#jay chang fluff

[mirisss]

One Pact reaction to their gf on a survival show

One Pact reacting to their gf making it into a debut line-up & their gf not making it into the line-up

Wordcount ≈ 4.8k (pretty long for a reaction, lol, but I couldn’t help myself)

Warnings: injuries, bruises, anxiety, self-doubt, angst, a lot of fluff too, 

Thank you for the request! Hope you like it! I tried to make the reactions different for everyone but I most of them are quite similar.

Yoon Jongwoo

Jongwoo was there for you as much as he could be, he knows how hard it can be to be a part of a survival show. He watched every single episode and voted for you, he even tried to subtly tell his fans to vote for you without outright saying it. He was there in person for the final episode, standing in the front row ready to cheer for his girlfriend. You saw him the second you got on stage, the way he smiled and waved made almost all of your nerves wash away. No matter what happened, he would be so proud of you. 

Throughout the final performances, you swore you heard Jongwoo shouting your name in the sea of people, it made you smile even wider. The Best Boyfriend award goes to Yoon Jongwoo. Finally, it was time to announce who made it into the debut line-up. 10 people would be in the group. 7 names had been called. Yours had not been one of them. Jongwoo was nervous. You had been popular, often among the top 10 during the show. But he knew just as well as you: even if you had been number 1 throughout the show, you could still be placed 11 today. 

~When you make it~

3 more contestants were announced. “The three contestants fighting for the final 2 spots are L/n (Y/n), Kim Yujin, and Lee Yuna. One of these trainees was placed first, one was second, and the third was placed just outside of the debut line-up with the 11th rank, let me announce second place,” Jongwoo held his breath, chanting (Y/n)’s name in his head. “(L/n) (Y/n)!” “YES,” Jongwoo exclaimed loudly, so proud and happy. He knew how much this meant for you. 

After the show was over and you could meet up with Jongwoo, he engulfed you in a tight hug, twirling the two of you around. “Congratulations, babe, I’m so happy for you,” “Thank you, Woo, I can’t believe it! Second place as well, only five votes away from number one,” “You’re always number one for me,” You gave Jongwoo a fake annoyed look at his pick-up line, yet a smile adorned your face, even if the line was corny, Jongwoo truly meant it. “Now that you’re debuting, you better film a dance challenge with me,” “Oh no, I can’t do that. You’re too good at dancing,” “Come on, you’re just as good as me,” You gave Jongwoo a slight push on his shoulder as you shook your head. “Alright, what if I promise to dance badly?” “Deal,” “But it’s gonna cost you a kiss,” You laughed before taking a step closer to him, leaning in, Jongwoo followed suit, and your lips met in a sweet kiss. 

~When you don’t make it~

3 more contestants were announced. “The three contestants fighting for the final 2 spots are L/n (Y/n), Kim Yujin, and Lee Yuna. One of these trainees was placed first, one was second, and the third was placed just outside of the debut line-up with the 11th rank, let me announce second place,” Jongwoo held his breath, chanting (Y/n)’s name in his head. “Kim Yujin!” “Number 1, please, please, (Y/n),” Jongwoo whispered, chanting your name, praying that you were number 1. “And the contestant who placed first, the final member of the group, is…” Jongwoo held his breath, waiting to hear your name. “Lee Yuna!” The MC announced loudly. Jongwoo felt disappointed, not in you but for you. He knew just how hard you had worked, you deserved to be debuting but there wasn’t anything he could do now. 

“And that means, that (L/n) (Y/n), ranked 11, just outside of the debut line-up, could you tell us how you feel?” The MC asked, turning to you. You were crying but still tried to say something. “Well, I am so happy for everyone who made it. Of course, I’m sad that I didn’t make it, but I’ll just have to try harder next time. Thank you to everyone who has supported me during this show, and once again, congratulations to everyone who made it,” Jongwoo felt tears build up in his eyes as you said that you needed to work harder next time, he didn’t agree with that. You had worked so so hard this time, giving more is just not possible. 

After the show was over and the two of you could meet up, Jongwoo quickly embraced you in a tight hug. The second his arms were around you, you began crying again. Jongwoo whispered into your ear how proud he was, how much he loved you, and that it would be okay. He did everything he could to console you. Eventually, your tears stopped and Jongwoo released you from his tight embrace. “You will always be number 1 for me, you know that right, in my heart you’re always the winner,” “I love you, Yoon Jongwoo, my corny boyfriend,” “And I love you, (L/n) (Y/n), my lovely girlfriend,” 

Jay Chang

Jay knows how stressful it can be to be in a survival show. He’s been close to making it, he knows how much it hurts to know that you were so close yet not making it. When you told him you would be competing in a survival show, Jay was happy for you but he also told you that it’s going to be rough and whenever you feel sad, he’s going to be there for you. 

Jay, just like Jongwoo, did everything he could to promote you to his fans, hoping that people would vote for you.

Jay stood in the crowd, cheering for you loudly. He didn’t care about being recognized, all he wanted to do was cheer for his amazing girlfriend who had worked incredibly hard for this. Even going so far as to perform with a sprained ankle, doing stunts and getting hurt. Jay was a bit worried for you, afraid that you would hurt yourself seriously. Everyone in the crowd cheered just as loud as Jay, whenever you came out on stage. 

~ when you make it ~ 

“And the contestant who has received the most votes tonight, the one who takes the number one rank is…” Jay began chanting your name, many others in the crowd following along with him. He saw how tears gathered in your eyes at seeing him there and hearing the crowd chanting your name. “(Y/n)!” The MC announced loudly. Jay jumped up and down in the crowd, cheering loudly. 

“(Y/N)!!!!” Jay ran up to you as soon as he could after the show, engulfing you in a tight hug. Once he released you from his embrace, he took your hands into his jumping up and down. You followed along with him, jumping up and down. “You made it!” “I made it!” “I’m so proud of you my love,” He kissed you on the lips. “Thank you for all your support Jay, I couldn’t have done this without you,” You gave him another kiss on the lips. 

~ when you don’t make it ~ 

“The contestant who was ranked in 13th place, 3 ranks away from the debut group is…” Jay held his breath, chanting in his mind, not (Y/n), not (Y/n), not (Y/n)... “(L/n) (Y/n),” Jay wanted to jump up onto the stage and embrace you, he felt his own tears building up as he saw how sad you looked. “Miss (Y/n), do you want to say something?” “I want to thank everyone who has voted for me and cheered for me, I know this isn’t the end, and I want to wish everyone who makes it, happiness and success,” 

After the show was over, Jay ran backstage, almost fighting security because they didn’t want to let him pass even if he had a backstage pass. The second he found you, his heart broke. You were sitting on the floor, back against a wall, crying, bandage and an ice pack on your ankle. “Baby,” When you heard his voice, you looked up, voice breaking as you said his name, “Jay,” “I’m here, (Y/n), it’s okay, I’m here,” He embraced you into a warm and loving embrace, consoling you for an hour as people rushed around in the room. 

“I feel like such a failure like I let down everyone,” “No, darling, you didn’t let anyone down. I promise you, everyone who has voted for you and cheered for you, they’re are so proud of you, you worked so hard and you proved to everyone that you have more talent than anyone. Look at me, it wasn’t an easy journey to get here, you’ll find your way eventually,” “I love you, Jay, thank you for being here for me,” “I love you too, darling, come on, let’s go home,” 

Oh Seongmin

Seongmin wasn’t too happy when he heard you were competing in a survival show, he knew from experience that it’s hard and it makes you doubt yourself. He didn’t want that for you, he wanted you to be confident and strong. He knows how talented you are, but he knows that sometimes it doesn’t matter how talented you are, because editing, airtime, songs, looks, it all plays a bigger part than talent does for many. However, he voted for you, cheered, and did everything he could to promote you. He loved you after all and would do everything he could to help you. 

On the finale of the show, Seongmin watched from backstage, happy to see that you had made it this far. He was so proud of how hard you had worked. You hadn’t always received the best editing or a lot of airtime, but even so, you were one of the top contestants. 

~ when you make it ~

The MC called four girls to the front, you being one of them. Three of you have made it into the group and one is placed 8th, just outside the debut line-up. After calling two of the other girls for third and second place, you and one other girl were left. One of you placed first and one placed 8th. Seongmin stared at the TV as he stood backstage, his hands clasped together, half praying that the MC would call your name for first place. “And now, the announcement everyone has been waiting for, who is the top-ranked contestant and who, unfortunately, ranked just outside of the debut. First place goes to…” Seongmin wished to hear your name, he waited anxiously as the MC slowly moved his mic back toward his face. “Congratulations… (Y/n)!” 

Seongmin squealed and jumped around as he cheered. You did it! And placing first too! He was so happy for you, everything had been worth it. All your hard work, all the hours spent in the studio, all the time and pain you had put into this, it had all been worth it. When you came backstage Seongmin stood with his arms open wide, a big smile on his face. “SEONGMIN!” “(Y/n)! Congrats! You did it!” “I did it!” You jumped into his arms, crying and laughing at the same time. Overwhelmed with happiness. Seongmin was so happy, he knew how it felt to make it in a survival show, not placing first though. “We have to film challenges together and try to get on the same entertainment shows!” “Don’t you think people would find out that we’re dating then?” “I don’t know, I don’t care either, Min, I just want to do everything with you!” Seongmin leaned in and kissed you on the lips twice and then once on the nose. He gazed into your eyes, happiness, and love swirling around in them. “Congratulations, darling,” 

~ when you don’t make it ~

The MC was calling names left and right, some who made it and some who didn’t. Your name had yet to be called, finally you and two others were called to the front of the stage. The final ranks were to be announced, you could be placed first, second, or last. 7 people could make it into the debut line-up, 7 out of 12 girls/women. “In second place, it’s Lee Yuna!” Seongmin stared at the screen, he felt nervous. He didn’t know what to do, what if you placed last? It would break his heart and yours. 

“First place goes to… Kim Yujin!” “12th place therefore automatically goes to, (L/n) (Y/n),” Seongmin teared up as he saw how you fell to your knees on the stage crying. Feeling like a failure, after placing first or second throughout the show and now placing last. All the bruises and pain hadn’t been enough, you hadn’t been enough. That’s what it felt like. The MC asked if you would like to say a few words but you couldn’t talk. No words would leave your mouth. Some of the other contestants whom you had been close with came up to you and tried to comfort you. 

After the show ended, you managed to drag yourself backstage. Feeling almost apathetic. Numb. It was like you were watching the world from space. Suddenly you felt warmer and safer, it took a while until you noticed that Seongmin was now hugging you as you cried silent tears. “It’s okay, (Y/n), it’s okay, I’m so proud of you,” “Seongmin,” You just managed to whisper his name, he hugged you even tighter, your body shaking as you cried. “It’s not your fault, honey, it’s okay, you were so good, everyone loved you,” Seongmin brought you home, ordering your favorite food and snacks, all to try and make you feel better. He patched up any injuries you had gotten from the last day. It took hours before you felt better, but having him there made it easier. 

Yeom Taegyun / TAG

Tag was ready to support you to a hundred percent in the best way he knew. By helping you with production skills and writing lyrics. Before the show started, he was practicing with you for 7 hours a day. Even bringing you along to dance practices with One Pact, having Jongwoo and Yedam give you tips on more dance styles. Tag supported you how he knew best, by practicing. You appreciated it, and thanks to him, you learned more skills that you could show and use during the show, making you a top contender for first place. Hundreds to thousands of videos of moments from the show went viral, most of them being videos of you. 

You and some others from the survival show were given some benefits after winning a certain round during the show, one of those being to film challenges with already debuted artists such as Stray Kids, Ateez, One Pact, and many more. You and Tag directly offered to film the challenge with one another. Tag knew that his group wasn’t the most popular one, but he still wanted to do what he could to help you out. The video ended up going a bit viral because people loved the synergy Tag and you seemed to have, commenting how perfect you would look as a couple, to which you both laughed if only they knew. 

~ When you make it ~

Tag ended up going to the show along with One Pact, they were invited after doing the challenges with some of the contestants. Tag and the rest of the boys were all excited to be there for you in person, they were all cheering for you, though Tag was cheering the most, albeit quietly. The final performances were amazing. No one knew who would make it and who wouldn’t, everyone seemed to be about equal in talent, it was anyone’s game. 

The One Pact members had been given a special mission as they attended the show, they would each get to announce one contestant who made it into the group. The five boys all randomly took five of the eight envelopes that held the names of the debut line-up. “And in fourth place,” Tag was the final one to open his envelope, the name inside was the name of the person placing 4th, he slowly opened the envelope, hoping to see your name. He knew it had to be yours, it was fate, he felt pulled toward this envelope, it had to be yours. Tag couldn’t hold back his smile as he found the familiar name written on the paper. “(Y/n)!” 

Once the show was over, Tag came up behind you, scaring you a bit as you hadn’t noticed him. “Congratulations,” “Oh my, Taegyun! You scared me! But thank you! It’s all thanks to you!” “You did it all on your own, how could people resist falling in love with you? It’s impossible to not fall for your charms,” You kissed him on the cheek, still feeling like your success was thanks to him. 

~ When you don’t make it ~ 

Two weeks before the finale, you sustained an injury while practicing for the finale performances. The injury was so bad that you had to drop out of the show, you had to be treated in a hospital for 2 days before you could go home. Tag stayed with you in the hospital for those 2 days, never leaving your side. He knew you would feel better if he was there. For those two days, it was like you hadn’t realized that you couldn’t return to the show, it would take weeks before you could dance again after this injury. 

“Taggy, do you have my phone, I need to talk with my manager,” Tag looked at you, his eyes giving away that he knew something you didn’t. “Um, don’t you think you should wait another day or two before you think about work. Besides we should be getting ready to go home now,” “Taegyun, what’s up?” Tag sighed, he couldn’t keep this from you. He held your hand as he looked at you with sad eyes. “Your manager called to tell us two things, 1 you’re of the show because you can’t dance now, and 2 she quits as your manager,” Tag left out the reasons for it, you aren’t worth it this is such a stupid injury, shouldn’t have happened. Something along those lines were what she said. 

“What? She quit?” “Yeah, but honey, you’ve told be that she’s been turbulent, unreliable. This only proved it,” Even if you knew that what Tag said was true, it still hurt knowing that you’d basically been abonded for something that wasn’t your fault. “I wanna go home,” “Let’s go home,” Tag helped you out to the car that his company sent, and he would be taking you to his apartment because your company isn’t doing anything for you. Tag began thinking of what he could do for you, he can’t heal your leg with a snap of his fingers, but he might be able to help you out with the company and manager problem. 

The following day, Tag woke you up by singing a song you didn’t recognize, his voice was smooth and soft, he sounded like an angel. Eventually as you woke up and became more aware, you began hearing what he was singing. It was a song he wrote for your one year anniversary. Hearing him singing that song again, brought you a lot of comfort. “Good morning, baby,” “Good morning, Taggy,” “Here, take some pain killers. What do you want for breakfast?” After saying what you wanted, Tag made sure to fix it for you. He sat with you in his bedroom eating when his phone dinged, he looked at it and smiled. “I’m gonna have to go to the company building for a little bit, I have a meeting I have to attend, Jongwoo-hyung and Seongmin-hyung are gonna be home though, so if you need anything just call for one of them,” He gave you a kiss on the lips before he slipped away. 

Tag came back 3 hours later, he looked exhausted but happy. He carefully layed down on the bed beside you. “How did your meeting go?” “At first, very badly but eventually it went well,” “What was it about?” “A lot of things, but mostly this one artist I wanted to produce some songs for,” You perked up at that, never having heard Tag show interest in another artist than himself, his group, or you. “Who?” “You,” “What?” “I tried to persuade Armada ent, to sign you to the company, so that you can debut and at least receive some support from your company, they didn’t agree to it until I said that I’d help produce songs for you, and that I would quit if they didn’t” “TAG, you can’t say you’ll quit for me,” “Eh, it worked” “Thank you, Taegyun, you’re my saviour,” 

Lee Yedam

Yedam would be your own personal cheerleader and dance teacher. He would have you show him every dance you had to learn, he’d learn it himself and help you out. He’d help other’s on your team if he so had to, but he’d mostly focus on you of course. He was voting like crazy, calling every single person that he knows asking them to vote for you. Accidentally watching your performance on a live and saying “Woah, this girl is so good, the one doing this part,” Resulting in his fans going to vote for you too. He was there watching every single performance, so what if he was recognized by anyone? He needed to support his amazing, talented, beautiful, caring, wonderful girlfriend.  

Of course Yedam was there for the finale, he was standing front row, barricade, he had waited in line for 12 hours, some people recognizing him and letting him go before them. He thanked them deeply. Some asked him if he was there for a special reason, he simply said that he wanted to support a friend. He was happy to hear that so many people were talking about how good you were and how they would definitely vote for you. 

He already knew the finale songs and performances, he had helped you prepare for them. You had even gotten the killing part and main dancer part, despite your original position being a vocalist. Thanks to Yedam you had really stepped up and become a better dancer, good enough to be the main dancer. While also still serving amazing vocals of course. The crowd was going crazy for you, screaming so loud that Yedam thought he’d go deaf, but he was screaming just as loud as everyone else. When you saw him in the crowd, you couldn’t help but wave to him, though most fans in the crowd thought it was to them. Yedam kept sending you hearts throughout the finale, you always smiled whenever he did, sometimes sending him a wink or blowing a kiss to him while you performed. 

~ When you make it ~

And now, it was time for the results. Yedam was nervous, while you had made it this far, you had always been wavering between the two lowest ranks for the debut line-up and just below it. Debut wasn’t a given for anyone. He was praying that you would make it. “Contestants who have the chance of ranking 6, 7, and 8 are (Y/n), Yuna, Yujin, and Haewon, please step forward,” Hearing your name made him happy but he was still worried, three out of four would make it, you could still be the one who ranks just outside of the debut line-up. “In eight place, Haewon!” The MC began announcing the ranks. “In seventh place, Yuna!” “And now, in sixth place, it’s either (Y/n) or Yujin…” “Congratulations…” Yedam was ready to climb on stage and rip the envelope out of the MC’s hands just to find out but they were dragging it out. “(Y/N)!” “YES!” Yedam exclaimed loudly as the whole crowd broke out into loud cheers, some people beside Yedam even grabbed his hands and jumped up and down with him, saying congratulations. 

Yedam looked up at you, giving you a bright smile and a thumbs up. He even looked happier than you did at the moment. You had tears in your eyes and a smile on your face. “Would you like to say a few words, (Y/n)?” The MC asked, handing you a mic, you took it and gave the MC a little nod. “I want to thank everyone who has voted and cheered for me during the show. I’m so happy to have made it! I also especially want to thank my best friend for being there for me and helping me during the difficult times! Please look forward to seeing me on stage!” Yedam almost began crying, he knew you couldn’t say that you wanted to thank your boyfriend but you calling him your best friend almost meant more. You both had a special bond, it was both love and a deep friendship. 

“Congratulations!” He yelled as soon as he could meet you. “Thank you for everything Yedam, I wouldn’t have made it without you,” “Of course you would have! You’re amazing!” “But you helped me become a better dancer!” “I didn’t do much, now what did you think of the group name?” The conversation about how you felt over the group members and everything continued the whole night. 

~ When you don’t make it ~

Your stage presence was the best it had ever been. Much thanks to your boyfriend standing in the front row cheering for you. Yedam was really hoping that people would vote for you. The crowd was loud and cheerful. Yedam worried a bit about how loud the cheers were for some of the other contestants compared to you, some were louder and some were quieter. When the time for announcements came, Yedam was about to start biting on his nails to release some nerves. 

“In 13th place, 5 ranks away from the debut group, we find…” The MC slowly opened the envelope, looking at it, he made a shocked face. Yedam had a bad feeling. Please don’t let it be her. Please anyone but (Y/n). “(Y/n)” The crowd broke out into gasps and sad exclaimations. Yedam tried to stay strong as he saw you look at him, silent tears running down your face. You worked so hard, you made so many improvements during the show, and still didn’t make it. The MC asked you to say a few words, Yedam couldn’t bear to hear you so sad, he began crying along with a lot of others in the crowd. “I, uh, wanna say thank you to everyone who voted for me. And I promise to work hard and come back on stage soon, so please,” You had to take a break and try to breath, your own tears feeling like they suffocated you. “Please, wait for me,” You then left the stage, leaving a lot of confidence behind, you really thought you would make it. Yedam quickly began moving to get to you, he was crying and he knew you would be feeling even worse. 

“(Y/n)” “Yedam-ah,” Your voice broke as you said his name. He tried to give you a smile, hoping you would feel a little better if he did. “Hey, why are you crying? You were amazing out there, didn’t you hear all the cheers people gave you? You’re going to go down in history as one of the greatest contestants ever,” “I tried so hard, and I really wanted to make it,” “I know, but it isn’t over yet. Your company is going to see just how popular and talented you are, they’re going to try to debut you tomorrow if they could after this!” “You think so?” “Of course! Look at me, I placed 36th on boys planet, and yet I have debuted, Jongwoo-hyung placed 18th, and he’s debuted. It’s not over just yet, so try to stay strong,” Yedam kissed you on the lips once and then once on your forehead. “I promise that you’ll make it one day, and then, you will be unstoppable,” “You’ll be unstoppable too, you and One Pact” “We’ll do it together!” You finally smiled, tears still filling your eyes but you felt a bit better, knowing your personal cheerleader still believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. 

[blossominghunnie]

𝐒𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

Pairing: Jay Chang x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Warning: None

Notes: I’m in my Jay feels as usual, so here’s this. 🤭

Jay has always been known to be clumsy and not a very athletic guy as well, so when you combine those two things the result is this: a fractured ankle.

Y/n, who has been skateboarding for most of her life, was asked by her boyfriend to teach him how to skate. She accepted because not only did he insist a lot, but because he gave her puppy eyes, something the girl can’t resist.

After a few tries, she let him skate on his own. And surprisingly he was doing pretty okay, until he couldn’t stop and crashed.

They quickly went to the doctor when they saw that Jay couldn’t walk and now they were here, at Y/n’s house sitting on the couch. The boy with a pout and the girl doodling on his cast, his leg propped on the coffee table that was in front of them.

“This sucks.” The brown haired crossed his arms. “I’ve never been in one place for so long.”

“I know, honey.” She patted his cheek affectionately, “You’re always moving, you’re like a golden retriever.”

That made him giggle. “Maybe I was one in my past life.”

“Okay, Nine-tailed fox.” She teased. They had recently seen the drama, Tale of the Nine-tailed fox and Jay got a little obsessed.

“By the way, what have you been doing for the past 20 minutes?” The brown haired curiously asked.

“Oh! Just drawing cute little hearts.” Jay turned his leg a little to the left and saw them. “I thought it would cheer you up.”

The boy smiled with tenderness. “It definitely did. Thank you, love.”

“It’s nothing, sweetie.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Misc masterlist || Main masterlist

[wonryllis]

✶ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝒟𝐎𝐋𝐋? RICH BOY ENHYPEN PINNING AFTER YOU.

目录──────𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝓉𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘 ⋅ enhypen showing that you're not just one of the girls. wordcount total 2882 (approx 0.4k each) ⭑ CONTAINS— female!reader, fluff, suggestive, lots of swearing. % strongly recommend listening to ›› the respective songs while reading! jungwon's is inspired by ␥ kavin and kaning. ( THE ARCHIVE? ) PLS REBLOG ><

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

ぃ ⏤ now playing. HELLGIRL BY ARI ABDUL

"shit. you gotta wear this one, angel," heeseung groans in satisfaction, ignorant and indifferent to the fact that all the store employees could hear him, someone who never brings over girls to places like these, going insane over one. and the fact that you were unable to wrap your head around this situation just yet.

it was surreal and it was nerve wrecking. but heeseung was adamant that he needed you.

needed you to dress so fucking gorgeous and stand by his side as his date for the night while he paraded around greeting his parents' guests. showing them that he is capable of being committed by bringing along a partner for the first time ever. that's what he tells you—

"is this really fine?" you ask again, hands dusting over the sleek satin hugging your skin in a way that it tickled. heeseung stands up and strides overs to where you stand, arms sliding around your waist to pull you against him. "it's more than fine, absolutely stunning," leaning into your neck to leave kisses, "and so hot," right infront of everyone, no one daring to say a word to him, except you.

you who has been an exception to all his rules, you who has made him want to do things he has never wanted to before. you who has swept him off his feet.

you push against his chest in an attempt to stop him,"we'll be late, should go now," he hums in a low growl, lips nipping right against your ear before he pulls away with much exasperation almost unsated. clicking his tongue in annoyance for the staff to hurry the billing once he's done admiring you. unable to stand that anyone beside him see you dressed so pretty.

"just smile and follow my lead," heeseung tells you once you arrive at the venue. giving you an encouraging look as he instructs the valet to wait until you seem calm enough to step out. that's what he tells you— heart eyes and odd actions speaking for themselves. his hands find your waist when you finally walk up the stairs, breath shaky as you pass the entrance.

"relax angel, 'm right here, we can leave whenever you want," he kisses the side of your head, lips lightly touching your styled hair. never caring about who's looking and who's thinking what. if only you knew it too.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

ぃ ⏤ now playing. STAY BY ARI ABDUL

"look behind you, princess," the voice incoming from your phone suddenly sounds too loud, paired with faint footsteps coming to a halt. jay's lips break into a wide smile when you turn around in an instant to look at him. your eyes following his hands holding an enormous bouquet of red roses, before you notice anything else.

before you notice the want in his eyes. the want for you.

"jay? i thought you were in— " you speak into the phone, eyes locked with his, but before you can finish he hangs up the call. approaching you with quick steps and immediately pulling you into a kiss. one that's short but deep enough to convey his feelings. "berlin? yeah, but i flew back for you," he breathes out against your lips.

"why?" "you know why love," his fingers twirl the hair falling into face, tucking them away and cupping your cheek as he gives you a smile before stepping away.

he waits for you to say something, to address his feelings but like always you avoid it and like always jay lets you. alas there will come a time when you would no longer be able to deny his love, so until then he will continue to show you all ways you own his heart in. his forever princess."what about that conference you were going to attend with your dad?" you ask, accepting his bouquet.

watching him with a soft giggle as he struggles to pull out a single rose and place it behind your ear. "don't worry about it," in a reassuring tone he leads you to his car. teasing you of a surprise each time you question where you are headed.

asking you to have your eyes closed while he leads you to the rooftop of a high-rise building owned by his family, illuminated by pretty lights and flowery wreaths, and a firework show worth a million.

all just for you.

to pose a smile on your face and to be the one to put it. to be the reason of your happiness and to be the person beside you in your best memories,"happy new year, princess," jay whispers into you ear as you open your eyes to see all of it. "jay this—" you gasp in a trance, gaze hooked on the sky while his is fixated in the way the fireworks shine against your pretty orbs and the gloss on your lips,"it's all for you,"

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. MEDDLE ABOUT BY CHASE ATLANTIC

"you owe me. you can't keep avoiding me forever, doll," jake chuckles, noticing how you turn the other way after catching a glimpse of him. finding it adorable how you do everything you can to not cross paths with him.

leaving him no choice but to wait for you outside your university, leaning against his black lykan hypersport; attracting unwanted attention while his eyes only look for your cute panicked figure amidst the crowd.

"i told you it was a mistake—" you refute, throwing a glare at his smug face as he drives right beside you, following your every step, nonchalant about all the stares you both get as long as you agree to him taking you out. "get in the car," or the other way round, he's fine with both. frustrated and knowing you'd never be able to escape him, you decide to give in.

"you owe me lunch," jake grins as his eyes watch you get into the passenger seat just like the passenger princess you are.

his passenger princess. first and last in his beloved car.

"jake this— isn't this too—" your heart skips beats at the sight of the dock and the luxury cruise restaurant closing in, scared and nervous about how much you'd have to spend but jake just shushes you. getting out the car first and coming over to open the door for you; one hand holding yours and the other cushioning your head as you step out.

"just let me have your time and i'll let you off of staining my prada with coffee," he begs, afraid you'd walk out of here if he were to tell you the real reason. if he were to tell you that you have his heart and no matter what you do his feelings are not changing. if he were to tell you he wanted to take you out to all these places and spoil you rotten and occupy your mind like you occupy his.

if he were to tell you it was indeed not your fault for he bumped into you on purpose to find an excuse to talk to you.

"but—" jake shushes you again, fingers rubbing against your lips as he shakes his head before pulling out the chair for you and helping you sit properly,"don't think too much doll, just do as i say, please?" planning to keep you busy until the sun goes down so he can take you to for a ride on his yacht.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. BABYDOLL BY ARI ABDUL

"fuck baby, don't cry like that," sunghoon panics, his fingers grazing under your eyes to gently wipe the tears. afraid if he's not careful enough, he'll break you. "as much as i love the way you look so pretty like this, tears are not for someone like you," he has no idea how to soothe your frantically crying figure, slouched in the passenger seat against the expensive leather of his aston martin.

his hands fumble around in an attempt to think of ways he could just make you feel better and smile for him. those adorable crinkle of your eyes that have him whipped.

fuming each time he thinks of the moron who took that opportunity away from him by making you sad. he swears if he finds him, he'll beat the living daylights out of him. remind him not to linger anywhere around his girl.

sunghoon softly cups your cheek in his palm and leans in to kiss you, lips moving slow and sensual, "forget him, let me make you happy," he whispers into your mouth once he pulls away, foreheads touching and hands caressing your face lovingly. he makes sure your belt is secured before driving off to one of the luxury malls in the city, ones where you need to be of a certain level to enter.

a place you probably could never have the chance to enter if it weren't for him.

"my princess gotta shop her sadness out, hmm?" sunghoon coos as he stops outside the building, watching you gape in surprise, surprised himself that you are yet to realize just how much you mean to him.

"come on, i'll buy you whatever you lay your eyes on," he insists before you have the chance to deny him.

his hands rest at the back of your waist, leading you inside after handing his keys to the valet. dropping a soft kiss on your temple when you watch his vip card being inspected with a nervous breath of how elite this place has to be.

and knowing how new you must feel to all this, sunghoon pulls you closer with the intention of making it known that this is how it's gonna be from now, "get used to it, baby," you're not his yet but he's gonna treat you like you are. after all it's only a matter of time before it happens.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

ぃ ⏤ now playing. GOOD GIRL BY THOMAS LAROSA

"good girl, you did a great job," sunoo pats your head teasingly amused at the confusion adorning your features. "sunoo, what were you doing there! you don't even have marketing?" the way you close in, demanding an explanation assures him that you indeed were affect by his presence, by the eye contact he held with you the entire time you were giving your presentation.

walking into the lecture hall in the middle of it as if he owned the place and taking a seat at a spot that directly put him in your line of sight. smirking, raising his brows and pushing his tongue against his cheeks to distract and annoy you.

"would you believe me if i said i came to see you?" his hands took ahold of your wrists playing with your fingers as he waited for you to answer.

"liar," you whisper, suddenly conscious of the implication behind his words and it makes him chuckle, of course what did he expect? you're hard to get, and perhaps that's the reason he feels so attracted, almost crazy over you.

like something he has to have, someone he has to have.

he takes a step closer, his varsity hat poking against the top of your head as his eyes bore into yours just the way they did inside earlier,"see? what do you want me to say then?" he whispers back, tone suddenly changing into a serious one. "you can't just enter any class like that," your innocent claim goes through him from one ear and falls through the other. how naive you are.

"i can if it's my dad's university," he can't help but chuckle at the expression on your face when you put the pieces together and realize it. all those times you came across him in places with strict attendance, it all made sense now.

"as adorably as you scold me, you're gonna see me everywhere you go," sunoo warns, leaning in impossibly close, lips hovering over yours,"you should stop fooling yourself baby,"

his hands move from your wrists to rest against the wall behind, voice dropping an octave,"and you should stop fooling around just because you can," you bite back, pressing your palm into his chest to push him back. "i'm fooling around because i want you, and i will have you," "you—" "we have a party this weekend at our summer villa, come with me?"

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

ぃ ⏤ now playing. SINNERS BY ARI ABDUL AND THOMAS LAROSA

"jungwon? what are you doing here? are you okay?" it makes jungwon happy to see you worrying about him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pant as he watches you walk around the counter to his figure by the door. finding his cerulean blue chevrolet corvette 2lz parked in his usual spot, and him still dressed in the armani and hermès set you saw him in an hour ago when he dropped you off at your uncle's flower shop.

"mhm, just wanted to see my pretty girl again," he grins cockily once you realize there's nothing wrong and he's just trying playing around like always.

albeit to jungwon, it's never been a play and you have never been a toy.

this has been his way of showing you that you're not just another girl he's chasing after; because yang jungwon has never chased as opposed to what you think. and to harbour such deep and honest feelings that compel him to do what he has never done, that should have given you the hint by now. perhaps he'll just have to try a tad bit harder.

"how do you wear this?" he struts inside, passing by you to the space behind the counter you previously stood at, dangling a lone apron by his pinky and raising his brows at you, waiting. "your clothes will get dirty!" your attempts to curb him fall through for jungwon's persistence to stay with you holds like a strong wall, incapable of budging.

"i don't really care," jungwon's hands loop around the strings in a way that has the apron falling off making you giggle as you give in and just step in to help him,"idiot, that's not how you do it," you mumble.

and all he can think of is how he wants to be your idiot.

"how does this look? i think it looks so pretty on you," he says, putting a messy wreath on your head. to jungwon there's always flowers blooming everywhere you go, sweet scent overtaking all his scenes believing that's how you intoxicated him.

you slap away his hands in a shy chuckle that he doesn't understand, did he say something wrong? not aware and quite literally clueless of his own effect. by the time the sun sets down, you're asleep with your head down on the counter, facing him. and jungwon admires the way you looks so pretty, prettier than any flower.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

ぃ ⏤ now playing. STUCKINMYBRAIN BY CHASE ATLANTIC

"riki?" oh. you're here? riki looks up at the sound of your footsteps getting closer, halting a metre away from him, like you always do, not too close, not too far and it drives him crazy. "what are you doing here?" you ask, confused to find him waiting outside your mundane apartment building with his out of place red ferrari sf90.

"uh, you left this in the car last time," he fumbles out a dior liquid blush, clearly brand new and a shade you have never used before.

"that's not mine," giggling, you walk over to the other side, opening the passenger seat door to fish out the gloss you actually did leave and waving it in the air to show him,"this is mine richboy," the soft sounds of laughter, your teasing voice.

his favorite thing in the world as of late.

you who has him smitten with infatuation, unable to get you off his mind no matter how much he tries. you who never gives him the answer he wants but never pushes him away either. you who makes him feel like a pathetic loser, you who makes him want to try as many times as he can to win your heart.

"it's a gift," he quickly improvises, wanting you to accept it, of getting a chance to give you something. "you're gifting me a blush?" you question and it throws him off, blush?,"wait, it's not a lipgloss— i, i had no idea, i have never—" riki swears, he really had no clue,"bought makeup?" he nods and it makes you burst into a fit of laughter again. it warms his heart, leaning against his car and watching you with eyes that speak volumes of his feelings.

feelings that anyone could notice, anyone but you.

he lets you revel in his silly naivety, content to know you are not longer sad as you were a few days ago.

"now this suits you pretty little face," he says once you seem to calm down, bewildered at his sudden compliment while he walks over to you.

cupping your face and caressing your cheeks,"so pretty," mumbling under his breath, loud enought to reach your ears,"it's boring when you cry, baby," his lips hover over your own as both of your heartbeats pick up in sync, breath getting caught up at the shift in the atmosphere. "let's go on a drive, we'll get you a bunch of pretty glosses to wear for me,"

TAGLIST ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @okwonyo @snoopypupp @enhabooks @jjunae @criminalyun

[sweetlittlenamjoon]

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✩~ little!jay for anon ~✩

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reqs open! | please don't repost!

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jay is so toddler/kidcore to me qwq like thats my goofy lil guy!!! he's so dinosaur, juicebox, putting stickers on your face coded *nods sagely* i also miss him dearly esp with then new album out T^T

hope you like it anon!!

[seokmattchuus]

One Pact Masterlist

💜 - suggestive 🖤 - smut 🩵 - fluff 🩶 - angst 💚 - sad 🩷 - comedy

Jay as a dom 🩵?💜?

Special Treatment (Jongwoo) 🩵

[okwonyo]

USE YOUR HEART ✶ forbidden romance

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗇

𝟏𝟔𝟖𝟏𝒾──── bodyguard!enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

rbs ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 for @flwrstqr ◜ ᴗ ◝

HEESEUNG

you are the day greets you with heeseung’s soft, bare, broad chest sitting politely under your head. you want to bury your face further into your pillow.

the sunlight reflects in your face— right into your eye and as you scratch it, realizations hit you. he is absolutely not supposed to be there.

you almost get dizzy from how quickly you sit up. shaking his shoulders softly, you hush his name like a desperate prayer, “heeseung, heeseung, wake up.”

he hums, his voice deep and filled with sleep. he doesn’t wake up, changing his position to hug your waist instead of laying on his back. it’s endearing, but you keep shaking him.

“babe, please.” he whines.

“heeseung, you fell asleep last night, if someone sees us you are fired,” his eyes open abruptly. “you are supposed to protect me, not cuddle with me.”

he gets up in a storm, stumbling over the covers as he gets out of bed. you sniffle a laugh as he looks for his thrown shirt, contemplating his broad back while he puts it on.

when your bodyguard turned secret boyfriend sneaked in your room last night, you swore he was going to leave in less than ten minutes. yet, this morning, he cups your face to give you a quick kiss before storming out of your room.

JAY

he waits until the attention is not on you anymore to drag you into an empty room and pin you against the cold walk. he doesn’t waste any time to smash his lips against.

jay has been waiting for this moment all day long. from the second bus shift started—when you woke up—he wanted to kiss you until none of you could breathe again.

his heart pounds in his chest when your hands slide on his neck, his own holds onto your waist for dear life, pulling you closer to his body more and more.

you kiss him with as much fervor has he does. you melt onto his touch, your body warming up as the kiss goes on. you ruin his slick back barely a few seconds in, leave your lipstick all over he mouths— and he loves it.

“we shouldn’t—” he kisses you. “we shouldn’t do—” its your fault for giving up on your sentence as soon as his lips touch yours. “we shouldn’t do this.”

you always say the same thing. since the very first time this happened, you never fault to remind him that kissing in hidden places is dangerous. jay knows it: he knows no one is rooting for your relationship but he can’t stop.

he smiles at his own homelessness, roaming his hands all over your body, “i know, angel,” he kisses you harder, even more eager. “but it’s too good to stop.”

JAKE

if jealousy is a disease, then he is deadly sick. it’s like he doesn’t try to hide it—not only he stares burning holes through the guy’s body but he isn’t afraid to complain your ears off about him.

you didn’t even kiss the guy or talk to him for more than a second, but apparently a dance is all it takes to make the walk alone from the car to your room extremely noisy, whiny and headache worthy.

you find it endearing, how easy it is to make him jealous. and jake on the other side, feels a little silly. he knows he can’t be mad at this random man for dancing with you at a ball, because nobody knows about the two of us.

but he can’t stand seeing other people have what he cannot have— the chance to be publicly smitten for you, “he was literally eye-eating you—” perhaps he made this expression up. “oh princess, you are so pretty tonight—”

he is so immersed in his jealousy that he doesn’t hear you calling for his name. you decide that it’s enough when he starts to imitate the guy’s voice.

you take his black tie and yank him close to you, shutting him up with your lips on his. jake heart’s stops, dropping in his stomach. you didn’t look around to see if anyone was there— you don’t care. you needed to shut him up.

he is stunned when you pull away, “please, be quiet.” he nods, mouth agape as you start walking again.

SUNGHOON

if you could pick one word to describe him, it would be ridiculous. dramatic. sunghoon is always doing too much, the most he can, as if he was in an action movie.

your parents love him. he is very good at his job. yes, nothing bad or any uncomfortable encounters happened in his presence. he is the perfect bodyguard, actually, he seems to truly have fun in his job.

but, “is this absolutely necessary?” you sigh, getting out of the car. it’s raining but the rain and your skin are kept apart by the umbrella sunghoon is holding above your head.

“there is no other option,” his tone is deep, face serious, the entire situation is commedic. he hands you the umbrella and he makes sure you are holding it well before letting go.

you roll your eyes when your boyfriend picks you up bridal style. it’s absolutely not necessary, you keep on telling him this. “it is, we can’t risk your pretty heels getting wet, can we?”

his sly look and smirk makes you stomach ache, full of butterflies. your heart burns with the urge of kissing him— but you can’t. you bite down your lower lip as he walks to gala’s entrance.

this is probably going to be ok the headlines tomorrow: the princess can’t walk by herself? or something amongst these lines, but you don’t care. later.

later. you’ll make sure to hide well enough to kiss him without creating a scandal.

SUNOO

anyone can be easily fooled by his pretty face. when you first met him, you thought his cute face couldn’t do much— well too lovely to protect you correctly. god knows how wrong you were.

underneath his black word suit, sunoo muscles get more obvious each day. you would know. your hands touch them whenever he kisses you. his grip is always strong on your hips.

that’s why you never forget how strong he can be and that, being your secret lover apart, he is your very protective body guard.

you get a little bit uncomfortable, worried and scared when a guy comes to you at a party. the man in front of you reeks alcohol and stands a little too close to you for your own comfort.

you tell him to leave you alone politely but he doesn’t want to. until your knight in shining armor grips his collar and yanks him away from you.

“is this guy bothering you, sunshine?” sunoo asks, with a bright smile. his grip on the stranger’s collar is strong and the other seems to be close to choking.

you watch him, with wide eyes, make the young rich man get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. you have to tell sunoo that everything is fine a million times for him to let go.

JUNGWON

he doesn’t know what happened. he just sees you run out of your father’s office, with tears in your eyes and your hand in front of your mouth. you ran away as soon as he tried to ask you what’s wrong.

“princess!” he yells your name, out of breath. he barely is able to speak, “princess— tell what is wrong!”

you stop running after a while. jungwon lets out a sigh of relief, he takes a while to catch his breath. “damn, the things i do for you, doll.”

you show him absolutely no mercy. he yelp when you push his shoulder, harshly enough to make him hiss right after. “why didn’t you tell me that you quit your job?”

oh. this is what this is about. jungwon should have guessed, he didn’t even have time to tell you about it, “princess, listen—” he tries to reach for you hand but you step away.

“no, won,” you sniffle. “i don’t want other bodyguard, i just want you. you—you can’t leave me.”

his heart breaks, watching your tears drop from your pretty eyes. he doesn’t give up when you push his hands away whenever he tries to reach for you. he gets to cup your face at the end.

“i’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” he shushes your sobs, pulling you in his embrace. “i quit because i don’t want to hide anymore— i am so desperately in love with you.” his whispers smooth your heart. “i just want everyone to know and i will be able to if quit. don’t be sad, everything i do is for you.”

RIKI

it’s late at night when you hear a knock at your door. you finish putting your earring before getting away from the mirror and opening it.

“wow,” his voice is low, deep, barely above a whisper due to his awe. he stays speechless for a while and his gaze scanning your body makes you nervous. he steps closer to you, “i could kiss you right now.”

you giggle as he leans in. his cologne intoxicates you in a good way, as well as does his mouth gently meeting yours. he puts his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

honestly, he was just aiming for a peck. however, he can’t stop, “riki,” a kiss. “riki—” another one. “we can’t kiss here.”

he hums against your lips. then upon pulling away, he gives you a lingering smooch. he

smiles when he stands straight, “you’re so pretty.”

your giggles are hushed, well too aware that there is ears everywhere. if anyone sees how close you are standing to your bodyguard, how your lipstick is still remaining warm on his lips— it’s over.

riki offers you his hand, “let me steal you away for a night.” he pulls you out of the room in a hurry. you both run away from the palace, unable to keep your laughs quiet.

분지 ܃ wrote this just to make my wife happy >< enjoy !

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist ( open )

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you. 

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading. 

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now. 

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?” 

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class. 

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.” 

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording. 

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards. 

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing. 

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him. 

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.” 

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval. 

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room. 

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch. 

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.” 

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth. 

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag. 

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question. 

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.” 

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got. 

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English.  “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?” 

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.” 

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.” 

And they’re silenced immediately. 

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.” 

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?” 

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.” 

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert. 

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold. 

He doesn't like it one bit. 

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area. 

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner. 

A spark. 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself. 

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm. 

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man. 

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.” 

That scared the shit out of him. 

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape. 

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him. 

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal. 

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him. 

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it. 

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars. 

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that 

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can. 

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving. 

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it. 

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero. 

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same. 

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you. 

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you. 

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby. 

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits. 

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project. 

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises. 

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago. 

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head. 

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.” 

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch. 

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line. 

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.” 

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response. 

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.” 

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.” 

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.” 

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.” 

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.” 

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter. 

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. 

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.” 

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.” 

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.” 

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right? 

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM. 

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time? 

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes? 

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again. 

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark. 

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor. 

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy. 

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims. 

Bam. 

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed. 

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back. 

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon. 

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity. 

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.  

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle. 

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop. 

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory. 

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest. 

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up. 

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds. 

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time. 

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him. 

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this. 

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop. 

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein. 

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about. 

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text. 

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it. 

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy. 

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him. 

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?” 

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.” 

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?” 

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend. 

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom. 

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.” 

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?” 

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision. 

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task. 

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves. 

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more. 

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?” 

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down. 

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.” 

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?” 

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning. 

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination. 

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish. 

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end. 

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag. 

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break. 

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask. 

-

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?” 

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading. 

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things. 

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?” 

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-” 

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago. 

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his. 

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice. 

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.” 

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise. 

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight. 

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.  

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings. 

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse. 

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists. 

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated. 

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.” 

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back. 

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle. 

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot. 

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance. 

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump. 

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse. 

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it. 

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist. 

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him. 

You. He still needs to save you. 

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him. 

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended. 

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement. 

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists. 

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action. 

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop. 

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” 

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait. 

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go. 

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind. 

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion. 

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.” 

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.” 

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.” 

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.” 

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.” 

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?” 

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you. 

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?” 

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.” 

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?” 

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.” 

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit. 

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened. 

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?” 

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.” 

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?” 

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting. 

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.” 

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear. 

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs. 

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest. 

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain. 

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities. 

Until now. 

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.” 

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.” 

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too. 

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation. 

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.  

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?” 

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms. 

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly. 

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?” 

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?” 

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki. 

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are. 

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.” 

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart. 

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain. 

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue. 

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out. 

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something. 

Nothing. 

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news. 

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago. 

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that. 

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something. 

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it. 

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two. 

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant. 

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night. 

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring. 

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away. 

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive. 

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him. 

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more. 

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge. 

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him. 

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan. 

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th 

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt. 

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down. 

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard. 

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm. 

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them. 

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead. 

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!” 

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks. 

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?” 

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge. 

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more. 

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop. 

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.” 

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions. 

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds. 

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.” 

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body. 

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach. 

Do not say it’s true. 

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass. 

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you. 

“Holy shit.” 

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony. 

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit. 

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?” 

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips. 

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers. 

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing. 

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?” 

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint. 

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school. 

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet. 

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.” 

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel. 

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?” 

“Jake.” 

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response. 

 “I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze. 

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you. 

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed. 

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?” 

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.” 

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head. 

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.” 

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class. 

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly. 

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt. 

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things. 

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.    

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod. 

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.” 

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore. 

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.” 

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE. 

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest. 

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug. 

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach. 

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear. 

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.” 

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out. 

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is  right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago). 

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand. 

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised. 

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain. 

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze. 

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!” 

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.” 

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.” 

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you. 

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe. 

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting. 

“I thought girls liked this.” 

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose. 

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?” 

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.” 

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him. 

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man. 

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration. 

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.” 

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

[heejamas]

JUST LIKE HEAVEN ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: jay x fem!reader … ﹒ 80s au, childhood friends to lovers, brother's best friend!jay, fluff … ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: you never planned to fall for your brother’s best friend, jay. but the summer before college, on 1989, something shifts—between mixtapes, quiet drives, and the kind of closeness that sneaks up on you. and after a few cassette tapes and long drives, the love you never planned for starts happening. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: it's pretty much proofread, a few cursing and drinking 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: just like heaven - the cure \ read part 2 <3

your childhood home is full of memories you don’t think about much. they live in the peeling paint on the porch rails, in the creak of the floors, in the hum of the old fridge on hot afternoons. they stay quiet most of the time, until you’re older, until you come back and realize you’ve changed and the house hasn’t.

that’s when you notice jay.

he’s jungwon’s weird friend from seventh grade, with shaggy hair that falls into his eyes and those old denim jackets everyone seems to have. he drags around this beat-up backpack covered in doodles and faded patches from god knows where. your mom likes him right away, says he’s polite. your dad nods approvingly whenever jay remembers to say "thank you" after dinner. and you think he laughs way too loud whenever jungwon beats him at street fighter on the super nintendo. 

you’re fifteen. they’re thirteen, maybe fourteen. still stuck in that world where afternoons stretch out forever, filled with video games, bike rides around the block, and inside jokes you never bother to understand. you roll your eyes at them most of the time, stepping over tangled controller cords and empty soda cans on your way to do something more important, thinking they’re just kids and you’re already so much older.

jay is just jungwon’s shadow back then. wherever your brother goes, jay follows, always a step behind, a little quieter, a little more careful. it’s easy to ignore them. it’s easy to be busy with your own life, too busy dreaming about the future and flipping through college brochures you don’t even know if you want. they’re just noise in the background, a constant buzz of laughter and slamming doors and the rumble of sneakers on the stairs.

but people don’t stay the same forever.

jay starts getting taller, his voice losing the high, sharp edge it used to have. his hair gets longer, and he starts wearing beat-up converse with little drawings in sharpie on the rubber toes. sometimes you catch glimpses of him when you’re rushing past, and something about him feels different, but you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out what. you’re still too busy worrying about math tests you might fail and love stories that haven’t even started yet.

until one day, you do notice.

it’s a saturday, late september. the air is still warm, but the evenings are starting to cool down, and the house smells like dust and old wood. you come downstairs, half-distracted, looking for your walkman because you promised yourself you’d organize your tapes today. you find them sprawled out on the couch like always, controllers in their hands, eyes locked on the television screen where some new game you don't recognize is flashing bright colors. jungwon shouts something you don't catch. jay laughs, really laughs, head thrown back against the cushions, and you feel it in your chest, sudden and sharp.

he looks different when he laughs like that.

you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, walkman forgotten, and jay glances over at you. just a quick look, but he smiles a little, like he’s happy to see you. like you’re not just jungwon’s sister passing through the room. and for the first time, you smile back.

you don’t know why it catches you off guard. maybe it’s the way his hair falls into his eyes, still messy but different now, like he means it to look that way. maybe it’s the way he’s stretched out on the couch, longer, broader, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up to his forearms, his whole body lazy and comfortable like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged. maybe it’s just the way he looks up at you when he notices you standing there, not with that clumsy, wide-eyed look little boys get around older girls, but something steadier. familiar. like he knows exactly who you are, and he’s not scared of it.

you freeze for a second, your heart knocking strangely against your ribs. because jay isn’t just jungwon’s weird friend anymore. he’s jay.

the guy who starts hanging around the kitchen more, pulling up a chair while you’re finishing math problems you don’t really understand, pretending not to watch you struggle before quietly trying to help you. the guy who steals fries off your plate like it’s no big deal, like it’s normal, like it’s always been that way. the guy who borrows your worn-out paperbacks without asking, then returns them with the pages bent and little notes scribbled in the margins that he pretends he didn’t write. the guy who teases you just enough to make you roll your eyes, nudging you with his shoulder when you’re being too serious, who always knows when to back off if you’re having a bad day. the guy who learns how you take your coffee without you ever telling him.

it’s not one big moment. it’s all the tiny ones stacked together, like old mixtapes in your drawer, like lazy car rides with the windows rolled down and some song you both half-sing along to playing too loud on the radio. it’s afternoons lying on the living room floor, arguing over which band is better, your arms barely brushing and neither of you moving away. it’s the quiet comfort of someone who’s seen you cry over dumb movies and scream at thriller ones and doesn’t seem to mind any version of you.

sometimes you catch him looking at you like he’s trying to remember the way you laugh, like he’s memorizing it just in case. sometimes you look back.

but life keeps moving, whether you’re ready for it or not. you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and everything starts feeling too small. the house, the town, even the streets you thought you knew by heart. there are college acceptance letters taped to the fridge door, and graduation gowns thrown into the backseat of your beat-up car, and a kind of heavy goodbye already sitting inside your chest even though you haven’t left yet.

your prom is on a sticky, humid friday night. you decide not to bring a date — you tell everyone it’s because you just want to have fun with your friends, and that’s mostly true. it’s easier that way. just dancing until your legs ache, laughing until your cheeks hurt, taking blurry disposable camera photos you know you’ll look back on someday and miss, even if you don’t feel it yet.

jay is there too, somewhere in the crowd, wearing a suit jacket that doesn’t fit quite right and a tie he keeps loosening like he can’t stand it around his neck. you catch glimpses of him across the gymnasium, in flashes of strobe lights and spilled punch and bad eighties ballads crackling through the speakers. he’s laughing at something jungwon says, head tilted back the way you love, and for a second it’s easy to forget that everything’s about to change. just for a second. 

when his eyes finally find yours, it’s not a big thing. no dramatic pause, no heart-thumping moment where time slows down. just a small, familiar look, a tiny lift of his eyebrows, a barely-there tug at the corner of his mouth, like he’s saying, there you are. like he’s been looking, too.

you catch him later, leaning against the wall, looking at his shoes, looking like he’s thinking too hard about something. you walk over without really deciding to.

"having fun?" you tease, nudging his shoulder with yours.

he glances at you, the corners of his mouth pulling up into that lazy smile you’ve grown too fond of. "define fun," he says.

you laugh, and for a moment, neither of you moves. the music shifts, and the soft buzz of a slow song fades out, replaced by the upbeat strum of a guitar. just like heaven by the cure fills the room, and you feel it immediately—the energy picks up, the rhythm infectious, almost impossible to resist.

show me, show me, show me how you do that trick—the words swirl around you, playful and light, like they’ve always belonged here.

you glance around at the couples shuffling together, trying to get their feet in sync, the way everyone’s pressing close to one another, still unsure, too stiff. and then, you look back at jay.

"wanna dance?" you ask, your words light, but your heart’s racing just a little.

jay hesitates, just for a second. then he shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting again, like it’s all the answer you need. "sure."

you’re expecting it to be awkward, the too-far-apart distance, the fumbling hands, the inevitable laughter that’ll cover the embarrassment. but it’s not like that at all. jay’s hands find your waist like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before, easy and sure, and you loop your arms loosely around his neck, feeling the warmth of him against the cool gym air. it feels... effortless. like breathing. like it’s always been this way.

his hair falls a little messier than usual over his forehead, stubbornly imperfect, like it’s just meant to be that way. his jawline’s sharper now, the angle of his face different, and his skin is warm under the harsh lights, making everything feel a little softer. there’s a crease between his eyebrows, like he’s thinking about something that’s not quite ready to be said.

you feel it before you even understand it, that pull toward him, low and steady, like a thread pulling you closer. and then he looks down, his eyes meeting yours with the kind of ease that’s new, but not. like it’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. he smiles, small and crooked, and you feel your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the music.

"you’re really leaving, huh," he says quietly after a while.

you nod, your throat tight, the words stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth. jay’s fingers press a little harder into your sides, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, he can keep you here, even for just a little longer. maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

the song keeps playing, the lyrics swirling around, “you're just like a dream…” but you don’t really hear it anymore. all you can feel is the way jay’s body moves with yours, how his forehead is just barely brushing yours now, close enough that you can count the little mark on his neck you never noticed before. 

it’s quiet, too quiet, and you wonder if he’s going to say something else, but the words get stuck. so instead, he just pulls you a little closer, his breath warm against your face. "i’m gonna miss you," he says, his voice soft, simple. it’s almost too quiet, like it’s meant just for you, like he’s trying to memorize it.

you blink up at him, the weight of the words sinking in. he’s not smiling now. he’s just looking at you like he’s holding onto the moment, like he wants to keep it in a place that’s safe, tucked away somewhere. "i’ll miss you too," you say, and it’s more honest than you meant it to be. more honest than anything you’ve said in a while.

jay’s hands tighten just a little, like he heard something more in your voice than just the words themselves. and for a second, it feels like the whole room tilts. like there’s something hanging between you, heavier than anything you’ve had to name before. you wonder if he’s going to kiss you. you wonder if you want him to. you wonder if it would change everything, or maybe just fix it.

but then, the song ends, just like that, leaving you with the fading sound of footsteps and chatter, the world rushing back in a little too suddenly. you stand there, still close, the space between you still warm, the feeling lingering like the echo of a song you don’t want to forget. someone bumps into jay’s shoulder, laughing, pulling him a little out of the moment, and just like that, the spell breaks. he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed, like maybe he imagined it too.

"come on," he says, voice a little rough, nodding toward where jungwon is waving from across the room. "he’s probably getting into trouble without me." you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something stupid, like stay or don’t go. instead, you just smile, small and steady, and let him lead the way back into the crowd.

and even when you’re laughing at something stupid jungwon says, even when you’re posing for one last blurry photo with all your friends, even when you’re driving home with your windows down and your hair a mess and the night stretching out around you like something endless—you can still feel it. the weight of jay’s hands on your waist. and the almost of it all.

and then college happens. and it happens fast. faster than you thought it would.

you spend the first few weeks clinging to your roommate like a lifeline, getting lost on campus, pretending you’re not homesick even when you are. you go to every welcome event they offer, eat bad cafeteria food, smile too much, and drink way too much bad coffee. you start telling people where you’re from like it’s a footnote, something small and far away. you write to jungwon sometimes, mostly silly letters with inside jokes and little updates.

you write to jay too, but it’s different. it’s a slow thing, quiet. he sends you a cassette tape he’s made, filled with songs he’s discovered that semester. it feels like a part of him tucked away in the cracks of the music. each song is carefully chosen, a snapshot of his world that he’s willing to share with you. there are some songs you already know—under the milky way by the church, there’s a light that never goes out by the smiths, happy when it rains by the jesus and mary chain—but there are others that feel new, like fall on me by r.e.m., and run 2 by new order. you listen to the tape late at night, lying on your bed in your dorm room, the sound crackling a bit from the old tape player.

the music fills the space around you, and even though you're miles away, it feels like he's right there. you smile at the thought of him picking these songs out for you, the quiet way he’s trying to share himself with you through these notes hidden in melodies. it’s not much, just a tape, but it feels like something important.

you send one back, and you’re careful about it, picking songs that make sense for you, songs that represent the pieces of your world he hasn’t seen. your tape is full of the pop hits that are playing on the radio and the ones you can’t get out of your head. there’s heaven by bryan adams, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle, cherish by madonna. you include hysteria by def leppard because it’s the kind of track that gets stuck in your head for days. right here waiting by richard marx because the lyrics remind you of being away. there’s even out of love by air supply, an old classic from before your time, but you love it anyway, the soft ache in the melody feeling like something you want to keep.

and, of course, you end it with just like heaven by the cure. because it reminds you of him, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.

when you listen to his tape, it’s like hearing him in each song. you start to understand the quiet parts of him a little better, and when you hear his voice on the other side of the tape, talking about how he found a new band, it makes you feel closer to him, even from so far away. but when you listen to your own tape, your music is different from his. and when he comments on it in one of his letters, saying “your songs are... nice. but i like how they’re so different from mine. it’s kind of adorable.” you can't help but laugh, because that’s exactly how it feels. a little piece of you, a little piece of him, strung together by the tapes you send back and forth, each one carrying something new, something personal.

by november, you think you’re finally getting the hang of it. you memorize the shortcuts between buildings. you figure out which vending machines still have good snacks after midnight. you write essays and go to parties and kiss a guy you meet in your creative writing class. one day he asks you to come over, you say yes. you lie on his bed, half-listening to him talk about his favorite bands, and you try to feel something. anything. but when he leans in to kiss you, all you can think about is a different laugh, a different pair of hands. and then you leave before it gets messy. but you tell yourself you’re not running away.

you tell yourself you’re doing great. you’re growing. you’re learning. you’re supposed to feel a little lost. that’s what everyone says, right?

sometimes you find yourself flipping through old photo albums when you can’t sleep. birthday parties in the backyard. summers at the lake. blurry group photos where jay is always a little off to the side, smiling like he’s in on a joke no one else knows. 

you don’t write to him as much after that. you don’t even know what you would say.

then suddenly, it’s december, and you’re coming back home for christmas. home feels smaller somehow. the rooms tighter. the streets more faded, like the whole place is holding its breath. your mom cries when she sees you, wrapping you in a hug that feels like it could last forever. your dad jokes about how you didn’t get any taller, ruffling your hair in that way he always did. jungwon hugs you, a little awkward, like he’s not sure if he should admit that he missed you.

you don’t see jay right away. you wonder if that’s on purpose. it’s funny, you think, how things feel a little different now. everything seems a little more... real. a little more complicated.

then one night, three days after you get back, jungwon says some of the guys are meeting up at the diner, the one that’s been around forever. he says you should come, and even though you don’t really want to—you're tired, you’ve got that homesick feeling lingering in your chest, like you’re not sure where you belong anymore—you let your brother drag you along.

the bell above the door rings when you step inside, a familiar sound that feels comforting and a little strange at the same time. you look around, half-expecting to see everyone as they were before, but the place feels different too. quieter, somehow. then you spot him almost immediately—jay, sitting in one of the booths by the window, his back half-turned toward the door, like he’s been keeping an eye out. the way he looks up when you walk in, it catches you off guard.

your chest tightens, but not in a bad way. it’s more like something you didn’t realize you were carrying finally settles. you hadn’t been sure what it would feel like, seeing him again after all these months—if it would be strange, or awkward, or if the distance between you would be something you could feel, like a wall that you couldn’t cross. but it’s not like that. it’s just him. and somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

he’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, nothing special, but somehow it fits different now. more grown. there’s a faded concert t-shirt underneath — something from the cure or the smiths maybe, you can’t quite tell. the sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows, revealing a silver ring on one of his fingers that you don’t remember from before. his hair’s a little longer now, falling into his eyes, messy in that effortless way, like he hasn’t thought about it at all. he looks tired, but good. familiar and new at the same time.

you stand there for a second too long, taking him in, feeling that odd mix of nostalgia and something else you can’t quite place. he catches your eye, and his smile is small but real, like it’s just another friday night, like no time has passed at all. you find yourself smiling back before you even think about it. something eases in your shoulders. you hadn’t realized how tense you were until that moment.

you make your way over to the booth, weaving through the scattered tables. jay shifts slightly to make room for you, his eyes staying on you the whole time. he doesn’t say anything, and it doesn’t feel like he needs to. it’s easy. it’s always been easy with him, even when it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

when you slide into the seat across from him, your knees brush under the table. neither of you moves away.

the diner’s warm and a little too bright, the light reflecting off the metal and neon in that way only places like this have. outside the windows, you can see the parking lot glowing under the streetlights. you feel a little untethered, like you’re still getting used to being home again, but sitting here, with jay, makes it better somehow.

after a while, the table thins out. people start leaving, slapping each other on the back, promising to meet up again soon. jungwon gets pulled into a conversation near the door, laughing about something you don’t quite catch.

you and jay stay behind, still nursing half-empty drinks, the fries long gone, cold now, and forgotten. jay taps his fingers lightly against the side of his glass, watching the ice melt and clink together, like he’s lost in thought.

"so," he says, glancing up at you, his voice low, "how’s school?"

you shrug. "good," you say. "weird, but good."

"yeah?" he smiles, a little lopsided. "you look good."

you feel your face warm, but you don’t look away. you whisper "you too" and it’s not awkward. it’s not anything big. just two people who used to know each other better, finding their way back in small, steady steps.

he leans back in the booth, stretching his arms out over the seat. "made any weird college friends yet?"

you laugh. "too many. one of my roommates is obsessed with astrology. another one swears she’s gonna start a business selling scrunchies."

jay grins, shaking his head. "sounds like a mess."

"it is," you say, smiling. "but kind of a good one."

he taps the side of his glass again, thoughtful. "must be nice, though. being out there already."

you glance at him. "you’re almost there."

he shrugs. "still feels far sometimes. senior year’s dragging."

"any idea where you wanna go?" you ask.

he runs a hand through his hair. "thinking about it. applied a few places. nothing’s official yet."

"you’ll figure it out," you say, and you mean it.

he smiles, a little softer this time. "hope so."

for a second, you both just sit there, the sounds of the diner filling the space between you — clinking dishes, a coffee machine steaming, a group laughing a few booths over. it’s late enough that everything feels slower, quieter. easier.

"and you?" he asks. "besides making friends with astrology girls. you like it?"

you think about it for a second. "i do. it’s overwhelming sometimes, but... it’s good. i like feeling like i’m figuring myself out a little."

he nods, like he gets it. "guess that’s the point, right?"

"i guess so." you nudge his foot lightly under the table. "and you? besides hating senior year?"

he laughs. "not much to report. football’s over. classes are boring. just trying to get through it."

there’s a part of you that remembers what that felt like, that weird limbo of waiting for everything to change. you realize now how much he’s stuck between two worlds: not quite out of here, not quite moving on yet. "you’ll be fine," you say. "you’re good at landing on your feet."

he raises an eyebrow. "you think so?"

"i know so."

he leans back, looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out. then he smiles. "thanks.", he murmurs. you both fall quiet again, but it’s not heavy. it’s easy, natural, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t even realize you missed.

christmas break passes fast. you spend most days at home, curled up on the old couch that still sags in the middle, flipping through tv channels that never seem to change. your mom keeps making hot chocolate, your dad keeps pretending not to cry during the holiday movies. jungwon drags you to the mall once or twice, but mostly you just exist. 

it’s snowing by the time christmas morning rolls around. you’re sitting by the window with your coffee, when you hear a knock at the door. you think maybe it’s one of your neighbors, but when you open it, it’s jay. standing on the porch, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, snow dusting his hair.

"merry christmas," he says, a little out of breath, like maybe he ran the last block. he holds out a flat package wrapped in plain brown paper. 

you blink at him for a second, surprised, before stepping aside to let him in. "you didn’t have to."

he shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "i wanted to."

he kicks his boots off by the door and follows you into the living room, glancing around like he’s checking if he’s interrupting something. but the house is quiet. your parents are upstairs. jungwon’s probably asleep. it’s just you. you sit down on the couch and he drops into the armchair across from you. you turn the package over in your hands, feeling the shape of it, square and thin. your heart tugs a little when you realize what it probably is.

"can i open it now?" you ask.

jay nods, looking suddenly nervous. "yeah. i mean — yeah."

you tear the paper carefully. inside is a brand new LP, look sharp! by roxette. the cover is glossy under your fingertips, all reds and blacks and bright letters. your throat tightens a little. "you said you liked them," jay says quickly. "i mean, i wasn’t sure if you had it already, but..."

you shake your head, smiling. "i don’t. i love it." he relaxes, leaning back in the chair like a weight’s been lifted off him. "wait," you say, setting the record carefully on the table. "i have something for you too."

you get up, digging around under the tree until you find the small box you tucked there last night. it’s wrapped in plain red paper, the corners a little uneven. you hand it to him before you can overthink it. jay looks at you, eyebrows raised, before tearing the paper carefully. inside, there’s a folded black t-shirt. you painted it yourself a few nights ago, hunched over your desk with fabric markers and too many crumpled up test versions. it’s simple, the bon jovi logo in white and red across the front, a little uneven if you look too close, but still clear. still yours.

he unfolds it slowly, running his fingers over the design like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch it. "no way," he says, grinning. "you made this?"

"obviously," you mutter, trying not to sound nervous. "it’s not perfect."

jay shakes his head immediately. "it’s awesome," he says. and you know he means it. he holds it up to his chest for a second, like he’s trying to picture it on, and then he just laughs, soft and real. "this is... seriously. this is the best thing anyone’s ever given me."

you duck your head, feeling your face heat up.

"i’ll wear it to school and make everyone jealous," he adds, winking.

"you better," you say, smiling into your coffee cup.

you spend the rest of the afternoon flipping through your parents' old vinyl collection, showing jay the records you used to love when you were little. you put on wham! way too loud just to annoy him. he groans dramatically but doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, and you catch him mouthing the words when he thinks you’re not looking.

outside, the snow keeps falling. inside, everything feels a little easier. like maybe being home isn’t so bad after all.

and then new year’s eve feels bigger this year. everyone keeps talking about it — the end of a decade, a fresh start, whatever that’s supposed to mean. you don’t know if you feel different yet, but there’s something in the air. maybe it’s just the cold. 

you end up at heeseung’s house with jungwon and a bunch of their friends. it’s packed by the time you get there, kids from all over town squeezed into the living room and kitchen, voices loud, music even louder. someone’s blasting "i wanna dance with somebody" by whitney houston from an old stereo. the bass rattles the windows, mixing with the sound of people laughing and shouting over each other. there’s a big homemade banner taped crooked over the fireplace that says goodbye '80s!

you recognize most of the faces. everyone’s older now, a little different, but not enough that it feels like you’re strangers. and jay finds you not long after you get there. he bumps your shoulder lightly with his when he passes, no words, just a look that makes your chest feel a little too tight for a second.

around eleven-thirty, you slip outside to breathe. the porch light is on, but the backyard is dark, covered in a thin layer of snow that crunches under your boots. the cold bites at your fingers through your jacket sleeves. you tuck your hands into your pockets, watching your breath fog up in the air. a few minutes later, the door creaks behind you. 

"figured you’d be out here," jay says, stepping onto the porch. he pulls the door shut behind him with a soft click.

you glance over your shoulder at him. "couldn’t breathe in there," you say. your voice is small in the cold.

he huffs out a laugh and leans against the railing next to you, close but not touching. his jacket is too thin for how cold it is. you want to scold him, but you don’t.

the music inside is muffled now, but you catch bits of it. "like a prayer" is playing and madonna’s voice strong and sure under all the noise. you both stare out at the yard for a while, not saying much. the snow glows faintly under the streetlights, and somewhere down the block you can hear fireworks popping early.

"weird, huh," jay says eventually. "end of the '80s."

you nod. "feels fake."

he laughs under his breath. "yeah."

you shift a little closer to him without meaning to. your arms brush lightly, and you don’t move away. neither does he. the clock inside starts ticking down. someone yells two minutes! and the whole house cheers. you don’t move.

you think about a lot of things all at once. how he’s jungwon’s best friend, how you’re supposed to be leaving again in a few days, how nothing about this is simple. you wonder if he’s thinking the same things. 

jay glances at you out of the corner of his eye. he looks nervous, but not scared. just unsure. you wonder what would happen if you leaned in just a little more. you wonder what it would feel like, kissing him here, under the freezing sky, with the decade slipping away behind you.

you feel the weight of it sitting between you, heavy and sweet. and for a second, you know he feels it too. he shifts closer and you look up at him. he’s looking at you. and you both stay like that. thinking about it. wanting it. but not moving. and then someone starts counting down inside. the voices rise, loud and clumsy. 10, 9, 8…

jay’s hand brushes yours on the railing. your fingers twitch. you almost reach for him. almost. 7, 6, 5…

you hear someone pop a bottle of champagne. laughter spills out through the walls. 4, 3, 2…

you blink up at him again, heart hammering in your chest. happy new year!

the cheers explode from inside. noisemakers screech.  jay smiles at you. small. a little sad. you smile back, even though your throat feels tight. he lifts his hand like he’s about to say something, like he’s about to do something, but then he just ruffles your hair gently, messing it up the way he used to when you were younger.

"happy new year," he says, voice rough with cold and something else you can’t name.

"happy new year," you whisper back.

he lets his hand fall to his side, standing there awkwardly for a second like he doesn’t know what to do now. you stay there with him anyway, shivering a little, watching your breath curl up into the new year, feeling the almost of it all settle quietly between you.

after a second, jay shifts closer. he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like he’s done it a thousand times before. you go easily, leaning into him, feeling the steady weight of him against the cold. he’s warm. real. he rests his chin lightly on the top of your head. you close your eyes for a second, breathing him in. 

"i’m gonna miss you when you leave again," he says, quiet enough that you almost don’t catch it. your heart stumbles a little.

you tilt your head just enough to look up at him. "i’m gonna miss you too," you say, and it’s the easiest truth you’ve ever told.

jay squeezes your shoulder gently, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you before you go. and you stay like that for a while, neither of you saying anything else, the cold forgotten, the noise from inside fading into the background. just the two of you, holding onto something you’re not ready to let go of yet.

and the first week of the 90s  slips away faster than you want it to. you spend most of it packing, pretending you're not already thinking about how different everything is going to feel when you leave again.

the night before you go, you’re sitting on your bed, trying to squeeze one last pair of jeans into your overstuffed duffel bag, when jungwon knocks on your door. he sticks his head in without waiting for you to answer. "hey," he says, tossing a small brown paper bag onto your bed. "jay told me to give you that."

you blink, dropping the jeans. "what is it?"

jungwon shrugs. "dunno. just said not to let you forget it." then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall like he’s late for something.

you stare at the bag for a second before picking it up. it’s folded over at the top, taped shut with a ripped piece of scotch tape. your hands are weirdly shaky when you open it. inside, there’s a beaded bracelet, tiny colorful beads strung together on a thin elastic cord. simple. clumsy. perfect. in the middle, white lettered beads spell out a word: stay.

you swallow hard, pressing your thumb over the little plastic letters. tucked under the bracelet is a note. folded up small. you unfold it carefully, smoothing it out on your knee. his handwriting is messy, a little tilted to the side.

figured you could use something to take with you.

not saying you have to. just... thought maybe it’d help.

stay safe. stay happy. stay you.

— jay

you read it twice. three times. then you tie the bracelet around your wrist, the little beads pressing into your skin. it’s light, almost weightless. but it feels like something solid you can hold onto. you don’t take it off, not even when you fall asleep that night.

the next few months pass in snapshots. you get lost on campus again. you spend late nights in the library, half-asleep over textbooks you barely understand. you go to a few bad parties. you leave early from most of them. you find a new favorite coffee shop tucked into a side street no one else seems to know about. you start a playlist called songs for when it’s too quiet and fill it with songs he would’ve hated and songs he would’ve loved.

you write to jay sometimes. he writes back sometimes.

the letters aren’t anything big. he tells you about his senior year, about helping jungwon fix up his beat-up bike, about late nights driving aimlessly around town just because there’s nothing better to do. you tell him about your professors, about getting a B+ on a paper you thought you failed, about the guy who tried to hit on you in line at the dining hall and how you pretended not to hear him.

sometimes weeks pass without a letter. sometimes it’s just a tape in the mail, no note, just a playlist scribbled in sharpie on the cover. sometimes it’s a postcard with two lines written on it and a dumb joke he probably stole from someone else. you keep all of them.

and the bracelet stays on your wrist through everything. lectures. essays. early morning walks across campus when the frost still clings to the grass. some nights, when it’s too late to call home and you miss everything more than you can say, you twist the little beads between your fingers until you fall asleep.

you don’t go back home for spring break after all. something comes up — a group project that runs long, a roommate who needs support, a week that fills up faster than you expect it to. you think about going back more than once, but every time you almost book the trip, something pulls you away again.

you write to jay sometimes. he still writes back. less often now. but when he does, you can feel the way he’s still there. still him.

in one letter, he tells you about a movie night in jungwon’s basement, where the vhs got stuck halfway through and they just ended up making popcorn and talking about dumb dreams. in another, he tells you he’s thinking about cutting his hair, but can’t decide. you tell him not to, that he wouldn’t look right without it falling in his eyes. he writes back: i’ll take that as a no then.

finals come faster than you think they will. the campus is loud, you stay up late cramming for exams, your dorm a mess of open books and laundry you keep forgetting to fold. 

you wear the bracelet every day. you don’t tell anyone where it came from.

when the last test is over, you walk across the quad, your last essay still warm from the printer in your bag. someone’s playing music from their window — here comes the sun, probably as a joke. you look up at the sky and think: i made it. you don’t cry. but something inside you softens.

a few days later, you’re packing up your dorm when a letter shows up in your mailbox. the envelope is light blue, a little smudged. your name’s written in black pen, all lowercase, like always. you know it’s from him before you even touch it. you sit on the floor to read it.

hey! i got in.

it’s not close.  didn’t think i’d actually get it, but i did. i’m happy. or i think i am. i should be. i just don’t know when i’ll be back. maybe not for a while. i’m trying not to think too hard about that part. anyway, jungwon and i graduate next week. mom’s making me take dumb photos in the backyard. hope you’re doing okay. you’re probably already done with your finals by the time you get this.

write if you want.

— jay

you read it twice. then fold it slowly and tuck it into your bag with the rest of your stuff. you sit there for a while, just staring at the wall, the air conditioner humming in the background like it's trying to say something you don’t want to hear. he got in. he’s leaving.

you should be happy for him. and you are. but your chest still aches a little. 

your train gets in a few days later. the platform’s hot, crowded. your backpack sticks to your shoulders and your legs are sore from sitting too long. you don’t care.

your mom cries again when she sees you. your dad makes the same joke about how you still haven’t grown. jungwon picks you up in his old car, which somehow still runs. he talks nonstop on the drive home, half excited, half nervous. you listen, smiling. 

you sit on your bed, staring at the ceiling. the bracelet on your wrist feels heavier now. or maybe just more real.

two days before graduation, you meet jay at the park.

you told him you would, back when you first got home, when the plans were still loose and everything felt far away. but now you’re standing by the old swings, blinking against the sunlight, waiting for him to show up, and it feels like something more than just a plan. the sky’s clear, the kind of summer blue that only shows up when school’s over and everything smells like cut grass and sunscreen. your sandals kick at the edge of the mulch. the trees rustle softly above you.

you spot him before he sees you — coming up the path from the far side of the park, hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts, t-shirt a little wrinkled, hair pushed back like he tried to make it look like he didn’t care. he’s taller than you remember. maybe not actually taller, but something about him feels bigger now. steadier.

when he finally looks up and sees you, something shifts. he speeds up, half-jogging the last few steps, and then he’s there, right in front of you. there’s a beat where you both just look at each other, not smiling yet, not talking, just looking. and then you drop your bag on the grass and step into him. he hugs you like he means it. strong, quick, all in. his arms wrap around your waist and lift you clean off the ground for a second, your toes dangling, your heart thudding in your chest. you let out a small breathless laugh, and when he sets you down again, he doesn’t let go right away.

“you’re really here,” he says quietly.

“told you i’d come,” you say, your cheek still pressed against his shoulder for a second longer before you finally step back.

you both sit under the big tree near the edge of the field, the one that’s always had a carved heart on the trunk from someone else’s story. it’s a little cooler in the shade, and you pull your knees up to your chest as jay leans back on his elbows beside you.

it’s quiet for a bit. just the sound of birds and a distant dog barking and the soft thump of a basketball somewhere on the other side of the park.

“feels kind of strange,” he says after a while, his voice low like he’s not sure if he wants you to hear it or not.

you glance over. “what does?”

he shrugs, eyes still on the sky. “this. seeing you again. after all this time.”

you nod, because you get it. it’s quiet in a different way than it used to be. a little uncertain, but not uncomfortable. “yeah,” you say. “i’ve been thinking about this since i got back.”

he turns his head slightly toward you. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you repeat. “i missed you.”

his mouth pulls into a small smile, almost shy. “i missed you too.”

you both fall quiet again. the sounds of the park fill in the space, wind through the trees, kids yelling somewhere near the basketball court, a dog barking in the distance. “so,” you say after a minute, “you’re really going.”

he nods. “yeah.”

“it’s far.”

he glances at you, then looks away again, squinting at the sky. “i know.”

“how do you feel about it?”

he exhales slowly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “i don’t know. excited, i guess. and nervous. i keep thinking i should feel more ready than i do.”

you take a breath, letting your shoulders relax a little. “i’m happy for you.”

he looks at you again, really looks. “yeah?”

you smile. “yeah. it’s a big deal. and you deserve it.”  he doesn’t say anything right away. just nods, like maybe he’s letting himself believe it now that you’ve said it. “you’re gonna be okay,” you tell him. “even if it’s scary at first.”

he stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on his palms. “you think?”

“i know.”

he’s quiet for a moment. then, softly, “i don’t know when i’ll be back.”

you nod. “that’s okay.”

he turns to you again. “you’ll write?”

you smile, eyes on the grass between you. “of course. you?”

“of course,” he echoes.

the wind picks up slightly, brushing the hair from your face. someone nearby is playing music from a portable radio — i’ll be over you by toto — low and scratchy. you close your eyes for a second, letting the sound wrap around you, letting the moment stay just a little longer.

you don’t talk about the fall, or what this will mean later. you just sit side by side in the summer light, the space between you quiet and full.

the graduation happens two days later. you sit between your parents, legs sticking to the metal seats. someone behind you keeps whistling every time a name is called, loud and sharp, like they don’t know how much it echoes. jungwon walks across the stage flushed and proud, his posture too straight, the kind of serious he only gets when he’s trying to act older. he doesn’t look at the crowd, just accepts his diploma and moves on, but you still catch your dad elbowing your mom like he’s proud too.

jay comes up a few names later. he steps onto the stage like he’s not thinking about it, like he just wants to get it over with. his gown is wrinkled, his shoes are scuffed, and his tassel hangs crooked over one eye. he doesn’t smile or wave. he doesn’t try to make a moment out of it. but just before he crosses to the other side, he lifts his head and glances up toward the stands. it’s brief, so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already watching him. you don’t know how you’re so sure, but you know that look was for you.

after the ceremony, everything feels loud and fast. people are shouting names and hugging in clusters, parents crying in the open without shame. there are flowers, flash photos, and folding chairs being dragged across the grass. you weave through the mess until you find jungwon, still in his gown, arms full of random cards and half-squished flowers. he grins when he sees you, pulling you into a hug so tight you almost drop your camera bag. 

“you better be proud of me,” he says, like it’s a joke, but there’s something real in his voice. you laugh, and your eyes sting more than you expected.

you find jay later, after most people have already moved on to someone’s backyard for a low-key celebration. he’s standing off to the side, just past the fence, holding a soda can in one hand and tapping it lightly against his knee. when he sees you, he doesn’t wave or call you over. he just waits. and when you walk up, he says, “hey.” 

you say it back. simple. there’s a pause where neither of you seems to know what to say next. you tell him, “congrats,” and he shrugs like it doesn’t matter, like the whole thing wasn’t a big deal. 

“wasn’t that hard,” he says, but he’s smiling anyway, and the way he looks at you makes you think maybe it did mean something after all.

you can feel the weight of what’s not being said. about time, and change, and how nothing ever stays the same for long. the sun’s starting to dip behind the trees now, casting everything in that golden light that makes it all feel more nostalgic than it should. you shift your weight from one foot to the other and look down at the bracelet still snug around your wrist, the little white beads faded from wear.

summer days stretching long and hot, the kind that make time feel slower but heavier too. you're back in that rhythm you almost forgot, the one where the afternoons melt into each other and the nights smell like barbecues and cut grass.

you spend your days with the same people you always did. jungwon drives you and a few others out to the lake more than once, his car stuffed with towels and snacks and a boombox that only works if someone’s holding the antenna at the right angle. you sit on the hood of the car with your feet up, sunglasses sliding down your nose, half-listening to everyone talk over each other. the new madonna single plays somewhere in the background — “hanky panky”, the one everyone's pretending not to like but can’t stop singing. someone brought a water gun, and at some point everyone ends up soaked, even jay, who laughs harder than you’ve seen him laugh in months.

some evenings, the group heads to the movie theater in town. you all pile into the back rows, whispering during the trailers, throwing popcorn at each other. “ghost” is the big one that summer, and you sit next to jay the night you all go see it, his arm brushing yours on the armrest. when the scene with the pottery wheel comes on, someone in front of you groans loudly and says, “no one’s that romantic,” and jay leans closer, whispering, “maybe they just haven’t met the right person.” it makes your heart stumble in a way you pretend not to notice.

other days are quieter. sometimes it’s just you and jay, wandering through the video store with no real plan. the new total recall cover stares at you from the wall, and you both end up picking movies you probably won’t even watch. old horror tapes and weird indie comedies he swears are “actually kind of genius.” you walk out with two rentals and a pack of licorice, arguing about which one has the worst tagline.

you stop at the diner after, like you always do, ordering milkshakes and sitting in the same booth by the window. the waitress knows your order now, calls you “kids” even though you’re both technically grown. jay draws shapes into the condensation on his glass and talks about packing, about how he’s trying not to overthink it, how everything feels real now. you listen. you nod. you want to tell him you’ll miss him, but you don’t.

some nights, he picks you up just after dinner, without a plan. you drive around with the windows down, hair blowing into your face, music too loud — “vision of love” by mariah carey plays on the radio at least twice a week. he taps the steering wheel, humming along. sometimes you drive past the high school. sometimes you don’t go anywhere at all, just park by the edge of the woods or the empty baseball field, talking about nothing and everything until the sky turns dark and the stars start to show up one by one.

there’s a meteor shower in late july. your whole group gathers at the old soccer field with blankets and snacks and bug spray that doesn’t work. you lie next to jay, shoulders touching, and he keeps pointing out stars like he knows what he’s talking about. someone swears they saw a ufo (probably jake). someone else throws a marshmallow at them (probably sunoo). you laugh so hard you nearly cry, and when jay leans close to say something, you forget what it was because you’re too aware of how close his face is to yours.

one afternoon, in early august, you’re sitting on the back porch of his house, drinking warm lemonade and flipping through an old rolling stone magazine. there’s a photo of sinead o’connor on the cover, and a piece about how her song “nothing compares 2 u” is topping the charts. jay’s sprawled out beside you, messing with a cassette that keeps getting eaten by his walkman. the air is thick with summer, and the cicadas haven’t stopped buzzing since noon.

“i don’t think i’ve ever had a summer like this,” he says, eyes on the sky.

“what do you mean?”

he shrugs. “it just feels different. like i’m trying to remember everything while it’s still happening.”

you look at him for a second, then out at the yard. “you will,” you say. “you’re gonna remember all of it.”

he turns his head toward you, half-smiling. “even the part where i burned my arm trying to light the grill?”

“especially that part.”

you both laugh, and then you fall into silence again. a good one. the kind you don’t need to fill.

it doesn’t feel like time is running out — not yet. but sometimes you catch him looking at you like he’s trying to memorize something. and sometimes you look back.

the days keep slipping past. people start talking about back-to-school sales. the leaves don’t change yet, but the nights feel cooler. here, the biggest news is that the fair’s coming to town next weekend. someone says they’re bringing a new ride this year. someone else bets it’ll break down halfway through. you’re not sure if you care, but you still make plans to go.

because it’s still summer. and you’re still here. and so is he.

the plan comes together fast. sunghoon brings it up during a late-night drive, saying something about his family’s place by the lake. just for the weekend. just to get away before everything changes. at first, it’s a maybe. and then it’s real.

by the time friday comes around, the cars are packed with duffel bags and cheap snacks, someone brings a boom box with a whole stack of mixtapes, and sunghoon is shouting about everyone bringing their own towels “unless you want to smell like boat mildew.”

you ride up in jungwon’s car, squeezed in the backseat with jay, your knees knocking every time he shifts. about halfway through the drive, he pulls out his walkman and slides one side of his headphones off, holding it out toward you without saying anything. you take it, slipping the foam-covered speaker over one ear, the cable stretched loosely between you. you both lean against your windows, the same song playing quietly into opposite sides — “come back to me” by janet jackson, soft and slow, the kind of track that feels like warm air and something just out of reach.

the house is bigger than you expected. the trees wrap around the place in all directions, tall and green and full, and the only sound is water hitting the shore and the crunch of gravel under tires. everyone spills out of the cars at once, bags hitting the ground, someone already yelling about who gets which room. inside, it’s cozy. 

you end up sharing a room with sunoo and chaewon. heeseung takes the couch, claiming it's "closest to the snacks," and riki somehow ends up sleeping in a sleeping bag under the kitchen table on purpose. jay and jungwon share the room across the hall. the walls are thin. you hear them laughing through them the first night.

the weekend unfolds in pieces. saturday morning starts with cereal out of paper bowls and someone burning toast. everyone’s in various states of disarray, hair a mess, hoodies thrown over pajamas, socks half-on. you and jay sit on the floor near the sliding doors, plates balanced on your knees, talking about nothing while the rest of the group bickers over who left the milk out.

in the afternoon, you all head down to the lake. the water’s cold at first, but not enough to stop anyone. you jump in together, shouting and laughing, the sun sharp above you. someone finds an old inflatable tube and takes turns getting pushed around on it. jay helps you climb onto it, steadying you with both hands, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. “you got it?” he asks, and you nod, even though your heart’s racing from more than just the water.

later, while everyone else plays volleyball or naps in the sun, you and jay wander off down the shoreline. it’s quieter there, rocks under your feet and the water brushing up against the edge in soft waves. you talk about stupid things — a song he can’t get out of his head, your favorite cereal as a kid, how sunghoon’s feet are suspiciously loud when he walks. every once in a while your hands bump. he doesn’t move away. neither do you.

in the evenings, the group crowds around the living room. movies play on a tiny tv with crackly sound. the only lights come from the strings of fairy lights someone hung across the windows and the dim glow of the kitchen behind you. you sit next to jay, sometimes close enough that your knees touch, sometimes leaning just far enough that your shoulders brush. it’s subtle, but steady. like a rhythm you’ve both learned without realizing.

sunday morning is slow. the kind of slow that makes you want to freeze time. breakfast is quiet, everyone a little softer, a little sleepier. you find jay on the back deck with a mug of something warm, his feet up on the railing, staring out at the lake like it’s telling him something.

you sit next to him without saying anything. he hands you the mug without looking, and you take a sip. it’s too sweet, but good. the kind of good that only comes from something someone else made for you.

“wish we had another day,” he says eventually.

you nod, pulling your knees to your chest. “me too.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says, “this summer went fast.”

you don’t say anything, just rest your head lightly against his shoulder. he shifts just enough to let it stay there. no one says it out loud, but you all feel it, that this is the last time you’ll all be like this. the last time before dorm rooms and new cities and long-distance calls and whatever comes next.

that night, someone builds a fire in the pit out back. everyone sits around it in a loose circle, smoke curling into the night sky, music playing low from the boom box. the stars are clear, the lake still, the air cool enough that you need a hoodie. 

you and jay share one. he shrugs it off halfway through the night and drapes it around your shoulders, hands brushing your arms as he does. you want to say thank you. you want to say more. but you just sit there, leaning into him, the firelight catching the edges of his face, the warmth of his body pressed steady against yours.

no one brings up that you’re all leaving soon. but you feel it in every laugh, every shared look, every time someone lingers just a little longer before walking away.

everyone’s scattered, jake’s trying to restart the fire pit, jungwon and riki are elbow-deep in a card game that’s been going on for an hour, sunghoon’s in the kitchen burning something that’s supposed to be popcorn. there’s laughter echoing through the house, a mixtape playing low from the boom box left near the sliding door. a soft track from phil collins fills the space — “do you remember” — not loud, not even really noticed, just there.

you find jay standing at the edge of the deck, looking out at the water. his hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and his hands rest in his pockets like he’s trying to stay grounded.

“hey,” you say quietly, walking over.

he turns, a half-smile on his face. “hey.”

you stop beside him. “want to get out of here for a minute?”

he doesn’t ask where. just nods. “yeah.”

you don’t go far, just follow a little path that wraps around the trees, leading to a small clearing with a tilted wooden bench and an open patch of sky above. it’s quieter here. the music, the voices, the laughter. all of it fades behind you.

you both sit on the ground instead of the bench, the grass cool beneath you. the stars are already out, scattered and steady, blinking softly like they’ve been waiting for someone to look up. for a while, neither of you says anything.

then jay leans back on his palms and says, “you think anyone really knows how many stars are up there?”

you snort. “don’t tell me you’re gonna start counting.”

he grins. “nah. just thinking about how small everything feels when you look up.”

“yeah,” you say. “but kind of in a good way.”

he glances at you. “you’re good at that.”

“at what?”

“saying stuff that makes things feel okay.”

you shrug. “you make it easy.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just looks at you for a second longer than usual. then he lies back in the grass, arms behind his head, eyes on the sky. you follow, lying beside him, shoulders just close enough to touch. you’re quiet again. you can feel your heart beating a little faster now, not from nerves exactly, but from the weight of the moment. it’s not heavy. it’s just full.

“can i tell you something?” he asks after a long stretch of silence, his voice quieter now, like the night asked him to soften.

you nod without thinking, even though he’s not looking at you. “of course.”

he shifts beside you, fingers brushing the grass, then stills again. “i think… part of me was scared to come on this trip.”

you turn your head, surprised. “why?”

jay exhales through his nose, not a laugh but not quite a sigh. “because i knew it’d feel like this.”

you blink, unsure what he means, your chest already tightening. “like what?”

he pauses. “like the end of something. and the start of something else. and i don’t really know what to do with this either.”

you sit up slightly, propping yourself on one hand to look at him more clearly. he doesn’t flinch from your gaze. the moonlight hits the side of his face, soft and silver, catching in the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. “what’s the this you’re talking about?” you ask, even though you think you already know.

he turns toward you too, mirroring your posture, his eyes searching yours in the dark. “you.”

your breath catches before you can stop it. it’s not the word itself — it’s how he says it. quiet. careful. like he’s been holding it in for a while and finally let it slip out.

you open your mouth to respond, but the words tangle. there’s nothing neat to say. just this feeling that’s been building, moment by moment, all summer.

you don’t realize how close you are until he reaches for your hand, gently, like a question. your fingers meet his halfway, sliding together slowly. his palm is warm against yours, steady. and you think: this is it. this is what you’ve been circling around for weeks, maybe longer.

neither of you says anything. even though your heart is beating so loud you’re sure he can hear it, everything else around you is still. the trees, the sky, the hush of the lake behind the trees.

you shift closer, knees brushing, his breath close enough that you can feel it on your skin. he doesn’t move, just watches you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve never been more seen. his voice is barely above a whisper. “i’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

you don’t ask what. you already know. so you nod, slow and certain. “me too.”

you lean in at the same time, hesitant at first, like the moment might slip if you move too quickly. your nose brushes his, then his forehead leans gently against yours, and you both pause there, breathing the same air, eyes falling shut.

when you kiss, it’s not rushed. it doesn’t try to prove anything.

his lips meet yours like he’s taking his time, like he wants to make sure you feel it. not just the kiss, but everything behind it — every late night drive, every quiet look, every almost-touch. it’s warm, patient. his hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. you kiss him back, slowly, like you’re learning how to do it together. your fingers curl slightly in his shirt. the kiss deepens just a little, enough to make your stomach flip, but still soft, still careful.

when you part, your faces stay close, noses touching, his forehead pressing gently into yours. your eyes open slowly, and so do his.

he smiles, not wide, not nervous. just real. “okay,” he says, like it’s the only word he can manage.

you let out a soft laugh, your breath still shaky. “okay.”

he leans in again, like he can't help it — or maybe like he doesn't want to. his mouth finds yours a second time, a little slower now, but more certain. like the first kiss answered a question, and this one is what comes after.

your hand moves to his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his hairline. he exhales softly into the kiss, like he's been holding his breath for too long. you tilt your head, just enough, and everything around you slips away. it’s just him. just this. you kiss him again and again, soft but needing it more now. and in the space between those kisses, your thoughts start to scatter.

you think about how you’re going back to college in two weeks. how this summer doesn’t get to last forever. how he’s your brother’s best friend, who would probably lose his mind if he knew about this, who’s trusted jay with more than anyone else.

you think about the way jay looked in that hoodie on the porch earlier, the way he reaches for your hand like it’s instinct, the way he always glances at you like he’s making sure you’re still with him. you think about the distance coming, the time zones, the unfamiliar dorms and roommates and classes, and how everything is about to split open into something new. and how scary that is.

but none of it feels bigger than this. 

none of it feels more important than the way he’s kissing you right now, like he means it. like he’s been meaning it for a while. like this moment belongs to you, not the future. 

you press a little closer, your hand gripping the front of his shirt, like holding onto him might freeze time. like maybe, if you stay right here, none of the hard parts will catch up yet. you kiss him like it’s the only thing that matters, because right now, it is.

and somewhere in the quiet, you can feel it from him too. not in words. not in anything he says. but in the way his fingers stay gently on your jaw, the way his breath stumbles a little every time your lips meet. in how his hand settles at the small of your back, pulling you in like he’s afraid of letting go too soon.

this isn’t just a summer crush. not for you. not for him.

and for once, you don’t try to name it. you don’t try to figure out what comes next. you just kiss him again. and he kisses you back.

the morning after feels quieter.

you wake up to the sound of zippers and muffled voices, the rustle of plastic bags and someone shuffling through the fridge. the sun is already pouring in through the windows, soft and golden, catching dust in the air like snow. the couch cushions are out of place, blankets half-folded, someone’s shoes by the door, another person brushing their teeth in a hurry. 

you sit up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes, your hoodie still smelling like smoke and lake water. there’s that brief moment, the one before your brain fully wakes up, where you forget what day it is, what comes next. but then it settles in, slowly and all at once: the trip is over. it’s time to go.

jay is already awake, crouched by his backpack in the hallway, rolling up a pair of socks like it matters. his hair is a mess. he’s wearing a t-shirt you’ve seen a hundred times and socks that don’t match. he glances up when he sees you, gives you a tired half-smile. not wide. just soft.

you both don’t say much. maybe there’s nothing to say yet. maybe saying anything would make it feel too real.

the car ride home is crowded. jungwon’s driving, sunoo’s in the passenger seat. the backseat is a puzzle of bags and limbs and too much heat, and you and jay are tucked into the middle of it, pressed together by necessity. you settle in, the windows cracked just enough to let in the air. you let your head rest against jay’s shoulder slowly, trying to make it seem casual, like it’s just more comfortable that way. he doesn’t move, just shifts a little so you can fit there better. his arm brushes yours, and he taps his thumb against his knee in a steady rhythm. you close your eyes, but you don’t sleep.

you’re holding back tears and you don’t even know why exactly — maybe it’s the quiet, or the closeness, or the feeling that something is slipping away. you press your face a little more into the fabric of his sleeve, pretending the sun through the window is what’s making your eyes sting. 

you think about how in two weeks you’ll be gone again. how everything’s about to stretch out — cities, time zones, semesters. you think about how this summer felt like something rare. like it shouldn’t have happened, and yet it did. and now it’s ending, and you don’t know what comes next. you don’t know when comes next.

you feel his hand rest lightly on your knee under the bags. you don’t open your eyes. you just let yourself pretend, for a few more miles, that none of it’s changing yet.

when the car pulls up in front of jay’s house, it’s abrupt, too sudden, like the day skipped ahead without permission. jungwon puts it in park and leans his head back dramatically. “finally,” he mutters. sunoo groans, stretching his arms above his head. jay moves first, shifting beside you, gathering his stuff slowly. he doesn’t say anything right away. you sit up, already feeling the cold where his body isn’t next to yours anymore.

he opens the door and climbs out, throwing his bag over his shoulder. then he turns back toward you, standing there for a second longer than necessary, like maybe he thought this would be easier. you climb out after him.

jungwon is fiddling with the radio, sunoo is yelling something about needing to pee, and the world keeps moving behind you, but jay is still. he looks at you like he’s trying to find the right thing to say and coming up empty.

he shifts his bag on his shoulder, then takes a small step closer. “so...” he starts, then trails off.

you nod. “yeah.”

he hesitates. then reaches out and pulls you in.

the hug is tight. longer than expected. his arms wrap around your back, his chin rests lightly on your shoulder. you let your eyes close. your hands grip the back of his shirt, holding on like maybe that will stop the clock.

you feel him breathe in. then out. slow and steady. like he doesn’t want to let go either. when he pulls back, he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

“let’s see each other before… we leave,” he says. his voice is quiet.

you nod, squeezing his fingers. “yeah.”

he lets go first. you step back toward the car. jay doesn’t turn until you’re almost inside. you catch one last glance of him through the open window as jungwon pulls away, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes, standing in front of his house like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now after all that happened.

you lean your head against the window and close your eyes. you feel the bracelet on your wrist.

and you decided to visit jay that week. the sun was already dipping low when you got off your bike. the sky had turned that soft orange-pink, the kind that makes everything feel like it’s slowing down. the basement door was around the side of the house, half-hidden behind some overgrown bushes. you pushed through them, found the handle, and pulled it open. the air was cooler as you stepped down the narrow wooden stairs, careful with each step. you’d never been down here before. not once.

his room looked exactly like him. the walls were dark wood, lined with posters — the cure, bon jovi, AC/DC, the smiths — and a few polaroids tacked up with tape. his bed was unmade, blankets rumpled and half-falling off the side. one guitar case was open on the floor, the others hung neatly on the wall, each one looking like it had a story. there were cassette tapes in uneven stacks on the desk, a walkman with tangled headphones beside them, and clothes half-folded in the open suitcase on the bed.

jay was kneeling beside it, fitting a hoodie into a tight corner of the bag. he glanced over his shoulder when he heard you, his smile soft. “hey,” he said.

“hey,” you answered, stepping further in, letting the door click shut behind you.

you stood for a second, just taking it in. this space you’d never seen, that felt like it had always been waiting. you leaned your shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. “so this is where you disappear to,” you said.

he chuckled, still folding something. “yep. it’s basically a cave.”

“it’s nice,” you said quietly. “feels like you.”

he looked up at that, met your eyes for a second, then nodded once, like that meant something to him.

you didn’t really help with the packing. mostly just watched him move around, picking things up, setting them down, deciding what made the cut and what didn’t. there was something peaceful about it. the quiet rhythm of his hands, the soft music playing low from the tape deck, the occasional creak of the floor above.

“you nervous?” you asked, after a while.

he paused, then sat back. “a little,” he admitted. “i mean… yeah. i’ve never really been away from here. not like this.”

you nodded slowly. “i remember that feeling. the first time i left.”

“did it get easier?” he asked, eyes still on the bag.

“not right away,” you said. “but yeah. eventually.”

he looked up at you again, studying you like he was trying to memorize something. “you’re gonna be far,” he said. “but i’m gonna be farther.”

you tried to smile, but it felt like it caught somewhere in your chest. “i know.”

he stood, dusted his hands on his jeans, and walked over to the wall. reached up, gently took down the acoustic guitar. he turned it over in his hands like it was something fragile, something important. then he sat down on the floor and looked at you.

“can i play something for you?”

you nodded, not trusting your voice for a second.

his fingers found the strings like they always knew the way. he adjusted the strap, then looked down, brows pulled slightly together in focus. and then he started playing, slow, familiar. the first few notes hit you like a wave. “just like heaven”. you don’t say anything. you don’t have to. it was always your song — even if neither of you ever said it out loud. the one you danced to at prom. the one you kept slipping into his mixtapes, over and over again, like a quiet kind of truth.

you felt your throat tighten, your eyes sting. but you didn’t look away. he played through the intro like he’d done it a thousand times, and maybe he had, but now it sounded different. quieter. like it was just for you. the room felt smaller somehow, or maybe just closer. his voice was low, a little unsure at first, but steady.

"show me, show me, show me how you do that trick..."

his eyes flicked to yours for a second, then back down to the strings. he didn’t overdo it. didn’t try to be impressive. just played it like it meant something. like the song could hold everything neither of you had said out loud yet. you sat down slowly on the floor, right by his side, looking at him while he played.

when the last note faded, he didn’t say anything right away. neither did you. then he looked at you again, and this time he smiled, small, but full of something bigger. “that song always reminds me of you,” he said. 

your voice was quiet. “i think i’ll hear it and think of this.”

he nodded once. “good.”

you leaned in, fingers brushing lightly against his knee. he put the guitar aside and leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours for a second. the moment was soft. still. like the whole world had paused long enough to let you both catch your breath.

“i don’t want to go yet,” he whispered.

“i know,” you said. “i don’t want you to go either.”

but he was going. and you were too. and the time in between would stretch and pull and test everything you weren’t ready to name yet.

he kissed you then, slow, familiar, like it was a promise. not a goodbye.

and you kissed him back like maybe it could be both.

still, he was leaving. and you were too.

and on the day jungwon and jay left for college, the house felt too quiet. even before the sun had climbed all the way up, the morning was thick with that strange stillness that only came with goodbyes. doors opened and shut softly. drawers clicked closed. voices stayed low, like everyone was trying not to disturb something.

you helped jungwon with his last-minute packing, folding the same hoodie twice because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands. he kept making dumb jokes like he wasn’t about to leave for months, like it wasn’t the first time either of you would be on your own in a real way. your parents hovered nearby, taking turns checking his bags, giving the kind of advice that sounds rehearsed, like they’d been practicing it in their heads for days.

jay showed up a little before nine. he knocked once and let himself in, like always. he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept much, like maybe this was harder for him than he wanted to admit. jungwon lit up when he saw him, and for a second, it was just like any other morning. jay helped carry bags to the car, made fun of how jungwon packed, teased him about almost forgetting his bag of underwear. they bickered all the way down the front steps.

your mom cried when jungwon hugged her. your dad clapped him on the back, too hard, and told him to call every sunday. when it was your turn, he didn’t say anything. just pulled you into a hug and held on for a long time. you didn’t say anything either. there wasn’t much to say. you were proud. you were scared. he was still your little brother, even if he was taller than you now.

jay was the last one to say goodbye. jungwon looked at him like he wasn’t sure what to do, like they hadn’t talked about this part. jay didn’t make a joke this time. he just stepped forward and hugged him. tight. both arms. like it meant something. and maybe it did.

when the car pulled out of the driveway, you watched until it turned the corner and disappeared. your mom went back inside. your dad followed. jay stayed. he stood a few steps from the porch, his car parked at the curb.

you didn’t say anything. just walked over and stood beside him, close enough that your arms brushed. neither of you looked at the other.

“so,” he said eventually, voice low. “that’s it, huh?”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “yeah.” a pause. the cicadas were screaming in the trees. somewhere down the block, a sprinkler turned on. “you leaving today?” you asked.

he nodded. “wanted to catch jungwon before I did.” he paused. “and you.”

the words were simple, but something about them made your chest ache. “i go tomorrow,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

jay looked over at you then. his eyes were soft in the morning light, tired around the edges like he hadn’t slept much. maybe you hadn’t either. he smiled a little, almost sad. “come here.”

you followed him to the sidewalk, where his car sat humming faintly, engine already warm. he opened the passenger door and leaned in for a second before straightening up again, something small in his hand. a package, square and neat, wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a thin piece of string.

“what’s this?” you asked.

“something for you,” he said. “for when it feels too quiet. or too loud. or just… anything.” he offered it to you gently. “there’s a letter inside. don’t open it until i’m gone.”

you looked down at the package, then up at him. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.” 

you didn’t know what to say. the knot in your chest twisted tighter. jay shifted, one hand in his pocket. “i was gonna write this part down too,” he said. “but figured maybe i should just say it.”

your heart picked up. he was looking at you again. steady this time.

“i like you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “i’ve liked you for a while. and i didn’t want to leave without telling you.” your breath caught. “i know it doesn’t change anything,” he added. “i’m going far. it’s not like we can just call each other all the time, or drive over. i don’t even know when i’ll be back. but i needed you to know, anyway.”

you stepped forward before you could think. “jay…”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, almost nervous now. “i’m not asking for anything. i just—this summer meant something to me. and i hope it did to you too.”

it did. more than you could say. you reached up, one hand brushing against his jaw. “can i kiss you goodbye?”

he smiled, soft and small, and nodded once.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it didn’t feel like a goodbye, even though it was. it felt like everything that had built up over that summer — the lake trip, the music, the stars, the slow shift from maybe to yes. he held your face gently, fingers curling behind your neck. you kissed him like you wanted to memorize it.

when you pulled away, you didn’t step back.

his forehead pressed against yours. his breath was warm against your cheek.

“guess i see you around, y/n,” he said, voice rough at the edges, like he’d swallowed something too big and hadn’t quite gotten it down.

you didn’t answer right away. you were still looking at him, like maybe if you stared hard enough, if you memorized every freckle, every line, every soft and quiet thing about him, it wouldn’t hurt as much. but it did. it hurt in that hollow way, like something was being peeled from your chest and packed away in the trunk of his car.

your throat felt tight when you finally spoke. “yeah,” you whispered. “see you.”

but it wasn’t casual, not the way you’d said those words a thousand times before, not tossed over your shoulder after a movie night, not shouted across the lawn when he left after dinner. it was the kind of see you that didn’t have a when. or a where. it was hope and ache tangled into two syllables.

he looked at you for a long moment, like he didn’t want to move either. the sun was hitting the edge of his face, casting shadows beneath his eyes, and your heart ached at how familiar he looked, and how fast he was becoming a memory.

you didn’t mean to cry. the first tear slipped out before you could stop it, trailing down your cheek, catching in the corner of your mouth. then another. you didn’t make a sound. just stood there, holding that little newspaper-wrapped box like it might keep you steady.

jay stepped forward. gently. carefully. he brushed the tear away with his thumb, his hand cupping your jaw so lightly it almost didn’t feel real. “hey,” he said, barely audible. “don’t cry.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out broken. “i’m trying.”

he shook his head, and you could see the effort it took him to keep his own eyes dry. “i wish i didn’t have to go today.”

you nodded. “i wish you didn’t either.”

he sighed, and it felt like something was collapsing inside both of you. “i’m gonna try to write. as much as i can. i know it’s slow and dumb and it’ll probably take a week just to get to you, but—”

“i’d like that,” you said quickly. 

he smiled at that. “and… if i can figure it out, maybe i could visit. maybe after midterms or something. if i save up.”

“you don’t have to promise,” you said, though your heart leapt anyway.

“i want to,” he said. “i don’t know what this is, but it matters to me. you matter to me.”

your eyes welled again, and this time he didn’t stop the tears. just let them come. held your hand like it was something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

“i should go,” he said eventually, so quiet it barely touched the air.

you nodded, but didn’t let go. not yet.

he leaned in, kissed your forehead, then your lips, soft, lingering. the kind of kiss that stayed with you long after it was over. when he pulled back, he touched your cheek one last time, then forced himself to step away.

you watched him open the door. slide into the driver’s seat. the car engine rumbled to life, low and steady.

he looked at you once more before pulling away. just a glance. but it held everything.

you stood there until the car disappeared down the block, the silence rushing in to fill the space he left behind. the cicadas were still buzzing. the heat was rising off the pavement. life kept going. you looked down at the package in your hands, the string digging a little deeper into your palm now. you didn’t open it. not yet.

you just stood there. and missed him already.

that night, you barely slept. the house was too quiet. your room looked too neat. jay’s gift stayed on your desk, untouched, waiting. you’d packed around it. like it was fragile. like it needed its own space. the next morning, the train station smelled like old coffee and newspaper ink.

now, the package sat on your lap as the train pulled away from the platform, and your parents grew smaller and smaller through the window until they disappeared entirely.

you didn’t cry. not then. you waited until the train curved around the hill, the town falling behind you, and then, when there was no one left to wave to, no one watching, you untied the string.

the newspaper fell away with a soft rustle. inside, a cassette tape, carefully labeled in his handwriting: for when you miss home. and beneath it, a folded piece of paper. creased, a little smudged, like he’d been holding onto it too long before giving it to you.

you opened the letter slowly.

“y/n,

i’ve never been great with words unless i’m joking around, and even then i’m kind of an idiot. but i didn’t want to leave without trying.

this summer meant something to me. you meant something to me.

i think it still doesn’t feel real. that i’m sitting on my bedroom floor right now writing this with the window open and knowing it’s the last time i’ll do this with you just down the block.

i’m not expecting anything. not really. i just didn’t want you to think any of this was a fluke. or just summer heat or timing or nostalgia or whatever. it wasn’t. i’ve liked you for a long time. i just didn’t know how to say it until now.

if this letter gets to you before the homesickness does, good. if not, then maybe it’ll at least feel like someone’s there with you for a minute.

i made the tape in my room last week. i kept thinking about that drive to the lake, how we listened to music and didn’t talk for miles. some songs that sound like how i feel when i’m with you.

i’ll write if you want me to. and maybe i’ll find a way to visit. but if not, if all this ever is is a good memory, thank you for being it.

i’ll miss you more than i can say.

— jay”

you fold the letter back up slowly, pressing the paper flat with your fingers like it might hold its shape better that way. your chest aches in that quiet, heavy way that doesn’t rise all at once, just settles there. low. constant. you hold the cassette in your hand, thumb brushing over the label. 

you rewind it. click. the tape whirs gently, and you close your eyes for a second while it rewinds, your forehead resting against the cool glass of the train window.

when the tape starts again, it opens with “pictures of you” by the cure, every word bleeding into the next like he meant for it to feel like memory. you press your headphones closer, the foam scratchy against your ears, the sound just loud enough to drown out the rest of the train.

the sky outside your window shifts while the songs pass. pink bleeding into orange, then purple, then black. you don’t notice when the train stops at smaller stations. you don’t move when other passengers get up, switch seats, pull out books. you just stay there, with the music, the letter in your bag, and the weight in your chest.

the semester starts quietly. new faces, cold hallways, shared bathrooms that never seem clean. your roommate plays ace of base too loud and always leaves her towel on your chair. you stay busy, mostly. classes, the library, the quiet corners of campus where no one talks. 

the first letter comes ten days in. his handwriting is still a little messy, like he wrote it fast, like he couldn't wait. he tells you about getting lost on his first day, about his roommate who only eats instant noodles, about how he thought of you when he saw a lake behind one of the buildings. the last line says:

i miss you like it’s a sport. i’m training for the olympics.

you laugh out loud. you write him back that night. you tell him about your weird professor, about the vending machine that only gives dr pepper, about how the cafeteria chicken always tastes like cardboard. you say:

i miss you too. i think about that night in the lake more than i probably should.

and it begins. letters back and forth, every week, sometimes more. his envelopes start showing up with little doodles in the corners. he draws your name in bubble letters, sticks tiny pressed flowers inside, once even includes a guitar pick “just in case you forget my favorite color is green.”

you tape some of the letters to your wall. you sleep with one under your pillow. when the days feel long, you reread them like prayers.

he writes about the cold, about the way the wind whistles through the cracks in his dorm window. you write about late nights in the common room, your hands always cold, your heart always a little heavy. sometimes the letters are funny, sometimes soft. sometimes they sound like promises neither of you can quite say out loud.

as november creeps in, the air gets sharper. the letters get longer.

sometimes i look for you in the crowd, even though i know you’re not here. i don’t know what that means. i just miss you, a lot.

then, one wednesday afternoon, the dorm phone rings. you almost don’t answer. but something in your chest pulls you toward it.

“hello?”

static hums, and then his voice, distant and slightly warped by the old payphone line:

“hey. it’s me.”

you freeze. the dorm fades away. someone laughs down the hall, but it’s muffled now. “jay?”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “yeah. god, your voice. i missed it. you sound exactly like i remembered, but—warmer somehow.”

you sit down on the floor with your back against the wall, knees pulled up. “you’re calling from the payphone?”

“outside the student union. my fingers are turning blue, probably. but it was worth it.”

you smile into the receiver, thumb resting against the cord like it’s his hand. “you’re crazy.”

“for you, yeah. a little.” there’s a pause, comfortable and quiet. just the sound of the wind through the line, a car passing in the background, your heartbeat in your ears. “i wish i was there,” he says.

“i wish you were too.”

“i’ve been thinking about christmas,” he adds, voice a little smaller now. “about home. and... i don’t think i can make it.”

your stomach drops. “what do you mean?”

“money’s tight. really tight. i thought i could pick up extra shifts at the dining hall, but they already filled the schedule. i asked my mom if she could help, but she’s barely getting by. i’ve been doing the math over and over—bus, train, anything. i can’t swing it. not this year.”

you lean your head back against the wall, eyes stinging. “i was counting down the days to see you.”

he sighs, like he’s trying to keep something in. “i hate that this is what growing up means. working two shifts and still not getting to be where your heart wants to be.” you’re quiet for a moment, and then he adds, “i wish i could call you every day, i wish i had a cordless phone and no long distance fees and a million quarters in my pocket.”

you laugh, even though it breaks a little at the end. “i wish you were here right now.”

“you think if we both wish it hard enough, we’ll end up on the same train platform by accident?”

“sounds like a movie.”

“sounds like us,” he says. “if we were a little luckier.” the wind through the line is sharper now. he shivers audibly. “i should go before i lose feeling in my toes.”

“can you call again?”

“i’ll save up quarters. skip lunch if i have to.”

“don’t skip lunch.”

“okay, i’ll just skip half of lunch,” he says. “i miss you.”

“i miss you more.”

“that’s not possible.”

“prove it.”

he laughs again, soft and tired and full of something like love. “someday soon. not this christmas, maybe. but someday. i promise.”

you press the phone tighter to your ear like that might make it last longer. “okay. i’ll wait.”

“don’t wait too still. keep living. i want stories when we talk again.”

“you’ll get stories. all of them. i’ll write you tonight.”

“i’ll be waiting.”

the line crackles. you imagine him standing there, snow on his shoulders, one hand buried in his coat, the other holding the receiver like a lifeline.

“bye, jay.”

“bye, love.”

the line goes dead.

you sit there for a while, the dial tone humming in your ear, and then finally, finally, you hang up.

and then christmas comes like it always does. you take the long train ride back home with your walkman pressed to your ears and your bag heavy. the town looks smaller than you remember. maybe it always does since your first semester away. the streets feel frozen in time, lit by weak streetlights and lined with familiar shops. it’s strange—everything is the same, and nothing is.

but this year, you’re not the main event. jungwon comes back two days after you. it’s his first time home since he started college. your mom can barely keep it together when he walks in the door with his overstuffed duffel bag and a sleepy smile. she hugs him so tightly he winces. your dad ruffles his hair, your aunt comes by with a casserole. it’s like the prodigal son has returned, and honestly, you don’t mind. it’s good to see him. it’s good to see them see him.

he looks older. not just taller, though he is. not just the haircut, or the faint stubble he clearly hasn’t decided what to do with yet. it’s in the way he carries himself. looser. more sure. the kind of ease that comes from living somewhere new and surviving it.

you end up on the roof a few nights later, like old times. he finds the ladder first. calls to you from outside your window like you’re kids again. the stars are faint but steady. the air sharp in your lungs. you bring blankets and two mugs of whatever was warm in the kitchen.

you sit side by side, legs stretched out, silence easy between you.

“so?” you ask eventually, nudging him. “how’s it really been?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then: “it’s good. really good, actually.”

you glance over. “yeah?”

“yeah. the campus is beautiful. i got lucky with my dorm, too—my roommate’s cool. not, like, best-friend cool, but we get along. classes are hard, but... in a fun way? it’s weird, i kind of like the pressure.”

“nerd.”

he nudges you back. “i joined this music club,” he says. “nothing serious, just people who like playing stuff together. i’ve been writing again. and there’s this group that goes out on thursdays to open mic nights... i don’t always go, but when i do, it feels... i don’t know. freeing.”

you smile. “i’m glad, wonnie.”

“me too,” he says, and his voice is soft. “i missed this, though. missed home.”

“you seemed so... settled.”

“i think i am,” he says. “but it doesn’t mean i don’t think about this place. about you guys.”

the quiet stretches between you again. you sip your drink. the wind moves through the trees. then, after a pause, he speaks again—gentle, careful. “can i ask you something?”

you look over. he’s not looking at you. “yeah?”

“you and jay.”

you freeze a little. “what about us?”

“i don’t know. it’s just... you never really said anything. and neither did he. but i’m not dumb.” his voice is soft, not accusing. just curious. 

you stare at your hands, fingers curled in the edge of the blanket. “it wasn’t supposed to be a thing,” you say eventually. “it just kind of... happened. after that summer. we kept writing. and then we kept feeling things. and now it’s this... half-real, half-imagined thing that lives between semesters.”

“but it’s real to you?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

he doesn’t say anything right away. then: “he never told me.”

“i think he didn’t know how.”

“or maybe he didn’t want to make it more complicated.”

“maybe.” you look over at him. he’s watching the sky. “are you mad?”

he shakes his head. “no. just surprised. and... maybe a little jealous?”

you blink. “of jay?”

“i'm your brother after all.” he chuckled, you followed along after a while.

“he couldn’t come home this christmas.”

“i figured. he didn’t answer when i asked.”

you glance at jungwon. “you guys often write each other?”

“yeah,” he says. “not super often. but he sends me these long letters when he can.”

you smile at the image. “does he ever talk about me?”

he hesitates for a moment, then nods. “not directly. not like, in big declarations or whatever. but you’re always there. in between the lines. like... he’ll say something about music he’s been listening to, and it’s a song you used to love. or mention some movie and how ‘y/n would’ve hated it.’ that kind of thing.”

you feel something tighten behind your ribs. “so he never said anything?”

“no,” jungwon says, quiet. “but i could tell. i mean, i’m not dumb. i knew something was going on. i just didn’t know what, exactly.” he leans back on his hands, looks up at the stars. “but then i started thinking,” jungwon goes on. “if he was gonna care about someone like that, i’m glad it’s you.”

your eyes sting a little. you smile at that. “do you miss him?”

“of course,” he says, then looks at you. “but i think you do more.” you don’t say anything. he doesn't press. after a while, the wind picks up. your fingers are cold, your mugs are empty. jungwon glances sideways at you. “we should go in before mom wakes up and accuses us of catching pneumonia.”

you snort. “she’s probably already awake.”

“probably.”

he gets up first, offers you a hand. you take it. when you both climb back in through the window, the house is still quiet. warm. familiar. but something in your chest feels a little different. like the ache is still there, but softer. held.

the holidays pass in the quiet rhythm of home. 

you help wrap gifts at the kitchen table with leftover paper from last year—half of them with the name “jungwon” in curly, looping letters. he's the center of the season this time. it’s his first time back since starting college, and your parents cling to him like they’re making up for lost time. your mom tears up over his favorite soup. your dad takes pictures with the chunky kodak camera he barely remembers how to use.

you don’t mind. not really. it's good to see him like this—full of stories, confident in ways he wasn’t before. he talks about dorm parties, about sleeping through 8 a.m. lectures, about running into a professor at a bar once and pretending not to notice. he even joined a rec basketball team. you listen, smiling, even when your chest aches a little with the difference.

new year’s eve arrives with less celebration than usual. your parents are asleep by eleven. jungwon watches back to the future part iii on VHS in the living room. you sit with him on the floor, both of you wrapped in old quilts, sipping ginger ale from mismatched mugs. when midnight hits, you both yell “happy new year” more out of obligation than excitement. there are no fireworks, just distant shouts from a few blocks away. 

you think of jay. wonder if he’s somewhere with people, or alone. wonder if he thought of calling. wonder if he stopped himself.

you go back to campus in early january.

the train is colder this time. more grey. you keep your headphones in and stare at the frost on the window. roxy music, the cure… the soundtrack of trying not to feel too much.

when you get back to your dorm, your roommate’s side is already full of unpacked clothes and christmas candy. your side is neater, more sparse. you pin up a few new photos. unpack slowly. tuck your homesickness into corners and drawers.

classes start again. second year feels heavier than the first. the professors are stricter, less patient. you drink more coffee. underline more passages. your handwriting gets messier.

jay’s letters still come, but they’re different now. shorter. the envelopes are still addressed with care, your name underlined twice like always. in one letter, he writes about a band he’s joined—some guys in his dorm who needed a rhythm guitarist. he says they play mostly pixies and stone roses covers, sometimes in the campus bar, sometimes in someone’s garage. he says it’s loud and messy and it makes him feel like he can breathe again.

he doesn’t mention missing christmas. he doesn’t say anything about not calling. he signs off with a song lyric, like he always does. this time: “heaven knows i’m miserable now.” you smile anyway.

as the months pass, the letters come slower. once a week becomes twice a month. then sometimes just one, slipped into your mailbox late and slightly rain-stained. but they’re still his. still full of little details—what he’s reading, the weird dreams he had, the girl in his english class who always talks about astrology.

february comes. then march. and suddenly the snow is melting again. your hair is longer. you’ve started carrying a walkman everywhere. your favorite café replaced the jukebox with a cheap stereo that mostly plays madonna and paul simon. the world is moving forward, spinning fast, pulling you along with it.

but some days, when the sun hits just right, and you hear a guitar riff through a half-open dorm window, you think of him. of that fall. of letters. of train rides. of the silence that still holds you both, gently. and you wait. because you know—somewhere—he’s waiting, too.

it’s a saturday afternoon in april, and spring has finally, finally started to show its face.

you’re sitting beneath the cherry tree near the east edge of campus, the one that blooms a little earlier than the others, the one that looks like it’s holding secrets in every petal. sunlight slips through the branches in soft waves, dancing across the open pages of your book. there’s a coffee cup balanced carefully in the grass beside you, the sleeve still warm.

you’ve been there for over an hour. the world feels far away. it’s the kind of quiet that’s not empty, but full of wind in the leaves, of the occasional rustle of a student passing behind you, of the soft, steady hum of a saturday moving forward without urgency.

you turn a page, and then someone sits down beside you. you don’t look up right away. the book’s getting good again. but then you notice the shift in weight. the familiar way your skin prickles. the scent of something: clean laundry, faint cologne, and something you haven’t smelled in months but recognize instantly.

you turn. and it’s him. jay.

he’s right there, in front of you. close enough to touch. you don’t think. you don’t even say anything. you just launch yourself at him.

your book flies into the grass. your coffee nearly spills. your arms wrap around him tight, your face buried in his neck before your brain can even catch up. he laughs, breathless, a little startled but not pulling away. his arms close around you, firm and warm and shaking just a little.

“holy shit,” you whisper, your voice muffled in his hoodie. “holy shit, you’re here.”

“yeah,” he says, holding you tighter. “i’m here.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, still holding his shoulders like you’re making sure he’s real. his hair’s longer, shaggier than you remember. his face is a little thinner. his eyes are tired but bright. “how—what—” you start, then blink hard. “how did you know i’d be here?”

he smiles, soft, almost shy. “one of your letters,” he says. “you mentioned this tree. said you always came here saturday afternoons to read. so... i did the math.”

your heart does something strange in your chest. like falling and flying at the same time. “you remembered that?”

“of course i remembered that.”

you turn toward him fully, knees folding underneath you. “what—” your voice cracks, so you try again. “what are you doing here?”

he tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i wanted to surprise you.”

your mouth opens and closes once. “you did.”

he laughs gently, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. i figured.”

you take him in more slowly now, in full color. the soft mess of his hair, pushed back like he’s run his fingers through it a dozen times today. the curve of his mouth, familiar and brand new all at once. the hoodie you’ve seen in polaroids, now in front of you. the pin on his strap — the smiths, still. his shoelaces are untied.

“so you just... showed up?” you ask.

“not just.” he glances down at the grass. “i’ve had this planned for a few weeks. it’s spring break at my school.”

you blink. “you’re spending your break here?”

“yeah.”

“with me?”

he lifts a shoulder, casual in the way he never really is when it comes to you. “yeah. if you want me to be.”

your heart stumbles. “why didn’t you go home?”

“my parents came to visit me last month. brought homemade food, checked if i was sleeping enough. we did the whole thing.” he pauses. “so this time... i wanted to come see you. you were the priority.”

your throat goes tight. painfully tight. you stare at him. “that’s—”

“cheesy?”

“kind of.”

he grins. “but true.”

you blink fast, trying to keep your voice from wobbling. “i can’t believe you’re here.”

he nudges you with his shoulder, gently, and for a moment, everything around you seems to fade. the campus sounds, the other students walking by, the breeze rustling through the cherry blossoms, they all blur into the background. it’s just the two of you, sitting here in a moment that feels impossibly perfect.

“well. i am,” he says again, this time his voice lower, quieter. he’s watching you now, really watching you, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look in this light, the way you sound when you speak so softly, the way your eyes flicker with something unspoken. your heart thuds in your chest, and you swallow. the world feels like it’s holding its breath too, waiting for something. waiting for us, you think, and before you can stop it, the words spill out in a whisper:

“i’ve missed you so much.”

he looks at you for a moment, something in his eyes shifting. then, without warning, he’s leaning in, closing the space between you. his hand, warm and gentle, finds its way to your cheek, and your breath hitches at the contact. his touch is familiar and new, like coming home but also like discovering something thrilling and unknown all at once.

you don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel him so close, his breath mingling with yours, his lips almost brushing your skin. you can feel the thrum of your pulse in your throat, the way the air feels thick between you, charged with everything unspoken, everything you’ve been holding on to for so long. 

his lips, when they finally meet yours, are soft and hesitant at first, like he’s testing the waters, unsure if you’ll pull away or if you’ll let him stay. and when you don’t—when you lean into him, your hands trembling as they rest against his chest, your lips responding with a quiet urgency—it’s like something clicks into place, something that had been waiting all along, just beneath the surface. his kiss deepens, letting you both catch up to the months that have slipped by, all the letters and all the silences. his fingers tangle gently in your hair, tugging you closer, and you lose yourself in the feeling of him—his warmth, his presence, his everything. it’s like coming home, but it’s also like a brand new beginning.

when you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, you don’t open your eyes right away. you stay there, just for a moment, feeling the soft brush of his nose against yours, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. there’s a peacefulness to it now, something that wasn’t there before, something that feels right in the way the world has fallen away.

for a few minutes, neither of you says anything. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with everything that’s unsaid but understood. and then, just when you think you can’t feel any more overwhelmed by the weight of it all, he pulls back a little, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

“you’re... real,” he murmurs, as if it’s just occurred to him. “this whole thing... you’re really here.”

you smile, a little breathless, still floating in the aftershock of the kiss. “i could say the same about you.”

he shakes his head softly, his eyes full of wonder. “no. i mean... i really missed you. i’ve been... so stupid not to just come here sooner.”

“it’s okay,” you say, gently. “you’re here now. that’s all that matters.”

he smiles, a little sheepish, and you can’t help but lean in for another kiss, slow this time, just a soft press of lips as if to say everything you haven’t yet. he kisses you back just as gently, and for a moment, you feel like you’ve finally found the place where you both belong, tucked away under the cherry blossoms, where time feels endless and the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

that week unfolds like a secret you get to keep.

spring break in 1991 feels like borrowed light—just warm enough for jackets to hang open, just cool enough for coffee to still feel necessary. the campus empties a little more each day, the sidewalks quieter, the dorms thinner with sound, and you and jay exist inside it like the only ones left.

you meet him every morning at the little café just off campus. he always gets the same thing: black coffee, extra strong, and a cinnamon roll if they haven’t sold out by ten. you try something new each day, let him steal bites, press your knees together under the table when no one’s looking. he watches you talk with his chin propped on his palm, like you’re something out of a song he’s only now learning the words to.

you walk everywhere. to the used bookstore with the creaky wood floors and the cat that sleeps in the poetry section. to the park with the duck pond, where you both pretend not to care that your hands brush more than once. to the laundromat even, where you sit on top of the machines with a bag of shared chips, watching the clothes tumble, talking about nothing and everything.

one afternoon, you take him to the record store a few blocks away. the bell above the door jingles when you enter. he goes quiet in that way he does when he’s really happy, thumbing through crates like he’s handling treasure. you wander into the second-hand tapes, until you feel his hand slip into yours.

“you’re wearing it,” he says.

you look down. the braided thread bracelet he made you is snug around your wrist, a little frayed from time.

“of course,” you say, like it’s obvious.

he smiles, and it’s soft in a way you almost never see. “i didn’t think you still would.”

you roll your eyes. “you underestimate me.”

“no,” he says. “i think i just miss a lot of you.”

you find a dusty smiths vinyl in the back corner. he insists on buying it, even though you argue it’s too expensive for a college student who already works two jobs. he tells you you’re worth overpriced music and more.

you listen to it later in your room, the both of you stretched out on your bed, sharing a single pillow. you press your foreheads together and try not to think about how fast the week is going. you trace the freckles on his arms like constellations and wonder how long you’ll get to keep this version of him—warm, present, real.

some nights you stay out late, sitting under the cherry tree, shoulders pressed close in the quiet dark. other nights, you fall asleep in the common room watching movies from the campus video library, wrapped in the same scratchy blanket, popcorn spilled everywhere.

you don’t talk about what you are, not exactly. but he always finds your hand first. he always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. he kisses your forehead like a promise.

and every day, you feel it more: this thing between you, still unnamed, but steady. something building. something real.

one night, you lie on the floor of your dorm room, your legs tangled, his head resting on your chest. you read aloud from your book until your voice gets soft and slow. when you pause, he murmurs, “don’t stop,” like he’s afraid silence will mean goodbye. you read until you can’t keep your eyes open, and when you wake up the next morning, his hand is still in yours.

the day before he’s supposed to leave, you take him to the park. you take him deeper in, where the trees open into a wide clearing and the lake stretches out like glass, catching pieces of the sky. you brought a blanket in your tote bag, and you spread it over the grass with shaking hands, not from nerves, but from how full your chest feels just having him beside you again.

he whistles low when he sees the view. “you’ve been keeping this place a secret from me?”

you smile, sitting cross-legged on the blanket. “figured i needed to impress you with something.”

he grins as he drops down beside you, close enough that your knees touch. “mission accomplished.”

you both fall quiet, watching the sun glint on the water, the way the wind ripples across it like someone brushing their hand over silk. 

“you remember,” he says, eyes on the lake, “the first time we kissed?”

you look at him. he’s got that look on his face—the one he gets when he’s remembering something that still stings a little. “of course i do.”

he laughs softly, and there’s color rising in his cheeks. “god, i was such a mess that day. i think i was sweating through my shirt.”

“you were,” you say, biting back a grin. “you looked like you were gonna faint.”

“i almost did.”

you lean your head on his shoulder. “you still kissed me, though.”

“yeah,” he says, quieter now. “best decision i ever made.”

for a while, you just sit like that, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the wind in the trees and the distant sounds of kids playing somewhere far off. 

“i wanted to tell you something,” he says eventually, shifting slightly so he can see you better. “about the band.” you straighten a little, curious. “we’re gonna start playing more. not just on campus, but local shows. house parties, bars, that kind of thing. one of the member’s cousin knows a guy who books gigs.”

“jay,” you say, your voice light but sincere, “that’s amazing.”

he shrugs like it’s nothing, but his smile gives him away. “we’re getting paid too. not a ton, but enough to cover meals, gas, maybe even some rent if we play enough.”

“i’m proud of you,” you say, and you mean it. “i always knew you’d do something with that music.”

he turns to you again, his eyes soft. “we’re playing in two weekends. it’s a friday night set, off-campus, but not far. if you came... i’d really like that.”

“i’ll try,” you say. “really. i will.”

“you’d probably hate the crowd,” he says. “everyone’s a little drunk and way too into themselves.”

“i don’t care about the crowd,” you say. “i’d be there for you.”

he smiles again, but this time it fades a little faster, like something heavier is sitting behind it.

“i’ve been thinking,” he says, slower now. “about us.” 

you nod. you’ve been thinking about it too. every day since he got here. every letter, every night you read them under your sheets like prayers. “i don’t want to hold you back,” he says. “i mean it. i don’t ever want you to feel like you have to wait around for me.”

your chest tightens, but you don’t look away. “i never felt like i had to,” you say. “i wanted to.”

he exhales, eyes flicking to the ground. “it’s hard, being far. i hate not knowing when i’ll see you next, if your letters are gonna come this week, if you’re okay.”

“it is hard,” you say. “but not harder than not having you in my life.”

that gets him.

he looks up at you, and his eyes are full, like he’s carrying the weight of something he’s been holding back for too long. but they’re steady too. there’s no hesitation in them. no fear. just the quiet conviction of someone who has finally found the right words and the right moment to say them.

“i love you,” he says.

not softly. not tucked behind nervous laughter or hidden in a passing joke. he says it plainly, like it’s always been true. like it’s not a question or a gamble, but a fact of who he is.

you go still. not because you didn’t want to hear it, but because you did. you’d been dreaming about hearing it. you’d written it in letters you never sent. whispered it to your pillow on nights the silence felt too loud. but now that it’s real, that it’s here between you, it takes your breath away.

your heart is beating too hard. your chest feels tight in the best and worst way. it’s like you’re floating and anchored all at once.

“i love you too,” you say.

the words fall out soft, but certain. no tremble. no second-guessing. it feels like unlocking something that’s been waiting inside you for months. and he smiles. not his usual grin. this one is slower, quieter. full of something tender and wrecked and entirely sincere. he lets out a shaky breath, like hearing it back made something loosen in his chest.

he reaches for your hand, threads his fingers through yours, and holds on like he’s scared you might disappear.

“i didn’t know if i should say it,” he admits, voice low. “i didn’t want to make this harder.”

you shake your head, blinking fast again. “you didn’t.”

he watches you, eyes glinting in the light fading over the lake. “i know we don’t have answers yet. i know we’re not in the same place. but i love you, and i don’t want to pretend i don’t. not anymore.”

you nod, and your throat feels too tight for a second to speak. but then you do. “thank you for saying it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes. the wind brushes over your cheeks. “i want to do this right,” he whispers. “i want to keep showing up. even when it’s messy. even when we’re apart. i’ll write, i’ll call—whatever it takes. i just want you to know that i’m yours.”

you feel like crying again, but it’s the good kind. the overwhelming, grateful kind. “you already are,” you whisper back.

he kisses you then. slow and certain, like he’s been waiting to show you just how much he meant every word. you kiss him back with everything you have. every letter you never sent. every weekend you spent missing him. and for a little while, it feels like you’re in the exact right place, with the exact right person, and the rest can wait.

because now you know. and now he knows. and for now, that’s everything.

the sky is gray when you wake up. not stormy, just still. the apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the radiator. you make coffee without asking, and toast because it's simple. neither of you says much while you move around the kitchen. it's not awkward. it's just early, and this kind of morning carries its own language. when you finally sit down across from him, he offers a small smile and reaches for your hand across the table. his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he's grounding himself there. you want to ask him to stay, just one more day, but you know how it works. time doesn't pause just because you want it to.

“thank you,” he says, voice low. “for everything. for this week.”

you nod, not trusting yourself to say much more. “me too.”

you finish breakfast slowly, letting the minutes stretch. when it’s time to go, you both move a little slower than usual. jackets, shoes, keys—everything done with quiet care. on the walk to the train station, the streets are calm. a few shops are just opening. jay looks at all of it like he’s trying to take a piece of the city with him.

at the station, the platform is mostly empty. his train isn’t there yet. he sets his bag down and turns to you, both hands in his pockets, like he’s unsure of what to do with them. you take one of them in yours. “i’ll write,” he says quietly, steady.

you nod, trying not to let it show on your face, how much you want him to keep that promise. “you better,” you say, your voice soft but certain.

he smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes in a way that makes your chest tighten. there’s something steady in him, something quiet and real, like he’s trying to memorize your face without making it obvious. then he steps forward and pulls you into a hug. his arms fold around your back, warm and familiar, and you press your face into the space between his shoulder and his neck. you close your eyes. breathe in. it still smells like his soap and the coffee you shared earlier and something that’s just him.

it isn’t a desperate hug. it’s not rushed or falling apart. it’s slow, like neither of you wants to risk breaking whatever this is. he doesn’t hold you too tightly, and you don’t cling, maybe because you both know that if you do, it might unravel you. instead, you just stand there, holding each other like you’re saying something that can’t be said out loud.

when he finally pulls back, he looks at you for a second longer. his eyes move over your face like he’s trying to remember it exactly—every freckle, every line, every part that makes you, you. then he leans in and kisses your cheek, warm and slow, and you think that might be enough. but then he hesitates, just a beat, and his eyes flick to yours, asking without words. and you answer by closing the distance.

he kisses you, soft and steady. not rushed, not messy, just something quiet and sure. it feels like something you’ve been holding in for too long, and now that it’s here, neither of you pulls away too fast. you hold his jacket in your hands and try not to think about how long it might be before you get to do this again. his hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing the hem of your sweater. for a few seconds, the station disappears.

when the kiss breaks, your foreheads stay pressed together. both of you quiet. both of you trying to hold the moment still.

the train pulls into the station with a low sound, wheels scraping gently against the track. you both glance at it, then at each other again. he gives your hand one last squeeze before picking up his bag. the straps are worn, one of the buckles is broken, and you think about how far that bag has already traveled. 

“you should go,” you say, finally, your voice low. he nods, but he doesn’t move yet. just gives you one last look, and it holds more than words could.

“take care of yourself, okay?” he says. you nod. “and write to me. even if i’m slow sometimes.”

“i always do,” you say.

this time, you do say goodbye. both of you.

“bye, jay.”

“bye, love,” he says, just as soft.

jay walks toward the train with slow steps, one hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other shoved in his pocket like he’s not sure what to do with it. you stay where you are, not trusting yourself to move. your fingers are clenched around the edge of your sweater, the morning air crisp and dry around you, the sound of the platform soft and distant.

he doesn’t look back right away. just keeps going until he reaches the open door, and then he pauses, just for a second, and turns. your eyes meet. he doesn’t smile this time, doesn’t say anything, but the look is enough. it holds everything neither of you could say, everything you might’ve said if there were more time.

he steps onto the train. you watch him through the window as he walks down the aisle and finds a seat near the middle. he sets his bag down carefully, then turns to face you again. he presses his hand to the glass, palm open. you do the same. for a second, it feels like you're right there with him.

the train jolts once, then starts to move. slow at first. you walk alongside it for a few steps, matching its pace, not ready to let go. he watches you the whole time. he lifts his hand in a small wave. you don’t wave back, but you hold his gaze until he’s out of sight.

the platform feels too quiet after. the tracks stretch out in front of you, empty now. there’s a chill in the air, but you don’t feel it yet.

you stand there for a while, not really thinking, just feeling the space where he used to be. something in you knows this isn’t like the other goodbyes you’ve had before. it’s heavier. it settles deep.

that was the spring of 1991. and that was the last time you saw jay park in years.

author's note: first of all IM SO SORRY for leaving y’all hanging at the end like that 😭 but if people end up loving this story, i promise i’ll write and post part two. pinky swear.

this fic means a lot to me. i’ve always wanted to write something set in the late 80s / early 90s and finally getting to do it with jay as the main character felt really special. btw this is my first long jay fic ever, so i really hope the jay utteds out there enjoy it 🫶

also, in case it wasn’t obvious, just like heaven by the cure is my favorite song of all time :)

thank you so much for reading!!!! <3

UPDATE: part 2 is out now, read here <3

my masterlist <3

perma enha taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @jayparked

[karinasbaby]

there are actual tears in my eyes

(pls beware that i’m actually losing my sanity and cursing profusely under the cut thank you and enjoy🫶🏼)

first of all. hana what the FUCKWNELWBEKSB this was so intense. i haven’t been this freaking indulged and into a fic in like SUCH A LONG TIME the way you wrote everything in SUCH PERFECT DETAIL IS ACTUALLY INSANE like my face is literally BURNING right now what the HELL. 🧍‍♀️

alright so let’s start with the parts that literaly had me gripping my bed sheets.

‘HIS KNEES BUCKLE’ this is literally aTTEMPTED MURDEEEERRRR 🗣️🔊🔊📣📣📣 the way you wrote jongseong’s misery SO PERFECTLY like the detail the emotions the feelings the thoughts the way my man couldn’t breathe oh my god i was in shock the whole time. swear to god had my hand on my mouth just 🫢 !!! like is this all happening what the hell i felt like i was going through it MYSELF personally. the way u wrote his emotions and pain and grief oooooo i began melting away 😩 AND HELLO “forbidding him from airing the air she had grieved in” OKAY SHAKESPEARE I SEE YOU. i genuinely want to kiss ur brain like hand it over real quick mamas 🫴 no because the whole kitchen scene actually made me tear up a few times im still not okay ☹️

the absolute PAIN. the HEARTBREAKKKK the way i actually began to feel chest pains is insane because oh my freaking god what the hell :( u had me gripping my hair and sliding down the wall in absolute wrath and misery like i felt like my own heart just got ripped out of my chest and just got shredded into tiny microscopic pieces like wdym “she has never seen pain shine in anyone’s eyes the way it shined in his, not even her own” STOPPPPPPPPPP😭😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔😭💔💔😭😭😭😭💔😭💔😭💔😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔STOP IT PLEASE I CANT HANDLE THIS STOP MAKING SHAKESPEARE ROLL IN HIS GRAVE ENOUGH JS ENOUGH HANA ☹️☹️☹️

no because the beginning of this section had me on the edge of my seat like were we gonna score the client? is it all gonna pay off? did we make it? did peepaw sight the paper? straight up had my eyes scrambling all over the screen to see the confirmation (which then led me to take a break bcs bro.) but gang when i read the “he almost asked someone to reach into his chest to lift it for him, unable to carry the weight of it himself” 😂😂😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣what if i was sewer slide L😂😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 😂🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂😂😂what if this was my 13th reason😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂😂😂😂😂 i genuinely wasn’t built for this lmfaon😂😂😂😂😂i’m losing it 🙏🏼🤣🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🤣 no because hand ur heart over jongseong 🫴 HAND IT OVA 🫴🫴‼️‼️‼️‼️ i genuinely had tears in my eyes on that second i was fighting back to many screams and yells bro i was going THROUGH ITTTT LIKE :((((( MAN WHAT THE HELL

AND OOOOOOOOO UR MIND. UR MIND I WANNA KISS IT WHEN I REALISED U MADE THEE LEE HEESEUNG THE CEO LIKEBDLSNDKSJ i love and appreciate every single neuron cell that connected in your brain to be able to form this absolute masterpiece mamas holy shit like oh my god what the hell do u mean we got CEO hee 😂😂😂 (my newest freaking OBSESSION BTW. so thanks a lot rachel 😕 as if i wasn’t already thinking of this man 24/7 ☹️‼️)

anywho now the SMUT… the smut.

had me giggling and blushing the whole entire mf time now when i tell u my face is BURNING. my face is BURNING mamas. u straight up had my pupils transforming into hearts with the way u perfectly wrote soft and in love jongseong making love like oh my god. seriously i had to take so many breaks bro like what. what made u think i was bUILT FOR THIS ☹️💔 no bcs the detail the passion THE PASSION THE PASSION. it was felt through the screen. radiated off the screen and pierced my heart i was about to get on one knee and propose to jongseong as if we aren’t already married because i would actually gladly marry him a thousand times after the first proposal that man makes my knees weak, my lungs shrink and my mind REEL park jongseong the man that you are. THE MAN THAT YOU AREEE. i will now be taking a very much needed break before starting the second fic holy fuck i have so much to catch up with and this first one almost took me out ENTIRELY.

anyways sending so so much love to YOU 🫵 my dearest loveliest and sweetest hana :( i miss u a lot & i can’t wait to simp over hee & jay with u and send their edits to u (when ur exams are over so PLS STUDY.) and take care of urself baby, now make jay & hee proud and study well 🙏🏼

✧ Priorities (18+)

Pairing: non!idol jay x fem!reader (angst, smut)

Summary: Busy with a new client that could possibly bring in millions, Jongseong has been spending all of his time at the office. Y/n was okay with it until it had taken her husband completely away from her; seeing him only in passing for two weeks.

Warnings: 3rd pov, angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, crying, neglect, panic, mentions of divorce, SMUT, unprotected sex (don't.), oral (f), kissing, praise, hair pulling, happy ending, 12.4k

A heavy, spoiled scent fills the house as the clock ticks closer to midnight, time passing without any warning or consideration. 

Unopened gifts and untouched food containers sit idly on the table, forgotten as they were abandoned hours ago. The candles have been put out and the small cake has been repackaged, quietly cooling in the fridge. 

Balloons littered the living room, small pieces of confetti hid between the cracks. A once lively room was now cold, dim and lonely as the happiness in it left when the guests did.

At half past midnight, the front door clicks open and Jongseong walks into a quiet, somber home. Without turning on the lights, he quietly kicks off his shoes to the side and sets his briefcase on the ottoman bench against the door. 

He sighs as the exhaustion of the day begins to weigh heavily on him, not having a moment's rest. He walks past the living room without a glance, ignoring the evidence of life the otherwise still house lacked. 

As quietly as possible, he climbs the stairs to his shared bedroom. Part of him wishes she were up, greeting him at the door. He had missed her today but he knew she would be sleeping, snoring softly on his bed. 

Pushing the door open, Jongseong smiles softly as his eyes land on her still body, her arms wrapped around his pillow. He stands at the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She looks soft, peaceful as she lies there. 

What he doesn’t notice are the dried tear stains on her cheeks, eyes puffy and throat parched. As he changes and uses the bathroom, Y/n opens her eyes and stares at the bathroom door, eyes burning bright with anger and grief. 

Quietly, she unwraps her arms around his pillow and places it beside hers, pushing it towards the other end of the bed. With a heavy heart, she turns to her other side, facing the wall. She shuts her eyes, praying that sleep comes to her kindly, needing it now more than ever. 

Drying his hands, Jongseong walks back into the bedroom and slides into bed. She’s turned away from him but his mind is preoccupied with all the work he would have to complete in the morning. His mind races with game plans and strategies as he stares at the ceiling, wishing his mind would grant him one night of rest. He does not think about her because his mind is full of other, adamant thoughts. 

Y/n stares at the wall, unblinking, as he thinks. She can feel them, all his racing thoughts suffocating the air in the room. She almost turns to face him, her desire to touch him stronger than the pain in her heart. He leans over and presses a kiss to her shoulder before he turns his back to her, falling asleep. She lets the warmth of his lips spread throughout her body, the ice from her joints slightly melting. 

She makes no noise as tears stream down her face, wetting her soaked pillow. She has perfected the art of silent suffering, having been her only true companion in the last weeks. 

She listens to him as his breath evens out and his quiet snores fill the silent room. Once his slumber deepens, she turns back to him, hands under her cheek as she stares at his back. Broad shoulders she hasn’t touched in days, hair she forgot the softness of, the slim of his waist she hasn’t held in a while. 

This was the only time she had with him; in the quiet depths of the night, when he came home, she got to see him. She didn’t trace his back or breathe too close, just stared. She could have thrown her arm over his waist or moved closer, hoping his body heat warmed her, but she lay still. 

Y/n was angry; no, she was livid. Anger coursed through her veins, and she dug her nails into her pillow. After a few seconds, her hands went limp. Running deeper than anger was misery, a feeling so distinct and yet so achingly familiar, she could almost taste it. It had consumed her, coated her skin, as it had become a reluctant friend.

The only emotion she could rely on these past three weeks; knowing that regardless of everything, it would greet her in bed and keep her company until she could no longer feel anything but.

After a while, her eyes soon began to flutter, tired and exhausted. She pursed her lips before turning back to the wall, refusing to indulge her initial urges. She gripped her pillow tighter as she squeezed her eyes close, knowing the morning would be quiet, as all mornings had been for a while. 

She felt herself drift off, submitting to well needed rest. Her eyes welcomed the darkness, having been abused all day. Her breathing turned soft and she rested her left hand on her heart, her ring on her heart. 

Jongseong groans as he blinks, stretching the sleepiness out of his body. The early morning sun shone on his face and he grimaced, turning towards the other side of the bed, hand reaching out. His hand met with empty space; nothing but the cold mattress beside him. He opens one eye and frowns at the sight of being woken alone. 

Rubbing his eyes, he shuffles out of bed and into the bathroom, readying himself mentally for the day. He showers and shaves, spending extra time on his hair before his towel clad body wanders into the closet. He has an important meeting today and must look his best. Blinking away his tiredness, he chooses his best suit. 

He quietly hums as he clothes himself, mind busy with different strategies he would have to play in order to make his unofficial client official. For a month, his team has been trying to convince a wealthy investor to invest in their company. Having more than forty years in the business, the client is not an easy one. But, if he agrees, he could bring in millions.

This was the most important moment in Jongseong’s career. If he did this, as the lead, he would be promoted to Chief Operating Officer (COO). 

If he did this, everything would have been worth it. All the schooling and rough hours, the days spent in the office on coffee and tangerines. He’d finally have everything he needed. Happiness was so close that he could taste it, an acquaintance on the verge of becoming a friend. 

Fixing his tie, he made his way downstairs. The house was quiet, but it had been for a while. Only the birds wanted to sing so early in the morning and waking up at the brink of sunrise tampered with his mood; wanting nothing but silence until he reached his bustling office. 

As he stepped off the last step, his eyes glanced over the living room; widening as he paused midstep, taking in the scattered balloons and gifts. He hadn’t seen any of this last night, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t his birthday. 

He heard quiet shuffling in the kitchen and walked towards it, eyes still on the littered table and room. His gaze fell on her back, standing on the counter. The corners of his lips lifted into a brief smile before he walked to the sink, grabbing a glass. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” 

Her back went rigid as her hold on the knife loosened. Y/n didn’t turn to look at him or lift her head. She didn’t trust herself, not with the knife in her hand or the words pressing down on her tongue. 

It wouldn’t matter, she decided. He would not notice. His eyes would meet hers briefly and even then, he wouldn’t see her. He wouldn’t kiss her, and he wouldn’t apologize. She knew all of this, having become accustomed to this new routine he had slowly forced her into. 

“Morning,” she replied, making sure to keep her voice even. Any louder, and it would go hoarse, dry and cracking. She had stopped using it, conversing only when needed. The last time she tried using it, tried to make him understand, she was ignored. That was almost two weeks ago. 

Jongseong leaned against the opposite counter as he sipped on his coffee, warm and ready for him. He scrolled through his emails and notifications before he glanced at the time. He would have to leave soon. 

“Almost done?” 

She pursed her lips and her nostrils flared. Instead of answering him, she put the lid on the container and put it in his lunch bag, zipping it up. She couldn’t feel his eyes on her, hating how she knew what that felt like. 

She slides the bag across the counter, still refusing to look at him. She turns towards the fridge, using the large door as a shield. She slowly puts everything away, hoping he would leave as he normally did; quietly and quickly. 

Instead, he pocketed his phone and picked up his lunch bag. “Whose birthday did you celebrate yesterday? A friend?”

She froze, her entire body stilling at his words. They floated around her head, burning her. She could feel the weight of them on her heart, a sudden wave of agony crashing down on her. Part of her knew. She knew that he had forgotten; that it had slipped his mind and he didn’t mean to forget. Y/n knew he wasn’t that cruel. But it didn’t make her feel better. Instead, all the anguish erupted and poured over her body. 

As humanly as she could, she stood straighter and shut the fridge. She kept her back to him, knowing that if she did manage to get a glance at his brown eyes, she would crumble. She was barely holding on as it was. 

“Mine.” 

The word hung in the air, sucking out all the oxygen in the room. It cast a dark shadow over them, the sun hiding in its ignorance. She squeezes her eyes shut, gripping onto the marble counter for dear life. She would collapse, she knew it. Her legs shook and her heart beat too rapidly. 

Jongseong stared at her back, his eyes widening by the second. At first, he hadn’t heard her. Then, when the word slipped into his mind, past the racing thoughts and outlines and emails, it rang in his ears. It jumped around in his mind, slamming against the walls of his skull as it grew heavier and heavier. 

Blinking, he wet his suddenly dry lips. He didn’t move, not quite trusting himself. “No.” He said. “Your birthday is on the fifteenth.” Despite his strong voice, everything in him felt quiet. 

“It’s the sixteenth today.” 

This was the most she had said to him in days, finding it uncomfortably easy and incredibly difficult. Her voice was quiet, monotone. Not a single hint of emotion, not a twinge of personality. 

No, he thought. I couldn’t have. 

Jongseong shook his head, taking out his phone. He glanced at the date once, then twice. Then, he unlocked his phone and checked the calendar. His thumb hovered over her name, written on the date before. There were hearts beside her name, a note written beneath it; one that listed all the details he had prepared, the restaurant and gifts. 

He could only stare at his phone in despair as he stopped breathing. It was strange, such a slow process that allowed no resistance. His palms began to sweat and his heart felt like it had been squeezed, as if it would burst out of his chest and stomped on. 

“Go,” Y/n whispers. She could feel him unraveling behind her and as much as she wanted to dwell in it, she couldn’t find the energy to. She had dreamed about this day for the last couple of days, hoping he would come to his senses. But it didn’t feel as fulfilling as it did in her head. 

“What?” Jongseong whispered, her voice piercing through his heart, tangling with his nerves. He didn’t realize how little of it he had heard recently. How could he have missed her birthday? The one day he was excited about every year; the one day he was extremely thankful for and planned months in advance for. 

She swallowed, her grip on the counter loosening. Using all her strength, she slowly turned around and Jongseog held his breath, eyes wide. His eyes trailed her body, still rigid. His gaze landed on her face and he felt his heart stop beating. Her eyes were red, swollen and permanent tear stains painted on her cheeks. 

She sighed before lifting her eyes, meeting his unnerving stare. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t frown. She simply stared at him, eyes almost hollow. Jongseong was almost sure that if he poked her, she would crumble right before her. 

“You have a meeting. You’re late.” Her words pierced his skin, his insides bleeding. “Go.” 

Without realizing it, he began to shake his head. He couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking and the only thing on his mind was her as he tried to recall any recent memories he had; there were none. 

“You mean…” He swallowed, shame pooling in his lungs as the dots in his mind connect. “I missed your birthday?” He stared at her, eyes begging. “I missed your birthday.” 

Please, please don’t let it be true.

She nodded once, confirming his worst fears. “Yes.” Tears pricked her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip, hating that she still had tears to cry. She watched him, watched as her words sank in his bones, crawling between his joints and settling. 

A tiny, miniscule part of her felt pleased; pleased that he was in pain, glad that his mind had cleared and discovered how horrible he had been. All she had wanted from him was time, some attention. And now, after her birthday had passed, she had gotten both.

“Y/n.” Jongseong swallowed, body shaking. His heart was breaking, it was shattering within him and he could only let it happen. Staring at her, he realized her heart had broken long ago. 

He had done this, he reminded himself. He had done this. 

She simply shook her head and pointed at the clock behind him. “If you leave now, you’ll make it to the meeting.” 

“Will you stop talking about the meeting?” He raised his voice, needing to channel his emotions. His entire body shook as the reality of what he had done settled in. He hated the way she looked at him, indifferent and disappointed. Had he truly been so lost within himself? He couldn’t remember the last time he looked at her like this; all at once. 

She simply stood there, back against the counter. Watching him fall apart gave her some strength, knowing she was finally being heard. It had taken two weeks, but she had done it. She had gotten through to him. He was listening. 

“No,” she answered, voice stronger. “No. There is nothing else to talk about.” Her voice was sharper, angry. 

Jongseong shook his head, trying to clear away her words and the haze in his head. “What are you–”

“For almost three weeks,” Y/n interrupted, “you have spoken of nothing but meetings and work. You’re never here, and when you are, you don’t speak of anything else.” She stood tall, eyes shining as she crossed her arms. 

Jongseong stared at her, lips parted. His own eyes shined and his body wouldn’t stop shaking. A small part of him wanted to be angry too; he was working so hard, barely sleeping, slaving away at his job and there was no sympathy for him. But the better part of his heart, the part that she held, told him that it was no excuse; he had still missed her birthday. 

Burning with anger, she steps forward. She has held back for days but no more. If Jongseong was going to stand there, then he would listen. She would stand her ground. Y/n couldn’t go on like this, she hated it. 

“For weeks,” she began. “You have been coming home late. You don’t speak to me, you don’t touch me, you don’t acknowledge me. Everything has been about this client, everything has been about you; your job, your promotion, you, you, you.” She spat, rushing out her words. 

“Do you know that I stay up for you every night?” Her eyes are burning now, and she lets the tears slip down her cheek. He watches it in torment, her words ripping his heart open. “And I get it,” she sighs. “I know. I know how hard you’re working and how important this is to you, but I’m important too. You come home exhausted and ignore me because I’m not a priority to you anymore.” 

Jongseong is shaking his head, his words caught in his throat as his hands shake. He can’t breathe. He can’t see her properly, the tears in his eyes making everything blurry. This was his worst nightmare; something that used to keep him up at night, a constant fear in his head. 

Her lips tremble and her persona breaks; weeks of neglect making her ache. She stares at him with the most heartbreaking look; red eyes brimmed with tears and wobbly lips, her shoulders shaking as all the pain she kept locked away resurfaced. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t stand it.

His knees buckle and he grips the counter, holding on with his life. He still can’t breathe. Part of him thinks it’s his body’s way of punishing him, forbidding him from breathing the air she had grieved in. 

Slowly, Jongseong swallows the lump in his throat and blinks. “Y/n,” he says. Her name is all he can say, all he wants to say. He only realizes now that her name tasted a bit foreign on his tongue. 

“I’m so–” A familiar ringtone interrupts him, making him blink. He watches as her expression falls apart even further and she glances at his pocket, knowing she had lost. Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone and stares at his associate’s name. His thumb hovers over the bright red button but her words stop him from pressing it. 

“Answer it,” she says. There is nothing but defeat in her tone, knowing she was competing in a losing game. Time had not stopped in the kitchen; even though it had for her. Y/n doesn’t wipe the tears off her face and it feels liberating, crying in front of him like this. 

“Hello,” his voice cracks as he answers the phone. He barely listens to his associate’s rushed words, begging him to come to the office. All he can focus on is her. It’s a bit ironic, he thinks. 

Jongseong ends the call without responding, having heard enough. He knows how important this meeting is, it’s all he’s been thinking about. That was the problem. He was the problem. 

Jongseong parts his lips, needing to get his words out but she raises her hand and silences him, standing tall. She wants him to miss the meeting, to smash his work phone on the floor and look at her, pay attention to her, but she loves him too much to ask that of him. Looking at him now, she knew he would. He was finally looking at her the way she needed him too but she couldn’t have him sacrifice this. 

“You need to go to this meeting, Jongseong.” He winces at the use of his full name. “There will be no point to any of this if you skip this meeting. What will it all be for, then?” She raises her eyebrow at him. “You tossed me aside for two weeks, what’s another day?.” 

She walks towards him and picks up his lunch bag, shoving it into his chest. Surprised, he latches on to it, hoping his fingers would graze her skin but they don’t. She pulls away, afraid that if he touched her, she would forgive him in a heartbeat. 

He stares at her, eyes wide and scared. She looks at him for a second, one quick second; and it’s enough to have her turning her head. She faces the sink as new, fresh tears pool in her eyes. She has never seen pain shine in anyone’s eyes the way it shined in his, not even her own. 

“Y/n,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracks and she knows he’s crying. She can feel it, the weight of his guilt making the room heavier. He steps towards her and his hand reaches out to her. She holds her breath as it hovers over her shoulder, knowing he had never once hesitated to touch her before this. 

Jongseong retreats his hand in shame, unable to touch her. The fear of being pushed away is too strong. He knew he didn’t deserve to touch her, not after he had deprived her of it for so long. He bites his bottom lip. “Will you look at me?” 

She nearly audibly sobs at his words; the heartbreak so intense it almost knocks her off her feet. She had repeated the same sentence to herself hundreds of times over the past few days, hoping that just once he would hear it in her eyes. 

Heavily, she turns to face him. Even after anything, she can’t refuse him. She looks up at him, her heart feeling heavier than it ever had. 

He looks at her, eyes glistening as he almost drops to his knees in forgiveness. He nods to himself, knowing he didn’t deserve her kindness. “I’m sorry.” The words hang between them. “I’ll be home right after the meeting. We’re going to talk. I’m going to apologize.” He squeezes his hands together, trying to prevent the shaking. 

She stares at him, taking him all in. His hair is a bit longer than it usually is and his eyebags are darker than they should be. His shoulders are still broad but he looks weaker. The nights of takeout had taken a toll on him, she concludes. His suit is perfectly pressed and his tie is– 

Without thinking, Y/n reaches for his tie. He can only watch with wide eyes as she straightens it for him. She doesn’t pay attention to the way her fingers tingle or the way her hands shake. She simply stares at the tie, knowing he had done his best but they were never perfect. Memories and emotions crash within her and she knows. 

She knows she’ll wait for him, for his apology. She will hear him out because she loves him, because despite everything, she knows him better than she knows herself. And she knows she shouldn’t, that she should leave him and curse at him but she can’t. Because beneath her fingers, she can feel his body shaking. Y/n can hear his lagged breath, see the sorrow and distress in his eyes. 

The one promise they had made the night of their wedding was that they would communicate. That they would listen to each other and work against the problem, never with the problem. The issue was that Jongseong wasn’t listening and he was the problem. But he was listening now, and she valued him and their marriage too much to pull away now. Y/n would have to be the bigger person but someone had to be. 

She had dreamed about this; about his tears and his apology and her initial triumph dies, slowly leaking out her veins. All she wants is her husband back. She wants to be seen again, held tightly until all she could think about was his skin against hers and his heartbeat in tune with hers. 

She releases his tie and looks up at him. He watches her, knowing that he deserved her refusal. He knew that if she shook her head, told him to not bother, he would have deserved it. He would fight it, fight for her, but he would understand. 

“Okay.”

It’s a single word. Whispered so quietly that he barely heard it, but it was enough. A tear falls down his cheek and he nods, lips pursed. “Okay,” he repeats. Okay, okay, okay. 

They stare at each other before she glances at the clock. She lightly shoves his shoulder and he tumbles back, eyes wide. His entire body is sensitive to her touch, keeling to bask in it. 

“Go,” she says. “You’ll be late.”

He’s shaking his head before he can think. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Y/n emphasizes. “It matters to me.” 

At her words, he can only nod. He looks back at her once before he slips on his shoes. He looks back again as he shuts the front door. His eyes are still glossy but she can only focus on the attention she held, having had to beg for it before.

“I love you.” 

She doesn’t have enough time to respond because he hurriedly closes the door, afraid of her response. She stands in the kitchen, staring at the door with wide eyes, a warmth spreading through her for the first time in days. 

“I love you too,” she mumbles into the air. 

Jongseong is not paying attention to the meeting. His eyes are on his file, the thick, massive file that he had compiled over the weeks, but his mind isn’t comprehending anything. He’s barely contributed to the meeting and when asked questions, his answers are short and precise. 

He ignores the looks of his associates, his team. He’s done enough–sacrificed enough– for this. The rest is up to them. All his effort over the past month should make up for his lack of effort now. All they have to do is make sure the client signs the agreement. He’s sure they can do it. They have to. Because he can’t. All he can think about is her. 

Her words. Her feelings. Her pain. Her suffering. 

All those days his mind hadn’t spared her a single thought were catching up to him now. He couldn’t filter her out, his heart aching in his chest. He almost asked someone to reach into his chest to lift it for him, unable to carry the weight of it himself. 

“Alright,” the client clapped his hands together. He smiles at everyone at the table, eyes lingering on Jongseong. “You’ve all convinced me. I like the numbers and I like the company.” The older man turns to Jongseong, speaking to him. “I appreciate the work ethic of the company.”

Jongseong smiles at the client as the words sink into his scattered mind until everything freezes. Jongseong’s eyes widened and he gaped at the older man, not willing to believe what he had heard. He has been in and out of the conversation, only catching the clients last words. 

“You want to sign with us?” His words felt foreign on his tongue, a child-like hope in his eyes. His frown turns upwards into a wide smile when the client nods, pulling out a pen. The associates stare in astonishment, wondering if all the hard work they put in was finally paying off. 

Hastily, Jongseong grabs the agreement from his pile and slides it to the client. He watches with curious, greedy eyes. His eyes don’t stray from the smooth movement of the pen, watching as the ink dried and his unofficial client became official. 

The client stands up and the rest of the room stands with him, under a trance. He puts his hand out towards Jongseong and smiles softly, years of wisdom and knowing resting in the crinkles by his eyes. Jongseong shakes his hand, genuinely smiling for the first time since entering the building. 

“You did good, kid.” The older man says. He squeezes Jongseong’s shoulder once. “Take a break.” 

Jongseong can only swallow the lump in his throat and nod, fearing that his emotions from earlier would make an appearance. Before he could feel the wetness of his eyes, he grins at the man and straightens. “Thank you for choosing us. You’ve made a good choice and we will not let you down. Welcome to the family.” 

The older man smiles and nods, waving to the rest of the associates before he walks out of the meeting room, fully aware that he just changed all their lives. Silence falls upon them as they stare at the singular contract in the middle of the table. 

Jongseong can feel his heart constrict in his chest as he sighs out a miniscule breath of relief. Part of him knew that he should have been more excited, that everything he had been working towards had worked out. 

But he wasn’t over the moon. All he wanted was to go home to her, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He couldn’t have done any of this himself; couldn’t have done it without her lunches or her warm body next to his. 

He couldn’t have done this alone. He didn’t want to do anything alone. He needs her, wants her so badly it almost drowns his lungs as he sits silently, ignoring all the ruckus around him. He drops his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. The idea of coming home to an empty home, a house without her, makes him feel sick. 

“Jongseong,” a familiar voice calls out to him. Jongseong raises his head and finds all the associates staring at him, some in amazement and others in confusion. “Why aren’t you jumping up and down in glee?” Jaeyun smirks before he focuses on the torment in his friend’s eyes, grin faltering. 

Jongseong shakes his head, forcing a smile. He stands up and claps his hands together, making eye contact with everyone in the room. He bows his head and this time, his smile is genuine. 

“Good job, everyone.” He focuses on the contract, unaware of the bashful looks his colleagues throw him. “You all worked so hard and spent so much time on this. Your efforts have been acknowledged.” He smiles at Jaeyun, hoping his friend would drop the concerned look. “You all did amazing and I am so glad and honoured to have worked with you all.”

At his words, someone begins clapping and the room erupts into cheers, a burden lifting off everyone’s chest as they clap each other on the shoulder and laugh. Jongseong smiles at the commotion before he steps away, grabbing the contract. 

He almost slips out of the office but a gentle tug at his wrist stops him. He sighs before turning, making eye contact with Jaehyun. His friend gives him one look and it has his facade crumbling, all his emotions settling in his eyes. 

“What is it, Jay? What’s going on?” 

Jongseong shakes his head, unable to voice his thoughts. If he spoke about it, it would be real. It would re-confirm everything and he already couldn’t handle it. Jongseong wishes he had listened to Jaeyun all those times; when his friend begged him to go home and spend time with her. 

“Nothing. I’m just tired,” he tries. He waves the contract in Jaeyun’s face. “I’m going to give this to Heeseung and then I’m going home.” 

Jaeyun frowns and lets go of Jongseong’s wrist. Before he could say anything, Jongseong shakes his head again, his eyes pleading. “Drop it, okay? Tell the team I’ll take them all out very soon. Just, not tonight.”  

Jaeyun purses his lips and nods, stepping back. He smiles softly at his friend and gives him a thumbs up. “Okay. I’ll tell them.” He nudges his head towards the door. “Get out of here.” 

Jongseong smiles in gratitude before he pulls open the door, practically running out towards the CEO’s office. He smiles and nods as quickly as he can as he passes his fellow colleagues, but he stops for no one. Perhaps it was the look of determination mixed with heartache, but no one tried to strike up a conversation with him. 

Breathing heavily, Jongseong knocks on the wide wooden doors before pulling them open. He steps into the huge room and slightly bows his head in greeting at the man who stood before him. Heeseung smiles widely at Jongseong, pleased and impressed. 

“Jongseong,” he greets. He motions towards the seat in front of him. “Come, sit.” 

Jongseong nods and wipes his free hand on his dress pants, suddenly nervous. He always was when he was in this room, afraid of messing up. He walks towards Heeseung and sits after the CEO makes himself comfortable. 

Quietly, Jongseong slides the contract towards Heeseung. While he respected the man before him, he just wanted to go home. If he kept quiet, he’d be on his way. 

Heeseung grabs the contract and stares at it, a soft permanent smile on his face as he reads it over. He had approved of it, but it was different now. It was signed. He sets the paper down and links his hands together as he stares at Jongseong. 

“Good job,” he starts. “Truly. You’ve done some amazing work and I’m highly impressed.” 

Jongseong smiles. “Thank you.” 

Heeseung quirks his eyebrow before he leans back on his chair, fingers on his chin as he stares at Jongseong. The CEO knew Jongseong; knew how hard-working and dependable he was. He had seen it when they worked alongside each other and heard it when they didn’t.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Heeseung says. He watches carefully as Jongseong sighs in relief. “I want to promote you. I’ve been watching you since you closed the Claeter deal and I know you’re the right man for the job.” 

Jongseong can only stare at Heeseung. In the back of his mind, he knew. He knew that this was the inevitable next step; but hearing it outloud did not make it easier to accept. He had always been just an associate. And now, he would be more. 

Heeseung smiles. “Jongseong, I want you to be my COO.” He leans forward, trying to gauge Jongseong’s reaction. The reaction always mattered. It would make or break it all. 

Jongseong swallows, squeezing his eyes shut for a quick moment. Then, he simply nods and smiles. “Thank you.” 

Heeseung grins, knowing he has chosen the right person. “We can talk about this tomorrow. I just wanted to make things clear between us. We can go through it all after your daily meetings.” 

Jongseong purses his lips before he sits straighter, knowing he would have to set his priorities straight. He didn’t want a promotion unless he had her to share it with. It wouldn’t matter then. 

“Actually,” he begins. Heseeung nods for him to continue, leaning back. “I was wondering if I could take tomorrow off. I understand that this is short notice, but I have something urgent and important to attend to.” Jongseong prides himself on keeping his voice steady.

Heeseung stares at him before raising an eyebrow. “I assume you’re also not accepting the position immediately, then?” 

Jongseong shakes his head. “I would like to have a couple of days to think about it, if that’s alright. I am incredibly honoured and grateful, but I…”

Heeseung raises his hand, understanding. He, too, was once in Jongseong’s position. He had his own reservations and qualms. He could not fault him for it, in fact, he appreciated the honesty. He nods, already typing away at his laptop. 

“I understand. I’ll have my secretary send you an outline of the position by tomorrow morning. Let me know by the end of the week and we can talk about it then.” He smiled and winked at Jongseong’s surprised look. “Go home early. Take a few days off. You deserve them.”

Jongseong ignores the tears that prick his eyes as he thanks the man before him. He smiles as he leaves the large office and smiles until he reaches his car. Then, his smile falls and the adrenaline and distractions that had consumed him vanishes. Standing in the parking lot, he clutches his chest. 

Quietly, he unlocks his car and sits in the driver seat, gripping the steering wheel as his head falls against it. Now, he was alone with his thoughts. His horrible, sickening thoughts. He stares at his wedding ring as the turmoil in his stomach begins to turn into something vicious. 

He throws his head back, groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut as images of her crying and heartbreaking face flashes through his mind. He had pushed them down before, but now they had pinned themselves to his subconscious. 

He twirled the ring as bile bubbled in his stomach. What had he done? How could he have abandoned her the way he had? How did work of all things become everything to him? He had never been this foolish before; had the idea of a promotion really consumed him? Didn’t he already have everything with her? Didn’t she already bring him the most happiness?

Jongseong hadn’t realized that he had begun crying until he hiccups, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He doesn’t understand how he could have forgotten her birthday. It was the best day of his life, the happiest moment in time because it was the day she was born. The love of his life. He had planned so much for it, and yet. 

His sobs begin to grow louder as he thinks about her celebrating her birthday without him. He recalls the balloons and presents on the table, how he asked her if it was for a friend. Even if she managed to forgive him, he never would. 

Jongseong wipes his eyes as he starts the car. He drives silently to her favourite bakery, picking up her favourite cake. He knows it won’t make up for anything, but he knows how she craved it every year. Even if she would no longer have him, she should at least have some sweets. 

He drives to his favourite florist and listens in silence as they tell him that he would have to pay extra for not picking up his previous order. Without any argument, he pays the fee and buys her favourite flowers. She always looks forward to these ones specifically, loving the way they brightened their home in comparison to other, regular flowers. 

He grips the steering wheel tightly as he drives home, his heart spilling out of him. He is scared, so utterly terrified. He’s never been more petrified in his life; not when he left his home as a teenager, not even when his mother slipped on the driveway. He had some control during those instances. But here, now, he was completely in the wrong. 

He would be lucky if she was still home, ring on her finger. 

Jongseong pulls into the driveway and sighs in relief when he spots her car, knowing she was still home. Her home. His home. Their home. 

Y/n steps out of the shower, clutching her robe tightly around her. Shaking the water out of her hair, she quietly hums as she dries her body, slipping on one of Jongseong’s old shirts and sweatpants. 

She hangs the robe back in the bathroom, brushing her hair and moisturizing her face. This shower felt different, it felt refreshing. There was some hope bubbling in her chest, knowing that she’d finally have a conversation with her husband. She glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing there was still a few hours before he came home; if he came home. 

Grabbing her phone, she makes her way downstairs to make herself a warm cup of tea, needing something to soothe her throat. She pauses mid step as she eyes the familiar shoes at the entrance, frowning when the briefcase she had seen only a few hours rested on the ottoman by the door. 

Slowly, she steps off the last step and makes her way to the kitchen. Her entire body freezes when her eyes land on his rigid back, facing the living room where balloons and confetti still littered. 

He hadn’t heard her walk down the stairs, his mind was preoccupied by the guilt in his chest. He wanted to destroy everything in front of him; knowing that she deserves something better than filthy old balloons. But he hadn’t even given her that; so he could not complain. 

“Jongie?”

At her voice, her soft, confused voice, Jongseong slowly turned. The use of his nickname, a name only she called him, made his heart flutter in warmth. He looked up at her and almost sighed in relief; she looked so beautiful. 

Y/n raises an eyebrow at him before her gaze falls on the flowers and cake in his hands. Her eyes soften and her frown lifts upwards, unable to stop it. She really did love these flowers, and she had truly missed the cake. At least, she decided, he knows. 

Jongseong swallows the lump in his throat before releasing a quick breath. “Hi, pretty.”

She smiles and looks down, closing her eyes. It had been a while since he called her that, and it never failed to make her blush; even now, while she brimmed with anger. She was still angry, still hurt, but he was looking at her now and it almost made for the days he hadn’t. 

“Hi,” she whispers. “Why are you back so early? What about the meeting?”

Jongseong wanted to shake his head, forbid any talk of work or the meeting. He just wanted to talk to her, about her, about them, but he knew he was in no position to make requests. 

“Heeseung let me go early,” his lips wobbled. “He signed on.” His smile turned genuine for a moment, relief and excitement swirled in his eyes and her heart warmed. “He’s officially a client.” 

Despite all the tension, all the emotions and the negativity, she couldn’t help but smile widely at him, pride swelling in her chest. She clapped her hands in excitement before grinning at him, nothing but delight in her eyes. “Jongie! That’s amazing!” She wrapped her arms around herself, stopping herself from hugging him. “I knew it was going to happen. And the promotion?” Y/n raised her eyebrow. “Did you get it?” Her smile widened when he nodded. 

Jongseong smiled and his heart warmed at the pure glee in her eyes; his heart drowning in turmoil. She was angry at him, hurt by him, and yet she still prided him for his victories. He would never forgive himself; he would never ever let the guilt die. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. He blinked once before he stepped towards her, forgetting all about work and the client. Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The only thing he wanted to think about; wanted his mind to consume, was her. 

He set the cake on the table and offered her the flowers, a remorseful frown on his lips as shame shined brightly in his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re getting these late.” She grabbed them, holding them tightly to her chest as she smelled them. “But I wanted you to have them. I know how much you like them.” 

Y/n nodded, like she understood; and she did. All of her initial anger had lessened, a low simmer below the surface. She had thought about everything after he had left for work; what she wanted, what it all meant, and she decided that she wanted to get past it. She wanted to talk to him, to explain her feelings and how she felt, and then she wanted him to own up to it. She wanted her husband back, but she wanted him to be better. 

“Thank you,” she replies, a soft smile on her lips. At the sight of it, Jongseong’s mouth goes dry. 

Suddenly, he can’t breathe. Here she is, standing before him, beautiful and broken, and she’s thanking him. He feels sick, like everything inside him has turned green. He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. “Don’t– don’t. Don’t thank me. Not for this.” 

He takes another step towards her and she basks in it. “You deserve this,” he begins, words trying to fall off his lips. “You deserve flowers everyday and your favourite cake and you deserve only the best.” He’s panting now, eyes wide. “I’m sorry I haven’t been that. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish; so inexplicably horrible.” 

She listens to him, clutching the flowers so hard that the stems bend. She feels the weight of it all in her heart, needing to sit. Quietly, she places the flowers on the table and grabs his hand. He only watches in surprise as she guides him to the living room, sitting on the sofa. He sits beside her, making sure to keep some space between them. 

Jongseong sits there, palms sweaty as he eyes her. She’s sitting up straight, her own hands intertwined in her lap. Biting her bottom lip, she lets his heart slow down before she speaks. 

Beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful. 

She lets out a long breath before she looks up, her eyes watery. “Jongie,” she says. “I want to be honest with you. I want to explain to you how it felt; how useless and neglected I felt.” 

Jongseong nods, his eyes watery as he drops his head in shame. “But,” she pauses. “I don’t want this to continue.” 

At her words, Jongseong snaps his head up, eyes wide as his lips part. “You want a divorce?” 

Y/n reels back, as if she’s been slapped. She stares at him, heart pounding. “What? Who said anything about a divorce?” 

Jongseong blinks. “You… You just said you don’t want to continue this.” He motions between the both of them with his finger. 

She shakes her head in panic, worried that her heart would beat out of her chest. “No! No. No,” she repeats. “That is not what I meant. I meant,” she licks her lips, “that I don’t want this to continue between us; the neglect and silence. I want to talk about it and I want to move past it.”

Jongseong visibly relaxes at her words, sighing as he drops his head into his hands. His entire body is shaking, and he wonders if it will ever get easier; if the guilt will ever subside. 

“Okay.” He lifts his head. “I’m listening. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening before. I am now. From now on, I always will.” 

“Jongie,” she leans forward. “Before we got married, you told me that I would always come before your work. You’ve always worked hard and I know how important your job is to you, but this client, this entire month, you turned into someone I didn’t recognize.” 

Jongseong wants to drop his head. He wants to stare at the floor, but he refuses to be weak. He deserves to hear this, deserves to stare into her bright, shiny eyes as she tells him how she’s been feeling. 

“In the last two weeks,” she continues, “you came home incredibly late and when you did, you didn’t spare me a single conversation. You barely ate any of the food I made and when I tried talking to you, you could only bring up work.” She wipes her eyes, tired of crying. 

“I felt like shit,” Y/n whispers. “You were always tired and you stopped talking to me, always lost in your mind.” She squeezes her hands together, trying to find strength in herself. “I felt like for a while, nothing else was important to you. That I… I wasn’t important to you. That I wasn’t a priority.” 

She blinked before she shuffled a bit closer to him, needing his warmth now that she could reach it. “I kept wondering if I was easy to discard,” she whispers. “Then, when you didn’t say anything to me on my birthday, didn’t surprise me or come home, I figured that I had truly lost to your client; to your job.” 

She smiled at him softly, hating the wrinkles around his pursed lips and tense muscles. “I know work will always be important. You spent your entire life studying and working so hard to get where you are, and I am so proud of you; but you can’t just throw me aside when things get hectic at work. You can’t just ignore me and push me away when things get tense. You can’t pretend like I am some roommate you are barely tolerating because I am your wife. I will be treated as such.” 

Jongseong was nodding along to her words, agreeing with every single one. He was such a fool, such an idiot. How could he have made someone as perfect and beautiful as her feel like this? He had promised her the day of the wedding that he would always treat her right; keep her happy, and he had failed. 

“You’re right,” he started. “You’re my wife; the love of my life, and I should have treated you better. I honestly don’t even understand what came over me.” He reached for her hands and she joined him halfway, tangling their fingers together. “Work was and is really tough, but it’s no excuse to neglect you. I should have been better, kept my work life and private life separate.” 

He squeezed her hands, staring into her eyes. “You are so important to me, Y/n. Everything I do is for you. I am so sorry that I let work take over everything. You are, and always will be my number one priority. I’m sorry that I made you doubt that.” 

Y/n looks at him as her heart warms, feeling lighter than it had in days. She rubs her thumb over the skin of his wrist, lost in the feeling of touching his skin after so long. 

“As the lead, there was a lot of pressure on me. There was also the promotion lingering in the back of my mind and I let it all consume my thoughts.” He swallowed. “I suppose I got so caught up with everything else that I let the one person I love most in this world down.”

He brings their joined hands to his chest, pulling her closer. “I am so sorry I forgot about your birthday. I promise you that I had so much planned but it completely slipped my mind. You deserve much better, but I am begging you to forgive me.” 

He kisses her fingers, hoping it would not be the last time he would taste her skin. “You mean everything to me. You are everything to me. I promise I’ll be better. You are not easy to discard, my love.” He presses another soft kiss to her fingers. “You are so important to me and I love you so much. I was being an idiot; I am an idiot. I promise you,” he shuts his eyes, “I will never make you feel unloved and neglected again. I love you so much that sometimes it’s too much for me.” 

She says nothing as she stares at him; at his eyes that are squeezed shut as he clutches their hands close to his heart. She sees her husband for the man he is; tender, loving, and so perfect. Y/n smiles before she leans forward and kisses his cheek, her lips lingering on his soft skin before she pulls away. 

Jongseong’s eyes fly open and he stares at her. His lips part in surprise as his cheek tingles, a warmth he hadn’t felt all day spread through him, hope flickering in his chest like an old lightbulb.

“Okay. I understand,” she says. “I forgive you. I know this is not who you are, and that this client was truly important. I’ll have more birthdays.” She smiles at him, moving closer. “It won’t happen again.”

Still in awe, Jongseong nods. “Never again.” His heart is beating quickly and his eyes begin to water.

“Good,” she mumbles. “Then you’re forgiven.” 

She grins at him as all the anger and pain dissipates; it lifts off her chest and wafts out of the room, leaving nothing but soft awkwardness in the air. Her heart feels fuller and lighter and she feels like she could cry, in happiness this time. 

Jongseong is staring at her, hands trembling. Her words float around his head, and even when they settle, branding themselves in his skull, he still can’t believe them. Abruptly, he untangles their hands and drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as silent sobs pour out of him. 

He didn’t deserve it, and yet she forgives him. His heart rattled in his chest and it felt lighter, the darkness seeping out of it. 

Y/n freezes as she watches him cry, nothing but tenderness in her chest as she presses herself against him and wraps her around his shaking body. She rubs his back and holds him tight, knowing that her own tears are falling. 

That’s how they stay for a bit; one of them crying uncontrollably and the other comforting, both interchanging as the sky darkens and all the emotions, all the negative and anxious emotions washed away. 

Finally, their tears come to an end and she wipes Jongseong’s face as he wipes hers, a gentleness in their touch. She drops her hands as Jongseong cups her face, his thumbs brushing the skin under her eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, transfixed by her. Her grip on his loosened tie tightens and she smiles at him. “Can I kiss you?” 

She nods, weeks of neglect resurfacing as she shuffles onto his lap, wanting to be as close to him as she can be. With her legs on either side of him, she looks down at his glazed eyes and thinks she might pass away at the sheer intensity of his gaze. 

Slowly, he cups her face again and pulls her face closer to his. They breathe the same air as her lips hover his and she almost begs him before he softly connects their lips. Their plush lips press against each other and it’s enough for her to sink into him. 

One of his hands drops to her waist and one of her hands travels into his hair as the kiss deepens, their lips moving passionately against each other, tongues pressed together. The sound of their kissing echoes through the living room, a sound that the walls had missed and begun to crave. 

Y/n pulls at his hair, tiling his face upwards as she kisses him messily, her tongue tracing his bottom lip. She grins as his eyes flutter shut and the warmth in her body travels to her core, the one part of her body that craved him.

Unable to help himself, Jongseong kisses her neck, sucking and biting. He had missed the taste of her skin and he sucks, needing her taste all over him. She throws her head back in pleasure, slowly grinding down on his lap. This was almost too much for her, but she would never ask to stop. 

When his clothed bulge brushes against her clothed pussy, they both hiss and press their foreheads against each other, relishing in the arousal around them. His thumb rubs soft circles on her cheeks as she scratches the nape of his neck. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he whispers. “We can wait. Both of our emotions are high right now and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable later. We can wait.” 

She smiles at him, her heart warm and content. She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips and his lips lift into a smile. 

“I don’t want to wait, Jongie.” Y/n brushes her nose against his. “I want you right now.” 

Jongseong looks up at her and squeezes her waist. “You’re sure?” 

She nods and presses herself down on him, biting her bottom lip at the friction. “You have a lot of making up to do. I suggest you get started.” 

Jongseong smiles, the corners of his lips lifting into a wider smirk. He couldn’t believe how he went so long without this; without her. He loved everything about her, missed everything about her. And she didn’t know it, but he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. 

He kisses her before he brings his other hand under her thigh and lifts her as he stands up. Surprised, she wraps his legs and arms around him, laughing when he grins at her. Holding her securely under her thighs, he slowly makes his way upstairs. 

She presses soft kisses to his neck as he walks up the stairs, biting every time he squeezed the skin of her thighs. “I want it slow,” she whispers against his ear. She grins when he stills right in front of their door before kicking it open. “And raw.” 

Jongseong chuckles at her words but he doesn’t find them funny. A warmth spread through him, a primal need washing over him. It had been too long, and even the thought of her walls around him was too much. 

But tonight was not about him. It was about her. And he would give her everything he had. 

Gently, he sits her down on their large bed, looking down at her with heated eyes. She stares up at him, ignoring the way his cock pressed against his dress pants. She was more focused on his eyes; beautiful and brown and ablaze. 

Jongseong cups her chin and simply stares down at her, love swelling in his chest. He rubs her chin and leans down, pressing his lips on her forehead. At the softness of the gesture, her eyes shut and she releases a quick breath. 

“Tonight is about you,” he says. “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.” He pulls off his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt, staring directly into her eyes. 

Her throat dries at his words, not used to having so much control. It made her clench her thighs together as she realized that Jongseong truly meant it; tonight was about her, only her. 

Y/n watches with hungry eyes as he slips off his collar shirt, leaving his abs exposed as he slowly unbuttons his pants, still staring at her. Feeling mesmerized, she tugs off her shirt and smiles as his warm gaze immediately falls on her bare chest, forgetting to put on a bra after the shower. 

She watches him carefully as he slowly pulls down his pants and kicks them off. He stands there in his boxers, bulge pressing against the fabric as he stares at her. She’s only focused on the lower half of him, her mind racing. 

“Want me to help you, darling?” 

He steps closer and raises his eyebrow in question. She simply nods, unable to speak. Her heart skips a beat as he links his thumb over the waistband of her sweatpants and panties and pulls them down. Unconsciously, she raises her hips and hisses as the cold air hits her pussy. 

Jongseong pulls her pants off and lays them on the floor next to his dress pants. He lifts his gaze to hers before it travels down her body, starting at her neck to her chest and then to her pussy. He can only stare, mouth watering at the sight. 

She reaches out to him and he steps closer. Y/n hooks her thumb on the waistband of his boxers and looks up at him. He smiles at her and pats her cheek. “Whatever you want, love.” 

She pulls down slowly, enjoying the way his eyes flutter shut as the elastic rubs against his shaft. She drops his boxers and his cock springs free, almost hitting her nose. She stares at it, eyes wide. It had been a while and she had forgotten the size of it. 

Hypnotized, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to its pink head. Jongseong hisses and throws his head back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

She wraps her hand around it and he squeezes her shoulder, eyes alight as he stares down at her, biting his bottom lip. She squeezes once before she moves her hand up and down, using his precum to wet his dick. It becomes harder in her hand and she squeezes her thighs together. 

Jongseong wraps his hand around her wrist and shakes his head. “Not today, darling.” He hisses when she squeezes him. “Tonight is about you. Don’t you want my tongue in you?”

She did, she really, really did. But she wanted this too. She had missed his cock, missed the way it tasted and the way he fell apart on her tongue. 

“You said whatever I wanted. What if I want this?” 

Jongseong smiled at her. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good? My cum in your pussy?” 

His words make her dizzy and she nods, immediately letting his dick go. He grinned at her and she knew that even though she had control, he would always have power over her. She loved it, knowing that he was trying to make it all about her. 

She shuffles backwards onto the bed, stopping only when she reaches the middle. She drops her head on his pillow and looks at him, spreading her legs. He watches her with dark eyes, standing at the foot of the bed. At the sight of her glistening pussy, he crawls onto the bed. 

He rests between her legs and looks down at her, love and affection swelling in his eyes. She almost feels shy at his stare, the sudden urge to cover up became strong. Before she could coverself with her arms, he leans down and captures her lips in a heated gaze. 

His arms are on either side of her head as he kisses her fiercely, his tongue licking at her lips before he sucks on her bottom lip. When he pulls away, she’s breathless and her lips are swollen and her eyes are so glassy. 

“I missed you,” Y/n whispers. He kisses her again, pressing his lips eagerly against hers, trying to convey all his feelings through the kiss. Hoping she knew that she didn’t have to miss him anymore. He was right here, where he belonged. 

“You taste good,” she mumbles, slightly out of breath. 

He kisses her cheek and nose before he begins kissing down her body. He kisses her collar bones before moving to her chest. He kisses both breasts before he captures one nipple in his mouth, hand palming the other. She moans and pushes her head back further into the pillow, eyes shut. He releases that nipple before sucking on the other one, tongue swirling around the bud as he sucked and nipped. 

Her hands travel up his back and into his hair as she pulls, her entire body feels sensitive. Her grip on his hair tightens as he kisses down her body until he reaches her thighs. He moves back, lying down between her spread legs as he kisses her inner thigh. 

True to his nature, he teases her a bit. He lets his lips travel close to her dripping cunt but doesn’t give her the satisfaction. He feels a little bad, but he can’t help. The sight of her cunt dripping is enough to keep him busy. 

“Jongie,” she whines. “Please.” Her breathy voice captivates him, and his eyes soften.

Immediately, Jongseongs stops kissing her inner thigh and shifts his face closer to her cunt, his nose brushing against her folds. She breathes sharply as his tongue gently pokes at her clit before he presses his lips against her cunt, breathing her in. “Taste and smells so good, darling.” 

Her body jerks forward as he licks her slick from her dripping hole up to her clit, moaning as he laps up all her juices. She slides her hands into his hair as he begins to devour her, slurping and sucking on her cunt. 

“Fuck,” Y/n breathes out as he slides his tongue in, pulling at his hair. He buries his face into her cunt, his tongue reaching deep within her. His nose brushes against her swollen folds and he hums into her as she begins grinding down on his face. 

He pushes his nose and tongue as far as they can go, refusing to breathe. The grip she has on his hair is deadly, but he loves it. The pain is enough for him to rut against the mattress, his cock red and rock hard. 

She moans as he pushes his tongue deeper within her, tilting his head. Her hips jerk forward as he sucks loudly. She wraps her legs around his head and he hums in approval, the sound vibrating against the walls of her pussy.

“I’m going to cum, Jongie.” She pants, pulling at his hair even harder. 

Jongseong feels her clench around his tongue and when her body begins to shake, he uses one hand to hold her hips down, tongue pushing deeper. 

She clenches her eyes shut as the build up snaps and she sobs out his name, shaking as her vision blurred with tears. She squeezes her thighs closer together as Jongseong continues to lick up her cum, the bottom half of his face shiny with her slick.

She screamed as his tongue kept pushing into her, lapping up all her juices as she rode out her orgasm on his face. 

“Please, please,” she begged, overstimulated as he sucked her dry. “Jongie. Too much.” 

Jongseong continues to lick from her entrance to her clit, lost in her. She tastes so good on his tongue and he has missed it so much. As she shakes, he begins to slow down his licking, trying to calm her down. 

Her body slowly stops trembling as he presses soft kisses to her bare cunt, spreading her cum all over her thighs as he kisses her bottom half. She stares at him with hooded eyes, another build up right at the edge. 

“You did so good, darling,” he whispers into her thighs. “Cummed so well. You taste amazing.” 

She gasps and hisses, trying to catch her breath. He lifts his head and smiles at the fucked out look on her face, glad that even though it had been a while, no one could do what he could do. 

Her hand is still in his hair and she tightens her grip before pulling him towards her, smashing their lips together. His breath hitches as she licks at his lips, moaning at the taste of herself on him. They kiss harshly, the taste of her cum on both their lips as their chests press together. 

Y/n runs her hands up and down his back, nails lightly grazing his skin and he shudders into her, kissing her neck. He shifts a bit before his dick grazes her swollen folds and they both groan, her nails digging into his back. 

“Fuck me,” she says. “Please, Jongie.” 

“Still want it slow?” He bit her neck, smiling at the slightly discolored patch of skin. 

“No,” she pants. “Fuck me hard. Hard and rough,” she kisses his jaw. “Just need you in me.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips and smiles when she giggles, a softness tearing through all the tension. 

Jongseong lifts his head and presses his forehead against hers as he lines himself with her entrance, his dick wet and covered in her juices. They stare at each other as he pushes the tip in, watching her carefully as her eyes screw shut and her breathing quickens. He keeps the tip in as he presses feather-like kisses to her eyelids and cheeks. 

She opens her eyes and gasps at the intensity in his; the way his eyes shone with love and apologies, his entire being at her disposal. Y/n smiles at him and pushes his chest firmly against hers. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” His voice is low and breathy as his lips hovers hers. 

“Like you’re seeing me for the first time.” 

Instead of answering, he captures her lips in a passionate kiss, lips moving feverishly as he tries to convey all his feelings in words. As she kisses him, she moves her lower half, trying to feel more. 

Jongseong pulls away and stares at the string of spit that connects them, licking his lips as breaks it. “You’re everything to me,” he says. “Everything.” 

She smiles at him and although his dick was inside her and they were both naked, he blushed. He felt his ears warm as she grins at him, her eyes shiny. “You’re everything to me,” she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

They stare at each other as Jongseong rotates his hips once before he slowly pushes himself further into her soaking, tight cunt. He groans at the feeling of her gummy walls sucking him in, welcoming him home. Her breath hitches as she throws her head back. 

“Fuck, darling,” he bites her bottom lip. “So fucking tight.” 

Y/n digs her nails into his back as she squeezes her eyes shut, relishing in the thickness of his cock and how well it filled her up. She mumbled incoherent things as he bottomed out, his cock hitting places inside her she could never reach. 

He rocks his hips against her spread legs, his dick slowly sliding in and out of her soaking cunt. He watches the way his cock disappears completely inside her, his balls hitting against her ass. Jongseong grunts when she squeezes around his cock, quiet mumblings about going faster, harder. 

He smiles before he thrusts harder, his tip pressing against her cervix. Her eyes roll back as she digs her nails deeper into this back, leaving small red marks. 

“So good,” she moans out. “Missed it so much.” Her eyes are watery and her jaw goes slack at the pleasure, his cock brushing against all her sweet spots. She whimpers when one of his hands brushes against her nipples, the feeling of his thumb rubbing against them had her seeing stars. 

Jongseong lowers his head towards her neck and begins to trail soft bites along her shoulders as his hips move harshly against hers. “So good, pretty,” he praises. “Taking me so well.” The pleasure was getting to his head, overtaking his body as her moans mixed with his breathy ones, sweaty bodies rubbing against each other. 

“G–gonna cum,” she stutters, eyes closing as his pace fastens and the bed creaks beneath her. “I’m so close, Jongie.” She sobs as he kisses her forehead. The feeling of pleasure made her dizzy as his building veins rubbed against her walls. 

“Yeah?” His own euphoria bubbled and his vision blurred as he focused on the squelching sounds of his dick pounding into her dripping cunt. He brushed his lips against her forehead. 

“Cum for me, darling. I got you.” He whispered, sweetly. “Let go. Let it all out.” 

He continued to pound into her as she came undone under him, her release washing over her as her body went limp and her legs began to shake. Her vision went white as Jongseong mumbled sweet words, his hips slamming against hers. 

Y/n squeezes her walls around him as she begins to cry, overstimulated as she still cums. At the feeling of her walls tightening, Jongseong releases a long breath as his hips stutter, his own cum pouring out of him.

“I love you,” he pants. “I love you. I love you. I love you so much.” 

His warm cum fills her soaked pussy and he slowly rocks his hips back and forth, pumping his cum back into her. Her hands travel down his back until she pushes his lower back firmly into her, whimpering as his dick pushes the cum deep within her. She keeps her hands there despite crying at the sensitivity. 

Jongseong presses open mouth kisses along her neck and jaw as he still cums, hissing when it all becomes too much for his dick. Her walls are still warm and sticky with their cum but he can’t stop fucking her. Her hands grip his ass as she forces him still, his cock deep within her. 

“Too much,” she mumbles against his neck. “Too much.” When he tries to move, to pull out because of her words, she squeezes his ass tighter and shakes her head, still numb to her senses. “Don’t move,” she bites his neck. 

Jongseong smiles dumbly as he cages her between his arms, letting his body completely cover hers as she keeps him inside her. “Did so amazing for me, love.” He kissed her cheek, his nose wiping a few tears. “Took my cum so well.” 

Y/n simply nods against his neck, eyes still sewn shut as she savours the feeling of his dick inside her. Her pussy squeezes around his cock and she hisses at the feeling of being overstimulated. 

Jongseong closes his eyes and breathes her in, his nose against her neck as he licks the skin under her ear, biting softly. He brings one hand up to face and brushes the hair behind her ear. She brings one hand up to her face and grabs his wrist. He watches her with wide eyes as she presses a soft kiss against his ring. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his fingers. His heart skips a beat and he smiles. 

His dick is still hard in her, pulsing as his cum drips out of her. He tries his best not to move, knowing that all she needed right now was the feeling of being full after having been empty for so long. 

“Pretty,” he mumbles against her neck. “You okay? Want me to run you a bath?” He lifts his head and his heart warms at the fondness in her eyes as she looks at him, a soft smile on her plump lips. 

“Not yet.” She squeezes his ass before she moves him, his dick slowly sliding in and out of her. He hisses at the feeling and looks down at her. “Need you again,” she smiles. 

Jongseong smiles at her before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He brushes his nose against hers and slowly lifts his body off her, putting his strength back in his legs as he slams into her without warning. 

Y/n whimpers, nails digging further into his back as he slowly rocks his hips. He grins at her and decides that if fucking her silly is what she wants, then it’s what she’ll get. 

“Whatever you want, darling.”

[mirisss]

One Pact confessing to their crush

One Pact x gn! reader (mostly, mentions reader wearing a dress in Seongmin’s part)

One pact confessing to their crush

Wordcount ≈ 1.8k 

Warnings: Some self-doubt, insecurities mentioned in Seongmin’s part (not liking how your body looks in some clothes), 

Thank you for the request! Hope you like it!

Yoon Jongwoo

Jongwoo tried to play it very cool when he confessed to his crush. He was good friends with you, but throughout the last 3 months, he had tried to be more touchy and do more boyfriend things. All to see your reactions and see if maybe just maybe, his feelings were reciprocated. 

He gave you extra long hugs, a lot of lingering touches, kisses on the forehead and your cheeks, and even some on your nose. He gave you more compliments, he drove you pretty much everywhere, and he payed whenever you ordered anything or ate out. Each action brought out reactions from you, shocked looks, small gasps, blushing, and habits such as biting your very kissable lips, and much more. 

After 3 months, he decided that it was time to risk everything. He was going to confess. Jongwoo prepared your favorite flowers, your favorite candy, and a cute plushie of your favorite animal. He walked toward your door, knocked on it, and then he waited. When you opened the door, you were shocked to find Jongwoo standing on the other side holding the flowers and everything. 

You opened your mouth, about to say something when Jongwoo interrupted you. “Before you say anything, hear me out,” You just nodded in response. “I like you, (Y/n), a lot, like I’m in love with you, and I hope you like me too,” Once he finished his little monologue he gave you a cute smile. You broke out into a smile happily taking the flowers from him. “Of course, I like you too!”   

Jay Chang

Jay had asked you to come to watch him do some busking in the streets, you said yes, I mean who would want to miss an opportunity to listen to Jay sing? You loved his voice so it was a no-brainer. He was so happy to see you standing there despite the rain as the autumn weather was catching up with the world. Jay noticed that your jacket wasn’t very thick so between some songs he hurriedly gave you an extra jacket that he had brought, you happily took it and put it over you. 

Jay began singing some songs, one that you didn’t recognize, it took a while for you to notice that it was an original song of his because of the fact that it seemed so familiar. He sang about falling in love with his best friend, the more you listened the more you recognized the things he sang about, moments you had spent together. You began thinking that Jay was being serious, that he was in love with you. 

As the song came to an end, Jay took hold of the mic, bringing it with him toward you, he stopped right in front of you, singing the last line, “I give you my heart to keep, please be mine” he reached out with his free hand toward you, in it laid a necklace with a beautiful heart charm. Jay looked nervous as he gazed into your eyes, wishing that you’d accept his heart. You took the necklace from him, holding it close to you, nodding your head. The people around you cheered and clapped their hands, happy for the new young couple. 

Oh Seongmin

Seongmin did not plan on confessing the day that he did. He had a whole plan and everything, however, he ended up throwing the plan away when he sporadically confessed. The two of you were out shopping like any other day the two of you did some serious shopping where you bought things you needed and also some joke shopping where you picked the ugliest clothes you could find and tried them on. Sharing a laugh at the ridiculous outfits you put together. 

“Minnie, I have to buy a new dress for that event next week, help me find a good one?” “Of course,” He smiled brightly as always, leading you into a store that displayed many beautiful dresses, all of which would look amazing on you, he thought. You looked through many dresses, finding some that you wanted to try on. After finding 12 dresses that you liked, the two of you headed over to the fitting rooms. You tried on the first dress, it was beautiful but the fabric wasn’t very nice, it was a bit itchy, so on to the next one it was. And so you continued for a while, no dress felt 100%. You were now at the last one. The fabric was soft and nice, the color complemented your skin wonderfully, when you stepped out of the changing room, Seongmin felt his heart racing, you looked absolutely stunning. 

“Woah,” “I know, it doesn’t look good at all, on me I mean, the dress is perfect, but not for me,” “What do you mean? You look stunning, amazing,” “You’re only saying that to be nice,” “No, I’m not, I’m being honest. (Y/n), look at me,” He turned you around, standing behind you, the two of you faced the big mirror in the fitting room. He gazed at you lovingly as he explained each detail that made you look beautiful. “You’re perfect, (Y/n), always have been and you always will be in my eyes, because I love you,” The second he said it, he realized that the words had slipped from his mouth. “You love me?” “I’m in love with you, (Y/n), I truly am,” You turned around, now facing him. “I love you too, Seongmin, will you be my date to the event?” “No force in the world could stop me,” 

Yeom Taegyun / TAG

Tag didn’t know how to bring it up in a conversation. He had tried for months, yet whenever he tried, the words escaped him. He could write thousands of songs and sing and rap without a problem, but facing the love of his life and telling them that he was in love with them was impossible. After consulting with one of his good friends, Jongwoo, he was given the idea of writing a love letter. One letter turned into ten. He had so much to say and once he began writing, he just couldn’t stop. The words and emotions flowed out of him as a river running down a mountain. 

Tag began secretly sending you these letters, one each week. You were surprised that you had a secret admirer, but you were very intrigued, trying to figure out who it could be. Telling Tag about all of your suspicions and the candidates for the position. Tag was disappointed when he wasn’t one of them. He persisted and kept sending you the letters, each one making you feel more and more special. “Tag, you don’t understand the way this guy writes is just magical. It’s like he’s painting a picture with words. No one I’ve dated before has ever said these things or treated me like I’m special, this guy makes me feel seen, like he loves me for me and not my body or something superficial,” After that conversation, Tag went home to write a new letter, one he would give you the day after. 

When you woke up that morning, a familiar envelope lay in front of your door after being delivered earlier in the morning. You ran over to it, opening it immediately. The text inside shocked you to your very core. 

Dear (Y/n), unless I’ve been unclear in earlier letters, I’m in love with you. To me you shine as bright as the sun, coloring my world in bright light, bringing me to life. You are so much more than just your appearance, your soul and your being makes me believe in angels because you must be one. I’ve tried telling you how special you are for years and I’ve tried to confess my love for months, yet whenever I look into your sparkling eyes and see your smile, I can’t think. I get lost in your beauty. I’ll be waiting at our spot by the Han River from 12. If you reciprocate my feelings, come meet me there, if you don’t, just forget about this and don’t show up. I’ll get over it. But please, I hope you like me too. 

Love, your Taggy

You looked at the clock, it was 11. You got dressed and began your commute over to the spot where you and Tag always hang out. Ready to kiss him on the lips because you too had loved him for years. 

Lee Yedam

Yedam, like Seongmin, confessed accidentally. He was torn between whether or not he should say something or not, he could come up with equal pros and cons to confessing and not confessing. He truly didn’t know what to do. So in his torn and tired state, he took out his phone, and wrote a long message to his good friend, Jay, asking for advice on if he should confess or not. What he didn’t notice was that he clicked on your name instead of Jay’s in his messaging app. 

* Yedam, who is it you’re thinking of confessing to? 

* (Y/n), of course. Who else? Jay come on, you know I’m only in love with (Y/n)

You were shocked to read your own name, and then see Jay’s. Yedam thinks he’s messaging Jay, and not me. 

* Right, sorry. Dude, Idk what you should do. Maybe just say it? 

* But what if she doesn’t like me back? 

* I think you’ll be fine, Ye

Yedam didn’t react at first, but then he saw it. The only one who calls him Ye is you. He looked at the contact, clearly saying “(Y/n) 💕🥹🥰” and not “Jay-hyung 👍”

* (Y/n) omg, um, this was a joke. Okay, hehe, a joke

* so like don’t think about, okay?

*Ye, tell me the truth. Do you like me? Like you know, like like me

It took a while before he answered

* Yes. Please don’t hate me 🥺

* Come over to my place so we can talk face to face? 

* Already on my way!

Yedam hurried over to your place, scared and nervous, yet a little excited. After he knocked on your door, you opened it within seconds, before he could even say hello, you put your hands on his cheeks, bringing his face closer to yours and kissing him. “I like you too, Lee Yedam,” 

[blossominghunnie]

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐔𝐩

Pairing: Jay Chang x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n just being a supportive gf during Build Up finale.

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Warning: Cussing

Notes: Let’s pretend that it didn’t take me like three months to write this, lmao. I had to write of this cause I watched all of the show and even woke up early to see the finale. I was so happy and proud, I even screamed, lmao.

Y/n was in her hotel room watching Build Up’s finale, she was pretty stressed to say the least.

She wasn’t a big fan of survival shows since they played with her emotions as she always got attached too quickly to some participants. But she had a reason to watch this one. You see, she was Jay Chang’s girlfriend. She met him when she was a judge on Boys Planet; the girl took a like on him pretty quickly, since she loved his voice and how cute he was. She rooted for him throughout the program and was very disappointed when he didn’t make it.

At the end of the show, she walked up to him to give him some encouraging words and to congratulate him for making it so far. They ended up talking for a while and he invited her to grab a coffee someday soon. After that hangout, they started talking more frequently and have more meaningful conversations.

He finally asked her out after 2 months, and have been dating for around 4.

She took a bit out of the chips she was eating, eagerly waiting for the final result. It was taking so long for the mc to say the final results and it was messing with Y/n’s head.

“Just say it, for goodness sake!” She threw a piece of chips towards the tv in front of her.

“And the winner is�� HunMinJayBit!” The Mc finally revealed, making the girl scream in shock. She couldn’t believe it! All of Jay’s hard work paid off and she couldn’t be happier.

“Holy shit!” She cussed while looking at the screen with wide eyes.

She continued watching the stream, and couldn’t wait for it to end so she could call her boyfriend.

As the members of the new group, Boys Define Universe or B.D.U, thanked their friends, family and band members, it was Jay’s time to speak.

“First of all, to my family and friends! Thank you for rooting for me. And to my One Pact members, throughout this show, thank you for supporting me. I wouldn’t be able to do this without any of you. Please keep loving us!”

The show was over after a while and as soon as the stream ended, her phone rang. She quickly searched for it under her covers, once she found it she hurriedly answered the call.

“Hi, honey!” She heard the cheery voice of her boyfriend.

“Hi, babyyy.” She answered in the same tone. “Congrats!! I’m incredibly proud of you, Jay! I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you, Y/nnie. Your support means the world to me.”

That warmed her heart. “We have to celebrate once I get back.”

“Yeah, of course, love. When are you coming back, by the way? I miss you so much.” The girl could hear the pouting on his voice.

She giggled at this. “I miss you too, baby. And in two days, so it’s not that bad.”

“I’ll count the days, hours and minutes.”

“You’re so cheesy, Jay.” You laughed.

“I know and that’s why you love meee.” She could totally see him smirking.

“Unfortunately.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m kidding!” They laughed.

“Oh, I gotta go, love. I’ll facetime you once I get to the dorm, okay?”

“Of course! I’ll be waiting. I love you, honey!”

“I love you too, my love.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Misc masterlist || Main masterlist

[paarksunghoon]

FIXED COMFORT | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.

or, the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much.

NOTES: idk I just feel like someone should let him sleep for six months straight!!!

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.4K (4444 exactly—she’s a shortie).

WARNINGS: fluff on fluff on fluff.

***

“Hey, do you think you could come get Sunghoon from the bar? He’s been asking for you for the past hour.”  

Jay’s phone call pulls you out from a deep slumber on a Saturday night that falls on a day with no plans other than pure relaxation. Sunghoon had been preoccupied with work and classes this past week and wanted to unwind by drinking at his favorite bar with his closest friends and all you wanted to do was sleep the weekend away. 

Since the two of you started dating six months ago after being friends for a little over two years, you both agree on the notion that you’ve found a good balance between time spent together and apart respectively. Nothing fundamentally changed with the exception of kissing and touching one another in the way a couple would. He still respects your independence and you respect his time away from you as well. 

Sunghoon learned quickly that you’re the type of person who values your alone time more than anything else. When he first started developing feelings for you, grappling with your absence wasn’t easy. He initially thought you weren’t interested in getting to know him the way he was with you because you weren’t afraid to decline invitations and telling people ‘no.’ Slowly, over the course of many months of pining and late night conversations, did Sunghoon learn that you’re typically your best self after a moment of isolation. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere in between an introvert and extrovert. He tends to be shy when he meets people he isn’t familiar with while his loud, rambunctious attitude is typically reserved for those who know him best. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, giving some of his personality away when he feels his walls start to crumble naturally. You love that he has a good head on his shoulders and that he’s able to tell you about his feelings while maintaining an air of confidence. He doesn’t inherently need anybody; he likes your company and will do anything to keep it.

Moments like this are when your heart feels softer for Sunghoon than when the two of you were just friends.

“I know you wanted to spend the weekend alone but Hoon’s been saying your name all night,” Jay says. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re sure Jay can hear your brittle voice. “Are you guys at the bar near your place?”

“That’s the one. Thanks again and I’m really sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cook me something next week if you still feel bad.” 

“I can do that. Chili oil noodles with shrimp sound good?”

“It’s almost like you know me.” He laughs at your sarcasm. 

“Drive safe.” 

When Jay hangs up, you allow yourself a few minutes to adjust and wake up, stretching your body from the warm comfort of your blankets. You change out of Sunghoon’s shirt to put on pajama pants and another one of his stolen shirts, opting not to take a jacket since you figure you won’t be out for very long. 

You thank your past self for filling up your gas tank before tonight after having put it off for a few days. Knowing Sunghoon, he would still scold you for allowing yourself to run nearly empty before filling it up even if he was inebriated. Somehow, knowing this about him brings a smile to your face.

Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who likes to have some control over certain things. He likes order and structure, often waking up at the same hour every weekday to build a routine his body can remember. He’s been like that since you first met him but you think it’s part of his charm. Even from two years ago, when you met him through Jake Sim, Sunghoon has maintained a level of confidence and control that he does now. On the heels of an impressive skating career before pivoting to focus on higher education, Sunghoon had his preferences and will stick by them. 

His discipline is the first thing you noticed when you met him for the first time. Jay, someone you were already familiar with, agreed to cook dinner with your friend group under the condition that everyone helped him shop and chip in for the meal. Sunghoon held Jake back from buying unnecessary things like boxed chocolate milk and candy because Jay had desserts back at his place. He held a checklist of items whereas the rest of your friends ran up and down the aisles without thinking much about what needed to be purchased.

Sunghoon’s near-meticulous behavior is juxtaposed to your chaotic and rambunctious nature. You often follow your gut instead of setting a solid plan because you’re not concerned with meeting deadlines, sans education. Whereas you tend to lean towards a go-with-the-flow attitude, Sunghoon is the opposite. But that’s something he loves about you.  

At a surface level distinction, it didn’t seem like the two of you would get along as well as you did. It surprised Jake when Sunghoon asked for your number so he could text you about seeing a comedy film with him as no one else in the group wanted to see it. Including you at an impromptu study session with him (Sunghoon was organized and neat while your pens were spread all over and your study methods, haphazard) felt like watching two people clash. 

Rather, you and Sunghoon complement one another. 

The idea of letting himself go with someone who wasn’t part of his friend collective was unheard of. Getting to know a girl who didn’t share similar lifestyles didn’t appeal to him before meeting you, and you’re inarguably the most chaotic person Sunghoon knows. But he finds that there’s order within your chaos—you know who you are and what you want, and you will not compromise yourself just to please other people. 

It’s what Sunghoon loves the most about you. There’s a boundary you never let anyone cross under the assumption that your own safety net feels compromised. He’s watched you lose friends for this same reason and has always admired the way you carry yourself like you know you deserve better than people who disrespect you. He’s witnessed the grace you maintain when people who call you a friend voice words of kindness but speak ill about you behind your back. If anything, Sunghoon feels pity for anyone who crosses you to the point of anger. To be envious of another’s confidence is one thing. To make that known is another. 

Sunghoon learns that you let your inhibitions go because holding control over yourself feels like a burden. It feels like setting a standard you will never be able to meet. He never thought of order in that way before getting to know you. Your approach to life sparked a new wave of emotions within him to the point where he was open and willing to let you farther into his life. 

His days were ruled by guidelines he had to maintain and proper etiquette that followed him even off the rink. The poise he carried from his career on the ice bled into his personal life too. Although, he doesn’t mind that it does. Sunghoon values any form of structure because it makes him feel like he has a purpose and that there’s something to be accomplished at the end of the day. 

Most times, Sunghoon’s feels like people judge him for his regimen and can’t fathom why he appreciates control so much. They tell him to let loose and enjoy his time away from his career. People always think he simply doesn’t know how to have fun because he’s set in his ways and won’t let other people coax him into doing something he’s not comfortable with. But not you. Sunghoon has never felt like you‘ve judged how he chooses to live his life. 

Before he knew it, a year had passed and he started to call you one of his best friends. The friendship was gradual. Sunghoon didn’t have many close female friends in the way he does with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. You’re the first person since ending his career who hasn’t tried to pry into the why. In fact, Sunghoon enjoys that you didn’t bring it up. 

(You did, in the form of cooing over his younger self skating in competitions for the first time or roasting all of the outfits he had to wear. But somehow, all of your jabs made him feel happier than when people complimented his performance.)

Eventually, being around you felt too right. He loved it when you took naps on his bed and felt comfortable raiding your kitchen pantry without permission. Sunghoon could leave you in his apartment without him being in it and feel at ease. In fact, he started to look forward to coming home to you. All it took was seeing you wear his hoodie because you got too cold and forgot your jacket, to make him drop his bag by the front door and ask you to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t regretted anything with you since. 

The weather is cold outside since it’s approaching the middle of autumn. You let your car warm up and blast the heat all the way up while adjusting your defrosting settings before heading to the bar to pick up Sunghoon. You sift through your playlists and settle on soft indie melodies before you drive away from the curb. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon get drunk to the point of needing extra help. Usually, you’re the one who goes a little too hard whenever Heeseung brings out the alcohol or if Jake offers an edible or two. Sunghoon likes to sit back and stay sober (or sober up by the end of the night) when he notices you having too much fun. He doesn’t mind, though. Sunghoon likes taking care of you because sometimes it gives him purpose. You’ve never understood that sentiment but to each their own. 

The only times you’ve seen him completely wasted are usually when you’re equally as gone, like on your first road trip as a couple. The five of you rented a lakehouse a few hours from Seoul and spent an entire weekend basking under the hot sun and chose to forget about university stress before finals would inevitably kick everyone’s ass. All five of you were cross-faded (but not without Jay and Sunghoon both prepping water bottles and snacks for when the munchies would hit prior to taking anything). You watched Sunghoon relax to the point where he was much quieter than he normally was and when you asked if he was doing alright, he looked you in the eye and told you he loved you for the first time. 

I always have, I think, he said as he brought your hand to his chest. You might not believe me because neither of us are sober but I swear I’ll tell you in the morning. 

Sunghoon gets affectionate when he’s drunk or high, often to the point of asking for reassurance. The rational side of his brain is temporarily disfigured. You don’t mind being there to tell him that he’s the love of your life and you’d never go anywhere when he gets like this. Although, you’re usually just as gone and gush all of your hidden emotionally-charged feelings, which pair well with Sunghoon’s need for validation sometimes. 

Your friends love your relationship. They don’t think it’s too much or too little, going so far as to take photos of the two of you when you aren’t looking. Some are funny like the pictures of you sleeping on his chest with drool pooling out of your mouth. Others are romantic and whimsical, like the pictures of Sunghoon looking at you like you’re the sunshine to his moonlight. They can’t get enough of you two. Your friends love knowing people they care about are deeply in love with one another and your relationship is somewhat of a reminder that true romance does exist. 

Thinking about this makes your heart swell as you park your car and tuck your keys inside your purse. The bouncer checks your ID and lets you inside the bar, and you already spot Jay off to the side. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he gives you a loose hug. “And sorry for waking you up.” 

You wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve probably woken you up for worse.” 

“Yeah, like the time you and Jake wanted ramen at 3am and wouldn’t stop calling me because both of you got a little too high.” 

“Can you blame us?! You were like, two blocks away.” 

“Yeah, but did you need to eat with me?” 

“Duh. You’re like, the best person to eat a late night dinner with.” 

The two of you laugh as he leads you to the group. You see Sunghoon slumped over the table with his head in his arms and the rest of your friend group tries really hard not to seem too excited when they see you standing next to Jay. 

“Fucking finally.” Heeseung stands and gives you a quick side hug before Jake does the same. “Love you guys and all but he started to become unbearable when he kept showing us photos of you.”

Jake snorts. “Poor guy was almost about to cry.” That makes your heart soft. 

“He looks so cute,” you coo, tilting your head to savor this moment. It’s abnormal for you to be the sober one but you’re starting to understand why Sunghoon doesn’t mind taking care of you when you’re like this. 

Jay comes to stand next to you. “He’s not cute when he drank half his weight in alcohol and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty your hair is.” 

“What, do you don’t think my hair’s pretty?” The messy, unbrushed hair is enough to make the guys laugh. 

“Nah seriously, thanks for coming,” says Jake. “We felt bad calling you but he refuses to get out of his seat.” 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off and step closer to your boyfriend, who still hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Do your thing and we’ll be here if you need help bringing him to the car.” Heeseung smiles gratefully at you. 

Even the back of Sunghoon’s head is unfairly gorgeous. His hair always looks nice, although you credit that to his younger sister introducing him to a world of hair care products during his skating years. It feels soft to the touch as you stroke the back of his head until Sunghoon slowly comes to. You feel his body start to stir.

“Baby,” you say quietly, bending down until you’re next to him. “Wake up for me.” 

“Hm?” Sunghoon mumbles from his arms. He feels the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair and pulls himself from the table, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth before realizing you’re standing next to him. “Y/N?”

“I’m right here.” 

He pulls his head up until he’s sitting upright in the booth, squinting up at you to adjust to the bar lights that disappeared when he closed his eyes. Your boyfriend looks so innocent like this. He looks at you with a wide, round gaze as if you’d appeared out of thin air and he’s trying his hardest to figure out how you’re standing in front of him. 

“Is it really you?” Sunghoon asks in a quiet voice. His tone makes your heart flutter and you reach your arms out until you’re cupping his jaw and rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks. Sunghoon melts into your touch and you feel his body start to relax. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bug. Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods in your hands, “Mhm. Just tired now.”

“Jay said you were asking for me.” 

“I always ask for you.” Your cheeks heat up and you try to ignore the snickers from behind you. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place, yeah? You can sleep in my bed instead of this bar.” 

“Can we? I love the guys but I just missed you.”

“Simp,” Heeseung whispers before coughing into his fist. 

Sunghoon stands from the booth once you’ve taken a step back to give him the space to move. He’s surprisingly able to stand on his own and clutches onto his jacket as he makes his way to the door. 

“Sorry guys,” he mutters to the guys. 

“Yah, it’s fine,” Jay says as he waves Sunghoon off. 

“Get home safe,” Heeseung says as he opens the door for the two of you. Sunghoon waves behind him until you guide him to the car. 

“Can you put your jacket on for me?” You catch it in your hands after he nearly let them fall from his grasp. 

“Shit, sorry.” You watch Sunghoon put on one arm and then the other. He looks so childlike in this moment as he concentrates his hardest to put the jacket on without stumbling. 

It reminds you that he doesn’t show you this side of him often. Sunghoon, ever the poised individual who likes to know what’s ahead of him, has let his inhibitions down. Seeing his figure slowly push his body through the warm fabric has you biting back a smile. 

“Need help?”

Sunghoon looks down at his hands that are trying to zip his jacket up to no avail. He feels like his hands are too big and the zipper is too small. “Please.”

Your steady fingers cover Sunghoon’s and take over the tedious task. The metal is warm from his fingertips. You can feel him looking down at you and you temporarily fumble with the zipper, which makes him laugh.

“Silly,” he mutters. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know if I can open the door.”

You roll your eyes and open it for him. “You’re funny.” 

He slides into the seat as gracefully as he can without hitting his head on the roof. Sunghoon struggles, but manages to buckle himself in and grins up at you when he hears the click of the buckle. When you look down on him, the lamp post from above casts a soft glow on his face. He looks so youthful at this moment. Sunghoon has let go of his thoughts and couldn’t think about anything but the present moment even if he tried. 

He waits for you and mumbles about how cold it is when you turn the engine on. The warm air starts to uplift his spirits and he looks at you with us head pressed to the headrest.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Usually I’m the one taking care of you.”

“You don’t always have to be brave, you know.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to envelope your hand in his and squeezes it until he’s holding it loosely in the quiet of the evening.

“I love you.” 

Your heart blooms. “I love you right back.” He seems satisfied with your response and lets go of your hand so that you can drive back to your apartment. 

When you park on the curb, Sunghoon’s sober enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and wait for you to turn the engine off before opening his door carefully. He steps outside and leans back on the car door until you walk around the hood of the vehicle and grabs your hands to pull you into him. 

You feel his lips on your before you register what’s happening. He tastes faintly of pineapple soju and beer, and his mouth is warm. Despite his inebriated state, Sunghoon’s able to hold you between his hands as he moves to place them on your hips to balance your body after you’ve stumbled into him. 

The kiss itself is slow. In fact, it feels as though Sunghoon has slowed time around so that the two of you could enjoy the late night kiss uninterrupted. You can barely hear anything besides the ringing in your ears after being caught by surprise due to your boyfriend’s abrupt movements. Your mouths move in slow tandem and Sunghoon nearly pushes his tongue inside your mouth before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“My baby,” he whispers against your lips before giving you another quick peck. 

“You are so cute.” You blurt out this confession like you’re still pining after him. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

The apartment is warm compared to the environment outside and Sunghoon slips off his shoes in favor of wearing his designated slippers. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time he does so, letting you pull him into the hallway until the two of you reach your bedroom. The hardwood floors feel better than the uneven pavement from outside.

He loves it here. It’s a sanctuary away from his apartment with the friends he will probably invite to his wedding. But something about your green comforter and hand-painted artwork adorning your walls makes Sunghoon feel like he would live by your side for the rest of his life. The scent of your room–warm peaches and vanilla–tugs at his heart strings. This is where he belongs. 

Likewise, you love seeing Sunghoon behave like this. It’s not commonplace for him to let people take care of him in the way you are now. He’s used to people looking out for his career and best interest but he struggles with allowing others to handle him with such care. After a decade of enduring harsh criticism and physical endurance, Sunghoon struggles to relax and allow others to take the reins. It’s partially why he loves taking care of you. Being able to provide that kind of love and support makes him feel wanted and needed, even if you tell him he’s more than enough a thousand times over. 

You leave him in your room to change his clothes taken from his designated drawer while you prepare skincare and the works. You hear him shuffle outside and fall onto the bed once, prompting you to hold your laughter in as you wash your hands and pull out hair clips for him to use. 

“I can’t lie,” Sunghoon says as you emerge from the bathroom to see him in a big t-shirt and pajama bottoms, “I’m really looking forward to you doing my skincare.” 

You snicker and pull your desk chair into the bathroom. “Now you know exactly how I feel every time I beg you to do mine when I’m drunk. Sit and close your eyes, please.” 

He follows your instructions and leans his back against the furniture. Sunghoon doesn’t fuss when you pin his hair back until it’s secure and allows you to make him feel pampered in a way he typically wouldn’t. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

Sunghoon hums. “Yeah, I did. The guys picked me up from my place and we had lunch at that seafood spot we’ve been meaning to try.” 

“Was it any good?”

“So good.” He licks his lips. “God, I’m still thinking about that shellfish soup. We ordered enough food to feed a village but it was so worth it. I wanna go with you.” 

“We can go wherever you want.” He smiles at your soft tone. 

“We also went to the beach and met some guys at the skate park by the highway. They were pretty nice and let us use their boards for a little. Heeseung got along with them the best, I think.”

“Heeseung makes friends with everybody.”

“He says he’s not social but that’s a lie.” Sunghoon twitches his nose when he feels a damp washcloth on his face. “We went to the bar afterwards and split it by round. I got the first and honestly, I don’t remember much after that.” 

“How are you feeling now, though?” you ask as you finish patting his skin dry. “Do you still feel dizzy?” Sunghoon opens his eyes and watches you apply a serum before dabbing it all over his face. 

“Not as much as before. I think I’m just tired.”

“And clingy, apparently.” 

Sunghoon smacks the back of your thighs. “Shut up. You love it.” You silence him by kissing his nose. 

While he brushes his teeth, you situate yourself underneath your plush covers and allow the weight of the blanket to fall on top of you. The sweet promise of a good night’s rest feels imminent, especially when you see your boyfriend emerge from the bathroom. He turns off the light and walks towards the empty side of the bed before he’s slipping himself beside you. 

Sunghoon’s an equal opportunist when it comes to sleeping positions. He loves it the most when your head is on his chest and when your arms are tangled in one another because he likes knowing that the two of you yearn for each other equally. But when he gets like this, Sunghoon takes initiative to maneuver himself until half of his chest and head are on top of you. He situates his arm around your waist and pulls himself closer to your body until a deep, satisfied sigh comes from the back of his throat. 

He hums in appreciation when your fingers begin to massage his scalp. Sunghoon’s hair is soft and silky and on most days, you’re the only person who gets to touch it. The slowness of your movements paired with the soft kiss you place on his temple makes his eyelids feel heavy. 

“Sorry you had to come pick me up,” Sunghoon mumbles against you. “I know we agreed to give each other some space this weekend.” 

“You should know by now that I’d do anything for you.” He feels you kiss the crown of his head. “Plus, we both know you’d do the same for me.” 

Sunghoon nods. “I would. You’re my girlfriend. Duh.” His sleepy nonsense makes you laugh. 

“You can go back to hanging out with the guys tomorrow if you want.” He shakes his head. 

“I want to get breakfast with you.” Sunghoon finds your free hand and presses a sleepy kiss to the back of it. 

“Whatever you want. We can get breakfast.” 

“If we wake up early enough.” 

You laugh again. “Yes, if we wake up early enough.” 

Sunghoon mumbles a few incoherent words that you can’t quite make out because of your own tiredness. When your own eyes start to droop, Sunghoon feels your fingers start to falter and looks up at you to see you’ve fallen fast asleep. 

He kisses the underside of your chin and falls asleep too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[sweetlittlenamjoon]

ahh im so happy i found an agere blog that talks about onepact!!!! if you can write stuff about jay or tag that would be real cool!!! /nf

aaaaahhhh!!!! yes absolutely here take some silly hc stuff :] i wasnt sure if you wanted regressor boys or cg boys so i just did both lol Jay 🐶🎸

★ cg ★

undisputed champion of peekaboo

dont ask me how to win peekaboo just know he somehow does

reads storybooks in the goofiest voices

lots of silly faces

playing games so you'll eat your least favourite foods on your plate

"okay, rock paper scissors!"

lullaby king

gives soft little strokes on your head to help you fall asleep

focuses way too hard when colouring with you

★ little ★

sleepiest guy in the world

like one minute he's up and playing then he's out cold the next

chatty lil dude

the world may never know what he's saying buy by golly is he saying stuff

extra distractible but also really gets sucked into things

no he can't hear you his show is on

just,,, laying down on the floor

vibing

but also running around in circles

you get it

silly dude

Tag 🦦🎧

✦ cg ✦

we hanging out

youre absolutely his little buddy

his little buddy he wants to squish to pieces but

he's totally chill about it

lets you watch the cartoons that say 'damn'

i think he'd find dressing you up in the ugliest combination of clothes he can find hilarious

"ngl i kinda cooked"

WILL pinch your cheeks

✦ little ✦

absolute menace

no filter whatsoever

so so many questions all the time

reads a lot

especially those animal fun fact books

he may bang out the occasional tune if you give him the cat piano

he'll do that unregressed too tho so,,,

chewy guy

little always nibbling on something or chewing

used to just chew on plastic spoons before he got chewlery

our goober <3

[enhaflixer]

pjs - The Prince's Diaries - full fic

💌 Synopsis: Jongseong is a prince—refined, disciplined, and expected to marry a woman of his father’s choosing. You, on the other hand, are just a college student struggling to keep up with rent—until a team of royal advisors shows up on your doorstep and tells you that you’re the lost princess of Genovia. But royal life isn’t a fairytale, and duty doesn’t care about love. Because when the clock strikes midnight on the constitutional deadline, you’ll have to choose: your country or your heart. “If I were just Jay, not a prince, would you still choose me?”

cw: SMUT but lots of fluff, smut on a piano, smut in a library, smut on a chaise, lots of fluff barely any angst the reader is in distress cuz of this whole princess thing.

-

Your alarm blares for the third time, and you finally surrender to consciousness, throwing your arm out to silence the offending device. Another Monday. Another week of classes, part-time work, and trying to stretch your student budget until the next paycheck. Nothing special.

The apartment you share with your roommate isn't much—a cramped two-bedroom with perpetually spotty WiFi and a temperamental shower—but it's home. At least for now.

"Late night?" Your roommate smirks over her coffee mug as you stumble into the kitchen, hair still wrapped in a towel.

"Research paper," you groan, reaching for the coffee pot. "Professor Kim is trying to kill us all before midterms."

You're pouring cereal when a sharp knock at the door makes you jump, spilling Cheerios across the counter.

"You expecting someone?" your roommate asks, already heading to answer it.

You aren't. It's 8:37 AM on a Monday. Nobody visits at 8:37 AM on a Monday.

When your roommate opens the door, the hallway seems suddenly filled with people. Men in dark suits. A woman with an impossibly tight bun. All of them standing with perfect posture, like they've collectively swallowed broomsticks.

"May we come in?" It's not really a question. The woman steps forward, eyes scanning your apartment with barely concealed judgment. "We're looking for Y/N L/N."

Your roommate points at you wordlessly, backing away as the entourage enters.

"Ms. L/N," the woman says, her accent crisp and foreign. "I am Charlotte Martell, private secretary to Her Majesty Queen Clarisse Renaldi of Genovia."

You nearly choke on your coffee. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Genovia," she repeats, as if that clarifies everything. "A small sovereign principality between France and Spain."

"I know what Genovia is," you lie. You absolutely do not know what Genovia is. "But what does that have to do with me?"

The woman—Charlotte—gestures to one of the men, who produces an official-looking folder stamped with a crest you don't recognize.

"Queen Clarisse is your grandmother," Charlotte states, watching your face for a reaction. "And following the tragic death of your father, Crown Prince Philippe, you are now the sole heir to the Genovian throne."

Your roommate gasps dramatically. You burst out laughing.

"Okay, who put you up to this? Was it Kyle? This has his film project written all over it." You look around for hidden cameras.

Charlotte's expression doesn't change. "This is not a prank, Ms. L/N."

"Right. Sure. I'm secretly a princess." You roll your eyes. "And I suppose I've got a glass slipper and fairy godmother too?"

"Your Highness—"

"Nope. Stop right there." You hold up your hand. "I don't know who you people are, but my dad's name was Michael. He was an artist from Cleveland. He died when I was six. My mom raised me alone."

Charlotte and her companions exchange glances.

"Perhaps we should speak with your mother," Charlotte suggests delicately.

"Great idea," you agree, reaching for your phone. "She'll clear this right up."

But when your mom answers, her voice sounds strange. Strained.

"Mom, there are people here saying I'm some kind of princess and you've been hiding it from me my whole life. Tell them they've got the wrong apartment."

The silence on the other end stretches too long.

"Mom?"

"Honey," she finally says, her voice small. "Maybe you should sit down."

Your stomach drops. "No. No way."

"I never thought this would happen," she continues, words rushing now. "The agreement was that they'd never contact you. That you could live a normal life."

The room starts to spin. You grip the counter for support.

"This isn't funny anymore."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. Philippe—your father—wanted to acknowledge you, but I couldn't bear the thought of raising you in that world."

"Philippe?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears. "My father's name was Michael."

Your mother's sigh crackles through the phone. "Michael was my brother. After Philippe died, Michael helped us... create a story that would protect you."

"Protect me from what? The truth?" The betrayal cuts deep, making your voice sharp.

"From a life that would never be your own," your mother says softly. "I wanted you to have choices."

You look at Charlotte and her entourage, still standing stiffly in your kitchen. This can't be happening.

"I think I'm hallucinating," you announce to no one in particular. "I haven't slept in thirty-six hours. This is just sleep deprivation."

Your roommate pinches your arm. Hard.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"Not dreaming," she says helpfully.

Your mother is still speaking through the phone. "These people—the Genovian royal staff—they'll bring you to the consulate. I'll meet you there, and we can talk properly."

"Mom, I can't just—"

"Please, sweetheart. Let me explain in person."

The phone call ends, and you stare at the device in your hand like it's suddenly turned into a live snake.

"This isn't real," you mutter. "This can't be real."

But three hours later, you're sitting in the Genovian consulate—a building you've passed a hundred times without noticing—watching your mother cry as she explains how she met the Crown Prince of Genovia during a semester abroad, how they fell in love, how she discovered she was pregnant after he returned home, how he died in a car accident before they could marry.

"The Queen wanted to acknowledge you officially," your mother explains, wiping her eyes. "But I refused. I didn't want that life for you."

"That life being...?"

"Being royal," she says, as if it's a disease. "Living in a gilded cage. Every move scrutinized. Never making your own choices."

Charlotte, who has been standing silently against the wall, clears her throat. "If I may, the situation has changed substantially. Without a direct heir, Genovia faces a constitutional crisis. Parliament may vote to dissolve the monarchy entirely."

"And that's... bad?" you ask, still struggling to process any of this.

"The monarchy has protected Genovia's independence for centuries," Charlotte explains. "Without it, larger neighboring countries would likely absorb our territory."

Your mother squeezes your hand. "I never wanted this burden for you. But it's your decision now."

"What decision? I don't even know what's happening!"

"The Queen requests that you come to Genovia," Charlotte says. "Learn about your heritage. Meet your grandmother. After that, you're free to make your choice."

"My choice to... what? Become a princess?"

Charlotte nods solemnly. "To accept your birthright, yes."

You look at your mother, this woman you've trusted your entire life, who has apparently been lying about your identity since before you could speak.

"I have exams next week," you say weakly. It sounds ridiculous even to your own ears.

"All arrangements have been made with your university," Charlotte assures you. "This is, after all, a diplomatic matter."

You laugh, a slightly hysterical sound. "Right. Diplomatic."

Your mother takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. "You don't have to do this. You can walk away right now, and we'll figure something out."

But you can see in her eyes what she's not saying—that this moment was always coming, that the lie was never sustainable, that a door has opened that can't be closed again.

"I just want to know the truth," you tell her. "All of it."

She nods, tears streaming now. "Then you should go. Meet her. Learn who you are."

-

Twenty-four hours later, you're on a private jet somewhere over the Atlantic, still half-convinced you're having an elaborate mental breakdown. Your mother came home with you to help pack, both of you moving through the motions like sleepwalkers.

"The Queen is eager to meet you," Charlotte says from across the aisle, breaking the silence that's stretched between you since takeoff.

"My grandmother," you say, testing the word. "My grandmother the Queen."

Charlotte's expression softens slightly. "This must be overwhelming."

You laugh, the sound hollow. "I keep thinking I'll wake up."

"I assure you, this is quite real," Charlotte says, missing the point entirely.

You stare out the window at endless darkness, trying to reconcile the person you were yesterday with whoever you're supposed to be now.

"What's she like?" you ask suddenly. "The Queen."

Charlotte considers this carefully. "Her Majesty is... formidable. Dignified. Dedicated to Genovia above all else."

"Sounds warm and fuzzy," you mutter.

"The Queen has experienced great loss," Charlotte adds quietly. "Her husband. Her son—your father. She has sacrificed personal happiness for duty."

That silences you. What do you say to a grandmother who's spent decades thinking her bloodline ended with her son, only to discover an heir she never knew existed?

"I don't know how to be a princess," you admit after another long silence.

"No one expects you to know already," Charlotte replies. "There will be extensive training, of course."

"Of course," you echo faintly. "Princess training."

The palace is like something from a fairy tale—all soaring spires and perfect gardens. Dawn is breaking as your motorcade passes through massive iron gates, and you catch your first glimpse of your apparent new home.

"This is insane," you whisper, pressing your face to the window like a child. "People actually live here?"

"The palace has been the royal residence for over three centuries," Charlotte informs you. "The east wing houses government offices, while the royal family occupies the north wing."

Your suite is bigger than your entire apartment. The bathroom alone is the size of your bedroom at home. You're staring at the claw-foot tub, wondering if you're allowed to actually use it or if it's just for show, when there's a knock at the door.

A young woman in a uniform curtsies—actually curtsies—when you open it.

"Your Highness," she says, eyes downcast. "I'm Olivia, your lady's maid."

"My... what now?"

"I'm here to help you prepare to meet Her Majesty."

Your laugh has a slightly manic edge. "I've been wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours and haven't slept. I don't think 'preparation' is going to help much."

Olivia smiles sympathetically. "Perhaps a bath first?"

You pace back and forth in your suite after your mother's confession at the consulate, hands pressed against your temples. The weight of everything—your father's true identity, your grandmother the Queen, this entire hidden heritage—crashes over you in waves.

"This can't be happening," you mutter. "This doesn't happen to normal people."

Olivia, your newly assigned lady's maid, watches anxiously from the doorway. "Your Highness, perhaps some tea would help calm your nerves?"

"Stop calling me that!" you snap, whirling around. "I'm not a 'Highness.' I'm just—" You break off, unable to even finish the sentence. Who are you now?

Charlotte enters with a stack of leather-bound books. "These are Genovian history texts. Your lessons begin tomorrow. Also, the royal portrait artist would like to schedule a sitting, and we'll need to discuss your public introduction to the Genovian people."

Something inside you finally snaps.

"EVERYBODY JUST STOP!" you shout, throwing your hands up. Charlotte freezes mid-sentence, Olivia nearly drops the tea tray, and even the security guard outside your door peeks in with alarm.

"I need—" your voice cracks, "I need everyone to just stop for a second. Twenty-four hours ago, I was worried about my student loans and my biology midterm. And now you're talking about royal portraits and—and—"

You grab the nearest pillow from a velvet settee and scream into it, a muffled sound of pure frustration. When you pull it away, you're laughing hysterically.

"Holy shit," you gasp through semi-maniacal laughter, "I'm a princess. I'm actually a princess!"

You collapse onto the nearest chair, still clutching the pillow to your chest. Your laughter shifts to something closer to hyperventilation.

"This is completely insane," you continue, gesturing wildly. "I've never even been to Europe before, and suddenly I'm supposed to rule a country? I don't even know where Genovia is on a map! I can barely keep my succulents alive!"

Charlotte approaches cautiously, as though you might explode again. "Perhaps a moment alone would be beneficial—"

"No!" You jump to your feet again, pacing frenetically. "No more alone time to 'process.' I need answers. Real answers. Like, what happens if I just walk out right now? Get on a plane and go home? Will there be, I don't know, international incidents? Diplomatic immunity revoked? Does Genovia have an extradition treaty with the United States?"

Charlotte and Olivia exchange alarmed glances.

"I mean, what's stopping me from just saying 'thanks but no thanks' to this whole princess gig? I didn't sign up for this! My mother lied to me my entire life, and now I'm supposed to just—what? Put on a tiara and wave to crowds? Marry some prince I just met? Rule a country I know nothing about?"

You stop suddenly, a thought occurring to you. You turn to Charlotte, eyes wide.

"Wait. Do I get a tiara?"

Charlotte blinks, thrown by the sudden shift. "Several, actually. The Genovian royal collection includes—"

"Several tiaras," you repeat, dazed. "I get several tiaras."

You start laughing again, but this time with a hint of wonder breaking through the hysteria.

"I have a grandmother who's a Queen," you say, testing the words. "My father was a Crown Prince. I live in a palace now." You spin in a slow circle, taking in the ornate room with new eyes. "I'm a princess."

The reality of it finally, truly hits you—not as an abstract concept but as your new life. Your knees go weak, and you sink back onto the settee.

"I'm Princess Y/N Renaldi of Genovia," you whisper, the name strange on your tongue. "Holy shit."

The bath, it turns out, is heavenly. The exhaustion and tension of the past day seep out of your muscles as you soak in water scattered with actual rose petals. It's so ridiculous that you find yourself laughing alone in the massive bathroom.

"Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Olivia calls through the door.

"Fine! Just having an existential crisis in a bathtub fit for Marie Antoinette!"

After the bath comes what can only be described as a full-scale makeover. Olivia is joined by a team that includes a hairstylist, makeup artist, and someone called a "royal wardrobe consultant" who tuts disapprovingly at the clothes you packed.

"These won't do at all," she announces, holding up your favorite jeans like they're contaminated.

"What's wrong with them?" you demand.

"Her Majesty has certain... expectations regarding royal appearance," the woman explains delicately.

"I'm not actually a princess yet," you point out. "Technically, I haven't agreed to anything."

But your protests fall on deaf ears. Two hours later, you're staring at a stranger in the mirror. Your hair has been styled into something elegant and smooth. Your face has been transformed with makeup that somehow looks natural despite taking forty-five minutes to apply. And you're wearing a dress that probably costs more than your entire wardrobe at home.

"There," the hairstylist says proudly. "Now you look like a princess."

You don't feel like a princess. You feel like a fraud in costume.

The "Blue Salon" turns out to be a formal sitting room where an elegant older woman waits, standing by a window. She turns as you enter, and you see your own eyes staring back at you from her face.

"Your Majesty," Charlotte announces, "Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N Renaldi."

The Queen—your grandmother—studies you silently for a long moment. You resist the urge to fidget under her gaze.

"The resemblance is remarkable," she says finally, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of emotion. "You have his eyes. My son's eyes."

You don't know what to say. This woman is a stranger who is somehow your closest living relative.

"You must have questions," she continues when you remain silent.

"About a million," you admit. "Starting with why my entire life has been a lie."

If your directness offends her, she doesn't show it. "Your mother made her choice. I respected it, though I disagreed with it. But circumstances have changed."

"So I've heard. Constitutional crisis. End of the monarchy. Very dramatic."

A hint of a smile touches her lips. "You have spirit. Good. You'll need it." She gestures to a chair. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."

The next hour is a crash course in your own heritage. The Queen—your grandmother—explains the history of Genovia, the role of the monarchy, and the crisis created by the King's death without a recognized heir.

"Parliament has granted a grace period of three months," she explains. "In that time, you must decide whether to accept your title and begin preparation for eventual rule, or to renounce your claim permanently."

"And if I renounce?"

"Then the monarchy ends with me," she says simply. "And Genovia's future becomes uncertain."

No pressure or anything.

"There's another complication," your grandmother adds, and something in her tone makes you brace yourself. "The Genovian constitution requires the heir to be married before taking the throne."

You choke on the tea you've been sipping. "Married? I'm twenty-one!"

"Which is why, should you accept your title, suitable candidates would be presented immediately."

"Suitable candidates," you repeat incredulously. "You mean arranged marriage?"

"Think of it as... pre-screened dating," your grandmother suggests with a straight face.

"This is insane," you mutter, setting down your cup before you drop it. "Twenty-four hours ago, I was worried about my midterms. Now I'm discussing arranged marriages and constitutional crises."

Your grandmother regards you thoughtfully. "I understand this is overwhelming. You need not decide everything today. Take time to adjust. Learn about Genovia. Meet some of the young men Parliament considers suitable."

"And if I hate them all?"

"Then we face that challenge when it arises," she says diplomatically. "For now, perhaps we can start with dinner. I've invited one potential candidate to join us this evening."

"Seriously? I just got here!"

"Time is a luxury we don't have," your grandmother reminds you. "Prince Jongseong of Astoria is already in Genovia for diplomatic meetings. It's an opportunity that shouldn't be wasted."

Your head is spinning. "Prince who of where now?"

Your grandmother hands you a folder. "Astoria is a key ally. A marriage alliance would be most beneficial."

You flip open the folder to find a dossier—an actual dossier—on someone named Prince Jongseong of Astoria. The photograph shows a young man about your age with perfect features and an expression of cool dignity. He's handsome in an intimidating way, like a sculpture you're not allowed to touch.

"Great," you say weakly. "Blind date with a prince. No problem."

The day passes in a blur of instructions, protocol lessons, and people telling you how to walk, talk, sit, and breathe like a princess. By evening, your exhaustion has been replaced by a surreal, floating feeling, as if none of this is actually happening to you.

"Remember," Charlotte reminds you for the hundredth time as you're escorted to the State Dining Room, "curtsy when he's introduced, address him as 'Your Highness' initially, then 'Prince Jongseong' after that. The Queen will lead the conversation."

"What if I just hide under the table?" you suggest. "Blame it on jet lag?"

Charlotte doesn't even acknowledge your joke. "The Prince is known for his diplomatic skill and decorum. Please try to match his level of dignity."

"No pressure there."

The dining room is intimidating—all crystal chandeliers and gold trim. Footmen stand at attention along the walls. Your grandmother already waits at the head of a table that could seat thirty, though only four places are set.

"You look lovely," she tells you, and you resist the urge to tug at the formal dress that feels like a costume.

"I look like someone else," you reply honestly.

"Sometimes appearing royal is the first step to feeling royal," she says, which doesn't make you feel any better.

The doors open, and a court official announces: "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of the House of Park, Crown Prince of Astoria, and Lord High Commissioner of the Eastern Provinces."

Your first thought as he enters: people shouldn't be that perfect-looking in real life. It seems unfair somehow.

Prince Jongseong is tall and moves with unconscious grace. His formal attire—some kind of military dress uniform with medals and sashes—accentuates broad shoulders. His features are even more striking in person—sharp jawline, intense eyes that miss nothing.

You remember to curtsy, wobbling slightly in your heels. When you straighten, his eyes meet yours directly. No smile, just assessment.

"Wait," you blurt out before anyone can speak. "Are we related?"

The room goes absolutely still. Charlotte makes a small choking sound behind you. Your grandmother's expression doesn't change, but her eyes widen slightly.

Prince Jongseong blinks, the only indication that your question has caught him off guard.

"I beg your pardon?" he asks, his voice deeper than you expected, his accent subtle but distinctive.

"Sorry, I just—I'm new to this whole royal thing, and apparently everyone's connected somehow, so I wanted to check if we're like, third cousins or something before this gets weird."

Your grandmother clears her throat. "Prince Jongseong's lineage and the Renaldi family have no direct connection for at least seven generations."

"Oh. Good." You feel your face heating up. "That's... good to know."

Prince Jongseong's expression remains absolutely neutral, but something that might be amusement flickers in his eyes briefly.

"Your Majesty," he addresses your grandmother first, bowing formally. "Thank you for your invitation."

When he turns back to you, you feel suddenly, intensely scrutinized.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing again. "It is an honor to meet the Princess of Genovia."

You're supposed to say something regal in response, but what comes out is: "I only found out I was a princess yesterday, so we're kind of in the same boat there."

Prince Jongseong does something unexpected. The corner of his mouth twitches—almost, but not quite, a smile.

"An unusual circumstance," he acknowledges, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes suddenly more interested. "Though I assure you, the honor remains."

Dinner is a masterclass in awkwardness. Your grandmother and an Astorian diplomat discuss trade agreements while you try to remember which fork to use for each course. Prince Jongseong watches you with those observant eyes but says little.

It's during dessert that he finally addresses you directly.

"I understand you were a university student before this... revelation."

You look up, surprised he's bothered to learn anything about you. "Yes. Political science, ironically enough."

"A useful background for your new role," he comments.

"I was planning to work for a non-profit," you admit. "Not rule a country."

"Few of us choose our destinies," he says, and something in his tone makes you wonder if he's speaking from experience.

After dinner, your grandmother suggests a "stroll through the East Garden" which is apparently royal code for "leaving you alone with your potential suitor while still maintaining proper supervision," as Charlotte and two guards follow at a discreet distance.

The garden is beautiful under the moonlight, with flowering trees and perfectly manicured hedges. You walk in uncomfortable silence until Prince Jongseong speaks.

"You seem overwhelmed."

You laugh, the sound sharper than intended. "What gave it away? The identity crisis or the third cousin question?"

"Both were... illuminating," he replies, and you think you detect a hint of humor beneath his formal tone.

"Sorry about that," you sigh. "This is all just... a lot."

"I can imagine," he says, though you doubt he can. He's probably been a prince his whole life, never wondering who he really is or where he belongs.

"No offense, but this isn't exactly how I planned to spend my week," you tell him honestly. "Twenty-four hours ago, I was a normal college student with student loans and a part-time job. Now I'm having dinner with princes and learning how to curtsy."

"It's a significant adjustment," he acknowledges, which feels like the understatement of the century.

"Can I ask you something?" you say suddenly.

He inclines his head slightly. "Of course."

"Is it always this weird? Being royal, I mean. Does it ever feel... normal?"

The question seems to surprise him. He considers it seriously before answering.

"I cannot speak to your experience," he says carefully. "I was born into my role, prepared for it from childhood. But even so, there are moments when the weight of responsibility feels... alienating."

It's the most human thing he's said all evening.

"What do you do in those moments?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Something shifts in his expression—a momentary glimpse of a different person behind the perfect princely mask.

"I remember that even a gilded cage is still a cage," he says quietly. "But with the right mindset, it can also be a platform for meaningful change."

You study him more carefully. Maybe there's more to Prince Perfect than you initially thought.

"That's... surprisingly profound," you admit.

The hint of a smile touches his lips again. "You expected shallow platitudes?"

"I don't know what I expected," you say honestly. "Everything about today has been surreal."

"Including meeting a potential husband selected by parliament?" he suggests, and there's definitely a note of dry humor in his voice now.

You can't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's pretty high on the surreal list."

"If it helps," he offers, "I find the situation equally unusual, though perhaps less distressing as I've had longer to adjust to the concept."

"How generous of you," you say sarcastically before you can stop yourself.

To your surprise, a genuine smile briefly transforms his face, making him look younger, more approachable.

"You're very direct," he observes.

"Sorry. New to the royal filter thing."

"It's... refreshing," he admits. "Most people I meet have agendas carefully hidden beneath pleasantries."

"My only agenda is surviving this day without having a complete breakdown," you tell him truthfully.

He stops walking, turning to face you. The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face, and for a moment, he looks like a real person rather than a perfect royal specimen.

"You're doing better than you think," he says, and it feels like the first completely genuine thing he's said all evening.

The moment stretches between you—something unnamed passing in the silence—before Charlotte clears her throat, reminding you of her presence.

"The Queen will be expecting us to return," she prompts.

Prince Jongseong straightens immediately, mask back in place. "Of course."

As you walk back toward the palace, your hand accidentally brushes his. A small touch, barely nothing, but something unexpected flutters in your stomach. His eyes meet yours briefly, and you wonder if he felt it too.

Back in the formal reception room, he bows over your hand. "It has been a pleasure, Your Highness."

"Likewise, Prince Jongseong," you manage, this time remembering the proper response.

As he prepares to leave, he hesitates, then adds quietly, "Perhaps when we meet again, you might be more accustomed to your title."

-

You wake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains, momentarily disoriented. The canopied bed, the ornate furniture, the distant sound of voices speaking a language you don't understand—where are you?

Then it hits you like a freight train. Genovia. Palace. Princess.

You groan and pull a pillow over your face. Maybe if you smother yourself with Egyptian cotton, you'll wake up in your cramped apartment with your psychology paper still due and your normal life intact.

A gentle knock at the door shatters that fantasy.

"Your Highness?" Olivia's voice calls. "Her Majesty requests your presence for breakfast in thirty minutes."

You remove the pillow with another groan. "Tell her I've fled the country."

There's a pause. "I... don't think I can say that to the Queen, Your Highness."

Despite everything, you laugh. Poor Olivia, stuck with an unwilling princess who doesn't know the first thing about royal protocol.

"I'll be ready," you call back, dragging yourself out of bed.

The "breakfast room" (because apparently regular dining rooms are insufficient for morning meals) is sunshine-bright and intimidatingly elegant. Your grandmother already sits at the table, reading documents while sipping tea.

"Good morning," she says without looking up. "I trust you slept well?"

"Not really," you admit, slouching into a chair before remembering Charlotte's lecture about posture. You straighten awkwardly, feeling like you're balancing a book on your head.

Your grandmother finally looks at you, one eyebrow arched. "Honesty before coffee. How refreshing."

A servant appears instantly with a cup of steaming coffee prepared exactly how you like it. You stare at it suspiciously.

"How did they know...?"

"Part of the job," your grandmother answers simply. "Knowing what people need before they ask for it."

You take a grateful sip. "At least that's one perk of this princess gig."

Your grandmother sets down her papers. "Your schedule today is quite full. We have much work to do."

"Schedule?" You didn't know you had a schedule.

"Charlotte will brief you after breakfast. But first," she slides a leather portfolio across the table, "Your Genovian citizenship papers, passport, and diplomatic credentials. You'll need to sign where indicated."

You flip open the folder. The first document declares you Princess Y/N Mignonette Renaldi of Genovia, Crown Princess and Royal Heir.

"Mignonette?" You look up, confused. "That's not my middle name."

"It is now," your grandmother says with finality. "A royal name."

You sign where indicated, feeling like you're signing away your old identity with each stroke of the pen.

"There's something else we need to discuss," your grandmother says once you've finished. "Your... public introduction."

"My what now?"

"The people of Genovia must meet their princess. There will be a press conference tomorrow, followed by a formal ball next week."

You choke on your coffee. "Tomorrow? A press conference? I can't—I don't—I'm not ready for that!"

"Which is why today is devoted to preparation," she says calmly. "Diplomatic protocol, Genovian history, public speaking..."

Your appetite vanishes. People—actual citizens of an actual country—are going to be judging whether you're fit to rule them. The thought is paralyzing.

"What if I mess up?" you ask quietly. "What if I embarrass Genovia? Or you?"

Something softens in your grandmother's expression. "You are more capable than you realize." She hesitates, then adds, "Your father was much the same way. Doubting himself, yet exceeding every expectation."

It's the first time she's voluntarily mentioned your father, and the comparison catches you off guard.

"I wish I'd known him," you say before you can stop yourself.

"As do I," she replies softly. "As do I."

The moment of vulnerability passes as quickly as it appeared. She's all business again, consulting her watch.

"Charlotte will meet you in the library in fifteen minutes. And this evening, Prince Jongseong will be joining us for the diplomatic reception."

Your stomach does a weird flip at the mention of his name. "Already? I just met him yesterday."

"He's requested to assist with certain aspects of your diplomatic training," your grandmother explains, a hint of something—amusement? satisfaction?—in her eyes. "The prince has excellent connections throughout Europe. His guidance will be valuable."

"I'm sure," you mutter, wondering what his real agenda is. Nobody volunteers for tutoring duty without an ulterior motive.

-

The dress fitting is endless torture. The royal stylist, Madame Aubert, fusses over fabrics and colors while treating you like a mannequin rather than a person.

"Perhaps the blue? It brings out Her Highness's eyes," she suggests to Charlotte, who nods seriously.

"I like the green one," you interject.

Both women look at you with surprise, as if they'd forgotten you could speak.

"The green is... less traditional," Madame Aubert says diplomatically.

"I'm not exactly a traditional princess," you point out. "Raised in America. Didn't know I was royal until two days ago. Let's embrace the unconventional, shall we?"

Charlotte's lips thin with disapproval, but she doesn't argue. "The green then. With appropriate accessories."

The "appropriate accessories" turn out to be your first tiara—a delicate silver creation with small diamonds that makes your heart skip despite your determination to remain unimpressed by royal trappings.

"This is from the royal collection," Charlotte explains as Madame Aubert carefully places it on your styled hair. "Traditionally worn by princesses at their first official appearance."

You stare at your reflection, this stranger with perfect hair and makeup wearing a genuine tiara. The disconnect between who you were days ago and who you're supposed to be now has never felt more stark.

"What if I can't do this?" you whisper, fear finally breaking through the sarcasm you've been hiding behind.

Charlotte's expression softens slightly. "Everyone feels unprepared for significant change, Your Highness. Even those born to royal life."

"Even Prince Perfect?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

"Prince Jongseong?" Charlotte raises an eyebrow. "Especially him, I suspect. The burdens of Astoria's crown prince are considerable."

You turn to her, surprised by this insight. "What do you mean?"

"Astoria has undergone significant modernization in recent years," Charlotte explains. "Prince Jongseong has been at the forefront of many reforms, often against traditional factions. His reputation for perfectionism is... protective."

This new perspective on the prince is unexpected. You think back to his comment about gilded cages during your garden conversation.

"I misjudged him," you realize aloud.

"First impressions in royal circles are rarely accurate," Charlotte says with surprising gentleness. "We all wear masks of one kind or another."

The conversation is interrupted when your grandmother sweeps in to inspect the dress selection. She surveys you critically, then nods approval.

"The green is unexpected," she notes. "But it suits you. Bold without being inappropriate."

"Thank you," you say, genuinely pleased by her approval.

"Now," she continues briskly, "for this evening's diplomatic reception. There will be approximately fifty guests, primarily ambassadors and foreign dignitaries. You will be introduced formally, then circulate with me for the first hour."

Your momentary confidence evaporates. "Fifty people? Tonight? I barely know how to address half the titles Charlotte's been drilling me on!"

"Consider it practice for tomorrow's press conference," your grandmother replies calmly. "Prince Jongseong has offered to assist you. He knows most of the attendees personally."

Of course he does. Prince Perfect probably emerged from the womb networking with international dignitaries.

-

The diplomatic reception is held in yet another ornate room you haven't seen before. You're beginning to wonder just how many formal spaces one palace needs.

You stand beside your grandmother as Charlotte announces each arrival, desperately trying to remember their titles and countries while maintaining what you hope is a regal posture.

"His Excellency Antoine Dubois, Ambassador of France," Charlotte intones.

A distinguished older man approaches, bowing over your grandmother's hand. "Your Majesty, always a pleasure."

He turns to you with obvious curiosity. "And Your Highness, welcome to Genovia. France looks forward to a long and prosperous relationship with the future Queen."

You manage a decent curtsy. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I look forward to learning more about the historic ties between our nations."

The diplomatic phrase Charlotte drilled into you comes out smoothly, and you feel a small surge of triumph. Maybe you can do this after all.

As more guests arrive, you fall into a rhythm of greetings and basic pleasantries. Your nerves gradually settle—until Charlotte announces, "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of Astoria."

He enters looking even more striking than yesterday, dressed in formal evening attire with a subtle military influence. A row of medals decorates his chest, and a blue sash crosses his torso. The effect is both regal and undeniably attractive.

He bows to your grandmother first, then to you, eyes meeting yours with unexpected warmth.

"Your Highness," he says, and there's something almost like approval in his gaze. "You look magnificent."

The compliment catches you off guard. "Thank you. You look... very princelike yourself."

A hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. "I try my best."

Your grandmother watches this exchange with interest. "Prince Jongseong, perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce Princess Y/N to some of our Eastern European allies? I believe the Latvian ambassador was hoping to meet her."

"It would be my honor," he replies smoothly.

Your grandmother leans closer to you. "Remember, diplomatic relations are built on personal connections as much as formal agreements," she murmurs. "Use this opportunity to establish yourself."

Great. More pressure.

Prince Jongseong offers his arm, and you take it, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at the contact.

"Nervous?" he asks quietly as he leads you through the crowd.

"Terrified," you admit. "I keep waiting for someone to realize I have no idea what I'm doing."

"A secret of royal life," he replies, his voice low near your ear. "Most of us feel that way. We're just better at hiding it."

You look at him in surprise. "Even you?"

"Especially me," he says, and for a brief moment, his perfect façade slips, revealing something vulnerable beneath. Then it's gone, replaced by his usual composed expression as you approach a group of diplomats.

"Ambassador Petrov," Prince Jongseong greets an imposing man with a silver beard. "May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of Genovia?"

The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and carefully navigated conversations. Prince Jongseong remains at your side, smoothly guiding interactions and occasionally rescuing you with well-timed interventions when you falter.

During a brief moment alone while getting drinks, you turn to him. "Thank you. For... all this." You gesture vaguely at the room.

"You're doing remarkably well," he says. "Most people would have fled the country by now."

"Don't think I haven't considered it," you mutter, making him smile.

"What's stopping you?"

You consider the question seriously. "I don't know. Maybe... responsibility? My grandmother needs me. Genovia needs me. Running away seems selfish."

He studies you thoughtfully. "That sense of duty will make you an excellent ruler someday."

"If I survive princess lessons," you joke weakly.

"You will," he says with surprising conviction. "And perhaps along the way, you might even find aspects of royal life to enjoy."

"Like what? The constant scrutiny? The lack of privacy? The arranged marriages?"

His expression shifts at that last point. "Not all royal marriages are purely political these days. There can be... compatibility considerations."

"Is that what this is?" you ask boldly, gesturing between you. "A 'compatibility assessment'?"

He doesn't answer immediately, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I would prefer to think of it as... getting to know each other without predetermined expectations."

"Except for the fact that my grandmother and your government clearly have expectations," you point out.

"True," he acknowledges. "But perhaps we could set those aside, temporarily. See if there's more between us than diplomatic advantage."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "And if there isn't?"

"Then we remain allies with mutual respect," he says simply. "No one can force a marriage in the modern era, regardless of constitutional requirements."

Before you can respond, Charlotte approaches. "Your Highness, the Prime Minister has arrived and wishes to pay his respects."

Prince Jongseong steps back slightly. "We should continue this conversation another time."

"I'd like that," you admit, surprised by your own honesty.

He bows formally, but his eyes hold something warmer. "Until tomorrow, Princess Y/N."

-

The press conference is a blur of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Despite your fears of public humiliation, you somehow manage to survive it—stumbling only twice over Genovian pronunciations and making just one awkward joke that, thankfully, the press seems to find charming rather than offensive.

"You were marvelous," your grandmother tells you afterward, her approval warming you despite your exhaustion.

"Really? Because I think I just agreed to visit a children's hospital tomorrow and I have no idea what a royal visit actually entails."

"Charlotte will brief you," she says dismissively. "The important thing is that you appeared genuine. The people responded to that."

You think back to Prince Jongseong's advice about authenticity over perfection. Maybe he was right after all.

"Speaking of Prince Jongseong," your grandmother continues, with that same hint of calculation in her eyes, "he's arranged for a tour of Genovia's historical districts tomorrow evening. The royal council believes it would be beneficial for you to be seen engaging with our cultural heritage."

"The royal council believes," you repeat skeptically. "Or you believe?"

Your grandmother's lips twitch. "Let's say our interests align in this particular matter."

You roll your eyes. "You're not exactly subtle about this matchmaking attempt."

"Subtlety is a luxury afforded to those with time," she replies. "We have precious little of that."

She's not wrong. The constitutional deadline looms over every decision, every interaction. Sometimes you forget that your grandmother faces the end of her life's work—the dissolution of a monarchy that has stood for centuries—if you don't step up to the challenge.

"Fine," you concede. "I'll go on the royal field trip. But don't expect me to fall madly in love just because he knows his way around old buildings."

"I expect nothing," your grandmother says innocently. "Though I would point out that an appreciation for history is an admirable quality in a potential consort."

That night, sleep remains elusive despite your exhaustion. Your mind keeps cycling through the day's events, replaying moments of triumph and embarrassment in equal measure. After tossing and turning for hours, you finally give up and slip out of bed.

The palace is different at night—quieter, less intimidating without the constant hustle of staff and royal obligations. You wrap a robe around your pajamas and venture into the hallway, nodding to the security guard who pretends not to notice your disheveled state.

Without any real destination in mind, you wander through dimly lit corridors, enjoying the rare moment of solitude. Somehow, you find yourself at a set of glass doors leading to the garden where you walked with Prince Jongseong that first night.

The garden is silvered with moonlight, the formal hedges casting complex shadows across manicured lawns. You step outside, breathing in the scent of night-blooming flowers, and follow a stone path deeper into the grounds.

You've just discovered a charming fountain featuring a mermaid when a voice behind you says, "You couldn't sleep either?"

You whirl around, startled, to find Prince Jongseong standing a few feet away. He's dressed casually—at least by his standards—in dark pants and a simple white shirt, open at the collar. With his hair slightly mussed and his perfect posture somewhat relaxed, he looks younger, more approachable.

"You scared me," you accuse, pressing a hand to your racing heart.

"My apologies," he says, taking a step closer. "I didn't expect anyone else to be out here at this hour."

"That makes two of us," you reply, suddenly conscious of your own appearance—hair hastily tied back, face bare of makeup, wearing palace-issued silk pajamas under a matching robe. Not exactly how you'd choose to encounter the frustratingly perfect prince.

"I watched the press conference," he says, changing the subject. "You did well."

"I stumbled over 'agricultural initiatives' and called the Finance Minister 'sir' instead of 'minister,'" you point out.

His mouth quirks in that almost-smile that's becoming familiar. "And yet, you were authentic. The people responded to that."

"That's almost exactly what my grandmother said."

"The Queen is a perceptive woman."

You study him in the moonlight, curious about this less formal version of the prince. "Do you always wander palace gardens at midnight?"

"Only when sleep proves elusive," he admits. He hesitates, then adds, "The demands of royal life can be... difficult to quiet."

"Tell me about it," you sigh, sitting on the edge of the fountain. After a moment's hesitation, he joins you, maintaining a respectful distance. "Two days ago, my biggest worry was my political theory midterm. Now I'm worried about constitutional crises and diplomatic incidents."

"It's a significant adjustment," he acknowledges.

"That's the understatement of the century," you laugh, but there's no real humor in it. "Everyone keeps acting like I should just accept all this—the title, the responsibility, the arranged marriage—like it's perfectly normal."

He's quiet for a moment, then asks, "May I speak candidly, Your Highness?"

"Please. And maybe drop the 'Your Highness' when we're alone? It's weird enough without the constant reminders."

He nods, then says, "Y/N, then." Your name in his voice, without the royal title, sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. "The truth is, none of this is normal. Not even for those of us raised in it. We're just better at pretending."

"You're saying you hate it too?" you ask skeptically.

"Not hate," he corrects. "But there are... challenges. Expectations. Sacrifices."

"Like what?"

He stares at the fountain, watching moonlight play across the water. "Privacy. Freedom to choose one's own path. The luxury of mistakes."

You study his profile, seeing something vulnerable in his expression that's never visible during daylight hours. "So why do it?"

"Duty," he says simply. "Family. The knowledge that privilege comes with responsibility."

"That sounds rehearsed," you observe.

To your surprise, he laughs—a genuine sound that transforms his face. "Perhaps because I've been repeating it to myself since childhood."

Your curiosity grows. "What would you have chosen? If you weren't born a prince?"

The question seems to catch him off guard. He considers it seriously. "I've never allowed myself to think about it. But perhaps... music."

"Music?" That wasn't what you expected.

"I play piano," he admits, sounding almost embarrassed. "Classically trained, of course, as all proper princes must be. But I find myself drawn to composing. It's... freeing."

You try to imagine Prince Perfect hunched over a piano, lost in music of his own creation, and the image is strangely compelling.

"Will you play for me sometime?" you ask impulsively.

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, certainly, but something else too. Something warmer. "If you wish."

"I do," you say, surprised by your own sincerity.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the gentle splashing of the fountain. Without the pressure of formal events and watchful eyes, you find yourself relaxing in his presence.

"What about you?" he asks eventually. "If you weren't suddenly thrust into royal life, what would you have chosen?"

"I was studying political science," you remind him. "I wanted to work in international development. Help people who are overlooked by traditional power structures."

"Noble aims," he observes.

"Now I sound like the one with rehearsed answers," you laugh.

"No," he says softly. "You sound like someone with genuine conviction." He pauses, then adds, "Someone who would make an excellent queen."

The compliment catches you off guard. "You barely know me."

"I'm a good judge of character," he replies. "It's a necessary skill in diplomatic circles."

"Is that what this is?" you ask boldly. "Diplomacy?"

His eyes meet yours, and something electric passes between you. "Not entirely," he admits.

"This is something unexpected," he says finally, his voice lower than before.

The air between you feels charged with possibility. You're acutely aware of his proximity, of the slight gap in his collar revealing a glimpse of collarbone, of the way moonlight catches in his eyes.

"Jongseong," you say, testing his name without the princely title. It feels intimate somehow, crossing an invisible boundary. "Why did you volunteer to help with my training?"

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his honesty surprises you. "Initially, for diplomatic reasons. An alliance between Genovia and Astoria would benefit both nations." He hesitates, then adds, "But after meeting you... my motivations became more personal."

"How personal?" you press, heart racing.

Instead of answering, he reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away, and brushes a strand of hair from your face. His fingertips graze your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

"Personal enough that I find myself in gardens at midnight, hoping for a chance encounter," he admits quietly.

You don't realize you've been holding your breath until you exhale shakily. "That's... quite personal."

His gaze drops to your lips briefly before returning to your eyes. "May I..." he begins, then hesitates.

"Yes," you whisper, not needing him to finish the question.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is gentle, questioning, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You don't. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, one hand coming to rest on his chest where you can feel his heart beating as rapidly as your own. The kiss deepens, becoming something more urgent, more honest than any interaction you've had since arriving in Genovia.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing unevenly. Jongseong rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

"That was..." he begins.

"Unexpected?" you suggest, echoing his earlier word.

He laughs softly. "Yes. Though perhaps inevitable."

"Is this going to cause an international incident?" you ask, only half-joking.

"Only if we let it," he replies, drawing back slightly to meet your eyes. "This... whatever is developing between us... it needs to be separate from politics. At least for now."

"Can it be?" you wonder aloud. "Everything about our lives is political."

"Not everything," he says firmly. "Not this." He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "When we're alone, I'd like to just be Jongseong. Not Prince Jongseong of Astoria with all its attendant expectations."

The vulnerability in his request touches something in you. "I'd like that."

"My friends at school used to call me Jay," he admits, sounding almost shy. "No one here uses that name."

The nickname humanizes him instantly, creating a contrast with the formal prince everyone else sees.

"Jay," you repeat, testing it on your tongue. His eyes darken at the sound of his nickname in your voice. "I like it."

"May I kiss you again... Y/N?" he asks, your name without titles sounding intimate in his accented voice.

In answer, you close the distance between you, kissing him with more confidence this time. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands that are usually so perfectly styled.

You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his mouth against yours, his hands tracing patterns on your back through the thin silk of your robe. There's an urgency building between you, a heat that makes you forget your surroundings, your circumstances, everything but the feeling of being in his arms.

It's the distant sound of a guard's footsteps that finally brings you back to reality. You pull apart quickly, both breathing heavily. Jongseong's hair is mussed from your fingers, his lips slightly swollen, and there's a flush across his cheekbones that you've never seen before.

"We should probably go back inside," you say reluctantly, glancing toward the sound. "Before someone finds us."

He nods, though he looks as unwilling as you feel. "You're right." He stands, offering you his hand to help you up. "Though I find myself wishing for more midnight encounters."

"Is that a royal request?" you tease, accepting his help.

"A personal one," he corrects, bringing your joined hands to his lips for a brief kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

-

The historical districts of Genovia are charming beyond your expectations—cobblestone streets, centuries-old architecture, and views of both mountains and sea that take your breath away. But if you're being honest, you're far more aware of your tour guide than the sights.

Jongseong—or Jay, as you've begun to think of him in your private thoughts—appears perfectly princely today, back in formal attire with his public mask firmly in place. If not for the occasional heated glance when no one is watching, you might think you dreamed last night's encounter.

"This cathedral dates back to the 14th century," he explains as you enter a soaring space of stained glass and ancient stone. "The Renaldi family has traditionally been crowned here since 1523."

"Where I'll be crowned," you murmur, the reality of your future suddenly pressing in.

His expression softens briefly. "Yes. Though not for many years, one hopes."

The palace security detail keeps a discreet distance, but they're ever-present, along with several photographers approved to document your cultural education for the Genovian press. Every movement, every interaction is observed, recorded, analyzed.

"How do you stand it?" you ask quietly as you move between exhibits in a historical museum. "The constant scrutiny."

"You develop a public self," he explains, maintaining a proper distance as he guides you through a display of royal artifacts. "A version that can withstand examination."

"And the real self?"

His eyes meet yours briefly, intensely. "That remains private. Shared only with those who have earned trust."

The implication isn't lost on you. Last night, he showed you something real—something beyond the perfect prince facade. The knowledge feels like a precious secret.

The tour concludes with dinner at a historical restaurant overlooking the harbor. Security has cleared the establishment of other patrons, creating an illusion of privacy that you both know is false. Still, sitting across from him as sunset paints the water gold, you find moments of genuine connection between the formal conversation about Genovian history and culture.

"You've memorized a remarkable amount about Genovia," you observe as he explains the significance of an ancient trading route.

"I studied your country extensively after learning of your existence," he admits. "I wanted to be prepared."

"For what?"

"To meet you," he says simply.

Something warm unfurls in your chest. "That's... thorough."

"I prefer to be informed," he replies, but there's a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone. "Though I confess, no amount of research prepared me for the reality."

"Disappointed?" you ask, only half-joking.

"Quite the opposite." His gaze is steady, sincere. "You continually surprise me, Y/N. It's... refreshing."

The way he says your name, without titles or pretense, sends a thrill through you despite the public setting.

After dinner, as you're escorted back to the palace, the car's privacy partition offers a brief moment of seclusion from watchful eyes. Jongseong's hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining.

"I wish we could have a normal evening," he says quietly. "Without guards and photographers. Just the two of us."

"Is anything about our lives ever going to be normal?" you wonder aloud.

He squeezes your hand gently. "Probably not. But we might find moments of normalcy in the chaos."

The car slows as you approach the palace gates, and reluctantly, he releases your hand. The mask of royal propriety falls back into place with practiced ease.

"Thank you for the tour, Prince Jongseong," you say formally as the car stops at the palace entrance. "It was most educational."

"The pleasure was mine, Your Highness," he replies with equal formality, though his eyes convey a very different message.

Later that night, you find yourself drawn once again to the garden, hoping for a repeat of the previous evening's encounter. The fountain beckons with memories of his kiss, but the garden remains empty save for the ever-present palace guards.

Disappointed, you turn to head back inside when you notice something on the bench by the fountain—a folded piece of paper tucked partially beneath a small stone. Looking around to ensure no one is watching, you retrieve it, unfolding it quickly.

Inside, in elegant handwriting: Piano room, east wing, midnight. —J

Your pulse quickens. The east wing houses several music rooms, according to Charlotte's exhaustive palace tour. It would be simple enough to find your way there.

It would also be reckless, improper, and potentially scandalous if discovered.

You fold the note carefully, tucking it into your pocket, and head back inside, decision already made.

The palace at midnight is a labyrinth of shadows and silence. You've changed from your formal evening attire into something more comfortable—dark jeans and a simple blouse that feels like armor after days of princess couture. With your hair loose and face scrubbed of makeup, you almost recognize yourself again.

You navigate the corridors carefully, grateful for Charlotte's detailed palace tour. The east wing is older, with fewer guards patrolling its halls. The music room isn't difficult to find—soft piano notes guide you to a partially open door.

Inside, lit only by a single lamp, Jongseong sits at a grand piano. He's shed his formal attire for dark pants and a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair falls loose across his forehead as he plays, eyes closed in concentration.

The melody is hauntingly beautiful—melancholy yet hopeful, complex yet accessible. You stand in the doorway, transfixed by this version of him you've never seen before—completely unguarded, lost in his music.

When the piece ends, his eyes open and find you immediately, as if he sensed your presence all along.

"You came," he says simply.

"I came," you confirm, stepping fully into the room and closing the door quietly behind you.

He remains seated at the piano, watching as you approach. "Did anyone see you?"

"Just the guard outside my room. I told him I was going to the library."

He nods, satisfied. "That was beautiful," you add, gesturing to the piano. "What was it?"

"Something I've been working on," he admits, looking almost shy. "It's not finished yet."

"You composed that?" You're genuinely impressed.

"Music has always been... an escape," he explains. "Somewhere I can express things I can't say aloud."

"What was that piece saying?" you ask, perching on the edge of the piano bench beside him.

He considers this, fingers ghosting over the keys without pressing them. "It's about living between worlds. Belonging fully to neither." His eyes meet yours. "I started it the night we met."

The admission sends warmth flooding through you. "Play more?" you request softly.

Instead, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I'd rather talk. Without titles or expectations or diplomatic considerations."

"What should we talk about... Jay?" His nickname feels intimate on your tongue.

His eyes darken at your use of the name. "Anything. Everything. Who you were before Genovia. Who you hope to become."

So you talk—really talk—in a way you haven't been able to since arriving in Genovia. You tell him about college, your friends, your dreams of working in international development. He shares stories of his childhood in Astoria, the weight of expectation, the moments of rebellion carefully hidden from public view.

"I crashed a motorcycle when I was seventeen," he admits, and you try to reconcile this image with the perfect prince you first met. "Snuck out of the palace, borrowed a security guard's bike, ended up with three broken ribs and a lecture from my father I still haven't forgotten."

"I can't imagine you being that reckless," you laugh.

"I'm not, usually," he acknowledges. "But sometimes the pressure builds until something has to give."

You understand that feeling all too well. "What happened after?"

"I was sent to military academy to 'channel my energies appropriately,'" he says with a wry smile. "It actually helped. Gave me structure, purpose beyond simply being the crown prince."

As you talk, the distance between you gradually diminishes. His hand finds yours again, thumb tracing patterns on your palm that send shivers up your arm. Your shoulders touch, then your knees. The air between you grows charged with possibility.

"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," he admits, voice dropping lower. "About kissing you."

"Neither have I," you confess.

This time, there's no hesitation. He leans in, capturing your lips with his, one hand coming up to cup your face. The kiss deepens immediately, as if you're both making up for lost time. You shift closer on the bench, your hand finding its way to his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palm.

His kisses are more confident than the night before, exploring rather than questioning. Your fingers thread through his hair, marveling at its softness. When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you open to him without hesitation, a small sound of pleasure escaping you.

The bench is awkward, limiting movement, so when he pulls back slightly, breathing heavily, you stand, tugging him with you. He follows willingly, but instead of returning to your kiss, he guides you to a small sofa in the corner of the room.

"More comfortable," he explains, settling beside you.

This new position allows for closer contact. When his lips find yours again, his arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against him. Your bodies align perfectly, and heat builds between you with each passing moment. His kisses move from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, discovering sensitive spots that make you gasp.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your skin.

"More than okay," you assure him, tilting your head to give him better access.

Your hands explore hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence—the broad expanse of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, the surprising warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. His own explorations become bolder, one hand sliding up your side, thumb brushing the outer curve of your breast.

Even this innocent touch sends electricity through you. You arch into his hand, silently encouraging more. He obeys your wordless request, cupping you fully through your blouse, thumb circling in a way that makes you bite your lip to stay quiet.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, eyes dark with desire. "From the moment I saw you..."

You silence him with another kiss, not trusting yourself with words. Your body is taking control, wants overwhelming rational thought. When his hand slips beneath the hem of your blouse, warm against your bare skin, you shiver with anticipation.

His fingers trace patterns up your ribcage, hesitating at the edge of your bra. "May I?" he asks, ever the gentleman even in this moment.

"Yes," you breathe, beyond caring about propriety or consequences.

The first touch of his hand against your bare breast draws a soft moan from you that he captures with his mouth. His thumb circles your nipple through the thin lace, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You press closer, wanting more, needing more.

Your own hands grow bolder, tugging his shirt from his waistband, slipping beneath to explore the warm skin of his back. You feel the subtle ridge of a scar near his shoulder blade, a humanizing imperfection that makes him even more attractive somehow.

"What's this from?" you ask, fingertips tracing the mark.

"Fencing accident," he murmurs against your neck. "Age twelve. Opponent didn't pull his strike."

You press your lips to his jaw, then his neck, enjoying the way his breath catches. "Any other scars I should know about?"

His laugh is low, slightly uneven. "Several. But discovering them might require more privacy than a music room allows."

The reminder of your surroundings is like a splash of cold water. Anyone could walk in—a guard, a staff member, your grandmother. The scandal would be immediate and irreparable.

Reluctantly, you pull back slightly, though your body protests the loss of contact. "You're right. This isn't the place."

His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "I got carried away," he admits. "You have a... significant effect on me."

"Likewise," you assure him, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before putting slight distance between you. "But you're right. We should be careful."

He helps you straighten your clothes, then adjusts his own, running a hand through his disheveled hair in a futile attempt to tame it. The sight of him—rumpled, flushed, looking nothing like the perfect prince the world knows—fills you with a secret satisfaction.

"When can I see you again?" he asks, taking your hand. "Like this, I mean. Just us."

"I don't know," you admit. "My schedule is packed for the next few days. Royal duties and all that."

"I have to return to Astoria briefly," he tells you, disappointment evident in his voice. "Diplomatic matters requiring the crown prince's attention. But I'll be back for the royal ball."

The royal ball—your official introduction to Genovian society. The thought fills you with anxiety, but now also anticipation at the prospect of seeing him again.

"Dance with me at the ball?" you request.

"Every dance they'll allow," he promises. He hesitates, then adds, "Though propriety will demand you dance with other suitable candidates as well."

"Other suitors, you mean," you clarify, the political reality of your situation reasserting itself.

His expression tightens slightly, but he nods. "Yes. The royal council will expect you to consider all options."

"And what do you expect?" you challenge softly.

His answer is immediate and sincere. "Only that you follow your heart, wherever it leads." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Even if it's not to me."

The selflessness of this statement catches you off guard. "That's... not what I expected you to say."

"What did you expect?"

"Something more possessive, maybe," you admit. "More princelike."

He smiles, that real smile that transforms his face. "I'm trying very hard not to be the prince with you, remember? Just Jay."

"Well, Just Jay," you say, returning his smile, "I can't make any promises about where my heart will lead. But right now, it seems rather fixated on a certain piano-playing prince with surprisingly skilled hands."

-

The next few days pass in a blur of preparations. There are fittings for your ball gown (a process that involves no fewer than seven people and countless discussions of hemlines and necklines and something called "appropriate royal décolletage"). There are dance lessons with Monsieur Laurent, who seems personally offended that Prince Jongseong isn't there to partner you. There are briefings about every guest who will attend, complete with flash cards for memorizing names and titles.

"The Duchess of Wellington prefers to discuss her charitable foundation, not her recent divorce," Charlotte instructs as you review the guest list. "And under no circumstances ask the Spanish ambassador about Gibraltar."

"This is worse than finals week," you grumble, flipping through the stack of cards. "At least then I was only tested on one subject at a time."

"Society is judging you on everything simultaneously," Charlotte confirms cheerfully. "Appearance, knowledge, grace, diplomacy..."

"Thanks. That's very reassuring."

The night before the ball, you find yourself restless, missing both Jay's presence and the calming effect of your midnight conversations. Over the past month, you've grown accustomed to his company, to having someone who understands both your old world and your new one. This week without him has left you feeling strangely adrift.

You wander down to the music room, hoping to recapture some of that peace, but the room feels empty without him. You sit at the piano, pressing random keys, creating nothing like the beautiful melodies he coaxed from the instrument. On impulse, you check under the bench, then inside the piano itself, hoping for another note, but find nothing.

It's silly to feel disappointed. He's a crown prince with actual responsibilities, not a lovestruck teenager leaving notes for his crush. Still, you can't help wishing for some connection, some indication that he's thinking of you too.

Back in your room, you're about to climb into bed when there's a soft knock at your door. Olivia enters with a small silver tray.

"This just arrived for you, Your Highness," she says, presenting what appears to be a letter sealed with dark blue wax.

Your heart skips as you recognize the crest pressed into the seal—the royal emblem of Astoria. You wait until Olivia leaves before breaking it open with trembling fingers.

Inside, written in that now-familiar elegant handwriting:

Y/N, Diplomatic obligations keep me in Astoria longer than anticipated, but I'll return tomorrow in time for the ball. Save a dance for me—preferably more than one. This week has felt like an eternity. I've missed our conversations, our moments away from public scrutiny. I find myself at my piano each night, working on the piece I started after we met. It's nearly complete now. Perhaps I'll play it for you soon. The past month has been unexpected in every way. When I first agreed to my father's request to help with your royal transition, I never imagined... Some things are better said in person. Until tomorrow, J P.S. I still feel your touch on my skin.

-

The day of the royal ball arrives with military precision. Your schedule is planned down to the minute—when you'll bathe (9:15 AM), when your hair will be styled (11:30 AM), when makeup will be applied (2:45 PM). It's as if you're a product being assembled rather than a person preparing for an event.

"I can bathe myself, you know," you inform Charlotte when she reviews the schedule over breakfast. "I've been doing it successfully for two decades."

"Today is not about efficiency, Your Highness," Charlotte replies. "It's about tradition. The royal ball has marked the formal introduction of new members of the royal family for generations."

You think about Jay's letter, tucked safely under your pillow. Tonight isn't just about tradition for you. After a month in the palace, you've reached a turning point—not just in your royal journey, but in whatever is developing between you and Jay.

The day progresses according to schedule, each hour bringing you closer to the evening's festivities. By the time you're finally dressed, you hardly recognize yourself in the mirror.

Your ball gown is a masterpiece of midnight blue silk that seems to change colors as you move—now sapphire, now indigo, now almost black. The bodice is fitted, adorned with subtle crystal beading that catches the light like stars, while the skirt flows outward in graceful folds. Your hair has been swept up in an elegant style that manages to look both regal and youthful, and atop it all sits a delicate tiara—platinum vines intertwined with small diamonds.

"You look every inch a princess," your grandmother declares when she sees you, genuine approval warming her voice.

"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's life," you admit.

She approaches, adjusting your tiara slightly. "It is your life now. You've taken to it more naturally than anyone expected—including yourself, I suspect."

There's a knowing look in her eyes that makes you wonder how much she's guessed about your feelings for Jay. Your grandmother misses little, and your increasingly frequent "diplomatic discussions" with Prince Jongseong over the past month have hardly been subtle.

"Remember," she continues, "tonight you represent not just yourself, but Genovia. Every interaction matters."

"No pressure," you mutter.

"Considerable pressure," she corrects, but with a hint of a smile. "That's the nature of our position."

The ball is being held in the palace's Grand Ballroom, a space so opulent it makes even the other royal rooms seem understated in comparison. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings painted with mythological scenes. Massive floral arrangements perfume the air. A full orchestra plays softly as guests begin to arrive.

You stand with your grandmother at the entrance, greeting each person as Charlotte announces them. Your hand is kissed so many times it begins to feel like a separate entity from your body. You cycle through the diplomatic phrases you've memorized, trying to match names to faces to countries to appropriate topics of conversation.

You continue greeting guests, anxiety gradually giving way to a strange confidence. After a month of intensive training, you're actually doing this—being a princess, representing Genovia, handling diplomatic small talk without major incident. The realization is both surprising and empowering.

And then finally, after what feels like hours, Charlotte announces, "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of Astoria."

Your heart stutters as he appears, resplendent in formal attire—a midnight blue military-style jacket with silver accents that perfectly complements your gown, as if coordinated. (Knowing your grandmother's attention to detail, it probably was.) He looks every inch the crown prince, and yet all you can see is Jay—your Jay—hidden beneath the formal facade.

His eyes find yours immediately, warming in a way that feels intimate despite the crowded room. He bows formally to your grandmother, exchanging pleasantries, before turning to you.

"Your Highness," he says, taking your hand. Instead of the customary kiss to your knuckles, he turns your hand gently and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, just above your pulse point.

The gesture is technically within the bounds of protocol but charged with meaning only you understand. You feel your heartbeat quicken beneath his lips, and know he can feel it too.

"Prince Jongseong," you manage, your voice steadier than you expected. "Welcome back to Genovia."

"I understand congratulations are in order," he says smoothly. "The press has been most favorable regarding your public appearances this week."

"The princess has exceeded expectations," your grandmother agrees, watching this interaction with interest.

His eyes never leave yours. "I'm not surprised."

The moment stretches between you, full of unspoken feelings built over these past weeks, before Charlotte's announcement of the next guest breaks the spell. Jay bows again and moves into the ballroom, but not before one last glance that promises more to come.

Once all guests have arrived, the formal dancing begins. Your grandmother opens the ball with the Prime Minister, and then it's your turn. Tradition dictates that your first dance be with the highest-ranking unmarried nobleman present—which happens to be Jay.

He approaches as the orchestra begins a stately waltz, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, Your Highness?"

You place your hand in his, grateful for all those practice sessions over the past month. "You may."

His hand settles at your waist, familiar yet different in this public setting. You move together perfectly, your earlier clumsiness long gone, replaced by a confidence born of compatibility and practice.

"You look breathtaking," he says quietly as he guides you through a turn. "That color suits you."

"Thank you. You look..." You search for a word that encompasses how he affects you without being inappropriate for public consumption. "Regal."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

"Both," you admit. "I miss Jay. Prince Jongseong is very impressive, but..."

"But not who you want to be with," he finishes, understanding immediately. His hand tightens slightly at your waist. "He's still here. Just... constrained by circumstance."

"Can he break free later?" you ask boldly. "Perhaps after the ball?"

His eyes darken. "He'll find a way."

The orchestra's final notes signal the end of your dance, forcing you to separate. Jay bows formally, though his eyes convey much more intimate thoughts.

"Until later, Princess," he says, voice low with promise.

The rest of the evening becomes an exercise in diplomatic multitasking. You dance with Prince Nikolai, finding his conversation refreshingly direct. You dance with the French ambassador's son, the Duke of Wellington, and several other names from your grandmother's list of suitable candidates.

Each dance, each conversation, feels like a performance—you playing the role of princess, potential bride, future queen. Only your brief interactions with Jay feel real, though these are limited to passing glances and the occasional comment as you move in the same diplomatic circles.

During a momentary respite, you find yourself near a set of French doors leading to a terrace. Needing air and solitude, you slip outside, grateful for the cool night breeze after the stuffiness of the ballroom.

You've only enjoyed the peace for a moment when a familiar voice says, "Escaping your own ball?"

You turn to find Jay stepping through the doors, looking concerned.

"Just taking a short break," you assure him. "It's a lot to process."

He glances back at the ballroom, then joins you at the stone balustrade. "We shouldn't be alone together," he says, though he makes no move to leave. "Not where anyone might see."

"Yet here you are," you point out.

"Here I am," he agrees. "Unable to stay away despite knowing better."

You study his profile in the moonlight, drinking in the details you've missed during his week away. The strong line of his jaw, the perfect posture that somehow looks less rigid tonight, the subtle way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression gentles. "And I you. Far more than I anticipated."

You glance back at the ballroom, where hundreds of guests dance and mingle, all potential witnesses to this private moment. "A week felt longer than I expected."

"I composed three new pieces," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Music seems to flow more easily when I'm... feeling something intensely."

"Is that your princely way of saying you thought about me?" you tease.

He turns to face you fully, close enough that you can see the subtle variations of color in his eyes, even in the dim light. "I thought about little else."

Your heart skips at the naked honesty in his voice. Over the past month, you've learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression, to understand what lies beneath his carefully controlled exterior. Tonight, he's making no effort to hide his feelings.

"The ball is beautiful," you say, changing the subject before you do something reckless like kiss him where anyone might see. "I'm surprised I haven't completely embarrassed Genovia yet."

"You could never," he assures you. "You've taken to royal life with remarkable grace."

"I've had a good teacher," you reply, holding his gaze meaningfully.

He steps closer, close enough that the skirt of your gown brushes against his legs. "There's a small courtyard beyond this terrace," he says, his voice low. "More private than here. Would you walk with me? Just for a moment?"

You know you shouldn't. You're the guest of honor at a ball being held in your honor. People will notice your absence. And yet...

"Lead the way," you decide, throwing caution aside.

He offers his arm with perfect formal correctness, as if you're simply taking a proper turn around the terrace. But once you're beyond the sight of the French doors, his hand covers yours where it rests on his arm, a much more intimate touch.

The courtyard is small and enclosed, lit only by the moonlight and a few distant lanterns. A fountain burbles quietly at its center, surrounded by hedges that provide welcome privacy. The music from the ballroom is muffled here, creating the illusion that you've stepped into another world.

The moment you're properly hidden from view, Jay turns to you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"I've been waiting to do this all evening," he murmurs, before his lips find yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, a reacquaintance after a week apart. But it quickly deepens, a month of growing desire making you both less cautious than you should be. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands settle at your waist, respectful even in passion.

"I missed this," you breathe against his mouth. "Missed you. The real you."

"I'm most real when I'm with you," he confesses, forehead resting against yours. "Everywhere else, I'm playing a role."

"Even in Astoria?"

"Especially there," he sighs. "My father has... specific expectations about how the crown prince should behave."

You pull back slightly to study his face. "You never talk about your father."

A shadow crosses his expression. "There's little to say. He is a traditional ruler with traditional views."

"About Astoria? Or about who you should marry?" you ask, cutting to what you suspect is the heart of the matter.

Jay's silence answers your question.

"He doesn't approve of me," you realize. "Of us."

"He doesn't know you," Jay corrects gently. "He sees only the diplomatic equation—a princess with an uncertain claim versus more established alliances."

The reality of your situation crashes back. No matter how genuine your feelings, how perfect this stolen moment, politics surrounds you both like the walls of this courtyard.

"And what do you see?" you ask, steeling yourself for his answer.

His hands frame your face, his gaze unwavering. "I see you. Not the princess, not the diplomatic opportunity. Just you—stubborn, honest, intelligent, beautiful you."

The sincerity in his voice melts your defenses. You reach up to touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your fingertips.

"When did this happen?" you wonder aloud. "When did you become so important to me?"

He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I don't know. Somewhere between your first disastrous curtsy and the moment you called me Jay instead of Prince Jongseong."

"It was the piano playing," you decide with a small smile. "I'm a sucker for musicians."

He laughs softly, the sound warming you from within. "I'll compose symphonies for you, if that's what it takes."

"Takes for what?" you challenge gently.

His expression grows serious. "To convince you that what's between us is worth fighting for, regardless of politics or convenience or royal expectations."

The weight of his words settles over you. A month ago, you were a college student worrying about midterms. Now you're a princess with constitutional responsibilities, standing in a moonlit courtyard with a prince who's looking at you like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"Jay," you start, not sure what you're going to say.

"Don't answer now," he interrupts softly. "There's still time. Still much we both need to consider."

He's right, of course. The constitutional deadline looms, but it's still weeks away. Tonight isn't the time for final decisions.

"We should return," he says reluctantly. "Your absence will be noticed."

"Yours too," you point out. "The dashing Crown Prince of Astoria is quite popular, I've noticed."

A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

His answer is another kiss, deeper than before, his arms pulling you flush against him. When he finally releases you, you're both breathing heavily.

His eyes darken. "Meet me in the music room. One hour after the ball ends."

Your breath catches. "That's... quite direct."

"You asked," he reminds you, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Will you come?"

The music is drawing to a close, your time together nearly over. "Yes,"

-

Once alone, you change from your nightgown into something less formal but still respectable—dark pants and a simple blouse. You check the clock. Forty minutes until you're supposed to meet Jay in the music room. Enough time to let the palace settle, for guards to assume their night positions, for suspicion to fade.

The music room is dark when you arrive, only a single lamp burning low near the piano. For a moment, you think you've arrived first—then you spot him, standing by the window, looking out at the gardens below.

"Jay," you say softly.

He turns, and the expression on his face makes your heart skip. He crosses the room in a few long strides, and then his arms are around you, his lips on yours, and all pretense of formality evaporates.

This kiss is different from those that came before—less hesitant, more certain. A month of growing feelings, a week of separation, an evening of pretending indifference—all of it culminates in this moment of honesty between you.

When you finally part, both breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

"Even during our dances?" you tease.

"Especially then," he admits. "Having you so close, yet having to maintain proper distance... it was excruciating."

You laugh softly. "Poor prince. Such diplomatic hardship."

"You have no idea," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "The things I wanted to say to you..."

"Say them now," you encourage, pulling back slightly to see his face.

He studies you in the dim light, his expression serious. "I don't want to overwhelm you."

"Try me," you challenge.

He takes a breath, then leads you to the small sofa where you've sat during previous late-night conversations. Once you're settled side by side, he takes your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm.

"When my father first suggested I assist with your royal transition, I saw it as a diplomatic assignment," he begins. "Astoria helping Genovia, building goodwill, assessing a potential alliance. Very... political."

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Then I met you," he says with a small smile. "This defiant, overwhelmed, utterly genuine person who didn't fit any diplomatic template I'd prepared for."

"I was a mess," you remind him.

"You were authentic," he corrects. "Do you know how rare that is in royal circles? How precious?"

His sincerity catches you off guard. "I just didn't know how to be anything else."

"Exactly," he says, squeezing your hand. "And over these past weeks, watching you navigate this new world while somehow maintaining that authenticity... it's been remarkable."

"I find myself thinking about you constantly," he continues. "Looking forward to our conversations. Composing music inspired by your laugh. Wondering what you're doing when we're apart."

"I know it's fast," he acknowledges. "Barely a month since we met. But I also know that when I'm with you, I feel more myself than I ever have. Like I don't have to choose between the crown prince and the person beneath it."

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I'm falling in love with you, Y/N. Not the princess. You."

The confession hangs in the air between you, honest and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

"Say something," he urges when you remain silent, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Instead of answering with words, you lean forward and kiss him, trying to convey through touch what you're not sure how to express aloud. Your feelings for him have grown so gradually yet so intensely that putting them into language feels impossible.

When you finally break the kiss, you keep your face close to his. "I don't know what this is," you admit. "Everything in my life has changed so completely in the past month. But the one thing that feels real, that feels right, is you."

His eyes search yours. "But?"

"But I'm scared," you confess. "Of feeling this much. Of making decisions based on emotions when the stakes are so high. Of disappointing my grandmother, Genovia, everyone counting on me to make the right choice."

"What if the right diplomatic choice and the right personal choice are the same?" he asks quietly.

"Are they?" you challenge. "Your father doesn't seem to think so."

His expression tightens slightly. "My father sees alliances in terms of historical connections and military strategy. But a union between Astoria and Genovia makes sense on multiple levels—economic, cultural, geographic."

"Very romantic," you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiles, recognizing your deflection. "I'm trying to address your concerns about duty. The personal reasons are..." His voice drops lower. "Well, I think I've made those clear."

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his implication. "Crystal clear."

"We don't have to decide anything tonight," he assures you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "The constitutional deadline is still weeks away."

"And until then?" you ask.

"Until then," he says, shifting closer, "we continue getting to know each other. Without pressure from our families or royal councils or diplomatic expectations."

"Can we really separate those things from who we are?"

"Perhaps not entirely," he admits. "But we can try. Starting with this."

He kisses you again, and for a while, the complications of royal life fade into the background. There's only this moment, this connection, this growing certainty that whatever path you choose, you want him beside you.

Much later, as you reluctantly prepare to return to your separate rooms before the palace awakens, Jay pulls you into one last embrace.

"We should go," he murmurs against your hair, though his arms tighten around you instead of letting go.

"Not yet," you whisper, unwilling to break the spell between you.

Jay studies your face in the dim light, something shifting in his expression. "Come with me," he says suddenly, taking your hand.

"Where?"

"Somewhere more private," he answers, leading you toward the door. "The guards change rotation in five minutes. We'll have a window."

Heart racing with equal parts excitement and nervousness, you follow him through the shadowed corridors. He moves with practiced ease, clearly familiar with the palace's nocturnal rhythms. After several turns, he stops before an ornate door you don't recognize.

"The royal library," he explains, producing a small key. "It's never guarded at night. No one will look for us here."

The library is vast and silent, moonlight streaming through tall windows, illuminating shelves that stretch toward the ceiling. A small fireplace holds the remnants of embers, casting a faint glow across a single chaise longue and a smaller, more intimate piano than the grand one in the music room.

Jay locks the door behind you, then crosses to stoke the dying fire. The flames leap higher, casting dancing shadows across the room. When he turns to face you, something has changed in his expression—something darker, hungrier.

He approaches slowly, giving you every chance to step away, to maintain the careful boundaries you've observed until now. But you don't move, don't want to move, transfixed by the intensity in his gaze.

Now, his breath is warm against your lips, fingers brushing your cheek with a reverence that makes your chest ache. The only light comes from the dying fire in the hearth, flickering shadows across the lone chaise and the grand piano beside it. The rest of the palace sleeps, unaware of the two figures standing too close in the quiet of the library, the air between them thick with something forbidden.

"Tell me to leave," he murmurs, voice wrecked with restraint.

"I won't," you whisper.

And then he kisses you.

It's slow at first, a gentle press of lips meant to savor, to test, to give you one last chance to stop this before it spirals beyond control. But when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, something breaks.

Jay groans softly, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding to your waist, gripping you like he's afraid you'll disappear. He backs you up until you collide with the piano, your hips pressing against the polished wood, a soft creak echoing through the empty library.

"God," he breathes against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you whisper, tilting your chin up to capture his lips again.

That's all it takes.

Jay's hands slip beneath the fabric of your blouse, fingers finding bare skin, warm and wanting. He lifts you onto the edge of the piano in one smooth motion, the wood cool against your thighs as he steps between them, fitting his body between yours like you were carved for each other.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, trailing down your throat, slow, deliberate. Your breath hitches when he reaches the curve of your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, leaving heat in his wake.

He pulls back slightly, dark eyes locking with yours as his fingers skim higher up your thigh. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice strained.

Instead, your fingers tangle in his hair, your breath unsteady as you part your legs just a little wider, inviting him in.

His chest rises and falls sharply as his hand slides higher, fingertips brushing over the heat of your core, teasing through the thin lace.

"Fuck," he exhales, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his fingers press against you, feeling just how wet you already are.

You tremble beneath his touch, hips shifting forward, seeking more friction, more of him.

Jay lets out a soft, desperate laugh against your skin. "So eager," he teases, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

"Shut up and do something about it," you whisper, voice wrecked.

His control snaps.

His fingers slide beneath the lace, parting you with a slow, torturous stroke that has your head falling back, mouth parting on a silent gasp.

"Jay," you whimper, your hands clenching his shoulders as his fingers dip lower, circling, teasing, never quite giving you enough.

"Patience," he breathes, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. He's just as wrecked as you are.

Then, finally, he sinks a finger inside you.

Your body clenches around him, a sharp inhale breaking the silence of the library.

"That's it," Jay murmurs, lips brushing your temple, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. "Let me hear you, my love."

His fingers work you open slowly, curling, pressing, stroking in time with the shallow thrusts of his hips against your thigh. His mouth never stops—kissing, biting, sucking at your skin, leaving marks that will be hidden beneath your clothes come morning but burn with the memory of him.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you, his thumb circling exactly where you need him most.

"Fuck," he groans when you roll your hips into his touch, chasing the friction. "You're so wet for me. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

"Jay—" Your voice catches as he strokes deeper, his fingers curling just right, white-hot pleasure spreading from your core outward.

He presses a soft kiss to your parted lips, swallowing every moan, every gasp, his pace slow and purposeful, like he wants to memorize the way you fall apart beneath him.

"Say my name," he whispers against your mouth, his voice shaking.

"Jay—"

"Louder."

"Jay," you gasp, body trembling as the pleasure coils tighter, too much and not enough all at once.

"Good girl," he breathes, curling his fingers one last time, pressing his lips against yours just as you shatter around him, your back arching against the piano, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

He keeps working you through it, slow, lazy strokes that make you shudder, pressing kisses to your throat, your jaw, everywhere he can reach.

And when your breathing slows, his forehead rests against yours, his fingers still buried inside you, the taste of your pleasure still on his lips.

"I should let you go," he murmurs, but his hands don't move, his body still pressed against yours, hard and wanting.

You cup his face, pulling him back down for another kiss, deep and slow and full of everything you can't say.

"Not yet," you whisper.

And just like that, Jay groans, dragging you down from the piano and onto the chaise, his mouth and hands promising you're nowhere near done.

-

The palace is quiet as you slip through the corridors, heart still racing from the evening's events. You pause at a window overlooking the gardens, watching moonlight silver the paths where you first kissed Jay weeks ago. How much has changed since then—how much you have changed.

You're so lost in thought that you don't hear the approaching footsteps until it's too late.

"Your Highness?"

You turn, startled, to find your grandmother standing a few feet away, wrapped in a dressing gown that somehow manages to look regal despite the hour.

"Grandmother," you manage, hoping the dim lighting hides your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. "I was just... getting some air."

Her expression remains neutral, but her eyes miss nothing. "A common need after such an eventful evening."

You wait for questions or accusations, but instead, she joins you at the window, both of you staring out at the moonlit garden.

"I couldn't sleep on the night of my first royal ball either," she says unexpectedly. "Too much excitement. Too many decisions looming."

You glance at her, surprised by this rare personal revelation. "Was your ball also for... matchmaking purposes?"

A small smile touches her lips. "Of course. Royal balls have rarely been simply for dancing."

"Did it work?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Did you find someone suitable?"

"I did." Her voice softens with memory. "Though not whom my parents expected."

"Grandfather?"

She nods. "He was considered politically inconvenient. The third son of a minor royal house with more titles than fortune. My parents had their sights set on a neighbor with stronger military forces."

You absorb this information, struggling to reconcile it with the pragmatic queen you've come to know. "But you chose him anyway."

"Love is not a luxury afforded to royalty," she says, her tone measured. "But sometimes, if one is very fortunate, duty and affection may align."

The implication hangs between you. She knows. Perhaps not the details, but enough.

"Is that what happened with you and Grandfather?" you ask.

Her smile deepens. "We built something real from an arrangement that began as political. Not love at first sight, perhaps, but a deep and abiding partnership that grew into something... essential."

You think of Jay—of the way he looks at you when no one else is watching, of his hands on your skin just hours ago, of his confession in the music room.

"I'm not sure what to do," you admit quietly.

Your grandmother turns to face you fully. "You've grown quite... fond of Prince Jongseong."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway. "Yes."

"And he of you," she observes. "That much has been evident for weeks."

Your head snaps up. "You've known?"

"I have eyes, my dear. And considerably more experience with clandestine palace romances than you might imagine."

For a moment, you glimpse a different woman beneath the queenly facade—younger, perhaps, with her own secrets and desires.

"I don't want to choose wrong," you confess. "For myself or for Genovia."

"The choice is rarely wrong or right," she replies. "Merely different paths, each with its own challenges and rewards."

"That's not very helpful," you point out.

To your surprise, she laughs—a genuine sound rarely heard in palace corridors. "I'm afraid that's the most honest counsel I can offer. But I will add this: I have been watching you these past weeks, Y/N. You have taken to royal life with remarkable adaptability. You have won the respect of the council, the diplomatic corps, and, most importantly, the people of Genovia."

"Have I?" You find this hard to believe.

"Indeed. Which means you have earned the right to make this choice for yourself, with Genovia's interests in mind but not at the expense of your own happiness."

Her hand touches your cheek briefly—a rare gesture of affection. "Besides, I have not spent thirty years preserving this monarchy only to see its next ruler miserable in a politically expedient marriage."

With that cryptic statement, she turns to leave. At the end of the corridor, she pauses.

"One more thing, Y/N."

"Yes, Grandmother?"

"The southeast wing has far fewer night patrols than the east wing." Her eyes twinkle momentarily. "For future reference."

She disappears around the corner, leaving you speechless in the moonlight.

The next morning, a note arrives with your breakfast tray.

Meet me in the rose garden at noon. There are matters we must discuss before the council meeting tomorrow. —J

The formality of the message concerns you, so different from his usual warmth. You spend the morning distracted during your language lesson, earning several pointed looks from your Genovian tutor as you massacre conjugations.

By noon, you're a bundle of nerves as you make your way to the garden. You find Jay seated on a stone bench, his posture rigid, his expression guarded. He stands when he sees you, bowing formally.

"Your Highness."

The title and distance hurt more than you expected. "Are we back to that now?"

His expression softens momentarily before the mask returns. "I've received a summons from my father. I'm to return to Astoria immediately."

Your stomach drops. "For how long?"

"That's what we need to discuss." He gestures to the bench, and you sit, carefully maintaining space between you. "My father has learned of... our connection."

"How?" You've been so careful.

"It seems Prince Nikolai mentioned to his father how taken you and I seemed with each other. The Danish king mentioned it to the Austrian ambassador, who informed my father's adviser."

"That's..."

"Royal gossip," Jay supplies with a grim smile. "It travels faster than light."

You process this information, anxiety building. "What does your father want?"

"He believes our association has progressed beyond diplomatic utility," Jay says carefully, clearly choosing each word. "He reminds me that Astoria's interests lie in stronger alliances with certain Eastern European powers, not with a... 'newly discovered princess of questionable legitimacy.'"

The words sting, though you know they're not his. "I see."

"No, you don't," he says firmly, his composed facade cracking. "Those are his words, not mine. Never mine."

"But you're still leaving."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. "He's the king. I cannot simply ignore a direct summons."

"And when you return to Astoria?" you press. "What then?"

Jay's eyes meet yours, conflict evident in their depths. "He expects me to begin formal courtship proceedings with Princess Elena of Belgravia."

The name hits you like a physical blow. Princess Elena—beautiful, accomplished, born and raised royal, and the daughter of one of the wealthiest monarchs in Eastern Europe.

"I see," you say again, because what else is there to say?

"I've requested a private audience with my father before any announcements are made," Jay continues. "I intend to make my case for... an alternative arrangement."

Hope flickers faintly. "What kind of alternative?"

"My own choice," he says simply.

You both know what that means. Who that means.

"When do you leave?" you ask.

"Tomorrow morning."

So soon. Too soon.

"The council meets tomorrow afternoon," you tell him. "To discuss my... suitors. To begin formalizing the process."

"I know." His hand twitches as if to reach for yours, but he restrains himself. You're in plain view of the palace windows. "My timing could not be worse."

You laugh, though there's no humor in it. "When has timing ever been on our side?"

He smiles sadly. "Perhaps just once, when a certain princess couldn't sleep and wandered into a garden at midnight."

The memory warms you despite everything. "What should I do about the council?"

"Stall," he suggests. "Ask for more time to consider. The constitutional deadline is still three weeks away."

"And if you don't return by then? If your father refuses your 'alternative arrangement'?"

The question hangs between you, heavy with implication. Jay's jaw tightens.

"Then you must do what's best for Genovia," he says finally. "As I must do what's best for Astoria."

"Even if that means..."

"Even then," he confirms, though the words clearly pain him.

You sit in silence, the carefully tended roses blooming around you in vibrant contrast to your darkening mood.

"Tonight," Jay says suddenly. "Meet me in the library. Midnight."

Your heartbeat quickens at the memory of your last library encounter. "The guards—"

"Will be occupied with a minor disturbance in the north wing," he finishes. "I've arranged it."

You raise an eyebrow. "How very un-princely of you."

A hint of his real smile appears. "I thought you preferred me un-princely."

"I prefer you," you correct softly.

His eyes darken, and for a moment you think he might forget propriety entirely and kiss you right there in the sunlight. Instead, he stands, straightening his jacket with a deliberate motion that reestablishes distance.

"Until tonight, Your Highness," he says formally, loud enough for any listening ears.

The library is bathed in moonlight when you slip inside at midnight. Jay is already there, pacing between the tall shelves.

The moment the door closes behind you, he crosses the room in swift strides, gathering you into his arms. His mouth finds yours with desperate intensity, and you respond in kind, clutching at his shoulders, his back, anywhere you can reach.

"I can't bear the thought of leaving you," he murmurs against your lips.

"Then don't," you reply, knowing it's impossible even as you say it.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands framing your face. "If there was any other way..."

"I know," you assure him. "I understand duty. Better than I did a month ago, anyway."

He smiles at that, though sadness lingers in his eyes. "You've become quite the princess."

"A reluctant one," you remind him.

"The best kind," he counters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "The kind who questions, who challenges, who sees beyond tradition to possibility."

His faith in you is staggering. "What if I can't do this without you?"

"You can," he says with certainty. "You already have been. I've just been fortunate enough to witness it."

He leads you to the chaise where you lost yourself in him just nights ago. This time, though, he simply sits, pulling you close against his side.

"I've been thinking," he begins, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "About us. About what happens after I speak with my father."

"And?"

"There are several possibilities," he says, the diplomat in him emerging. "He may agree to consider an alliance with Genovia through... us. It's not without precedent or merit, despite his current reservations."

"But you don't think he will," you observe.

Jay sighs. "He is... traditional. Set in his views. Convinced of certain alliances' superiority."

"So what happens if he refuses?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "Then I have a decision to make. One I've been contemplating for some time."

Your heart quickens. "What decision?"

"Whether my duty to Astoria's future must follow the exact path my father envisions," he says carefully. "Or whether I might serve my country better by following my own judgment."

The implications of this statement hang between you.

"You would defy him?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"I would reason with him first," Jay clarifies. "With every diplomatic skill I possess. But if he remains unmoved..." He takes a deep breath. "Then yes, I would consider... alternatives."

"What kind of alternatives?"

He turns to face you fully. "I will be king one day, regardless of whom I marry. My father's insistence on certain alliances reflects old thinking—military might and territorial advantage. But Astoria's future lies in economic partnership, cultural exchange, technological advancement. Areas where Genovia has much to offer."

"That sounds very rational," you observe. "Very diplomatic."

A smile touches his lips. "I'm trying to frame my personal desires in terms my father might respect."

"And what are your personal desires?" you ask boldly.

His eyes darken. "I think I've made those quite clear." His hand comes up to cup your cheek. "But if you need me to be more explicit..."

His kiss leaves no doubt, deep and claiming and full of promise. When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily.

"I love you," he says simply. "I want a future with you. As Prince of Astoria, as future king, but most importantly, as Jay—the man I can only truly be when I'm with you."

Tears spring to your eyes at the raw honesty in his voice. "I love you too," you whisper, the words feel both terrifying and inevitable. "I don't want to lose this. Lose you."

"Then trust me," he urges. "Trust that I will find a way back to you. Trust that what we've found is worth fighting for."

"What should I tell the council tomorrow?"

"The truth," he says. "That you're still considering your options. That you need the full three weeks to make your decision."

"And if they press me?"

"Then you might mention that one option includes a harmonious union between Genovia and Astoria that would benefit both nations for generations to come." A hint of mischief enters his expression. "Be vague on the details."

You laugh despite the heaviness in your chest. "Very diplomatic."

"I've had excellent training," he reminds you.

You lean your head against his shoulder, savoring the solid warmth of him. "How long will you be gone?"

"A week. Perhaps two. I'll send word when I can, but communications may be... monitored."

The reminder of your precarious situation sobers you. "And if you don't return before the deadline?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Then you must do what you believe is right. For yourself and for Genovia."

"That's not the answer I wanted," you admit.

"It's the honest one," he replies. "I will do everything in my power to return to you with a path forward for us. But I would never ask you to risk Genovia's stability on my promise alone."

It's painful, but you understand. The weight of nations rests on both your shoulders. Your wants cannot be the only consideration.

"How did we get here?" you wonder aloud. "Two months ago I was worried about midterms and student loans."

"And I was dutifully attending diplomatic functions, playing the perfect prince," he adds. "Never imagining that a reluctant American princess would upend everything I thought I knew about duty and desire."

You smile at his characterization. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And I intend to keep it that way, regardless of what my father or your council might prefer."

The conviction in his voice bolsters your courage. "So what now?"

"Now," he says, pulling you closer, "we have approximately five hours before dawn. I can think of several ways to spend them that don't involve diplomatic strategy."

"How scandalous, Your Highness," you tease, though heat pools in your core at his implication.

"You bring out my rebellious side," he murmurs, lips finding the sensitive spot below your ear that makes you shiver. "Among other things."

Words give way to touch as you lose yourselves in each other one last time before duty calls you back to separate worlds. Every kiss, every caress feels weighted with significance—a promise, a memory to sustain you through the uncertainty ahead.

Hours later, as dawn threatens the eastern sky, you lie tangled together on the chaise, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"I should go," he whispers, though his arms tighten around you. "I'm expected at the airfield in three hours."

"Five more minutes," you plead, not ready to relinquish this moment.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Five more minutes," he agrees.

-

The council chamber feels cavernous and oppressive as thirteen pairs of eyes study you with varying degrees of interest, skepticism, and calculation. Your grandmother sits at the head of the long table, her expression carefully neutral as the Prime Minister outlines the constitutional requirements yet again.

"The deadline approaches, Your Highness," he concludes, peering at you over his spectacles. "The council requires your decision regarding a suitable match so that proper arrangements can be made within the constitutional timeframe."

You take a deep breath, remembering Jay's advice and your grandmother's unexpected counsel.

"I understand the urgency," you begin, your voice steadier than you expected. "And I appreciate the council's diligence in presenting suitable candidates for consideration. However, I believe the constitution allows me the full three weeks to make my decision, and I intend to use that time."

Murmurs circulate around the table. The Minister of State leans forward, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.

"Your Highness, while technically correct, it would be prudent to announce your intentions sooner. Diplomatic arrangements require time, wedding preparations must be made, public announcements coordinated..."

"And all of that will happen," you assure him, "once my decision is final. But this is not merely a diplomatic arrangement—it is a marriage. One that will affect not only my life but the future of Genovia. I believe such a decision deserves careful consideration."

Your grandmother's lips twitch—almost a smile—before her expression returns to regal impassivity.

"Perhaps," offers Lady Rothschild, the only female council member besides your grandmother, "Her Highness might share which candidates she is most seriously considering? To allow for preliminary preparations?"

All eyes return to you, expectant. You think of Jay, likely in the air now, flying back to face his father and an uncertain future.

"I am considering several options," you say carefully. "Including the possibility of a union that would align Genovia's interests with Astoria, combining our complementary strengths in trade, technology, and cultural influence."

The Foreign Minister straightens in his chair. "Astoria? Has Prince Jongseong made an official overture?"

"Prince Jongseong and I have discussed the potential benefits of such an alliance," you reply, technically truthful while omitting the nature of those discussions. "While nothing is formalized, I believe the possibility warrants serious consideration."

This sets off another round of murmurs, more animated than before. You catch your grandmother watching you with something like approval in her eyes.

"Astoria has historically sought alliances eastward," the Defense Minister points out. "King Min-hyuk is known for his traditional leanings."

"Traditions evolve," you counter. "And wise rulers adapt to changing circumstances."

The Prime Minister clears his throat. "While an Astorian alliance would indeed offer significant advantages, we must be prepared for all outcomes. I suggest the council continue preparation for multiple possibilities while Her Highness completes her... deliberations."

It's a reasonable compromise, and you nod agreement. "I appreciate the council's patience and wisdom in this matter. I assure you that my decision will prioritize Genovia's interests while honoring the constitutional requirements."

The meeting concludes with formal pleasantries, though you feel the weight of speculation following you as you exit the chamber. Your grandmother falls into step beside you in the corridor.

"Well played," she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "Though I believe you've given Lord Pallimore indigestion with the suggestion of Astorian negotiations he knew nothing about."

You can't help but smile. "I merely stated facts. Prince Jongseong and I have indeed discussed the potential benefits of such an arrangement."

"I imagine you have," she replies dryly. "Quite thoroughly."

Heat rises to your cheeks. "Grandmother!"

"I may be old, my dear, but I'm not oblivious." She pats your arm. "Now we wait. And prepare for all possible outcomes, as the Prime Minister so diplomatically suggested."

"Do you think there's a chance?" you ask, unable to keep the vulnerability from your voice. "For Jay and me?"

Your grandmother considers this carefully. "I think Prince Jongseong is more resourceful than his father realizes. And I think King Min-hyuk, for all his traditional bluster, is a pragmatist at heart." She glances at you with unexpected gentleness. "But most importantly, I think you have discovered something genuine in each other. Such connections are rare in royal circles, and not easily broken—even by kings."

Her words offer comfort as the days stretch into a week, then ten days, with no word from Jay. You go through the motions of royal duties—charity visits, diplomatic receptions, cultural events—while your thoughts remain fixed on Astoria and the man fighting for your shared future.

On the eleventh day, when hope begins to falter, a small package arrives. No return address, no accompanying note, just a small box wrapped in simple brown paper.

Inside, nestled in velvet, lies an antique key on a delicate silver chain. You recognize it immediately—the library key Jay used on your last night together. Attached is a small card bearing only a date: three days hence, exactly one day before the constitutional deadline.

The message is clear: He's coming back. He's found a way.

For the first time in eleven days, you breathe fully.

-

The palace gardens are awash in golden late afternoon light as you pace the gravel path. You've changed outfits three times, settled on a simple blue dress that Jay once said brought out your eyes, then second-guessed that choice a dozen times since.

The sound of approaching footsteps has you turning, heart in your throat.

Jay stands at the garden entrance, still in traveling clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the journey. He looks exhausted but determined, his eyes finding yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the weight of eleven days' separation and uncertainty holding you in place. Then you're running, propriety forgotten, and he meets you halfway, catching you in an embrace that lifts you off your feet.

"You're here," you breathe against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. "You came back."

"I promised I would," he reminds you, setting you down but keeping you close. "Nothing could have prevented it."

You pull back just far enough to see his face, searching for clues about his meeting with his father. "What happened? What did he say?"

Jay glances around—you're in plain view of several palace windows. "Not here. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"

You think for a moment, then smile. "Follow me."

You lead him through the palace to a small sitting room in the southeast wing—the area your grandmother so casually mentioned has fewer night patrols. It's a cozy space with comfortable furnishings and, most importantly, a lock on the door.

Once inside, Jay pulls you into his arms again, his kiss desperate and relieved and full of eleven days' worth of longing. You respond with equal fervor, hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, reassuring yourself that he's really here.

When you finally separate, both breathing heavily, he presses his forehead to yours. "I missed you. Every minute of every day."

"I missed you too," you whisper. "The waiting was... unbearable."

He leads you to a small sofa, sitting close, your hands still intertwined. "I have much to tell you."

"Your father?" you prompt.

Jay takes a deep breath. "It was... complicated. Initially, he was immovable. He had already drafted an announcement of intentions between Astoria and Belgravia."

Your heart sinks. "Oh."

"However," he continues, "I convinced him to hear me out before making anything official. I presented a detailed analysis of Genovia's strategic value as an ally—our complementary economies, technological innovations, cultural significance."

"Very diplomatic," you observe with a small smile.

"I was extraordinarily diplomatic," he agrees, a hint of humor in his eyes. "For five days straight. I enlisted support from progressive council members, provided economic projections, cultural impact studies..."

"And he remained unmoved," Jay admits. "Until I played my final card."

"Which was?"

His eyes lock with yours, unwavering. "I informed him that I would pursue this alliance with or without his blessing. That while I respect his wisdom and experience, my future reign would be guided by my own judgment. And that judgment sees clearly that you—both as princess and as yourself—represent the future Astoria needs."

You absorb this, staggered by the implied defiance. "You threatened to go against his wishes?"

"I made clear that my commitment to Astoria's prosperity is unwavering, but my choice of partner is non-negotiable." His fingers tighten around yours. "I also reminded him that he married for love, against his own father's wishes, and that Astoria has thrived under his reign nonetheless."

"And?" you press, heart pounding.

A smile breaks across Jay's face, transforming his features. "And three days of hostile silence later, he conceded that perhaps Genovia deserves 'further consideration' as a potential ally."

"That's... good?"

"From my father, it's the equivalent of enthusiastic approval," Jay assures you. "Especially with this."

He reaches into his jacket, withdrawing a small velvet box. Your breath catches.

"My grandmother's ring," he explains, opening it to reveal an exquisite sapphire surrounded by diamonds. "Given to her by my grandfather when they formalized their engagement after months of diplomatic negotiation. My father presented it to me this morning before I left."

"Jay," you whisper, staring at the ring. "Does this mean...?"

"It means that I have my father's grudging consent to pursue an alliance with Genovia through marriage," he confirms. "Assuming, of course, that Genovia's princess finds such an arrangement acceptable."

Despite the formal wording, the vulnerability in his eyes is unmistakable. This is not merely a diplomatic proposition.

"The council meets tomorrow for my final decision," you tell him. "The constitutional deadline is the day after."

"Convenient timing," he observes with a small smile.

"Almost as if someone planned it that way," you agree, returning his smile.

He shifts from the sofa to one knee before you, the ring box open in his palm. All traces of the diplomatic prince fade away, leaving only Jay—your Jay—looking up at you with naked hope and love.

"Y/N," he begins, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "These past weeks have transformed my understanding of duty, of purpose, of love. You've challenged me, surprised me, and shown me a version of myself I never knew existed. I cannot imagine a future—royal or otherwise—without you in it."

Tears blur your vision as he continues.

"I know our beginning was unconventional. I know our path forward will have challenges. But I also know, with absolute certainty, that what we've found together is worth fighting for—worth building a life, a partnership, and two kingdoms around."

He takes your hand, his touch steadying your trembling fingers.

"Will you marry me? Not just as princes and princesses fulfilling constitutional requirements, but as Jay and Y/N, building something real within the framework of our royal duties?"

The question hangs in the air, though your heart already knows the answer. You think of your journey—from reluctant princess to woman standing in her power, from diplomatic arrangement to genuine love, from fear of losing yourself to finding a partner who sees and values all of you.

"Yes," you say simply, your voice thick with emotion. "Yes to all of it—the duty, the challenge, the love. Everything."

He rises, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips. "The princess, the diplomat, the woman who still occasionally trips over her formal gowns... all of you."

You laugh through your tears. "And I love you—the perfect prince, the midnight pianist, the man who sees me clearly when I'm still learning to see myself."

His kiss is a pledge, a promise of the future you'll build together—one that honors duty while making space for love.

Tomorrow will bring announcements and celebrations, diplomatic strategies and constitutional requirements fulfilled. But tonight belongs to the two people who found each other beneath the crowns and titles—a connection neither of you expected but both now recognize as the most precious of diplomatic achievements.

A love powerful enough to bridge kingdoms while remaining, at its heart, deeply, uniquely your own.

and they lived happily ever after 

the end.

fin.

-

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltiloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @m3wkledreamy @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @yunjiiin @adoredbyjay @wheretheheckis-ssaki @flawlessapollo6 @stwrlightt @jaeyunsbimbo @fateismoonstruck @kiikiisblog @bbsantc @xeee334 @cherrybeomm @merwdusa @urmomdotcom5678

[tsukiflwr]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 .ᐟ ENHA REACTING TO YOU SUDDENLY STUFFING YOUR FACE IN THEIR NECK

𝓅airing ∿ hyung line! enha x f!reader ᰔ 𝒽eadcanons ; fluff, established relationship 𝓌: skinship, kissing?, pet names 𐙚 𝓌c 934 ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓇oro's note. first enha hc hope you guys like it >.< hehe looking for moots #needthem ﹒ ꒰ 𝓁ibrary ꒱ + 𝓂aknae ver

LEE HEESEUNG

“tired princess?” Heeseung hummed quietly as he felt you nuzzle your nose against his neck. his finger’s paused on his controller as he tilted his head to look down at you, a fond look in his eyes. the two of you were sitting on his couch in his room, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of his dorm at night. you shook your head no, your words coming out muffled against his neck “uh-uh just missed you” your words brought a smile to his lips. 

“after this round we can get in bed” he promised as he placed a soft kiss on your head, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you closer, his hands still holding his controller rested on your side as he skillfully played his game. you were practically sitting on his lap by now, your arm draped over the front of his chest, your fingers fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. you fluttered your eyes closed, letting your body melt in his warm embrace, mumbling out a tired “mmkay” 

rest of the hyung line members below >.< !!

PARK JAY 

“you okay baby?” jay asked you sweetly, pausing his strumming and relaxing back against your chest as you hugged him from behind, your face smushed against his neck. you took a deep breath in against his neck, smelling his cologne before answer quietly “mmm just wanted to be close to you” you were laying under jay’s blanket in his bed, watching his back and side profile as he sat on the edge of his bed, strumming his guitar. he was in arm’s length but that was too far for you, you missed the feeling of his body against yours. 

jay eternally awed at your words and sleepy tone, he wanted to be close to you too. jay pulled away from your touch making the corners of your lips curl into a sad pout as you sat back on your knees, watching as he got up from his bed and put away his guitar. but your pout is quickly changed into a smile and giggle when your boyfriend playfully tackled you back against the bed. 

your head falls back on the soft pillows while jay takes his place laying between your legs, this time he was the one to stuff his face in your neck breathing in your scent. your arms wrap around his shoulder to pull him closer, one of your hands tangling in his hair to play with it. jay hums happily at the feeling before whispering against your pulse point – the feeling of his warm breath sending chills down your spine as you closed your eyes “my precious girl” 

SIM JAKE 

“Oh?” jake flinched in surprise at the feeling of you suddenly pressing your body up against his side, he was so into the show playing on your bedroom tv to notice you moving closer to him. jake slips his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, your arm draping across his chest to softly hold his nape while your leg draped over his midsection. 

you tried to keep your hands to yourself as the two of you watched the show, but the longer you looked at him the harder it got for you to hold back. he looked so good, his arm behind his head, his glasses resting so prettily against the slope of his nose, his pretty lips formed into a concentrated pout as he looked at the tv. 

jake moves his hand from under his head and swiftly pulls off his glasses and tosses them behind him onto your fluffy carpet, not caring at all if they broke. you were the only thing on his mind right now. you let out a surprised giggle when Jake turned his body towards you so he could lay on you, stuffing his face in your neck. and in turn you wrap your legs and arms around him to pull him closer to you if that was even possible. both of you hum happily at the change of position. “My little koala” he mused teasingly with a chuckle against your neck. 

PARK SUNGHOON 

“what are you doing you little minx?, hmm” sunghoon hummed with a teasing smirk at your sudden touch, his phone making an obnoxiously loud click when he turned it off before letting it fall by his side on the bed. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, both of you were ready for bed but just couldn't fall asleep. you roll your eyes at the ‘pet name’ your boyfriend called you and nuzzled your face against his warm neck, sassily replying “Is it a crime to wanna be close to my boyfriend” 

his eyes soften at your words and his smirk is replaced with a smile, he brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek with the tip of his fingers as he whispered “no i suppose it's not” you smiled tiredly at his soft touch, your legs tangled together under the soft sheets. you rest your hand on his chest while he slipped his hand under your shirt and held your waist, pulling you flush against him. you placed a feather light kiss against his neck before mumbling tiredly “love youuu” 

sunghoon felt his cheeks and ears warm up at your words, grateful that you couldn't see how flustered you made him by saying that, little did he know you could feel how his heart sped up. sunghoon cleared his throat and moved his hand from your waist to softly pat your head affectionately, kissing the top of your head and whispering sweetly “love you more” 

𝓇oro's note. maknae version should be up tomorrow! — I really hope you guys liked this hehe :3 this was my first time writing something like this and I had a lot of fun omg , I'm looking for some enha mooties mwah x ꒰ 𝓃av ꒱

likes, reblogs, comments and feedback are heavily encouraged !

[fleuryns]

𓂃 𝄞 . . . ENHYPEN REACTION WHEN YOU WEAR PRETTY MINISKIRTS

( 𝐵𝑂𝑂𝐾𝑆𝐻𝐸𝐿𝐹 ) 🍮 엔하이픈 형 & 𝑓!reader ୧ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒 fluff slightly suggestive reactions non–idol au ꒡⌓꒡ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 established relationship pet names kissing skinship

HEESEUNG

you step into the kitchen, adjusting your skirt as you move, and you can feel heeseung's eyes on you instantly.

he’s leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand, but the way his grip tightens ever so slightly makes your heart beat a little faster.

“that’s new” he remarks, his voice low, his gaze traveling down your legs and back up again.

“do you like it?” you ask, spinning slowly, knowing full well the effect you have on him.

he crosses the room in a few quick steps, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close. “like it?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear “i’m obsessed”.

you laugh softly, but the way his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your hip sends shivers down your spine.

“i might have to cancel our plans” he teases, his voice playful but his eyes full of affection “i can't let anyone else see you like this”.

JAY

it's no surprise to you that jay's favorite way of spending money on you is by buying you pretty skirts.

“go try it on, baby” he encourages, waiting on the couch while you go change. when you emerge back in the living room, he's in awe.

the way the skirt hugs your curves just the right way has him almost drool right then and there, but he's a composed man so he just smiles widely and motions for you to come closer.

“wow, just wow…” he comments, holding your thighs with both of his hands, staring shamelessly at your bare legs.

you place your hands on his shoulders and giggle at his expression. “does it look good?” you ask, taking a few steps back to twirl slowly.

he stands up, closing the distance between you and catching your hand, pulling you against his chest.

“it looks perfect” you look up at his soft smile, and he finally presses his lips on yours passionately.

JAKE

wearing a miniskirt means having jake following you around for the rest of the day like a lovesick puppy. he can't stop looking at you, with that stupid smile plastered on his face.

whenever you're near, his hands trail near your lower back or your upper thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“can you wear that pink skirt today?” he eagerly asks when you have to go out, and you chuckle, knowing you had him all wrapped around your finger already.

you smile knowingly while pulling the skirt out of the closet and jake's eyes immediately light up.

he crosses the room to wrap his arms around your waist gently, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"can you blame me?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple "you look so good in it, i can't help myself".

you roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice and the way he looks at you make your heart skip a beat.

SUNGHOON

his eyes dart over your outfit, and he lingers a moment extra on that cute miniskirt with an unreadable gaze.

but the small smile that he fights to keep in and the shy look in his eyes tell you just how much his brain goes highwire.

“looks good” he mumbles, walking over to you, placing a hand on the side of your hip and pulling you against him.

his hand is constantly near the small of your back, especially when you wear skirts this short.

when you go out, he insists on walking behind you when the path is too crowded.

“just to protect you, nothing else” he keeps insisting as you tease him with a playful smile, but you know his eyes can't help but wander down when you turn back.

you do catch him from time to time, slapping his chest lightly as he stumbles over his words in search for an excuse, and you just laugh at his reddening cheeks.