters and cuts her veins, to release every single word that she's formed while looking at your eyes in the windows of the car, she hopes it will be an ending that rivals that of the sunset of the day.

The rest of the lines go as expected. All the 'I love you's, she says. She has no problem with the acting, as there is no Tony in front of her. It is you dressed in some seriously outdated cowboy attire that hangs off your body. She is not acting. She hasn't been, in just any scene around you. She finds that she doesn't need to act that she loves you if she truly does too. She adores the way you sound, she likes the way you tend to hiss at every minor inconvenience. It is so far from the Tony of the movies and musicals. In those moments, it is not Tony and Maria on the stage but rather you and her. And quite frankly, she'd rather have that. Another thing she'd rather have is your lips on hers rather than Theo's.

Your smile is warm enough that she bets your mouth is warmer. Oh, the words are building up in her throat again. She has to say something.

You are packing up the area after practice, Sophia saying that she has to leave today to eat dinner with her family. Which means that she won't be lying on the right side of the bed, and yet, you still only touch the left. Which means that she won't be standing over, won't be using the bathroom to shower, and yet there's already a tooth brush waiting for her on the sink countertop. The pink one of course, with the yellow one in the yellow cup. The air is different today. You are not used to it. Around Sophia, it's always the same. It's the smell of shampoo and whatever she baked the other day, destroying your kitchen as she went about it. She's an excellent baker, doesn't mean she's not a baker. Today, the smell of shampoo has faded leaving behind only that of buttercream and chocolate.

The walk down the steps, she knows it. You shouldn't be following her. She knows the way down so well that her every fingertips are engraved, embossed into the railing and the walls. She knows this house as well as you do, and yet you can't shake the feeling that something is off.

I love you, she had said, in the heat of the desert and under the blanket of sand. I love you, not as Maria, but as Sophia. She was the one that appeared to you. But it is Maria, and those are lines. It is only natural for you to assume Sophia in her position, as she is playing Maria. Your brain finds every loophole, every gap between the curtains and takes it, reasons worming in to cover and stitch up the original.

Something off. As you near the door step, you don't want her to go again. She stays three times every week, she has stayed none this whole week. Stay, but you won't say that. Your fingers hesitate on the door knob before turning it and pushing the door open, and your eyes linger on the first door step outside. The lump comes back into your throat to choke you, the parasite now beating as your own heart.

Sophia fastens the last button of the jacket that she never brought here, stepping outside into the sky. The sun is still up, despite it being late. It is the perfect time to cast wishes into the horizon.

Really, you must love her. That's what Sophia tells herself. But that is not what causes the words to pierce her tongue and speak for themselves. It is the sky, the very same sky that cast itself over the world when you met. So she tells herself it is fate. It is fate that the thorns finally kill the blooms and that everything she's ever had of you shatters at once. The lake finally floods the land. The pebbles fill the whole bottom of it. The blood floods her brain and her every system fails at once. She is at this exact same moment, just five or six years back, in another timeline. So why would things go any different?

There are so many jokes she can play. Maybe she should ask you your name again.

The sun from that day turned your skin bronze, she recalls. There was grime and dirt covering your hands and under your nails. Your hair was messy and tangled up from running and hiding under the slide. Your eyes clouded over, matching with the absence of blue in the sky. It is none of your colours that day. The leaves from the tree next to your house had landed on your head seconds ago, so light that you didn't notice. Adorning you a bit like a crown. She had tripped and narrowly avoided a splinter when she stayed back on the doorstep, pushing her closer to you. Is it really that stupid to believe that your meeting was one of fate?

She didn't fall for you at fourteen. The doorknob shouldn't have been that warm, when she was nine. Her cheeks shouldn't have been that red, which is why you joked about calling her red at first. She shouldn't have lingered on your doorstep after, there were no meanings for that. There are no other meanings this time. As if she was tied to you around the wrist, she'd keep getting sucked to that doorstep. All she remembers is thinking that your hand was so incredibly warm, when it was her own. When it was her own eyes casting lights on you, and not the shadow of the sky. When it is her very own words that spill out, not the ones building in from her throat.

She has made four confessions in total. Her first being the very first time she met you.

The turn of the doorknob feels like the tightening of the noose around your neck. She fidgets behind you, and you finally unlock the door. The lights that streamed in from the open windows are the same as those above you. The lights pool like raindrops and fall onto every inch of her skin. When she does a little spin as she moves out the door, you experience a full cycle orbit. Wrap around her, like how a flower wraps its pollen buds. Her heart is still on her sleeve, instead of neatly tucked in between her ribs and in front of her own spine. You thinks yours will still beat on February 30th.

The door closes gradually, slowly, as if in a show for dramatic prose. You watch as your view of her eyes die slowly, slowly, and stop. The blinds refuse to cover the lights. Forget-me-nots bloom around the corner. There is not a sunflower in sight. You bark at the brink of light, die like an euthanized dog. You bite as though you wish for the whip. You wait for punishment. For what? You wait for the recoil of the strikes and for the lashes to cease.

You wait for the skies to show its sun. You wait, but it has dissipated into the earth. For one moment, there is one sun on earth. For one moment, you believe that myth is true.

The tip of her tongue feels like velvet. She bites down on the same apple that Eve does. She buries her heart over and over into the dirt, but it comes out with a forked tongue and whispers once more. You cock the gun of your eyes, and she makes it easy to shoot.

She has always been one to be direct. You cock the gun, but it is not you that shoots first.

"I love you," is what comes out. Not any of the words that have been choking up her lungs for the past years. Not anything plucked from the stars and kissed by the moon. Three words, all of them that you've learnt before you two met. Love applies so easily to you. It applies, stays, and never lets go. It is a sin of the skies that you still look sun-kissed even in the absence of the cause.

Your hands lie on the doorknob. The door doesn't widen further, the door does not close either. It stays in that precarious zone between yes and no. She comes bare without a single rose and just the words from her lips.

She has been in your life since she was nine, ten, eleven, and till she would turn seventeen. You have almost known her for as long as you haven't. And it is the almost. The almost. The door. Almost close, almost open. There is no telling in which way it will go.

"Sophia, we're done rehearsing, you know," the tease spills from your lips. You are escaping through the gap in the door.

"You know I don't mean that."

Of course she doesn't. She hasn't since the flowers in your hair.

"You know what I mean. What else is there to think?"

The sun approaches the end of the sky. Her voice is your delirium.

She has truly trapped you into a corner. You do not say anything. This is not the language of the flowers, where every one has at least a dozen meanings and everything in between. This is not the language of brushing of hands, of her breath on your ear, of her head on yours.

She hates your literature classes, hates all your fancy words that seem to soil your throat and sprout roses among your tongue. She cups her hands around your ear, leaning in. She is so much shorter than you. You find yourself bending down closer to the ground out of pure reflex for her. You almost freeze in place. Her breath is hot against your ear.

She hates your literature classes. She hates that you've learned so much of the language that we speak. She hates that you say everything but the three words we've learnt since we were young. Not everything has to be complicated, she just wants those three.

I'm sorry.

You think of her, you think of your brother's best friend. You think of her braiding flowers into your hair as your brother's best friend. You think of her love to you as to her best friend's sister.

Even trapped in the corner, you find a way to escape. There is nothing else I love you can mean. Even like this, you still are

She laughs for a moment, but there is nothing in it. It is a hollow sound. Her eyes are vacant, almost. Those are only two words, her eyes tease you. Add one more. Make it three. The words finally fall off her throat. It is not her own. It is the ones that have been building themselves up. They are not for her, they are for you.

You're a coward, Gabi.

Ah. So that is what your brother always called you.

They swim up her throat and latch onto your skin. Gabriela, you're a coward.

On the twentieth of June, she steps off your doorstep. That same day, you keep your promise that you made to yourself, eleven years ago.

You cause a solar eclipse on the twentieth of June, six years after you discover the second sun of the world.

330 notes · View notes

sungchanphile · 7 months ago

Text

we'll always have summer ☀︎ lee juyeon

₊ ⊹☼ WORD COUNT: 18.0k ₊ ⊹☼ PAIRING: the boyz' lee juyeon x female reader ₊ ⊹☼ TAGS & WARNINGS: summer vacation!au, teeth-rotting fluff, no angst whatsoever nada, juyo having a crush, reader is a bit shy at first, no plot just y/nyeon hanging out and pining for each other, dialogue heavy, a scene making out and some kisses here and there, canadaz instigating together

₊ ⊹☼ SYNOPSIS: during your post-college-graduation crisis, you meet lee juyeon during a 3 week lake house vacation with your mutual friends. serendipity watches over you as you get entangled into a whirlwind summer romance.

₊ ⊹☼ NOTES: hyung line are all the same age in this as each other, 98 line as each other and maknae line as each other! idk how i wrote 18k words of juyeon pathetically crushing on y/n but here it is! also the female ocs in this fic have no relation to any idol irl or at least was not written with anyone in mind :-) this also feels like the wrong time to post a tbz fic but i'm desperate to get this out and i'm hoping and praying that the boyz can resolve their negotiations with ist and find a good home in their new label <3

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Whoever said that university was supposed to be the best 4 years of your life didn't think about the implications of that phrase on deeply lost and terrified new grads. Sure, it was intended as an encouragement to try and enjoy your college years while you were in them, but now you're on the other side and all you can feel is... now what?

In hindsight, there was a reason that seniors spent practically the whole year panicking about what came next and applying to every internship, grad role and job listing that popped up, no matter how relevant. You too had participated to some degree but to no avail as you stand here with no employment or future education plans in mind.

Okay, so maybe going on a 3 week holiday as soon as you come out of graduation wasn't the best idea you've ever had, but technically, it wasn't even your idea. In fact, you had even rejected Kevin's invitation multiple times citing your need to job hunt in the city immediately, but he kept pestering and pestering and pestering that you eventually had to give in. The universe will reward you for at least trying to resist, right?

There were really many reasons to not go on this trip. The main one being that Kevin was the only person out of about 15 people you knew that were coming on this trip. You had met a few of his friends fleetingly before, but never long enough or often enough to form a proper friendship or relationship with them as you did with your junior year project partner turned friend. Another reason was that you were so painfully introverted and shy that meeting all these new people all at once with nowhere to run to or hide seemed like the perfect recipe for disaster. What were you going to do if it all went wrong?

Still, Kevin had managed to address all your worries and reassured you that his friends were very welcoming and aware not to overwhelm you too much.

"Remember Y/N, we're here to relax, have a good time and forget the worries of the real world," Kevin lectured you as the two of you entered the lake house together. He had been the one to organise this trip as he found the cabin slash mansion and then roped all of his friends into joining.

Chanhee and Changmin had slept the entire ride, so Kevin allocated them the job of hauling everything from the car into the house. The people pleaser in you was desperate to help, but Kevin maintained that staying up and entertaining him on the long drive up was enough and that the two boys deserved it for being so called lazy.

"There's 5 bedrooms, all with two double beds," Kevin recalled as he scoured the house, "We take the biggest room with the en-suite."

"We can sleep 20 people? Why didn't you invite more?" you plopped your bags onto the large sectional couch.

Kevin just shrugged and stepped away to investigate the documents on a table, "So we could have a bit more space. Plus, we didn't want to invite anyone else."

"Aw i'm honoured to have made the cut, Kev," you teased by nudging him on the shoulder.

He shot you an unimpressed glare, "Clearly not considering that you literally refused to come until two weeks ago."

"I'm here, aren't I?" you countered, running to the front door to hold it open as you saw the other two boys approaching with the miscellaneous things your group was assigned to pack. It mostly involved some activities like a karaoke machine, some boards and floaties for swimming and other things to keep you entertained.

Another group set to arrive later was assigned the food supplies, while the girls that were coming on the trip were in charge of drinks.

"How far away are the others?" Chanhee smiled at you appreciatively as you make their life a little easier. He set two bags down on the floor. Changmin hobbles behind him with overflowing arms, clearly not wanting to make more trips than necessary.

Kevin pulled out his phone and hummed as he checked on the drivers' locations, "Jacob's car is like only a few minutes behind. Sangyeon's car is like an hour behind and the girls won't be here for a couple of hours since Minseo had to do a morning shift at work so they left a bit late."

"Who's in Jacob's car?" you asked curiously, wondering who you were going to meet first. You'd met Jacob a few times before when you were a junior and he was always very nice to you despite not having spent an extended period of time together. However, you hadn't seen him in almost a year! Obviously you had been acquainted with Chanhee and Changmin now, but you'd only met them once before they climbed into Kevin's car for the long journey that they dozed through.

"I think Hak, Eric and Juyeon are with Jacob and Sunwoo, Younghoon and Hyunjae are with Sangyeon," Changmin listed off quickly, "Prepare yourself to meet Eric, seriously."

"Hopefully he's sleepy from the drive," Chanhee rolled his eyes playfully but fondly at the thought of their youngest friend.

While this was a graduation trip for the boys in your car and a few of the others, Kevin had still invited their friends of different ages. It was a nice way to escape the reality of adult life for those who had graduated the year before you and just a fun trip for the incoming seniors below you.

You've heard from Kevin that his friends had a vast range of personalities, which you expected considering there were 11 of them. The concept of opposites attract definitely applied to friendships too, which was how Kevin's bubbly and social self found you, a raging introvert.

By the time that Jacob's car roared into the pebble driveway, you had already unpacked your clothes in the closet that you were sharing with Jacob and Kevin- the only ones you knew and felt comfortable with. Kevin had decided to just throw his duffle onto the foot of the bed and will probably just dig out some outfits each day from the floor.

You heard commotion begin to rumble downstairs through your ajar door and fought an internal conflict whether to go down and make yourself known or have Kevin come and get you. By the end of it, they had made that decision for you when you hear multiple footsteps stomp up the creaky stairs.

"Y/N, how are you? It's good to see you again!" Jacob flashed you his signature sweet smile as he tapped on the door and opened it wider, "Can we come in?"

"Sure, it's your room too! It's also good to see you, Jacob," you replied, getting up from the edge of the bed where you were rummaging through your backpack.

"You must be the famous Y/N," someone with a boyish smile peeked from behind Jacob, "I'm Eric! Nice to finally meet you."

"Ah, I've heard lots about you!" you gave him a small but enthusiastic wave.

"And knowing Kevin, it was probably not nice things," Eric scoffed as he shot a glare over his shoulder in the direction of the staircase behind him. That was when both he and you noticed a tall boy lingering behind him.

Eric wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought him forward, "And this is Juyeon-hyung."

Through his sleepy, lid-heavy eyes, Juyeon gave you a soft smile, "Hi, it's nice to meet you."

"Juyeon," you let the word ruminate in your mouth as to why his name sounded familiar until it comes to you, "Ah, you're one of the others who graduated, right?"

He nodded, letting his face relax into a small smile, "Yeah."

"Congratulations to you," you tell him.

"You too, Y/N," there's a softness to Juyeon's voice- a kind of kindness and sincerity that comes naturally. Whereas Eric's voice was immediately enthusiastic and upbeat, Juyeon was calmer and more demure.

Eric disappeared behind Juyeon and Jacob was unzipping his bag behind you on the bed he was sharing with Kevin. You point awkwardly to the bag that Juyeon was clutching in his hands, "Which room are you staying in?"

As if he just remembered he was carrying it, Juyeon's eyes snapped to his hold before he let out a soft 'ah!', "I'm rooming with Chanhee and Changmin. Do you know which room that is?"

If you recalled correctly, you did, "I think it's that one," you point to the door immediately behind him, just opposite of your room.

Juyeon gives you an appreciative nod and pushes the handle of his room open with his elbow, "Thanks Y/N. See you later."

"Bye Juyeon."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Over the rest of the first day, you settled yourself on the living room couch with Kevin playing a variety of card games and planning what you wanted to do on the trip while doing so. The others dipped in and out- Jacob joining when he finished unpacking and Changmin once he got tired of Chanhee beating him at table tennis outside.

Eric was stretched out on one of the other couches, soft snores coming out of his mouth after the drive exhausted him (and also the other passengers who he was 'entertaining'). You don't know where Juyeon disappeared to, but it was probably to replace Changmin as Chanhee's opponent.

The game of dobble was getting heated with Jacob's rare frustrated side coming out, as was teased by the other players. So far, Changmin had won the most games, but that was probably because he was the most willing to scream and snatch the card away. You, on the other hand, had miserably lost every single round.

But at least you were able to plan your meals over the game of snakes and ladders you played earlier.

Once Sangyeon's car arrived and you acquainted yourself with him, Younghoon and Sunwoo, you excused yourself from the game under the guise of being a very bad loser, which you were.

You hadn't checked out the back garden and it's various facilities yet, so you were intrigued considering that was one of the main reasons that Kevin booked this place.

"Hi Y/N, do you wanna play?" Chanhee waved to you as soon as he spotted you in between serves. Juyeon followed suit.

"Nah, I'll watch for now- I just wanted to check out the yard!" you gestured to the area.

You immediately noticed the large blue swimming pool that dominated most of the garden. There were lounge chairs and umbrellas strewn around it and a little enclosure with pool floats provided. There was a fire pit with outdoor chairs in the back corner and then a stretch of grass that was perfect for net games like foot volleyball or badminton. Chanhee and Juyeon were occupying the ping pong table, but you were also standing next to a pool table in the covered patio.

The lake you were staying at was located a short walk down some steps from the front of the house, so you could only see some hills and other houses from the back. It was definitely a nice atmosphere combined with the warm weather you were having and not a bad place to spend 3 weeks procrastinating your life.

You took a seat on the cushioned furniture under the patio, covering your eyes from the sun to watch the boys play. It seemed that Juyeon was overall better than Chanhee, but Chanhee could catch him out with fast balls and spinning balls.

It was entertaining to watch them for a while, your eyes moving either side to follow the ball. They were getting competitive with each other, bringing out their vicious sides, which was amusing to watch. Juyeon seemed like a collected person when you first met him, but like everyone else, he had a different side to him in situations so tense.

"I wanna play," you heard a voice ring behind you, "Let's play pairs?"

Sunwoo appeared from the woodwork and approached the table. Chanhee and Juyeon paused their game, claiming Juyeon as the winner before agreeing to the game.

"Y/N, play with us? Who do you wanna pair up with?"

"I'm not any good at ping pong, so whoever is unfortunate enough to have me then," you got up from your comfy position and stretched out.

"Hm, Sunwoo's not bad so Sunwoo can go with me and you can go with Juyeon since he won," Chanhee reasoned, bringing up the extra paddles from the ground.

You migrated to Juyeon's side, giving him a sheepish look, "I'm sorry, but we're going to lose."

Juyeon chuckled and shook his head, "You have to believe in yourself, Y/N. Here, watch me serve and then you can serve the first ball."

He positioned himself with his body open to you so you could see what he was doing. Juyeon carefully explained what he was going to do and demonstrated the serve. Sunwoo threw the ball back and it rolled over to you.

"You can do it," Juyeon encouraged as you readied your stance.

Taking a deep breath and not wanting to disappoint your partner, you mimicked his movements and jumped in elation when it went exactly where it should have gone. Juyeon cheered beside you, which quickly faded as Chanhee returned the ball to your side, only for it to bounce twice and then land at your feet.

Juyeon was giggling as you looked at him apologetically, "The serve was good, but now we have to work on your return."

"How about I serve and then you just return all of the balls while I stand behind you?" you countered teasingly, "This isn't much of a competition for them."

"Y/N, by the end of this trip, you're going to be a ping pong goddess," Juyeon said firmly, holding up the ball to you again.

Over the next while, you started improving with your skills with tips that the other boys showed you. Juyeon did end up having to carry your team, but you had some good moments too. You didn't expect to be so open to play with the guys, but if Kevin's friends were anything like Kevin, you should have known you would have got along great.

Eventually, some more of the boys decided to come out and play while they started preparing lunch inside with the ingredients they had brought, so you retreated back inside to join Kevin.

"Your friends are nice," you told him sincerely at the kitchen island as you watched Younghoon and Changmin open up endless packets of ramen.

"I told you they were," Kevin agreed.

You had known Kevin for a year and a half, first meeting him at the start of the second semester of junior year. While he had tried to get you to meet his friends multiple times, it just never worked out properly with your schedules all the way up to college graduation. You did want to meet them properly instead of fleeting introductions and goodbyes in the hallways or around campus, but it wasn't your fault that your timetable was absolutely rammed and you were too anti-social to attend any evening events.

However, he had told you enough stories about his friends that it really felt like you did actually know them. That's why meeting them for the first time was weird- you knew lots of things about each of them.

"I don't think me and Chanhee would have ever worked out though," you frowned as you remembered Kevin trying to get you to go on a blind date with him when you first met and got comfortable with each other.

"I see that now," Kevin huffed at his failed matchmaking, "You're both divas- hey!"

You held back a laugh as Kevin's stumbled on his stool from you pushing him, "Don't spread false rumours about me around your friends! They could get the wrong idea!"

"Honey, it's a fact," Kevin snorted, "Once they get to know you better, they'll see what I mean."

Your personality slowly but surely crept out the longer you knew someone, but you weren't sure that 3 weeks was enough time. Then again, it was 3 weeks of constantly seeing them and being forced to spend time with each other, all while doing activities that might just end up testing your will.

"How about Changmin, though?" Kevin tried to whisper lowly.

Said boy whipped his head around and gave Kevin a pointed look, "I'm right here, you know?"

"So? Anybody who I set up with Y/N would be lucky to have her," Kevin jeered to his friend.

From behind you, you hear a deep voice, "Who's being set up with Y/N?"

Juyeon takes the stool beside you, an orange manifesting in his hands that he began to peel. A small smirk flashed on Kevin's face that you did not miss, but Kevin leaned forward and placed his chin and his hand, "Why, are you interested?"

You shoved Kevin again, "You are so annoying. I'm sorry about him Juyeon."

"I'm used to it," Juyeon shrugged casually as he offered up a slice yo you, "Orange?"

You quickly refused and thanked him and he carried on eating the fruit beside you. He must have got bored of the game or wanted to supervise the lunch. You vaguely remember Kevin telling you that Juyeon was one of the better cooks in the group.

After a while of silently supervising the ramen station, the doorbell sounded through the house. Kevin raced to open the door and welcome the girls in.

You had never met them before as they were some of Chanhee and Changmin's friends, but Kevin reassured you that they were very nice girls that you probably would get along with. It's not even that you didn't have many friends of your own- Kevin was just the first to ask you to come on a trip and all of your friends were diving straight into their big-girl jobs.

"I'm guessing you're Y/N? I'm Minseo," a girl with short, cropped hair approached you cheerfully, "Stick with us whenever you get tired of these boys. They get old pretty quick."

Younghoon scoffed as he walked past with the big pot of ramen in his gloved hands to bring to the table, "You three are way more chaotic than us."

"Don't believe him," another one of the girls came over with a backpack that was making a clinking sound, "I'm Suyeon! And I have some of the drinks and Jiwon has the rest."

Suyeon has copper-red hair and piercing eyes, while Jiwon has mousy brown hair and tattoos on her exposed arms. They definitely have dancer builds, so you imagine that they first met Changmin through dance.

The boys take their turns saying their greetings to the girls and Juyeon calls in everybody outside as lunch was ready. Other than the ramen, Younghoon and Changmin had managed to whip up some side dishes from what they brought, so it wasn't a totally helpless lunch.

The table was just a large slab of polished wood on some legs with long benches around each side. It was a little bit of a squeeze to get all 15 of you around the table, but it wasn't totally horrible once everyone settled and stopped squirming.

You had Kevin to your right and Jacob to your left with Eric directly in front of you. The table was too broad, however, to be able to make meaningful conversations with those in front of you without shouting.

"Is there any activities you want to do, Y/N?" Jacob asked you.

You tried to recall the array of activities you saw outside when you pulled up to the house, "I want to row a boat out on the lake. I'm kind of scared of stuff like that. What about you?"

Jacob shrugged, "Nothing particular. I just want to relax after a full year working."

"How has that been anyway?"

He sighed defeatedly, "It's nice making money, but I definitely miss college. Don't let me scare you though."

"I'm terrified enough as it is, considering I don't have a job lined up," you tried to make it sound like it wasn't weighing you down, but Jacob seny you a sympathetic half-smile.

"Loads of people are in the same boat, Y/N. Don't worry about it, honestly. There's always something waiting for you," Jacob advised you softly, "Promise you'll try to enjoy this vacation before worrying about real life?"

"You sound like Kevin, Jacob," you stifled a chuckle, "I will try, I promise.

Your conversation with Jacob is cut short by Eric yelling at the elder to pass the water with his mouth full, followed by him being scolded by the others.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You don't even know what time it is when you wake up the next morning. It's well into summer so the sky is already bright and gives you no indication by the colour and you find that your phone is dead when you tried to check. Remembering that you brought your charger down after dinner while you all watched a movie in the lounge, you groaned at the thought of having to get up so early.

Soft snores were still escaping from Jacob and Kevin's bed, so you tiptoed out of the room, all while trying to brush through your tangled hair with your fingers. The house was so quiet that you definitely did not expect to see someone's back leaning over the kitchen counter while they sat on a stool.

At your footsteps, the mystery figure turned around with a surprised sound.

"Oh, Y/N. Good morning," Juyeon's voice was deep and still raspy this early, "What are you doing up?"

He was wiping his eyes with his fists bawled up and you resisted the urge to 'awh' at him as you fetched your charger from nearby, "I left this here last night and my phone died. I don't know what time it is, but why are you up so early?"

Juyeon shrugged, "I sometimes wake up early and I couldn't go back to sleep. I was going to make a coffee if you want one too?"

In your head, you weighed up the pros and cons of an early morning beverage. Something in you was screaming to go back into your bed and doze off the rest of the morning- something that will be robbed from you when you reach the real world- but at the same time, Juyeon was looking at you with his sleepy, cat-like eyes and red cheeks.

"Sure," you slid onto the stool beside his as he hopped off and made his way around to the kitchen side. There was only the whistling of the kettle for a while as Juyeon collated all the ingredients he needed and found the mugs in the cupboard. He only broke the silence to ask you if you took milk and sugar in your coffee.

You had zoned out so much that you didn't snap back into reality until he was sliding your coffee over to you and placing a plate full of French pastries between you as he took a seat. Gratefully, you pinched the croissant to curve your morning hunger.

"How did you find yesterday?" Juyeon began as he sipped on his drink.

"It was nice meeting everyone. I think I knew everyone's names anyway from Kevin talking about you all before and from his posts," you told him, "I'm still feeling shy, but it will just take time for me to get comfortable."

"I was the same when I first met everyone," Juyeon nodded, "We all came at different times since we're different ages, but I also get shy meeting new people, so I know how you feel. I'm glad that Kevin managed to convince you to come, though."

Your surprised look doesn't faze him, "Ah, really?"

Juyeon looked slightly more awake after a few sips of coffee as he smiles gently at you, "It's always nice to make a friend."

"Yeah," you agreed. Juyeon had a certain way of speaking that was just so comforting and he was quickly becoming one of Kevin's friends that you could see yourself being close to.

"Are you staying in the city after this?" he moved on casually.

Ah, the famous question. Your grimace told him everything he needed to know as you scrunched up your face, "I would like to, but that's T-B-D. It's gonna be stressful looking for a job after I get back from the trip- that's why I didn't want to come in the first place. But whatever. What about you?"

"I'm gonna be a dance teacher at a local studio," Juyeon told you, pride sparkling through the statement, "I'm excited about it, but my dream is to have my own studio one day, have a crew and work with some famous people."

You suddenly remembered something Kevin had told you once, "Ah, you majored in dance with Changmin, right?"

Juyeon nodded.

"Kevin took me to one of your showcases once this year, but I had to run out before I could meet you guys after," you recalled fondly, "You had a duet with Changmin and I remember being very, very impressed. I can't dance, so..."

He looks at you in surprise as you remembered it, "Oh, thank you for coming! And I really appreciate that. I'm going to miss those showcases, actually. They were always stressful leading up to them, but when I get to perform, it's the best feeling ever."

The lilt in his voice told you just how passionate he was when it came to dance. You wished that you had something you treasured dearly too, but you tried to remember Jacob's words from dinner- something will always be waiting for you.

"I'm gonna have to see you guys dance again at some point," you smiled, "I know Kevin said a lot of you guys do."

"What has Kevin told you about me?" Juyeon placed his chin on his palm, body leaning over towards you.

You paused for a minute, trying to recall all the facts you knew about Kevin's friend and trying to pick out the ones related to him, "He said you're the best cook in the group and that the world moves too fast for you. He said that you like nature too."

"Too? You do as well?" he asked curiously, "They say I'm slow, which they may be right."

"Yeah! I like taking walks and seeing the world," you affirmed, "I've never been to this part of the country, so I'm intrigued by the area. It looks so beautiful from what I saw on the drive up."

"We should definitely take walks together!" Juyeon suggested enthusiastically, "I don't know how many of the others will join, but it'll be fun."

Before you could agree with him despite how shy he was making you feel, Changmin's sleepy voice boomed out behind you, "Morning guys."

"Did we wake you up?" you asked him in concern.

Changmin shook his bed hair firmly, "Nope. Chanhee rolled over and started cuddling me."

"So you left him?" you teased.

"It got too warm," Changmin whined as he noticed your small breakfast spread, "Can I get a coffee too?"

"Hah, make it yourself," Juyeon huffed as he pointed out where the supplies were kept, "Did you know Y/N attended our showcase a few months ago? The one where we had the duet?"

Changmin laid out the items on the other side of the island and thought for a second before a eureka moment came to him, "Was that the one you had to leave early cause you had a date?"

You groaned at the thought, flopping your head in your hands on the table, "Oh, don't remind me! I can't believe Kevin told you."

Juyeon looked between the two of you, confusion splattered on his face, "Why, what happened?"

You shivered in your seat, "He was a dickhead. It was a blind date with one of my friends' boyfriend's frat brothers and it was so bad I had to actually tell him I wanted to leave."

"Oh, that bad?" Juyeon grimaced.

"He shamed me for ordering a proper meal, insinuated many, many times how he wanted to come over to my place after, picked up a call from one of his friends in the middle of it and then made me pay the whole bill when I said I wanted to leave and offered to split," you recounted, slightly more amused looking back on it now.

"That's really horrible, Y/N," Changmin offered as he stirred his drink.

"I'm used to bad dates now," you sighed in defeat, "I've never had any luck."

Juyeon made a noise of recognition from your side, "Have you gone on a lot of dates?"

"Mhm, my friends all found their partners pretty early on in college. I guess they just wanted me to have the same magical experience as them, so they'd always set me up on dates," you recalled your dating life through the past 4 years, "Actually, I went on a date with Jacob accidentally without knowing he was Kevin's friend before he graduated."

Changmin's eyes widened as he laughed in realisation and slapped the countertop, "I forgot that happened! That's so funny."

Juyeon pouted beside you, "Am I the only one that's never heard of any of this?"

"Maybe it's cause you holed yourself up the last two years in the practice room," Changmin replied sassily.

"Says you!" Juyeon turned to you, "How did your date with Cobie-hyung go?"

"I thought he was really sweet, but we decided not to go on a second date because he was graduating soon," you answered honestly, "He only did it as a favour to my friend when they worked on a project together."

"Oh, so you liked him?" Juyeon pressed on.

Your face reddened as you vehemently shook your head, "It's not like that! We just went on one date, that's all."

"Stop teasing poor Y/N," Changmin frowned from the other side, "It's like coming up to 8 now, so we should start making a proper breakfast for everyone."

You hadn't exactly established how you were going to do the cooking rota, but since you three were already down there, it wasn't a bad idea to get started. Juyeon agreed, hopping off the stool and rummaging the fridge for what they brought.

A grocery trip was definitely due with everyone, but for now, Juyeon's car had lugged along some ingredients from their college apartments that could be utilised.

"Can I be of any help?" you asked into the air as you watched Changmin check what was in each cupboard.

"Are you good at cooking, Y/N?" Juyeon quirked an eyebrow at you. You gave him an unsure look, to which he laughed and handed you a carton of eggs, "I guess I have a lot to teach you during this vacation, Y/N-ah."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You've always preferred the sunset to the sunrise. Maybe it's because you've seen far more sunsets in your lifetime, due to your previous displeasure of waking up early. Over the last few months with finals, though, you've gotten used to being up at the time the sun peaked through the horizon, even if it was because you hadn't slept yet.

The moment that Minseo noticed the first shades of pinks in the sky, she dragged the whole group out to the waterfront and you all were sprawled out on the ground, watching as the sun dipped down. There hasn't been a good sunset in the four days that you've been here, so you were excited for the first one with the group.

You were even almost confident enough to call them friends as you spent the past four days getting to know them through lunches and dinners, boardgames and pingpong and cooking and cleaning. They were all great people with impeccable sense of humour- you were glad to have come to the trip.

You perched Hyunjae's digital camera on your tucked knees as you examined the way the sky was transforming. Beside you, Kevin was sketching in his notebook.

It was getting late, nearing 8, and you had spent the whole day in the pool with everyone playing different games and lounging around. You all decided as a group that you would take the first week easy- no plans, just relaxing. After that was when you would jump into activities outside of the lake house. You were on the winning team of pool volleyball today, but had lost every chicken fight on top of Kevin's shoulders.

After dinner, you were all drying up when Minseo called everyone out. The air was still warm, but less aggressive than the sun beating down on your skin earlier in the day. There was a mild breeze that cut through the heat, making it more bearable to be outside.

Chanhee was sat on your other side, humming a song as he scrolled on his phone, meanwhile in front of you on the small hill, Jiwon and Suyeon were playing uno with Younghoon and Juyeon. You snapped a picture of them with the camera entrusted to you, which they didn't even notice.

"Jiwon has a crush on Younghoon," Chanhee whispered in your ear. You jumped in your spot, clutching the camera tight to your chest.

"Jesus, Chanhee. You scared me!" you scolded the smirking boy.

"Oops," he patted your head in apology, "Isn't it obvious though?"

You turned your head back to the group to examine. Now that you knew that, you could put meaning to the way that Jiwon was leaning her body towards Younghoon's and the way she clung onto every word he said and everything he did.

"Does Younghoon know?" you hummed.

"I think so, or he's pretending to be dense," Chanhee murmured, "I think he was waiting for Jiwon to graduate, so maybe something will happen on the trip. They've been friends since high school, but the girls are on the dance team with us."

"That's cute," you noted, "What about the other girls?"

"Minseo and Sangyeon dated for a few months, but nothing ever came of it and they stayed as friends," Chanhee recalled in a dropped voice, leaning his lips up to your ear due to Sangyeon's proximity, "But they don't like it when we make jokes about it. Suyeon's never showed interest in anyone but Eric used to have a crush on her. Not anymore, though. In my opinion, proximity can make people think they feel things."

"What, like being around someone can trick you into liking them? Isn't that how crushes and relationships work?" you turned your body to face Chanhee.

He cocked his head in thought, "Maybe, but sometimes people develop crushes for the sake of having crushes instead of actually liking someone. Like some people feel compelled to date someone or like someone because everyone else expects them to because they're close."

"That's..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word to say, "Interesting."

Chanhee lets out a small giggle and turns back to his phone, "It's just something I've thought about after seeing so much friendship group incest."

When you swivel your head back to the lake and the sky beyond it, you find Juyeon staring at you with a perplexed look. When he noticed that you were looking back, he raised his arm in a small wave. You return one back to him, a little confused why he was looking. Suyeon nudged his arm, directing his attention back to the game in front of him.

"Have you ever thought about dating Kevin?" Chanhee asked after a moment of silence.

Kevin beside you perked up at the sound of his name, the scratching of his pencil ceasing. You met his eye and chuckled, "I think we always knew that we'd be better off as friends."

"She's not my type," Kevin dropped in as a dig. You nudged him when you made sure his pencil wasn't touching the paper.

"What's your type, Y/N?" Chanhee pressed on, "If you don't mind me asking."

You thought about his question carefully, trying to pick out what was actually important to you instead of what you would list off to your friends when they would find blind date suitors.

"I just want someone I can be comfortable with and not have to put on an act," you told him simply, "It'd be nice if they'd have some of the same interests as me, but I want someone I can find comfort in. Someone not too energetic and just someone who can treat a girl right. It's not a big ask."

"What, that's it?"

You nodded sheepishly, "To be honest, I just want to find someone naturally- to have them come to me. I've appreciated being set up on dates, but I don't want to look too hard anymore."

"What about giving Jacob another shot?" Kevin quizzed suddenly.

You release a small laugh, "I think that ship has sailed, Kev."

Jacob was a few metres away, strumming on his guitar surrounded by the rest of your friends. There was something so lovely about Jacob, but past that, you don't think you could see a relationship with him.

"Hmm, Hyunjae? He's very nice," Chanhee offered up, a teasing tone in his voice.

You rolled your eyes at your companions, "Did you two not hear anything I said? I want it to happen naturally."

You suddenly get distracted by someone ooh'ing and ahh'ing loudly. When you look up, you're instantly met by the most vibrant sky you've seen in a long time. The sky is painted in shades of cotton candy pink and vivid oranges. It was one of those bright, golden sunsets, devoid of any moody colours.

Snapping a few pictures on the camera of your friends and their silhouettes against the sky, you stood up for a better view. Through the lens, you find Jiwon and Younghoon standing together, shoulder to shoulder as they peered up. You were so preoccupied by their figures that you missed Juyeon standing up, brushing himself off and walking over to you.

"Y/N, can I have the camera?" Juyeon appeared beside you, making you jump slightly.

"Oh yeah, sure," you carefully placed the camera in his palm, not wanting to be reckless with something that wasn't yours.

Juyeon smiled appreciatively, taking one step back behind you and holding it up, "Okay, smile!"

Your eyes widened in surprise as you shook your head, "Don't get me in it! It won't turn out nice."

Trying to escape, you ducked to the side of him, but he caught onto your wrist and gently manoeuvred you back to your original place. Juyeon gave you a pointed look, "Trust me, okay? Just smile. Say cheese!"

Sensing that you wouldn't be able to get him to back down, you indulged his request and smiled softly at the camera. The digital device looked so tiny in his large hands compared to how they looked in yours that it was almost comical. He had to fumble a little to find the button, but when he clicked it finally, you broke your pose.

Juyeon looked down at the screen as you came closer to see for yourself. He turned it towards you with a triumphant smile on his handsome features, "See? So pretty."

He's probably talking about the sunset.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

On a morning you found yourself awake early again, you received a DM from one Lee Juyeon.

juyeon: i was about to go on a walk. care to join?

y/n: how did you know i was awake?

juyeon: i saw that you viewed my story i just uploaded :> will you come?

y/n: give me 10 minutes

When you tiptoed down the stairs at precisely 7:15AM, you found Juyeon squinting at you from the living room couch.

"Has anyone ever told you that you squint a lot?" you yawned out as you placed your shoes on the ground and slipped into them.

"I have terrible vision," Juyeon explained, "And before you ask, I don't have glasses because I cheated on my eye test."

You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the laughs coming out, "How is that even possible?"

Juyeon rolled his eyes playfully, "Yeah, yeah. I know!"

He stood up from his place on the couch and followed you out of the front door. With one of the spare keys, he locked the door behind him and joined your side.

"Do you even know what I look like?" you teased him.

He made you stop on the gravel track, placing his hands on your shoulders. Teasingly, he squinted his eyes at you before relaxing onto the heel of his foot, "Of course I do. I would never forget a pretty face like yours."

Shocked at his flirty remarks, you pushed against his shoulder with your hand, "You're too much, Lee Juyeon."

His laugh is melodic as he tried to catch up with your fast pace, "You should learn how to take compliments, Y/N."

"Yeah, but you're teasing me," you humphed in response.

"Maybe, but it's still a factual compliment!" Juyeon argued. You were embarrassed to know that your whole face and ears were probably lit up like a tomato right now from his words.

Instead of replying, you chose to steer the conversation away, "Do you even know where we're going?"

Juyeon shook his head, "I just thought we could follow this trail around the lake. It's a nice morning."

The air was crispy- not too hot, not too cold. Everything was pretty still, other than the few people you could see having coffee on their front decks at the other houses surrounding the river. All you could hear, though, was the chirping of the birds in nests nestled in the trees and the soft crunching of rocks and grass under your shoes.

You hadn't managed to walk around the lake with the others yet in the week you've been there already. Time was moving so fast and there was still so much left to do. You were intrigued by the flora surrounding the lake, so you were trying to find free time to explore- thankfully, Juyeon beat you to it.

"Look at those flowers," you murmured after a few minutes of walking. There were tufts of pink flowers by the water edge that you crouched down to investigate further.

You heard the shutter of a camera faster than you could see Juyeon taking a picture of you on the ground.

"Hey!" you pouted up at him, swatting at his hand, "Let me see!"

"No can do," Juyeon replied smugly, "For my eyes only."

You brushed off your legs and stretched up next to him to continue walking, "That's not fair! I'm in the photo!"

"Later," Juyeon hummed innocently, walking forward a bit faster.

He continued leading you around the lake for a while, just chatting about trivial things you could see. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his cargo shorts, eyes shaded from the sun with his cap. At one point, you spotted a paddling of ducks near the edge, so you dragged Juyeon down to crouch beside you as you took pictures of them.

"Look how small that one is!" you cooed, pointing to what seemed like a baby duck that was following behind its mother closely.

"And look how cute they are when they tuck their necks in," Juyeon reciprocated as he found a flock further away that seemed to be sleeping or resting on the water.

"I used to have a stream behind my house when I was young, so I've always loved ducks," you waft a blade of long grass in the direction of the ducks, hoping they'd come to you.

"That seems like a nice childhood," you could hear the gentle smile in his gentle voice, "What was your childhood like?"

Your eyes followed the animals splashing about in the water, amused as two of them started chasing each other, "Nothing special. My parents had ordinary jobs and I have an older brother and a younger sister, so I was stuck in the middle. I grew up just outside of the city we went to college in, so I got to visit them often. My life's not very exciting. What about you?"

Juyeon humphed in disagreement, "I'm sure that's not true. There's always something special about the mundane. I grew up not far from the city too. I have a little brother who's 4 years younger and he's kind of in his teen-angsty phase right now, so I'm staying away physically. I call home pretty often, though."

"My sister just got out of hers," you laughed in solidarity. You finally decided to leave the ducks alone as they changed course away from you, "We get along much better now."

The sun was rising higher in the sky as you reached the halfway point around the lake. At this point, you had probably been out together for 45 minutes, but no one was noticing your absence yet.

"I can't believe they're not awake yet," you murmured as you checked your notifications.

"Nah, Changmin and Chanhee were awake and reading webtoons in bed," Juyeon informed you, "I told them we were going on a walk."

"You didn't invite them?"

"There's no getting those two out so early for no reason. That one morning with Changmin was a fluke," Juyeon uttered, "Besides, it's nice just us two, right?"

His words send the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy- he seems to have a way of doing that to you without even realising. You've spent a good amount of time with Juyeon on this trip, thinking that he was just taking you under his wing. Unfortunately for you, the man was drop dead gorgeous so it was hard not to feel giddy around him. Especially since he had such a way with words.

You have to remind yourself often that you were just friends. He treated everyone just like he treated you, right? Lee Juyeon was just a nice person.

"Right," you smile slightly, hiding your pink cheeks from him, but in turn getting blinded by the beams of light, "The sun's so bright."

Juyeon sighed beside you, "I should have told you to bring a hat."

You opened your mouth to reply, but you suddenly feel fabric encapsulating your head and the sun fade out behind the material of a cap- Juyeon's cap that he had taken off his own head and placed on yours.

"Oh, no, Juyeon. Keep the hat; the sun's gonna be in your eyes now," you moved to take it off, but he keeps his hand splayed on top of your head to prevent you from doing so.

"I'm taller than you, so the sun's hitting my face differently," he said to you sweetly.

You think he's lying, but if you've learned anything about Juyeon the past week, it's that he doesn't take no for an answer, "Thanks, Juyeon."

"You're welcome, Y/N-ie."

And if anybody noticed that you were wearing Juyeon's favourite cap when you arrived back to the house with a full spread of breakfast on the table, they certainly didn't say anything.

But when Jacob perched himself on the edge of your bed when you woke up from your post-breakfast nap, you knew you were in trouble from the mischievous yet apprehensive look on his face.

"What?" you groaned into the pillow that you smothered yourself with.

He waited for you to remove the pillow from your face before giving you a knowing look, "Kevin sent me."

"Why?"

"He's busy with Sunwoo and Hak," Jacob dismissed, "We want to know what's going on with you and Juyeon."

You sat up on the bed, looking at him incredulously, "What do you mean what's going on with me and Juyeon? Nothing."

Jacob frowned at what he thought was a blatant lie, "Don't think we haven't noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together recently. You two went out on a secret walk this morning alone."

"No one else was awake!" you protested, "None of you are morning people anyway!"

"You're not either, said Kevin," Jacob retorted.

"I'm trying to be," you huffed, "Besides, I've known the guy for one week. I'm not hiding a relationship from anyone."

"Yeah, but do you like him?" Jacob tacked on, "Kev wanted me to interrogate, so I am doing so."

"You're all so nosy," you murmured exasperatedly, "Juyeon is very nice; we're friends. Kevin would act this way no matter who I got close to."

"That might be true," Jacob nodded, "But I've never seen Juyeon act this way. He's normally pretty reserved when it comes to girls, but he's always approaching you first, looking out for you and considering you in things."

Your heart fluttered learning this new information about Juyeon, but you don't show it as you crossed your arms at Jacob with a disapproving glare, "Then take it up with Juyeon and not me."

"You know what'd be funny? To see if Juyeon will get jealous if anyone else gets close to you," Jacob tapped his chin in thought, "I've never, ever seen Juyeon jealous over a girl."

And as if the world was playing a hilarious, cruel prank on you, you heard Juyeon call your name as his feet padded up the stairs. He let out a sound of surprise when found your door ajar and Jacob sitting on your bed instead of his shared bed with Kevin.

Juyeon's eyes darted quickly between the two of you, with you still half-tucked under the sheets. His face kind-of hardened at the sight, but he quickly masked it with a half smile, "Hey, Y/N. I made you a smoothie to energise after our walk! Hi Cobie-hyung, what are you doing here?"

Jacob shot you a smug look, that you rolled your eyes subtly to, "I was just talking with Y/N. Is there something you need?"

Juyeon eyed him suspiciously, placing the cold glass on your side table. He didn't even reply when you thanked him, instead keeping an eye on Jacob, "Nah. Was it something private, though?"

"Hm, a bit," Jacob smirked. You were half a second away from shoving him off your bed for playing with Juyeon like this.

"Oh, okay. I'll go then. But we're about to go paddling in the lake so make sure you get ready soon," Juyeon backed down hesitantly and he turned his attention to you with a disarming smile, "You still have my hat, right, Y/N? Don't forget to bring that with you out. The sun's intense today."

As Juyeon left the room with the door wider than it was when he found it, Jacob rotated his body to you comically slow like he was in a movie.

"Shut it, Jacob."

He shook his head and released an angelic, teasing laugh, "That was next level, Y/N. I've never seen that man jealous let alone put on a territorial display!"

"Jacob!"

He put his hands up in surrender, "Fine, fine. I'm leaving too, but have a think, yeah? Don't want to let a guy as good as Juyo slip away."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

There were multiple boats scattered around the lake-side. There were 15 of you, so it wasn't an even split into pairs, but some of the boys were more confident to go by themselves.

As expected, Jiwon and Younghoon were pushed together to pair up and they strapped on life jackets first before clambering onto a rocky paddle boat at the end of a dock. Sangyeon and Hyunjae got their own boats, while Chanhee and Changmin shared one together. Minseo and Suyeon climbed on after, meanwhile Sunwoo and Haknyeon paired up. Eric, ever the brave, slid into a boat by himself, but let out a scream when it wobbled immediately. Thankfully, the activities staff was still holding the boat to keep it from tipping.

That left you, Jacob, Kevin and Juyeon to decide how to configure yourselves and you could see the Canadians' meddling from a mile away.

"Dibs on Jacob!" Kevin slung his arm around his friend and ran off towards the dock, leaving you speechless with Juyeon.

He gazed at you with shiny eyes, "Guess it's us again?"

"Ha. Us. Again," you enunciated dumbfounded at how obvious Kevin and Jacob were being.

Juyeon didn't seem to note any of this as he casually tugged on your arm in the direction of the boats, "Come on. Let's go."

You were the last ones to put on your life jackets and when you looked out at the lake, you could see your friends had already ventured far into the water. Juyeon stepped into the shaking boat first, taking a seat at the far edge.

When you looked nervous about climbing on, Juyeon held out his hand towards you, "Be careful," he said, nonchalantly.

You held your breath as you took his large hand. Your hands looked like a kid's in his large hold, but the way he wrapped his fingers around your own and made you feel secure had you less wary of getting onto the boat.

When you finally were able to sit across from him, you released the breath and the staff had unhooked you from the dock. Juyeon clapped for you in pride.

"I've always wanted to do this," you admitted to him, watching the water ripple around you.

He quirked an eyebrow at you and held the oars in your direction. He was the one currently manoeuvring the two of you further into the water, "Oh, do you wanna steer, then?"

You took the two pieces of wood from his grasp and grinned at him lopsidedly, "Can't promise we won't capsize though."

He smirked at you from across the boat, "I can swim. Can you?"

Your terrified look had him laughing in stitches as he teased you, "I guess I'll be the one saving you from your own disaster, then."

You kissed your teeth playfully at him as you tried to get into a rhythm with the oars. It was actually harder than you thought to move the boat in a smooth motion due to the drag of the water, but Juyeon just watched you in amusement as he leant back on the boat. You appreciated that he wasn't trying to take over the second he realised you weren't any good at this.

"Y/N-ie!" you heard a voice shout to your left. You looked over to find Eric's lone boat coming towards you at full steam. You watched as his face contorted into panic, realising that he didn't know how to slow down his boat.

Before it could crash into you, Juyeon reached over and held you down on the boat by your shoulders. When Eric made impact, you rocked in your seat, but less than Juyeon who swayed in his mid-standing crouching position. You stabilised him by holding onto his arms with yours.

Juyeon jumped back once he realised the crash was over, cheeks pink as he felt your touch on his bare skin. He settled back into his seat, looking unimpressed at his younger friend.

"Eric," he scowled at the sheepish boy, "Be careful. You could have tipped us over."

"Sorry," Eric pulled his lips into an apologetic pout, "I just wanted to say hi."

"It's okay, Eric. We're safe," you laughed off the incident as you brushed your hair back into place. You had passed over the oars to Juyeon at this point as you conversed with the guilty tanned boy, "Are you enjoying it?"

Eric nodded happily, "It's so much fun! I could do this all day."

Your heart melted at his enthusiasm. Eric was definitely giving you younger brother vibes through this trip with his puppy-like energy.

Juyeon swatted the oar in his direction, "Go bother someone else, Youngjae."

You glared at your boat-mate, "Juyo, that's not very nice."

"He almost killed us, Y/N," Juyeon exaggerated dramatically as he pushed the nose of Eric's boat away from yours.

Eric clicked his tongue and shook his head, laughing under his breath, "Alright, alright, I get it, hyung. Sorry for almost killing you."

You watched in disbelief as Eric paddled away at the speed of lightning, now looking like he was about to crash again into Minseo and Suyeon's boat. Turning back to your partner, you shook your head at him.

"What? That was dangerous," Juyeon whined at your glare, "Anyway, you called me Juyo."

Your hands flew up to your mouth as you burned red at the slip up, "Oh sorry! I never asked if I could call you that. I just heard Jacob call you it earlier."

Juyeon flashed you a boyish grin as he paddled your boat away from where everyone had seemed to congregate, pushing at each other's boats, "I don't mind. You can call me Juyo; I like it," then his face morphed with something unrecognisable for a second, "What were you and Jacob talking about?"

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you examined the boy in front of you. Where he was confident meeting your eyes earlier, he was now looking at everywhere other than you. It had you thinking whether there was some truth in Jacob's words, but you definitely didn't want to get your hopes up.

"Didn't he say it was a bit private?" you tried to say nonchalantly. Juyeon began to nod like he didn't care much at all, but you just laughed at him, "I'm kidding. We weren't talking about anything specific. I don't know why he said it was private."

"Oh, so you're not dating?"

You gasped at the accusation, "Me and Jacob? Why would you think that?"

Juyeon shrugged as he continued to row steadily, "You guys spend a lot of time together. He was teaching you to play the guitar last night."

Ah, Juyeon must have noticed Jacob instructing you on the patio after you expressed interest in learning to play. You had thought that he was inside making dinner with the girls, but he must have stepped out or seen you in the reflection of the glass door.

You smiled coyly, "We spend a lot of time together, but we're not dating are we?"

You don't know where this bravery came from- you weren't usually so teasing to anyone you spoke to. However, being with Juyeon showed you a new, more playful side to yourself that knew how to be a bit less uptight and closed off.

Juyeon pressed his lips into a thin line, "Right. We're not."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Halfway through the trip, Minseo had the idea to have a fancy dinner out one day in the nearest town. She wanted to get dressed up and get properly ready, since most of the activities you'd been doing thus far either involved the water or getting sweaty in the sun. Because this wasn't in your itinerary, you and the three girls took their car out to shop for new dresses, while the boys searched their luggage for something appropriate.

You deduced that they didn't have anything to wear either when you bumped into Sangyeon, Younghoon, Haknyeon and Eric midway through the shopping trip with bags and bags occupying their hands. They must have been sent out by the others to buy shirts and slacks. While buying new outfits could be considered excessive, the pieces were always recyclable and appropriate for the real world that the graduates were about to go into and the working adults were already partaking in. The dresses on the other hand, were not so transferrable, but you just hoped that you'd find an occasion to use it again in. You didn't feel too guilty considering the four of you only delved into thrift and second hand shops to find your outfits for the mid-scale restaurant that Minseo found.

You got ready in the girls' room, spending more time with them since being around the boys 24/7 got tiring sometimes. They had been very welcoming to you through the past week and a half despite being a tight-knit trio already. They were also all graduated and figuring out their lives, but welcomed you into their group regardless. You could definitely see yourself keeping in touch with them after the trip ended, even if you ended up in a random city far away.

There was always something nice about getting ready with a group of friends. Jiwon had curled the back of your head while she rambled on about how Younghoon was taking his sweet time making a move on her, meanwhile Suyeon was painting pink varnish on Minseo's right hand. The four of you took pictures after cleaning up the inevitably messy room and sat cross-legged on the bed as you sent them to each other.

"Juyeon's gonna die when he sees you," Suyeon smirked as she airdropped a set of photos she had taken from you.

"Why does everyone keep thinking me and Juyeon have something going on? We're just friends," you muttered, swiping through the images.

The room fell into silence and you looked up to three disbelieving faces. Minseo rolled her eyes at you, "Be serious, Y/N. Juyeon is smitten with you."

You pressed your lips together to contain a cheesing smile. Suyeon nodded in agreement, "Don't forget we're on the dance team so we know him quite well. We've never seen him with a girl like this."

"Maybe he just kept it separate from dance."

"Then he was not seeing anyone because he was dedicated to that shit 24/7," Jiwon told you, "Trust us. He likes you."

You looked on apprehensively, "Guys, we just met. It's been a week and a half."

Minseo flopped back on the bed in exasperation, "Have you never heard of love at first sight? I feel like it's pretty common that crushes develop quite quickly, especially if you're spending all day and night with someone."

"Think of Love Island," Jiwon offered, glaring at you when you stifled a laugh, "They're locked in a villa together 24/7 and by day 3 they're married with kids making out by the pool. You're basically doing better than them!"

You giggle at her analogy, appreciating the girls trying to justify the growing affection you've developed for the sleepy-eyes boy the past few days, "Maybe, but even still, I'm not the type to make the first move at all. I still want to give it time."

Suyeon nodded in understanding, "That's fair. Don't worry though, you'll know your answer by how he reacts to you tonight. You're a literal smoke show, babe."

You side-hug her in thanks and return the compliment. Minseo pushed herself off the bed as she checked the phone, "The guys have already left. We should get going too."

Downstairs, the four of you strapped on your sandals and did a sweep of the house to make sure everyone had left and you didn't accidentally leave anyone behind. Jiwoo recalled a time to you about how after one dance show that everyone either attended or participated in, they were sorting out transport after the show and each car thought that another car was taking Sunwoo home. It resulted in Sangyeon having to turn the car around once they realised at the restaurant that Sunwoo wasn't there and a grudge that Sunwoo held for months afterwards.

When you reached the restaurant in town after a small drive, the boys had already been sat down for a few minutes. The server led you to an area where they had joined 3 tables together to accompany your large group. You could see the spaces they left in the middle for the four of you.

"Y/N," a soft voice called out for you as you reached the table. Juyeon stood up from his spot and pulled a chair out, "Hope you don't mind sitting next to me."

The girls let out some sounds of amusement behind you as they took their seats. Jiwon slid in to the sit between yours and Younghoon. With your body aflame, you returned a gracious smile, "Not at all, Juyo."

After you had sat down and greeted the other boys, you opened up the menu to confirm what you wanted despite checking it earlier. Everyone's attention had turned away from you, so Juyeon took it as an opportunity to lean closer and bring his lips up to your ear, hidden from view by the menus.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he murmured shyly.

Fighting the urge to just scream in glee and giddiness, you chewed on your bottom lip. Juyeon's hair was styled differently today with some of his hair being pushed back and away from his forehead when day-to-day, his hair fell into his eyes. He was wearing a plain button up with the top buttons undone and he had sprayed on a perfume that was completely intoxicating.

"You don't look too bad yourself," you whispered to him, masking the way your heart was racing just at the sight of him.

Juyeon returned a triumphant smile and moved back to look at his own menu. From beside you, Jiwon was practically vibrating in her seat from excitement.

"He's just being nice," you mouthed to her. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her best friend slash longstanding crush.

You were never much of a drinker in college. Sure, you partook in your fair share of college parties and bar hopping nights, but you wouldn't say that you were an expert in the matter. Your tolerance was okay, but as the dinner progressed, it seemed like a better and better idea to keep ordering more wine.

By the end of it, all non-drivers on the table were verging on tipsy, all while Kevin, Sangyeon, Minseo and Jacob watched in amusement. There hadn't been any more heart-swooning moments from Juyeon through the dinner, but just being sat in close proximity to him made you feel safe and warm.

When it was time to head back to the lake house, Sangyeon had proposed the idea of ending the night with lighting the fire outside. You had utilized it a few times already, so there was a reserve of wood and flammable materials in the corner waiting to be used. It was a clear and still night with a slight breeze, so it was perfect to light it up.

Thankfully, Sangyeon and Jacob being sober worked out as they could start the fire together without harm. You definitely didn't trust the stumbling Eric or mumbling Haknyeon to do it themselves. Even Hyunjae looked a bit out of it.

The fire was roaring strong as you perched yourself on one of the benches surrounding it. Every so often, Sangyeon was throwing a log into the flames and fanning it to keep it going. It wasn't too cold in the night, but the fire provided a blanketing warmth. You were all still in your 'fancy' outfits and everyone was taking photos at different spots in the back yard. Jacob had fetched his guitar and was strumming random melodies while Sunwoo and Chanhee sang along beside him.

To your left, you heard a click of a camera.

"Lee Juyeon, will you stop taking photos of me?" you mused as you found him with the camera up to his eyes.

He smiled softly, "What's wrong with wanting to remember this moment? You look beautiful."

Your eyes fluttered shut as his words tugged at your lips, "Juyeon..."

Juyeon let out a hearty laugh as he put the camera down and scooted closer to you on the bench, thighs pressing against each other, "I'm being too obvious, aren't I?"

Everyone else was far away enough from you to be able to hear, so you were less fearful of being subject to teasings if they heard this conversation.

You thought that the wine was giving you a bit too much liquid courage, "Keep it up and I might believe what our friends are telling me."

Juyeon's breath hitched, "And what are they telling you?"

Eyes closed, you felt Juyeon press his side more purposely against yours, "I don't wanna say," you mumbled.

"Oh come on, don't I have the right to know if it concerns me?" Juyeon retorted back, "Please?"

A burst of courage pumped through your veins, "They're saying you might have a crush."

Juyeon was silent for so long that you were afraid that if you opened your eyes, he'd have disappeared. Still, you felt the warmth of his body radiating to you. Your head was heavy, lolling in front of you while Juyeon formulated his words.

You opened your eyes to a blazing fire as Juyeon chuckled lowly beside you, "I might."

Your voice indicated the surprise you felt at his indirect confession, "You might?"

"I might," he repeated. You could hear the smile in his voice, "Hard not to."

You avoid looking at him as you find a stick on the ground and start poking the fire, "You develop crushes that quick?"

"What can I say? I've always been a hopeless romantic," Juyeon mused, stretching out his arm behind you to be able to lean on them as he shuffled in his seat.

"That's not what I've heard," you recalled the conversations you've had with his friends.

Juyeon gasped, "How much have they been talking to you about me?"

You chuckled, "You're all they can ever talk about with me, if I'm being honest."

Juyeon grumbled under his breath, "I'm gonna kill all of them!"

You paused for a moment, suddenly frowning at the orange flames, "Is this just the wine talking, Juyeon?"

He snapped his head towards you so suddenly that you do the same and finally meet his eyes. The flames reflecting back in his eyes and on his face cast a golden glow on his skin, "What? No! They might have given me the courage to say these things but I'd never deceive you."

You dropped your voice to a whisper, "Do you mean it? That you might have a crush?"

Juyeon giggled at your words as he reached up to your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Oh, he was surely a hopeless romantic.

"Definitely."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

When you woke up the next morning, your heart was already racing. It was the residual effects of the way Lee Juyeon made you feel the night before. While you couldn't talk much more after Kevin plopped down on the bench beside you causing you two to jump apart, you shared many knowing smiles throughout the night.

But it left more questions unanswered than answered. Despite that, you tried to push down the feelings of uncertainty to focus on the present.

Kevin and Jacob were already awake by the time that you emerged from under your sheets. They were both applying their skincare on the bed, a Youtube video playing on low volume near them.

"Morning sunshine," Kevin's voice was too teasing that you knew you were in for it, "How was your night with mister loverboy?"

"Kevin," you warned lowly, sending piercing glares in his direction. Jacob had stopped what he was doing to listen in.

"All I'm saying is that you two looked very comfy by the fire last night," he shrugged innocently, "Look, Juyeon's a great guy. Not sure why I didn't think to set him up with you, but you two go together well."

"Can't believe you thought Chanhee was a better option," Jacob snorted beside him. Kevin picked up his pillow and smacked his companion with it.

"Juyeon's great," you affirmed, "I just don't want to go too fast or anything since I don't even know where I'm gonna end up."

"Have you heard back from any of the jobs you've been applying for?" Kevin asked softly.

Every single day, at the end of the evening, you would open your laptop in bed and send applications for every new job listing you could find, even if they weren't related to your degree. Someone would have to take you, right?

You nodded slowly, "I have a few interviews in the city after we get back. I'm trying not to get my hopes up with any of them since I've done so many interviews this past year to no avail."

Kevin got up to your bed and gave you a squeeze, "You'll find something, okay? You're too good to let go of and all those companies were dumb to not have you."

"Thank you Kevin," you said sincerely.

"Now, get up! It's beach day!" Kevin yelped excitedly.

Although you were facing a very large lake, there was still something different about going to the beach, digging your toes in the sand and dipping into the ocean. The nearest nice beach was nearly an hour away, so you all agreed to try and get up and get ready early.

You took a lightning fast shower and packed your things into your bag. The boys had brought tents with them that you could use to get changed in once you got to the beach, so you just slipped on a sundress with sandals. You met the girls in their room and then planned to go down to Minseo's car. Although you rode over with Kevin, you were definitely enjoying the girls' presence and so moved yourself to their car by their insistence.

When you were at the top of the staircase, you felt an arm brush against yours and the weight of your tote bag disappearing as it was snatched out of your hand.

"Morning," Juyeon breathed, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear.

You jumped in your spot, clutching your chest in surprise, "Oh my God, Juyeon! You scared me! And I can take my bag."

Juyeon raced ahead a few steps to keep it out of your grasp, "It's no problem. Are you going in Minseo's car?"

"Mhm," you nodded as he opened the front door to find some of the other boys loading their things in. You waved good morning to each of them as you unlocked Minseo's car with the keys she entrusted to you. They were still packing their last bits.

Sangyeon bounded over from his car, eyeing you and Juyeon, "Hey, we only want to take 3 cars instead of 4 to the beach. We need another person in the girls' car."

Before Juyeon could open his mouth to volunteer, Younghoon had rushed over and stretched his arms over the both of you, wedging you apart, "And that's gonna be me. Sorry Juyo. Get Eric or Hak to switch with your girlfriend."

Both you and Juyeon let out a trapped, muffled sound of surprise at his comment and you kept your eyes down on the gravel to avoid showing everyone your flushed faces.

Younghoon's belly laugh echoed through the lake, "I'm just playing, guys. You should see your faces- ow! Juyeon!"

Juyeon smirked innocently, batting his eyelashes like he didn't just kick Younghoon in the shin. Sangyeon tutted like them like a disgruntled dad as he returned to his own car. Through his window, you could see Chanhee, Changmin and Sunwoo all already asleep in the back of the car while Hyunjae loaded heavy-looking coolers into the back.

Younghoon dashed inside, probably to help the girls with their items, leaving you and Juyeon looking at each other wide-eyes and shy.

"Sorry about him," Juyeon sheepishly said.

You waved him off with a dismissive hand, "Don't worry- I've got used to the teasing. How was your sleep?"

"I barely slept last night," he admitted, "I was overthinking. I wasn't too much last night, was I?"

You shook your head immediately, "No, no. Of course not. We didn't get to talk much last night, but honestly, you're good. We're on the same page, I think."

Juyeon fought the smile on his face, "We are?"

"Definitely," you echoed his words from the previous night with a teasing tone. You could practically see him folding into himself in shyness, but you just tugged at the hem of his shirt with a soft expression, "It's so early in the morning to be teased together by Jacob and Kevin if we go in the same car, so I'll just see you at the beach. Is that okay?"

Juyeon nodded affirmatively, "I agree. I'm just gonna pass out in the car anyway. Have a safe trip, pretty."

Your cheeks were permanently red around him, "You too, Juyeon."

When your car was finally on the road going at a constant speed, Minseo looked at you through the rearview mirror and sighed, "I've always wanted a summer romance."

You frowned slightly, "Do you think me and Juyeon will just be a summer thing?"

Minseo's mouth dropped agape as she rushed to collect herself, "No, no. I didn't mean that. I just meant I've always wanted to meet someone on vacation and make a relationship out of it. I think it's cute."

"Juyeon's not one for flings," Jiwon uttered beside you. She was squished in the middle seat between you and Younghoon, who was sleeping soundly with his head nested in her shoulder, "He's never had a girlfriend or a situationship through college. I don't know about high school, but I don't think Juyeon's the type to play around with girls."

"And he wears his heart on his sleeve. We've always been able to tell what he's feeling- if he's nervous, if he's mad or frustrated. He's such a sweet guy so we hope you can take care of him too," Suyeon added on from the passenger seat.

You nodded slowly at their heartfelt words, "I've realised that about him. He's very real."

"Did you guys confess to each other last night?" Minseo asked hesitantly, "You guys looked really close by the fire."

"Kevin said the same thing this morning," you chortled, "And kind-of, I guess? It was more of a half-confession."

"That's better than nothing," Suyeon hummed, "You guys should talk properly before we leave."

You agreed noiselessly as you thought about it. There was definitely something going on between you- that much was clear. You were a little nervous about it all after remembering what Chanee said to you about people developing feelings in close proximity, but you thought to yourself that that wasn't something to project onto yourself or onto Juyeon without proper deliberation.

You were also in close proximity with the other boys, but that didn't mean that you developed feelings for them either. You felt that you owed it to Juyeon who was brave enough to be so forward with his feelings to explore the relationship without prejudice.

Sure, it might get hard when you start working and living your lives again, but that was for future you who had experienced it to decide. You've let your fears stop you from many things in your life before, but whenever you're beside Juyeon, he makes you feel like you should throw out all those doubts and just enjoy the present moment with him.

You got so in your head during the car ride that you didn't even notice the car halting to a stop and the locks clicking open.

"We're here," Suyeon murmured softly, reaching from the front to gently shake Jiwon and Younghoon awake. She turned to you with an understanding look, "You okay, babe?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, "I'm just trying not to worry about it."

"Mhm," she smiled softly as Jiwon stretched awake beside you with a sleepy grunt.

The beach car park wasn't too far from the sand, so you all loaded your arms with the items from the trunk in order to set up camp for the day. It was blazing hot with the sun high up in the sky, so you were all sweating by the time you decided on a large enough spot on the beach. Thankfully, it wasn't too busy as it was a weekday, but there were still some people dotted around.

Jacob's car hadn't arrived yet since Kevin texted in the groupchat that they had to make a stop to let Eric go to the bathroom halfway through. Sangyeon's car was taking the coolers and the tents down to the beach and thankfully, the tents didn't require setting up other than anchoring them down in place with sandbags and everyone's belongings.

The group decided a few nights ago that you were going to do a barbecue on the beach after you swam for a bit, so Hyunjae and Younghoon were separating all the ingredients they had brought for that into a corner of the space. Sunwoo, Chanhee and Changmin had immediately ran away with a beach volleyball to play with away from the food.

You laid out a bunch of beach mats and picnic blankets, keeping them from blowing away by placing someone's bag on each of the corners. Suyeon and Jiwon were applying sunscreen on each other, having changed into their bikinis already, meanwhile you were waiting for Minseo to change in the second tent after you changed in the first one.

"I'm so hungry," Minseo grumbled as she dropped her bag of clothes on the mat and rummaged for the sunscreen.

"Me too, but we can't swim for a while if we eat," you reminded her. You had munched on a breakfast bar that Minseo kept stashed in her car at the start of the journey, but you had to wait to eat lunch or else going into the ocean wasn't a good idea. You don't actually know if that's a myth or not, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She squeezed a dollop of cream into your hands that you lathered all over the areas you could reach and then turned your attention to each other to help get the spots missed. You let it seep into your skin first so it wouldn't get washed off as soon as you entered the ocean.

By the time you felt ready to go, Jacob's car had pulled up and you could hear them coming from a mile away thanks to the speaker in Eric's hand already booming music. They didn't have much in their cars, but you could see a donut inflatable around Juyeon's arms.

"Hi gorgeous," Juyeon smirked at you as he placed down the ring on the mat, "You look ready to jump into the sea."

"We've been waiting for a bit," you burrowed your toes into the golden, warm sand.

"Blame Eric. He didn't go to the bathroom before we left and then chugged a bottle of water," Juyeon rolled his eyes, "It's okay, I put on sun protection in the car."

You laughed at the visual that appeared suddenly in your head, "You guys were definitely rubbing sunscreen on each other's backs, right?"

He hid a guilty smile, "Maybe, maybe."

Mid-laugh, you were struck silent as Juyeon suddenly pulled his shirt off in one quick motion. The past week and a half that you'd been swimming in the pool, he'd been wearing a top. Sure when he was drenched, the fabric would cling to his skin and you could see the outline of his abs through them if you were looking (you definitely were not), but seeing him suddenly shirtless in front of you had your mouth gasping apart. The sun made his abs reflect golden honey and his muscly arms flexed as he pulled the shirt off.

Juyeon smirked at your reaction, "You're gonna catch flies, babe."

You snapped your mouth shut, scrunching your face in embarrassment as he chuckled at you. Trying to walk away from him, Juyeon just huffed and caught your bare waist with his large hands, pulling you back towards him, "Don't be shy, c'mere."

A passing Changmin gagged as he glared at you two, "Oh I'm gonna be sick. Get a room."

Chanhee, who was walking by his side and practically attached to his hip, huffed along, "They make me feel so single. It's so gross."

"Fuck off," Juyeon smiled innocently at his friends, who flipped him off without even sparing a glance at the two of you. He turned his attention back to you, "Sorry, is this too much?"

The sliver of skin he was touching was burning under his fingers, but you pushed down your usual reservedness, "I feel like exploding, but no, it's okay."

He bit at his plump lips, "You're so cute. Let's go swim?"

"I don't know if swim is the right word. I told you I can't swim. Maybe waddle is better," you reminded him at your inability.

Juyeon ahh'ed and picked up the inflatable, "Use this, then. Or hold onto me, yeah? I won't let you drown, promise."

He held up his pinky finger at you, which you wrapped your own around. But instead of breaking apart, Juyeon used it to tug at you towards the ocean. He started breaking out into a jog, catching you off guard, and you picked up your pace to run beside him.

When you reached the ocean, you were struggling to catch your breath from both laughing so hard and the sudden exercise he made you do. Thankfully, the sea was warm under the sun, so it wasn't an added shock to the system.

Juyeon helped slide the ring over your body so that you were in the middle of the donut hole and you paddled deeper into the ocean where your feet couldn't touch anymore. A few metres away from you, Haknyeon and Sunwoo were splashing at each other.

"This is nice, I like this," you told Juyeon happily, "I was kinda scared to go into the ocean."

Juyeon placed his hand on the ring, "Don't worry, I got you. Let's go a bit deeper, yeah?"

You let him push you along a bit further since his feet were still touching the sand at the bottom and when the water came up to his shoulders, he stopped and let you paddle around him in the donut. He watched in amusement as you giggled to yourself happily.

"So adorable," he murmured. After a few minutes, when he realised that there was no one near the two of you for a considerable distance, he reached his arm out to half your floatie.

"Mhm?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as he pulled you in closer.

"Do you trust me?" Juyeon began, eyes shining with mischief.

Your eyes widened as you gripped the float tight to your body, "Oh no. What is it?"

Juyeon chuckled and reached for your waist under the water. He tugged at you, but the float kept your bodies at a distance.

"Wrap your legs around me. I'm gonna take the float off you," he proposed slowly, watching your reaction.

"Juyeon," you drawled in fear, holding on even tighter.

"I won't let you drown, come on," he encouraged, "I'm still touching the ground."

Reluctantly, you moved your body as close as you could to him. The minute he felt your legs close around his torso, he flicked the float off over your head and pulled you in flush with his toned arms. Disregarded, the donut moved steadily with the waves.

"I told you," he murmured. You had got a bit surprised from the way he pulled you tight to his body, instinctively tucking your head into his neck and squealing. Juyeon rubbed at your back with his palm to reassure you.

This was definitely the closest that you'd been to Juyeon at all- actually, it was a major step up altogether. You think that you half-confessions you'd shared with each other had given him all the confidence and courage all at once.

"Is this okay?" Juyeon asked quietly as both of your hearts thumped against your chests strongly.

He had asked you that so much, just showing how much of a gentleman he truly was, never wanting to go further than you were comfortable with.

"Yeah," you hummed softly, pulling your head back to look at him. A gentle smile rested on his features as he gazed at you. Your back was turned away from the shore, "Are they looking?"

Juyeon craned his head around you and stifled a laugh, "They're trying to act like they're not. Do you care?"

You thought about it for a moment. To be honest, they all already knew; they were the ones pushing you together at every moment. You shook your head, "No."

Juyeon grinned, moving the hair that had floated to your face behind your ear. Your hands were preoccupied hanging on for dear life around his neck, so he took it as his obligation to help, "You're so beautiful, Y/N."

A lot of guys had told you that, especially on the blind dates you've been on. Whenever they said it, it never felt real and always just felt like they were saying it to get in your pants or as a gateway for you to owe them something. When Juyeon says it to you, his words drip with sincerity.

"Thank you," you mumbled shyly, moving your head back into his neck.

Your torsos were pressed against each other, so you could feel the rumble and vibration of his body as he laughed at your reaction. You tried to unbury yourself away from him, but his hand crept up to the back of your neck and kept you there, sending shivers down your spine. Your body shook in anticipation as the silence hung thick in the air.

"I'm just gonna say it," he breathed out shakily, "I really do like you, Y/N. I know we've only known each other 2 weeks, but I've really enjoyed spending time with you. You honestly have made me feel things I haven't before and I get excited to see you every morning. That's so cheesy, I know. If you do like me back, I don't want to ask you to be my girlfriend yet, but would you be down to keep getting to know each other and going on dates after this and seeing where it takes us?"

You're not sure if he kept your face buried into his skin for your benefit or his, since his voice was shaking as he spoke. You smiled into his neck, whispering confidently, "I like you too, Juyeon. Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe, but I like that. I don't like playing games," Juyeon released his hold on the back of your neck and moved his arm back to your waist to keep you pressed against him.

"You've only been out of college a few weeks, how are you so mature already?" you playfully teased as you peered up at him.

Rolling he eyes, he squeezed at your waist, "I've always been mature. It's a shame we didn't meet earlier; now I feel like they were gate keeping you away from me."

"You were one of the last ones I had yet to meet," you revealed, "I had met everyone briefly other than you, the girls, Eric and Hak."

He bumped your forehead with his, "Best for last, right?"

"Definitely," you grinned.

"Okay, I dragged you out just to tell you all this, to be honest. Let's go back to everyone before I lose control and kiss you or something," Juyeon suddenly blurted, taking a few steps back to the shore with you still wrapped around him.

A surge of confidence had you squeezing your legs around him to stop him, "Who's stopping you?"

Juyeon's eyes widened in surprise as he chewed at his lip. Reluctantly, he dropped his voice and leaned in closer to you, "Are you sure?" His hot breath fanned over your lips.

He'd practically made all the first moves up until this point and you could see the honesty in his eyes. You figured you'd save him the trouble as you reached forward and pressed your lips against his.

He tasted a bit salty from when he had splashed the ocean water over his face and a bit like the orange Fanta he was drinking earlier when he got out of the car. Juyeon yelped in shock against your lips, but smiled into them as he applied more pressure and properly slotted his lips between yours.

You hadn't planned on actually making out with him in the middle of the ocean as your friends watched on in astonishment, but he captured your lips every time you pulled away slightly and licked at your bottom lip with his tongue. Your hold around his neck grew stronger as his grip on your waist grew tighter.

"Juyeon," you whispered against him when you came up for air.

"Don't blame me, this is your doing," he uttered each word between deep kisses. He wasn't kidding, he felt like he had lost control when it came to you and he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you. The gentle tide was bobbing the two of you up and down, but he kept his hold tight as he kept your lips attached and slotted his tongue into your mouth.

You indulged in him, deepening the kiss even more, "I'm really glad I met you, Juyeon," you panted.

This was enough to pull him away from you, keeping your foreheads pressed together, "Me too, Y/N. Me too."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

So you didn't hear the end of it from your friends during the rest of the beach day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. It wasn't like you'd planned the impromptu make out session to be witnessed by 13 pairs of eyes, but honestly it's their fault for not looking away.

Juyeon also didn't hear the end of it from Sunwoo for letting his inflatable donut float away too far out of reach to retrieve. The younger boy forced him to send more money than it actually cost as compensation, but Juyeon believed it was totally worth it.

It was your final full day at the lake house and you haven't been able to peel Juyeon away from you for more than a couple minutes. In full honesty, you'd always wanted a boyfriend that clung to your side and kept you warm, safe and protected and he was definitely checking off all those boxes.

"Disgusting," Hak scoffed as he passed behind you on the couch. You were sitting sideways in Juyeon's lap, scrolling on your phone as he played against Hyunjae on a game you had never heard of. The competitor was sat far away from the two of you on a different couch across the living room.

"It's not my fault you're single," Juyeon clapped back without missing a beat.

Haknyeon groaned and ran away faster to the back yard. You'd already spent the morning outside- Juyeon had been making good on his promise to improve your table tennis skills this whole trip, but you definitely wouldn't consider yourself a ping pong goddess yet. Thankfully, there wasn't a time limit anymore for him to keep helping you improve.

In between rounds, Juyeon would pat your head and stroke your hair softly. You would turn to him and give a soft smile that he would return before Hyunjae loaded up the next game. You were just going through your emails, blocking out in your calendar all the interviews you had amassed from your applications over the three weeks. You were feeling more optimistic about returning to the world, even more so with new relationships and friendships making your life more exciting. You were also excited to see your college friends again; they were sulky about missing out seeing you become smitten with a man, but their teasing was never-ending anyway.

"Baby you can go join the others if you're bored," Juyeon murmured lowly as he kept his eyes on the flat screen TV. He was aggressively mashing the buttons on the controller and you actually had no idea if he knew what he was doing.

"I'm fine here," you assured him.

One thing that had changed since Juyeon confessed to you was the development of pet names. Juyeon adored calling you every pet name under the sun, no matter how shy or blushing they made you. Another thing was his clinginess; Juyeon barely touched you at all before you two bared your feelings and you had no idea how he kept that side of him under wraps. He was lucky that you indulged in each and every one of his quirks.

When Juyeon was by your side, he was either holding your hand, playing with your fingers or wrapping his entire, huge body around you. He was so much taller than you that he practically swamped you, but it made you feel so giddy. Now you knew the exact meaning of the honeymoon phase.

He showed you his affection previously through acts of service and he hasn't slowed down in that department since. In only a few days, he had committed himself to making you a morning beverage as soon as you woke up and making sure that you were warm when the nights became cooler or shaded when the sun was too hot. Sure, he may have a patch of sunburn on his back, but as long as you didn't, he was a-okay.

"You're quieter today. Are you sure everything's okay?" Juyeon hummed. Hyunjae was too busy screaming at the TV to hear anything you two were saying.

"I dunno. I'm excited to go back and explore us, but at the same time, I really, really don't want to leave," you squeezed your eyes shut with a deep breath, "I don't want anything to ruin what we have."

Juyeon's eyebrows pulled together in concern, but he dropped a comforting kiss on your shoulder to comfort you, "It might be different, which I know is scary, but that's the exciting part. It might be even better than this! We'll always have this summer together, but just give us a chance out there, yeah?"

"Of course, Juyo," you flopped your head into his chest and nuzzled yourself into his shirt, "I don't have any doubts about us, I promise. It's just that everything is so new."

"It's gonna be great, baby. I'm already planning all the dates I wanna take you on and all the things I wanna show you and everywhere I wanna eat with you and-"

Hyunjae let out a yelp of frustration as he lost the battle. You don't know how Juyeon was winning despite him rambling adorably to you.

Your lips curled into a smile at his blabbing and you cut him off by pressing your lips into his jawline. Juyeon mirrored your expression and craned his head to connect your lips together. Juyeon was definitely insatiable when it came to kissing.

"I thought the pining was bad, but this is much, much, much, much worse," Hyunjae cried out, throwing his controller on the seat beside him, "Do you two have no shame? Y/N, you were so shy in the beginning."

Your head was buried into Juyeon's neck as he wrapped his arms around you, game abandoned. Feet padded loudly on the hardwood floors as Kevin's voice sounded out, "Oh, she's only shy at first. Y/N is actually a menace."

"This is all kind of your doing, Kevin," you gestured to you and Juyeon.

Kevin bounded over and leaned down to squeeze the two of you in his arms, "And that's why I expect your first baby to be named after me! Kevin or Hyungseo, I'm not picky."

Juyeon scoffed at him and shoved him away, "Shut up, you didn't do anything. Don't give him credit, Y/N."

"You know I had to beg Y/N for three months straight to come, right?" Kevin deadpanned, "I definitely deserve thanks."

"Well it's definitely no thanks to you that I only met her now when you've known her for a year and a half!" Juyeon retorted passionately.

Kevin plopped down on the couch beside Juyeon, shoving away your feet that were perched up on them, "We had to physically drag you out of the dance studio if we wanted to hang out with you. You genuinely had a visceral reaction to the thought of leaving that basement."

Juyeon had been showing you videos of his choreographies the past few days and while he was incredibly innately talented, you also could see how much work he put into his craft. You were definitely very, very attracted to that side of him, not only for his talent but also for his dedication and persevering nature. He promised to teach you a few things about dance, but you told him not to get his hopes up in that department.

Juyeon couldn't argue with that one, so he just nuzzled his head into your body. You squealed at how adorable he was being, while the other boys around you audibly cringed in unison.

"Is it too late to back out of our tenancy agreement?" Changmin sighed, also taking a seat on the adjacent couch. Juyeon just threw a pillow at him that he caught and popped on his lap.

Both Juyeon and Changmin were employed by the dance studio to start after graduation. Since they'd been house mates for a couple of years already, it just made sense to continue living together at a place closer to the studio. Another reason why you'd never met Juyeon was that out of the batch of guys in your graduating class, only Kevin lived apart from them off-campus. Chanhee was left behind from the roommate situation after Juyeon and Changmin found a new place, but he quickly weaselled his way into convincing the incoming seniors Sunwoo, Haknyeon and Eric to live with him in a 4 bedroom house since he got a job at the university.

"Where are you gonna live by the way, Y/N?" Kevin asked curiously.

"My childhood home isn't that far, so I'll probably stay at home for a bit until I figure out everything. I'll probably get a place in town as soon as I can," you manifested to yourself, "I'm trying not to worry about it."

Juyeon gently ran his fingers through your hair, "Yeah, don't worry about it."

"You can sleep on mine and Jacob's couch if you ever need. We're gonna get a pull-out," Kevin grinned. He was giving up his solo, roommate-less life to move in with his fellow Canadian.

Juyeon gasped dramatically and trapped you in his arms, "No way is she sleeping on your couch! What if Cobie-hyung tries to steal her from me?"

Kevin reached over the couch and slapped Juyeon around the head playfully, "Stop being jealous that Y/N and Jacob went on a date before she even knew you existed."

You giggled at his pout and leaned into his hold, "Jacob has no chance against you."

A pained sound came from the direction of the back door, "Y/N! You wound me!"

"Why are you all just suddenly appearing when you're mentioned in the conversation?" you cried out exasperatedly as Jacob passed by the living room. He sent you a teasing wink, which Juyeon belatedly blocked by placing his hand in front of your face. You swatted at his hand, but he in turn just gripped your fingers in his hold.

Eventually, everyone congregated in the living room one by one. It was your last night together, so you all decided to just collate a bunch of food in the middle of the living room, put on some music and drink if you wanted to. Juyeon had volunteered to drive Kevin's car home since Kevin had a whole bottle of whiskey he was dying to finish, so you decided to stay sober with him so you could stay up on the drive without the effects of a hangover.

In the kitchen, you, Juyeon and Chanhee had prepared a bunch of snacks, ramen, meat and other food, meanwhile everyone dragged their pillows and duvets downstairs. You don't know if one big sleepover on the couches and hardwood floors was good for your bodies the night before a long drive home, but it seemed like the best idea at the moment.

It was amusing to watch everyone get drunk and recount their favourite memories from the trip, such as finally succeeding in ambushing Sunwoo to throw him in the pool. One of your own personal favourites was finally being consistently on the winning team of chicken fight in the pool once you convinced Juyeon to partner up with you. You deduced that Kevin was the problem in the pair.

When the night was dwindling down and everyone began to transition into a sleepy state, you changed the music to a calm Disney film that you could leave running in the background. Eric and Sunwoo were the first to knock out, snoring on one of the mattress they had hauled from their rooms. Two mattresses and a knocked out Hyunjae, Sangyeon, Minseo and Suyeon away, you were tucked under Juyeon's comforter and cuddling against his body. He had one arm under your head and the other draped over the top of you, his fingertips ghosting on your back. You were facing him, chin tilted up as you peppered silent kisses along the bottom half of his face and his neck.

"Are you sure you don't mind falling asleep next to me? I can move if you want," Juyeon mumbled sleepily, his eyelids heavy and closing involuntarily no matter how much he fought. Even in this state, he still put you and your comfort first.

"Thanks, Juyo. This is perfect, I promise," you cooed into his skin, "Let's go to sleep, yeah?"

"Mhm, goodnight my love," Juyeon's breathing eventually slowed down and became more steady as his heartbeat did the same. You matched his breathing and it wasn't long before you fell into dreamland with him, "See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, my Juyeon."

You never could have expected or anticipated just how much this trip that Kevin had pestered you to go on would change your life. Maybe your story with Juyeon was a whirlwind romance, but it was still just the start. You never could have foreseen the way the sweet boy with the cat-like sleepy eyes could unpick your heart and nestle himself in there. You never would have guessed you would find comfort and solace in someone like Lee Juyeon at such an uncertain time of your life.

And when he dropped you off at the doorstep of your parents' house at the end of the trip (it was definitely way too early for him to come inside), the searing kiss he left on your lips and the promise to see you the next day made you feel like meeting Lee Juyeon was your serendipitous fate - an accidental discovery, a happenstance you stumbled upon, but one that was inevitable in every way.

a/n: thank you thank you thank you for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3

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