#logicality slowburn

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i am forever loyal to the agenda that satoru is 1) a Lot more mature than he seems 2) so attuned to his own emotions that he can distance himself from them better than anyone . there’s a lock over his heart and to break it open you need five years minimum 🙏

[chanifesto]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 smart girl | go hyuntak

pairing: hyuntak x afab!reader (weak hero class 2)

synopsis: a university au in which hyuntak, determined and mighty and ready for anything, turns to mush in your presence. that is, until he has you turning into mush under him.

genre: somewhat of a smutty slowburn

word count: 8.1k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, softdom!hyuntak, making out, grinding, pet names (baby, pretty girl, smart girl) nipple play, oral (f rec.), fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it! please!), mentions of STI testing and birth control,  just enough consent checks, absolute devotion, your insides are soft, his outsides are hard, gosh he’s such a simp for you, i have never written smut before proceed with caution

reader notes: written with afab!reader in mind. reader has breasts, a vagina, and hair long enough to fall over their shoulder. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

۶ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ i am feverishly starved for this man. it’s only right i dedicate my first post to him. enjoy (at least, i hope you do).

Hyuntak thought his heart was about to ram out of his chest.

  He was perfectly serene ten minutes ago, when it was just him, Hu-min, Jun-tae, and Si-eun at a booth in the university cafeteria. Perfectly serene basking in hoarse laughter at Hu-min’s flimsy puns. Perfectly serene, before you padded towards their table alongside Hu-min’s girlfriend, a textbook caged against your chest, the slightest quirk of a smile clutching at the corners of your pretty lips in response to something Hu-min’s girlfriend had whispered to you.

  You slid into the bench opposite of him at the other end of the table, quietly greeting the other boys as you slipped your tote off your shoulder. If Hyuntak hadn’t been ambushed by his own nervous system, he would have seen the kind eyes you offered him instead of finding a sudden interest in the nutrition facts of his energy drink.

  He was perfectly serene ten minutes ago, before you got there.

  And now you sat there, gently scribbling in your agenda, your plush bottom lip softly caught between your teeth, unaware of the fevered anguish you had inflicted upon him.

  Hyuntak, who was previously doubled over in laughter, was now pressed against the back of his chair, sweaty palms rubbing ever-so-slightly against the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Heat had begun to ghost down the sides of his face to his neck. The last time he was this strung out was for his first basketball tournament, and that was seven years ago. Gosh, the things your presence did to him.

  Hyuntak curtly flips over his wrist to check the time on his watch, just as he did thirty seconds ago, and thirty seconds before that. 

  His chest expands in a quiet huff. He had fifteen minutes before he had to leave for his class, more like twenty since the first ten minutes of the hour are allotted for students to relocate between possible back-to-back classes. Hyuntak always believed he could get to his classes in five—a belief he always proved wrong.

  It was the start of a new semester, so it only made sense to depart earlier than he usually would to locate his lecture hall in time for class. This logic was foreign to him, he was never concerned about getting to class on time, just as long as he showed up.

  But he had to get away from you.

  Had to get away from this feeling you were giving him, the feeling you gave him whenever you came around.

  Hyuntak only ever saw you with Hu-min’s girlfriend—your best friend—and that, too, was usually just on campus. You would show up to their group together, and then you would flip open a textbook or write in your agenda or type notes onto your laptop. It seemed like it didn’t matter where you were, you were always studying, always ready to put that pretty brain of yours to work.

  And that’s how it typically was. Hyuntak had never exchanged more than a few words with you because you were always studying, but he was slowly charmed by you. 

  He adored the scrunch of your eyebrows when you were stuck on a practice question, adored the tip of your tongue sticking through your pouting lips whenever you were writing something, adored the way your hair would fall over your shoulder whenever you leaned into your textbooks.

  He adored you, but he loathed the feeling you gave him.

  The tight chest, the heartbeat on a rampage, it was all so foreign to him. Hyuntak, who was usually so poised, so vigorous, and sometimes a little arrogant, was absolute mush in the palm of your hand.

  And you didn’t even know it.

  Hyuntak slid his chair back with a crisp screech, pushing himself up into a stiff stance while catching the looks of the acquaintances around him.

  “What’s wrong, Gotak? Where are you going?” Hu-min questioned, a reminiscent grin charming his features from what must be the aftermath of a joke Hyuntak was too zoned out to hear, his arm slung over the shoulders of his girlfriend and head hung back to look at Hyuntak’s face.

  “I have class.”

  It’s an abrupt response accompanied by Hyuntak’s darting eyes at Hu-min before he swiftly leans down and collects the strap of his backpack in a tight grasp.

  Hu-min reaches for his phone on the table, tapping the screen. “But you don’t have class for another…”

  “Fourteen minutes, I know,” Hyuntak brisky replies, straightening up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. His eyes remain downcast as he shuffles with rapid feet to the side of the table, his hand rushing to grab the back of his chair to push it in.

  “So why-”

  “I need to find the lecture hall,” Hyuntak spurts out, his eyes bulging at Hu-min against his own will. Hu-min’s eyebrow quirks into a raise, his eyes holding Hyuntak’s in a quiet stare.

  “Where is it?”

  This is not a voice Hyuntak was expecting to hear. This was the last voice Hyuntak needed to hear.

  Hyuntak’s billowing eyes find themselves striking at your figure standing at the other end of the table, your tote hung over your shoulder and textbook gripped within the embrace of your arms once again. When did you even get up? Did you always move so quietly?

  “Huh?” The dumb-witted sound clambers out of his throat. Did Hyuntak imagine that? He doesn’t think so, but he hopes so.

  “Uh, where is it?” Your voice is quieter when you repeat yourself, almost hesitant, “I was going to look for my lecture hall now, too. I thought, if yours is in the same building, we could walk there together.”

  Hyuntak stares at you blankly, eyes still bulging.

  Did Hyuntak imagine that?

  He had to have. There’s no way you’d pay him any mind, no way you’d want a guy like him around you, walking you to class, beside you and breathing the same air as he walked you to said class. What if your hands brushed on accident? You probably wouldn’t want that, you probably think he has sweaty hands, all calloused from the rough rubber of basketballs and the many years of taekwondo. You probably think his fingers are grimy and his hair is greasy and his teeth are yellow and his breath smells bad and his–

  “Or– we don’t have to.”

  Your voice is nimble, but it’s enough to stir Hyuntak out of his head. His eyes blink at the sudden impact of mental whiplash.

  “We’re probably in different buildings anyway–”

  “North building.”

  Hyuntak’s breath had entered his lungs but had not returned back out of him. He stood still watching you, waiting for your response, and if you weren’t fast enough, Hyuntak thought he might faint from lack of oxygen.

  You gaze at him, and then your plump lips tug into a small smile.

  “Me too.”

  Hyuntak’s fists were moistened with perspiration, and the cool winter air made no difference to the toasting skin of his face. It definitely didn’t help that you were trotting beside him, your textbook cuddled in your cute arms, your soft hair wisping with each breath of wind.

  Hyuntak was determined to stare at anything but you. The trees lining the brick path, the students walking in all sorts of directions, the static dead leaves caught in the corner of a building. What a coincidence that all these things happened to be on the opposite side of him, the side that had no indication of your being.

  Your acknowledgement of this was unfortunate for Hyuntak, whether you realized it or not, so when he heard the sound of your mellow voice prick his ears, he couldn’t help the way his shoulders jumped and head snapped.

  “Do you not like me?”

  You said it with a chuckle, eyes kind but curious, squinting at him, assessing what his body was subconsciously trying to tell you.

  His shoulders had dropped but remained strained closer to his midline. His lips had pursed into a clueless pout, eyebrows drawn and stiff, conjuring a faint patch of creases between them. His wide eyes, however, glinted, in awe or fear you did not know. But, they glinted.

  And then, Hyuntak eased. Like water, his body flowed into his more natural posture. His fingers flexed in his sweatpant pockets and his eyebrows anchored down. His eyes, faintly glossed, blinked into a squint.

  He was an idiot.

  “No, I do like you– I mean, I don’t not like you, you’re cool. I just, yeah, I think you’re cool,” he blurts, “Why do you ask?”

  His face is blank as he eyes you. Your lips spread out marginally in amusement.

  “You’re always laughing around with Hu-min and the others before I show up. Then you get all quiet and distant,” you explained, “It gives me the feeling that you don’t want me around. I thought you just didn’t like me.”

  Oh, he was such an idiot.

  “I don’t like you?– No, what, why would you think that? That’s absurd.” Hyuntak almost doesn’t feel himself scowling. You watch him, amusement still soaking through your face. “You’re always studying, I’ve barely spoken to you. I barely even know you.”

  You gaze with a giggle.

  His scowl tightens. “Just– can you– gosh,” he huffs, “What room is your lecture in?”

  “One fifty.”

  Hyuntak’s scowl simmers. His eyebrows knit together.

  “That’s where my lecture is.”

  “Linear algebra?” You question.

  His features question you in return. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, we must be in the same class then.”

  Hyuntak feels sweat begin to coat the insides of his fists again. He never expected to see you in any of his classes. He had never seen you in any of them before. And linear algebra? What could you possibly need linear algebra for? You obviously weren’t in his program, so what’s with this?

  “Do you need to take it for your program?” 

  You shake your head. “It’s my elective.”

  Of course, you, with your angel face and luscious hair and pretty, big brain, were taking linear algebra as your elective.

  “Right, okay,” Hyuntak huffs.

  Of course you were.

  It had become routine for you and Hyuntak to walk to your shared class together. Hyuntak, who was always five minutes late rather than early, found himself showing up to the lecture hall and waiting for the previous class to finish. And you? You were always right there, right by his side.

  As the semester progressed, so did your friendship with Hyuntak. It started with faint encounters—he would ask you simple questions about lecture material during lecture breaks. Soon, the two of you had started doing the assigned practice problems together in the campus library. At first, it was just after class. Then, Hyuntak decided he needed more of your help.

  Or perhaps, he just needed more of your time.

  Hyuntak was quite competent in mathematics. As quick as you were with solving problems, Hyuntak offered himself as fair competition. He definitely benefited from the wisdom you could bestow upon him, but he most definitely did not leech off of it. No, Hyuntak was quite competent. He just needed more you.

  Hyuntak’s nervous system gradually surrendered to him. He found, the more time he spent with you going over questions, he no longer felt a winding in his chest, no longer felt his breath retreat from its post. His hands remained as dry as the Sahara, and he wouldn’t want them any other way.

  Eventually, Hyuntak found himself asking you to cafes—wouldn’t it be nice to study with a warm drink? 

  You had obliged with no hesitation, leaving Hyuntak with a pleasant feeling fogging through his chest and vessels and bones.

  He took you to cafes littered across the city, all around the campus exterior. A French cafe, an Italian cafe, he’d even taken you to a cat cafe, one where you were both guaranteed to get the least amount of work done, falling victim to tufts of fur and fluff.

  When he learned of your love for reading, Hyuntak took you to a book cafe and watched, no, admired as you browsed through the shelves, grazing the spines of different books with your pretty fingers, eyes wide and marveling.

  The only mistake Hyuntak had made was taking you to a cafe that specialized in your favourite drink. He almost didn’t fathom the anguish that smacked him when you moaned in pleasure from your first sip.

  “Mmm.”

  He couldn’t move a nanometer. He couldn’t swallow the sip he had taken from his own drink. He could only listen to you, hear your ethereal sound reverberate within the walls of his head.

  “God, this is so good. Where did you find this place?”

  Hyuntak gapes at your plush lips, the gate to all the pretty sounds that could be elicited from the deepest parts of you. He can’t help but let his own lips tingle at the ghost of what yours might feel like against them, what they’d look like wrapped around his tip–

  “Hyuntak?”

  He thinks he can feel the hot blood that was rushing to his cock freeze in his vessels.

  He swallows. “Huh?”

  “I said, it tastes so good, where do you keep finding these places?”

  Your eyes look so innocent peering at him, so oblivious to the dirty picture Hyuntak had painted of you, of your lips, your sound…

  “Oh. I just, I guess I know my way around the city,” he muses, “I like to try new things, new places out.”

  “Well, keep trying out new places,” you say. Then, you take another sip, “Mmm, it’s so good, Hyuntak.”

  Yeah, taking you here was definitely a mistake.

  The semester was nearing an end, and so came the final round of assignments.

  A wave of tension had ambushed the entire collegiate crowd. The library was full to the brim with students cramping over assignment materials and lecture content, the hallways of each building were full of chatter either discussing chapter solutions or champagne problems. No one had missed being swallowed by this sea of stress.

  You and Hyuntak had succumbed to it fully.

  “This question makes no sense,” Hyuntak muttered, slowly swaying himself in a chair in the empty classroom you’d both colonized, staring at the assignment question that lit up his laptop screen, chewing down on his lip and winding a pencil through his long fingers.

  You stood before him facing the black board, chalk painting your fingers as you scrutinized the scribbles you had flowered the board with, trying to make sense of the question at hand.

  “There was something similar to this in chapter thirteen, but it’s not quite the same...” you murmured.

  Hyuntak forces out a heavy huff. You shuffle to face him.

  “We can stop now, we’ve put in a good amount of work, and we’re making progress,” you suggested, watching his form swaying, basking atop the chair like he owned the entirety of the university.

  He was clad in a tight black t-shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder at his biceps, swoll from crossing his arms. His legs were spread, concealed in black sweats to match. His hair, tousled over his eyes from his veiny hand raking through his strands each time he felt a slap of tension gifted from the assignment question. And his eyes, god his devil eyes, they drank your figure in like red wine.

  He sighed, still eying you. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stop here.”

  You nodded and turned to collect your things.

  There was a pause, and then, “Would you…”

  Your head swiveled to face Hyuntak again, your hand reaching into your tote with your pencil case. “Mhm?”

  Hyuntak had stopped swaying, his feet planted against the floor. His biceps, still crossed against his chest, swelled at you. His bottom lip rolled between his teeth.

  “Would you wanna come over to mine on Saturday?” His voice is timid, but it doesn’t waver, “We can finish working on the assignment. And, I can make us ramen.”

  Hyuntak blurted the last comment in hopes of further persuading you into his humble abode. Luckily for him, it seemed to have worked, and he almost clutched his chest as his heart fluttered to the ring of your giggle.

  “Sure, I’ll see you Saturday,” you smile, “Promise you’ll make it good?”

  Hyuntak grins and sticks out his pinky.

  Saturday had circled around, and Hyuntak was circling around his coffee table, kneeling to, once again, fix the vanilla-scented candle—the one he had bought and lit just for you—before moving it back to its original place, when you knocked at his door.

  Hyuntak heaved himself up off his carpeted floor. His heart was steady, his lungs didn’t betray him, and his nose was happily lazing in the scent of warm ramen and vanilla, but he still found himself wiping his hands across the front of his sweatpants as he walked over to the door, his hands scrunching at the soft material before reaching for the knob.

  He pulled it open, revealing you on the other side, and he swears he feels his heart stop for a millisecond.

  You looked the way you always did, if anything, you were just a little more undone. Bare faced, your delicate hair combed back in a clip. You had worn a flimsy black t-shirt—gosh, no bra?—that fit snug along your torso, and a pair of sweatpants that hung low on your hips. Your tote was slung over your shoulder, and your linear algebra textbook was pressed between your forearms and trunk.

  You hoisted your textbook snug against your chest once you took in Hyuntak, his welcoming frame swallowed in one of his favourite blue hoodies.

  It takes a second for Hyuntak to find his words before he’s welcoming you into his apartment.

  “Hey, come in,” he started, “did you find the place okay?”

  You scrambled through the door, giving him a smile. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad.”

  He’s closing the door behind you when you shimmy your feet out of your shoes. “That’s good–”

  “I think I figured it out!” You declared, traipsing over to his coffee table in a hurried skip.

  He watched you take out your supplies, organizing them across the surface of his coffee table, adoring your grace and need for order.

  He feels warm, his lips spread in a closed smile, and he thinks the ramen will just have to wait until you’ve had a chance to giddily fill him in on all your ideas.

  He carries himself over to the couch and plops down. You sat with your back turned to him, kneeling in front of the coffee table, laying out the notes you had written up since your last study session.

  You’re too far for him to hear all the solutions your incredible brain had come up with, so Hyuntak pats the spot next to him. You turn your head.

  “Get up here, let me hear your theories.”

  Your eyes gaze into his before traveling down to his hand on the couch. You nod.

  Collecting your things and joining him on the couch, you start handing him your notes, reciting the details of the solution you had been working towards. He nods along, listening to you ramble about how chapter thirteen had been conjoined to some topics in chapter fifteen, or at least that’s what he’s able to make out of it.

  Hyuntak can’t concentrate with your thigh brushing against his every time you move around to grab another sheet or book or pencil. He’s holding your notebook, reading your writing and little scribbles, but nothing's getting through to him. He can hear your voice—your angel voice—but he’s not comprehending the jumble of letters you're spitting out.

  He can hear your voice, and god he wants to comprehend you so bad, but his mind is racing, running away from his conscious morality, and taking him to a tavern that offers nothing but hot, liquid lust.

  Hyuntak feels searing blood surging through his body, feels it pool into the rod between his legs. His face is starting to heat up, and he’s afraid of leaving moist fingerprints on your pretty notes. His breath is starting to gallop, his chest raising just a bit higher and falling just a tad deeper. Hyuntak, who had grown to be so cool and calm around you, was now hot and desperate, and instead needed you around him.

  Your thigh feels so supple against his, feels so grippable. Hyuntak can’t help but wonder what both of them would feel like pressing into the sides of his face–

  “Hyuntak, are you listening?”

  You’re looking at him, your eyes kind, pitifully unaware of how Hyuntak had you spread out in his head.

  “Huh?” Hyuntak doesn’t think he can conjure any other sound, let alone move any muscle in his body. Your notebook rests in his lap, balancing against the wrath of a hardening cock you were faultlessly oblivious to.

  Your lips tug into a mellow frown. “I was telling you how we approached the matrix incorrectly in the beginning. Hold on, maybe I should just show you the textbook chapter I’m referring to.”

  You turn towards the coffee table and reach over for the textbook, bending just enough for the dainty lace of your white panties to peak over the band of your sweatpants.

  Hyuntak thinks he might cry.

  “Y/N…” It comes out as a soft mumble, just audible enough to get your attention, wisping out of his mouth and traveling through the now viscous, honey-like air.

  You swivel towards him, the textbook sitting in your lap. The lace of your panties shy back into hiding.

  “Mhm?”

  You’re gazing at him with those godforsaken prudent angel eyes. His feel so heavy, so full of heat and desire, and he’s staring at you with them, begging you to unravel the things you were doing to his body.

  He thinks you need a little help, so he lifts the notebook from his lap, unveiling his aching cock stretching into the tightening fabric of his sweats.

  He watches your eyes shift to the subtle action, watches the skin around them spread back, and—fuck, your pupils are dilating?

  His breathing has deepened, and his dark eyes droop into begging slits. He needs you so bad, has been needing you all these months, but he doesn’t just need your body.

  “These weren’t my intentions,” his voice is so low, so gentle, bordering on a whisper, “please believe me. I’ve liked you for– fuck, I don’t know, a millenia I think.”

  His eyes wash all over your face, searching for any indication of a reaction, perhaps even reciprocity. He follows your eyes traveling back up to meet his. 

  Your gaze is velvety, eyes heavy-lidded and chasmic. You’re staring at his lips, parting with each deep breath he takes.

  “Do you like me too?” Hyuntak’s heartbeat hurts. His heart rhythmically hammers against its thoracic confines.

  You nod. His heart cramps.

  He needs to hear you, has to savour his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet confession.

  One of his hands slowly reaches up to the clip imprisoning your hair, unclipping it and letting your hair brush down your neck.

  The clip falls from his hand and onto the space on the couch behind you. He snakes his hand past your hair, lets his fingers graze into a delicate hold on the back of your neck. He gently rubs. 

  “Words, baby.”

  You think you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  “I like you, too, Hyuntak,” you murmur.

  Hyuntak exhales.

  “Please, can I kiss you?” It’s a muted whimper.

  You pry the textbook and sheets of notes off your lap, pushing them onto the couch beside you, before you lean into Hyuntak, answering him more viscerally than he had calculated.

  The hand on your neck is hooking you in, responding to your movement.

  The heavy lids of your eyes give up, closing to a shut.

  You definitely can’t breathe now, and there’s no point in trying because your lips are molding into the plush pinkness of Hyuntak’s.

  It’s such a desperate kiss, you're both moving into the plushness of the other. You think you can taste his hunger on his lips, and you think you might wail because he tastes starved.

  Hyuntak swats your notebook onto the couch beside him, fingers gripping into the supple flesh of your neck and slowly grazing down your back. His hand falls to your hip, squeezing it, his other hand clutching your opposite thigh to work you onto his lap.

  Your body yields to him. Lips still moving into one another, you let him guide your hips onto his.

  You break away, noses grazing, breaths deep. And then, you’re latching back onto each other.

  The seconds melt, stretching like honey between your mouths. It’s slow, then urgent, and everything in between. It’s you and Hyuntak pouring months of anticipation and desperation into each other. Your lips are swelling against the other, saliva mixed into a drowsy potion that you both keep lapping at.

  Hyuntak’s hands are gripping onto your hips, and you find yourself grinding your heat down into his hardness. He groans, his sound reverberating into you, and grips harder, pushing himself up into you. His body responds to you unconsciously.

  Your lips are melting into one another, your hips are joined right where you both needed each other, separated by what you both thought was too much fabric. The leisurely friction heats the slit between your legs. You feel the hard curve of his cock rubbing the moistening patch on your panties into your hole.

  Hyuntak’s hands are silking their way into your shirt, rubbing and gripping your bare waist, when he breaks away.

  He’s panting, his voice hoarse, nose chafing yours. “Bedroom?”

  “Please.”

  And then your lips drive back into each other.

  You’re wrapping your arms around his neck, his around your waist, when he pushes the two of you into a stand, staggering across his apartment to his bedroom with your body pressed against his. Your hands are feeding into his hair, tugging, luxuriating in the softness of his strands. You feel him moan against your lips.

  When you break away, it’s almost painful. You didn’t need to breathe anymore, you just needed his mouth on yours, lips working into yours, sucking your tongue against his. 

  He lowers you onto his bed, and you finally get to see what had become of him.

  His lips are swollen, red and covered in a blend of your spit, parted to let the string of quick, deep breaths flow out of him. His hair is fluffed, strands sticking out to where your hands had been, almost aching, reaching out for your touch again. Dark strands loll over his eyes, his heavy, heavy eyes that crawl over your body, licking, biting, sucking at your supple skin with his leaden gaze.

  You’re no different. Your pout has swelled, pink and wet. Your nipples pebble against the material of your shirt, breasts raising with each hallowing breath that flutters past your lips, weeping out for his hands to touch them. You’re leaning back on your hands, your legs spread into brackets fit just for Hyuntak’s frame.

  His hands reach back and grab onto his hoodie, pulling it over his head, letting it fall from his pulsing forearm and to the ground.

  His golden skin looks so warm to touch, and you think you might reach out to graze your fingers down the ridges of his tight torso, but Hyuntak is already moving.

  He’s leaning down into you, his arms caging your waist, warm hand brushing along your lower back. He’s catching your lips in an embrace, softly sucking onto your bottom lip, licking it and letting it swell in his mouth, then pulls away to look at you.

  His fingers rub the fabric of your t-shirt between their tips. “Can I take this off?”

  “Yes,” you breathe.

  There’s a warm glint in his eyes, and then he nods. His hands slide under your shirt, savouring the heat of your waist, before lifting it up and over your head.

  There’s an inviting coolness in Hyuntak’s room, and it hits your fiery skin, dousing over the upper half of your body, hardening your nipples even more.

  You peek up at Hyuntak.

  He’s already gazing at you, eyes soft, smooth like melted milk chocolate, slowly breathing through his nose. Your shirt falls from his hand, onto the blue pool of his hoodie.

  Hyuntak is taken by the sight of your half-naked body. He thinks he nearly salivates when his eyes fall over your pretty tits, the most beautiful pair he thinks he’ll ever see. Perfect, simply because they were yours. He can’t help but let his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth, trying to mimic the way he wants to lave over your hardened nipples.

  There’s a genial quirk to his swollen lips. Your cheeks start to flush, heating from the warmth of his gaze, and you feel a wistful smile takeover your features.

  Hyuntak leans back down into you. A strong arm curves against your back, the pads of his fingers whisper with the soft hairs prickling across the back of your neck.

  He delicately pulls you down against his mattress, and you let him. His forearm rests near your head, keeping him above you as he kisses you again, slow and wet. 

  His bare torso is so warm against yours. He’s bent over the edge of his bed, grinding down into you again. Your thighs are grazing his flanks, heels pressing into the edge of his bed, hips grinding up to answer his, scavenging for more traction.

  Hyuntak’s arm is pressing your body into his, desperately trying to dissolve your beings together. The feeling of your tits rubbing against his chest makes him shiver with anticipation.

  His big hand skims down your back, circling lazily over your waist. It climbs higher up, inching closer to your breast, until his palm smoothes over your peak. 

  You sigh into his mouth, and Hyuntak is urged to give you more, whatever you need, so he can hear more of your ethereal sounds.

  He gathers as much of you as he can into the cup of his hand, pressing into your pretty tit, and gives it a soft squeeze. You moan into him, and he bucks his hips harder into you.

  His thumb murmurs slowly over your nipple, rubbing a languid circle around it, rousing a whine from the back of your throat.

  Hyuntak groans, pulling away from your lips with a pop, and plants an urgent kiss to the corner of your mouth. He kisses down your jaw, mouth open and hot, onto your neck, gently sucking at your skin. 

  You’re too swept in the feeling of his hot lips loitering down your complexion to realize Hyuntak has a destination in mind. 

  His tongue flattens over your pebbled nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

  “Mmmm.”

  Hyuntak sucks harder, swirling his tongue over the tip of your peak. His hand is pushing more of your breast into his mouth. 

  Your lips vibrate with moans. Your slick is pooling into your panties, splurging within your pussy lips with each grind Hyuntak offers. Your toes curl into the comforter because of how desperately you're pushing your hips into his. One of your hands is clutching at his hard shoulder, the other basking through his hair.

  You needed more, god you needed so much more.

  You're pulling Hyuntak’s head off your chest, your fingers gripping into his hair. His lips suck off your nipple, leaving it with a sheen of his saliva, a thin sliver of spit being the only thing connecting him to your breast.

  He pops off with a moan, eyes shut tight at the feeling of your tugging at him. He opens them, lids shadowing his sight with desire. 

  Your eyes are pleading, soaking him in. “Need more, Hyune.”

  Hyuntak feels your order shoot straight to his throbbing dick, then nods.

  And his lips are back on your skin, soft as sin.

  “I’ll give it to you, baby, gonna give it to you so good,” he murmurs against you, moving down your body.

  His fingers hook into the band of your sweats. “M’gonna make you feel so good.”

  You’re up, leaning back against your forearms. You lift your hips to let him tug your sweats off your legs.

  He draws them off, kneeling in between your legs on the edge of the bed. His hands skim over your legs, fingers trailing absentmindedly over the expanse of your skin.

  You’re an angel beneath him, almost bare on his sheets if not for your white panties, the cute little bow that decorates the waistband inviting Hyuntak to unwrap you. His eyes dance over you, over the wet patch that renders the fabric just under your hole translucent. 

  Fuck, you were a wet dream, the most beautiful, cinematic wet dream rejuvenated into reality, spread out just for him, soaking just for him. Hyuntak takes in your angel form, and he is wreaked. 

  You were lying there all pretty, on his bed, and Hyuntak can’t help but think the months of prowling with the torturous feeling your presence gave him was irrefutably worth it.

  Hyuntak clasps a hand over one of your ankles, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder, fingers lightly grazing up and down. He grapples with the whimper that threatens to spill out of him.

  “Look so pretty, so perfect for me.” He licks his lips. “Been such a smart girl, hm? Need to reward you.”

  Hyuntak wants to stand there, idolizing you with parted lips, watching your tits expand with each of your breaths, eyes droop with need, hips twitch with hopelessness. But he has to give you what you need, has to make you feel good.

  He itches to make you feel good. He has to, after all, you’d been working so hard this semester.

  So, he slowly drops to his knees in front of you and pulls your thighs onto his shoulders.

  He can smell your heady wetness through your panties, now lucid from your deprivation. He breathes out against you.

  His air cools the patch of slick. It’s a potent sensation that has your back curving off the sheets.

  “Take them off, please,” it leaves your lips concealed in a whine.

  Hyuntak brushes the tip of his nose against your aching bud, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the soaked patch.

  You’re cunt flutters, trying to clamp down on emptiness. You whimper.

  Hyuntak slings his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, dragging them through your legs before they finally clear your feet.

  He’s gripping your thighs down into his shoulders, drinking in the sight of you, bare and spread for him. 

  “Such a pretty cunt… my smart, beautiful girl,” he mumbles, eyes drowning in the sight of your glistening pussy, watching your stickiness pool out of you. He wants to savour you, wants to drag his tongue through you with selfishness and greed until he knows his taste buds will be coated with you for days. He wants to take his time, but you had been so good, so smart, working so hard, and you needed him so badly. The last thing Hyuntak wanted to do was deny you for his own pleasure.

  He decides he’ll hold you down and savour you another time, before he crashes into you.

  Hyuntak licks a thick strip from your hole to your clit. It’s such a delicious feeling, there’s a moan breaking through your voice box, and your hips are delinquently rolling themselves into his tongue.

  He sucks your clit into his mouth, licking once across its surface, and letting it go. His tongue squishes through your folds, driving back to dig the tip into your hole, and doing it all over again like a broken record.

  The sounds are filthy, wet with lust. You can hear Hyuntak sucking on your clit, hear his tongue squelch and squish through your slick. Moans and whimpers are clambering out of you, whether you want them to or not.

  He’s sucking your bud when you feel the tip of his middle finger flit around the outskirts of your cunt. He can feel your walls clench, trying to suck him in, and he smirks against you at your need.

  But he can’t hold back on you, so he lets it sink in, lets you coat his finger with your wetness, lets you squeeze around him, before he pulls it back out and glides it back in with his ring finger.

  The stimulation is just right. It feels so good with his fingers slowly pumping into you, his mouth sucking and licking your aching nub. You fall back against the sheets, shutting your eyes and dragging the tips of your toes over Hyuntak’s back. Your hand trails down your front, finding his tousled locks, and you twine your fingers into them.

  Hyuntak groans against you, stimulating your clit further. He curls his fingers, digging them deeper into your cunt. He slightly flexes them out when you clench around him, resisting your confines and giving you a larger stretch.

  You’re breathing faster, deeper, just as Hyuntak’s fingers are working into you. You feel heat spread through your face, down into your chest and through your limbs. Your hips roll with the wave of Hyuntak’s hands. There’s a coiling at your core that has you moaning for more.

  Hyuntak feels you rolling your hips harder against him, feels your thighs starting to squeeze the sides of his face, feels you tugging harder at his hair, and he knows he’s drawing you closer to a release. So he plants his fingers in deep and curls them against the spot that has you gushing, whimpering his name over and over, until finally, you twitch, your cunt clenches, fluttering open and shut, and you're a whining mess above him.

  Hyuntak lets his fingers rest in your contracting cunt when he pulls away from your clit. He brings his thumb to gently rub against it, helping you come down from your release.

  Hyuntak is wrecked. His lips are parted, coated with your slick that dribbles down his chin. His hair is messed from your hold, spiking out and flatted against his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, draining in how undone you are. 

  Your sweet, swollen lips are parted, deep pants escaping through them and making your breasts heave with each breath. You let go of his hair, dragging your hand up to grip onto the sheets near your head.

  He watches you, and soon becomes aware of his hips bucking against the side of his bed, trying to catch a release of his own.

  He’s so hard it hurts, so wet he’s soaked a small patch of his own through his boxers and into the material of his sweats.

  Hyuntak doesn’t think his body has ever been so desperate for someone. He’s desperate for you, the girl who’s been unintentionally tampering with his breathing, setting his heart ablaze with white fire, making his palms sweat up a sixth ocean for the past few months.

  And now, Hyuntak thinks he finally has you desperate for him, right where he wants you, leaking onto his sheets and moaning his name.

  Hyuntak was the most fortunate idiot in the world.

  “Did so good, baby, you look so pretty right now,” he sighs, licking at the taste of you on his lips. You peek open your eyes and take him in.

  He slowly pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, leaving you empty and squeezing onto nothing.

  “Wanna taste?” 

  You nod. “Mhm.”

  He brings his fingers to your lips, coats them with your wetness. They part just enough for him to slide them in. You drag your tongue around them, sucking them further into your mouth, and Hyuntak strains to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. He thinks he might cum from watching you, feeling you, so he pulls his fingers back, enduring your suction. 

  They latch off with a pop.

  “Want you inside, Hyune. Fuck me, please,” you’re mumbling.

  Hyuntak was going to combust. Your words grip onto his paining dick, and he’s bounding onto his feet.

  His thumbs slide under the waistband of his boxers, and he pushes them down with his sweats. His cock is springing out, bobbing against his lower stomach, veins pulsing out of his skin. His tip is sticky, glossed over with his precum.

  “I have some condoms, Hu-min gave them to me,” he clarifies with a mutter, hoping you don’t get the idea that he's been anticipating sexual encounters, “I’ll grab one–”

  “No,” you murmur, “Want you bare.”

  Gosh, were you trying to kill him?

  He gapes at you. “Are you– are you sure?”

  You lazily nod, heaving, back still arched. “I cleared my test, and I’m on birth control.”

  He takes a second to process what you said, process the fact that you wanted him bare inside you, then slowly nods, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “Okay… okay, I tested negative, too.”

  He mounts himself onto the bed, kneeling before you, fingers rubbing over your knees. You’re slowly breathing, looking up at him with your fucked out eyes.

  “You’re sure, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  And then Hyuntak is caging himself over you, sliding his hand up your thigh and hooking it over his hip.

  “Wrap your legs around me, pretty girl.” You obey him.

  He hoists you closer to his abdomen and shifts you up until your head digs into his pillows. He lowers himself onto his forearms, his fingers looping into your hair, the soft strands that stray over the pillows.

  Your gaze is drowsy, reaching out into his eyes and drawing him in. Hyuntak is reeling his head lower, giving into your spell. His lips feather over your own until he’s pressing them down into a kiss far too innocent for your current arrangement.

  Your legs, wrapped snug over Hyuntak’s hips, drag him down until the length of his cock rubs into your wettening folds and he’s whining into your mouth.

  He pulls back his head. God, he needs to be in you so bad.

  He snakes a hand down to line himself against your hole, rubbing his tip against you, making you writhe your hips for more.

  “Please, Hyuntak,” you whimper, and that’s enough to do him over.

  Hyuntak sinks into you, and you moan in tandem.

  Your walls are so hot, so inviting, hugging around him like you never want him to leave. He’s pushing himself in, feeling each of his inches get sucked in by your confines.

  He looks into your half-open eyes. “Okay?”

  “Mmm, Hyune, feels so good, so full.”

  He breathes out a moan, dropping his head into your shoulder. Your reassurance drives all the scorching blood in his body to the only part of him that’s buried in you.

  Hyuntak slowly pulls himself back out, dragging his veiny rod against your pulsing walls, before he’s sinking himself back into you, filling you full.

  He flattens his hand against your back, curving you into his chest, feeling your tits press into him. Then, he’s grabbing onto your hip so he can really start pounding into you.

  The squelch of your pussy around his pumping cock fills the room, your little gasps and broken whimpers serenade the fibres in his ears. His open mouth rests against the base of your neck, wreaked moans sinking into your warm skin. Your hands are in his already unkempt hair, nails digging into his neck and scraping over his upper back. 

  He’s fucking into you slow, deliberate, letting you feel all his passion, trying to get you to acknowledge the hard times you had given him, or rather, all the times you had gotten him hard. He wasn’t greedy before, but now? Hyuntak believes he has all the right to take you exactly how he wants.

  Make you feel the stretch of his cock in your gushing cunt.

  Make you whimper and whine over the loving manner with which he pumps himself into you.

  He snaps his hips, squeezes onto yours, and grinds his dick deeper into you. His tip grazes your g-spot, and you clench around him, trying to keep him in, trying to make him stay there and rutt into your spot over and over until you’re coming for him all over again. You squeeze your legs around him, attempting to bury him further into you.

  But Hyuntak pulls himself out with a groan, pushing against the hold of your cunt and legs. He bucks himself deep inside you again and pulls out with a fastened pace.

  He’s so hard, so deep, but he’s still so gentle, so raw. His fingers are wreathing through your hair, the pad of his thumb is circling over your hip bone, and he’s mumbling against the supple skin of your neck.

  “Taking me so well, baby, fuck.”

  “Feel that? Feel how hard you made me? It’s all for you, just for you.”

  “Been getting me so hot and hard for months. Gonna fuck it all into you now, m’gonna make you take it.”

  You’re whining at his words, rolling your hips to match his pace.

  The hand on your hip is smoothing over your lower stomach, his palm pressing into it when he pounds into your g-spot again. You’re whimpering at the friction of his tip against your sweet spot, gripping whatever part of him you can get your hands on. Then, he’s sliding his hand down, his fingers pushing your swollen clit out from under its hood, and rubbing down into it.

  The pressure is enough to make you twitch, chasing your second release. Hyuntak is still rutting himself into you when you feel the coil burst in the depths of your abdomen, you cunt finally giving in and clenching down on his cock again and again and again.

  “God, Hyune– nngh.”

  Hyuntak’s hot, heavy eyes are pouring into yours when you come undone for him again. He basks in the moans trailing out of your parted mouth, and when he hears you repeating his name, masked in lewd whines, he feels a coiling of his own brewing deep within him.

  His abs tighten, arms bulge, hands gripping into your hair. His mouth falls open with groans, and he whimpers your name when the tense string finally tightens and snaps. His hips are worn, bucking into you hopelessly, wretchedly, and his deviled cock is draining your spent pussy walls with his hot seed.

  He’s spurting into you, and you're clenching onto him, wrapping your tight walls around him and sucking up each drop he has to offer you.

  He fucks his cum deep into you with one more thrust before his hips slow to a stop inside you. He’s still lazily rubbing over your clit, halting with a chuckle when he feels you squirm from overstimulation.

  You're both panting, noses rubbing softly, and Hyuntak wants to stay like this forever, with his cock stuffing you and your cunt full of his searing cum. But he knows he can’t, and he can feel himself softening, so he delicately starts to pull himself out of you. 

  You let out a low mewl in protest, and Hyuntak answers you with a mellow whine of his own.

  He twists himself to lay on his side next to you. His eyes wash over you, over your hair sprawled in a sea around your head on his pillows, your plush, still swelling pink lips, your eyes, now soft and kind, squinting at him when you smile up at him.

  Hyuntak melts, and knows he’s never seen anything more beautiful. He wants to wrap you up in blankets and kiss you all over your glowing face, but he thinks you’d benefit more from something edible.

  So, he smiles back at you and says, “I made ramen, I promised you, didn’t I?”

  You giggle, your hands reaching for his neck and pulling him down to your lips.

  “Maybe after one more round?” you suggest, mumbling against him, eying him with a playful twinkle.

  Hyuntak thinks he feels his blood mockingly rush back into his cock, and he’s a goner.

  The ramen will just have to wait. Again.

© chanifesto

[dailynnt]

TRUTH OR DARE: KISS A FRIEND

✘ Summary: During the game of Truth or Dare, Jungkook kisses you so hard that you can't think of anyone else but him. But it doesn't seem to mean anything to him. To forget about him, you start talking to someone else, but Jungkook won't let anyone take his place.

✘ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

✘ Age restrictions: 18+

✘ Size: one shot

✘ Tags: friends to lovers, possessive!jungkook, truth or dare, jealousy, heated moments, intense attraction, slowburn but not really, confused feelings, denial but not for long, unspoken desires, spicy tension, one kiss changes everything, unprotected sex.

✘ From author: Hello, guys, everyone. I've written something new for you here 🥹 But I'll start writing "Captive to His Attention" soon. Imagine, I had three short stories in my head at the same time and I had to choose one of them and of course I couldn't help but write about my favourite friends to lover. Let's just admit that this will be my signature theme! 🤭😂 I hope you like it because I really enjoyed writing it 🔥🥰

✘ Dedication: I can't choose one person. That seems like a crime if I did it. I dedicate this work and every next one to my most beloved army in the world: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @mskookie, @kooko009, @myjungkookthighs, @medstudentlifestyle, @someoneelse0109, @minimoninini, @byeolluvher 💜 I love you girls so much 🥹 Thank you for your endless support and love, so this is my humble gift to you to make you feel good ❤️���🔥💜

✘ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

"One minute?" you laughed, your voice breaking into a slight hysteria.

"Just one minute. It's just a prank," Taehyung said. 

"Are you nervous?" You heard your friend's voice from the side. You turned to her and met her sly eyes. 

"I’m? Nervous? No, why would I be?" You rolled your eyes and took another sip of your cocktail. The ice in the glass clinked against the walls as you set it down on the table. The alcohol made you a little dizzy, but not enough to not realize what you had just gotten yourself into.

Everyone at the table was cheering you and Jungkook on. It was just a game. It's just a stupid game of truth or dare. You kept choosing truth because it wasn't hard and you had nothing to hide, and doing the dare was boring or just lazy.

But Taehyung got tired of you always choosing "truth", so he insisted on choosing "dare". And you got it! ‘Kiss a friend during a minute’. You could have chosen anyone. But when you heard what you had to do, for some reason your eyes reflexively looked at Jungkook, who was already looking at you. It could be attributed to the fact that you have been friends for a long time, because in any difficult situation, you sought support from him first. You and Jungkook have been best friends for... how long? Five years? 

This did not go unnoticed by your another friends, and so they insisted that you kiss Jungkook. You both refused, and you said you wouldn't do it, not with Jungkook, not with anyone from the company.

"No, that's not the way it works," Jimin interjected, "Either you kiss Jungkook or you drink 0.5 litres soju in one gulp."

You're left with no choice. It's better to kiss Jungkook than to suffer from a terrible drunkenness and then an even worse hangover in the morning. 

"You two are just stalling," your friend, Su Ah, teased, setting down her empty glass. "You’ve been together for so many years that it’s obvious to everyone that you’re either finally kissing or planning a wedding."

You snorted. Jungkook laughed.

"Su Ah, your logic is impeccable," Jungkook replied sarcastically, twirling his half-empty whiskey glass in his fingers. "But unfortunately, Y/N and I haven’t discussed a wedding date yet."

"Not yet?" your friend asked with a sly smile.

"Jungkook, come on!" you snapped at him, trying not to show your embarrassment.

He just huffed, and your friends started talking again, urging you on. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and someone was about to push you down. But... you couldn't just run away, could you?

You looked at Jungkook again. The eyes you knew so well looked at you with a slight challenge. He wasn't going to dodge, he wasn't going to joke. He was just waiting.

"God," you muttered, picked up your glass and took the last sip, as if it could give you courage.

"Well?" Jimin tapped his fingers on the table, holding you with a long look.

"Okay," you sighed, feeling your heart start to beat faster.

You turned to Jungkook, and he smiled slightly. You had joked about this kind of thing hundreds of times. Teased each other, played with flirting that never turned into anything serious. But now... now it all seemed too real. 

You walked over to him because you were sitting across from him, and he walked over to you as well. Everyone was watching with interest. 

"Close your eyes right away so it won't be so embarrassing," you muttered, trying to smooth things over. 

"Yeah, and you're going to kiss me on the forehead? You know that won't work," he chuckled.

"I'll punch you in the forehead right now!" You lifted your chin as if you were really offended, although you realized that your authority could not be saved.

"Don't even think about it," Jungkook leaned closer.

The friends froze, waiting. The room became quiet, too quiet for such a noisy company.

And then you stepped forward and finally touched his lips.

Warmth.

Softness.

A strange heat somewhere in your chest.

You kissed him quickly, almost afraid to stay longer, but before you could pull away, he put his hand on your back, holding you closer.

There were muffled whispers around, someone giggled, someone whistled encouragingly. But it all disappeared the moment he entered his tongue in your mouth. And you let your tongues dance together. You felt the throbbing between your thighs as Jungkook deepened the kiss. 

You heard someone counting seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

His fingers tightened around your waist, and you suddenly realized that you didn't want to pull back. You never thought your best friend was such a great kisser. God, you could have admitted that no one had ever kissed you that well. 

Fifty.

When Jungkook tilts his head a little, changing the angle, you're hit with a wave of something hot, dangerous. His tongue touches yours, making you almost moan. 

"Hey, are you guys ever going to stop?" Taehyung teased.

Jungkook slowly pulled away, leaving a warm aftertaste on your lips as you both heard the sound of the timer beeping. You stared at each other in silence. 

Su Ah slammed her hands on the table.

"Well, congratulations, now either date or continue to pretend that you're just friends."

Jungkook just huffed, looking away from you.

"We're just friends, and it was just a game." You gave him a small smile and went back to the table. You continued playing and drinking at the bar. 

Jungkook's words upset you, but you didn't show it. You gave him a fast glance. He was talking to Jimin and acted as if you hadn't just kissed. 

For a moment, you remember the sensation of his lips and tongue, and it's like being shoved into an oven. It immediately becomes hot. Friends don't kiss like that! But maybe it's just normal for Jungkook to kiss so passionately and it doesn't matter if you're a friend or his girlfriend. 

You grabbed your glass and took a big gulp, as if trying to drown out all the thoughts that were spinning in your head. The alcohol burned your throat, but it didn't help. Your heart was still beating faster than usual, and your lips felt too sensitive after Jungkook's kiss.

You tried to join in with your friends' conversation, laughing at the jokes, but your thoughts kept coming back to the kiss. You could feel Jungkook's eyes on you, even though you never caught him in the act. He acted as if nothing had happened, and that pissed you off the most.

When you got up to go to the bar for a new cocktail, Jungkook did the same. You were at the bar almost simultaneously, and while the bartender took the order, silence hung between you.

"I didn't realize you were such a good kisser," he suddenly said, leaning in slightly. His voice was low and playful, but there was something more sparkling in his eyes.

You turned to him, frowning.

"What does this mean?"

Jungkook smiled, propping his chin up with his hand.

"I was just wondering, you were so nervous at the beginning, and then..." he paused, slowly measuring you with his eyes, which made your skin tingle. "And then you answered with such fervor."

You almost choked on the air.

"What about you?" you challenged back, though your voice barely trembled. "Is it common for you to kiss like that? Or did you just decide to practice with me?"

Jungkook smiled. 

"I wanted to know if you knew how to use your tongue. We've been friends for so long, but I don't know anything about your sex life." He explained. You felt your face start to burn.

"You used this situation to just test me?" you pressed your lips together, staring at him with a challenge.

Jungkook hummed, not taking his eyes off you.

"Maybe." He tilted his head slightly, his voice quiet, but every word hit the mark.

You barely stopped yourself from throwing your cocktail in his face.

"You... you're just unbearable!" you hissed, feeling anger begin to boil inside, mixed with something much more dangerous.

Jungkook just smiled as he took his drink.

"But Y/N this was just a game." Jungkook said casually, but you could feel the tension in his tone. He turned around and walked away. You stood there, completely confused and disappointed. 

The next morning you woke up with a terrible hangover. Your head hurt so badly that every sound hurt. You were terribly nauseous and dreamed of water.

You barely crawled out of bed and went to the kitchen. You poured yourself a whole glass of water and drank it in one shot. Anyone who hasn't drunk alcohol doesn't know the value of water! You drank another in the glass of water and went back to the bedroom. You lay down feeling a pounding in your head. 

You picked up your phone and checked your texts. There were a lot of messages in the group chat. Everyone was discussing your kiss with Jungkook last night. 

You frowned as you waded through the dozens of messages in the group chat.

📲 Su Ah: "Well, newlyweds, how did you sleep after such a passionate kiss?😏"

📲 Jimin: "I'm still waiting for the wedding invitation. Or at least an official announcement that you are no longer "just friends 🤭"

📲 Taehyung: "Jungkook, honestly, you looked like you were never to let her go. Were you sure you were in control?"

📲 Su Ah: "And you, Y/N, were keeping up too. A game? Pfft, is this what a game looks like?"

You felt your face flush.

"God..." you groaned, burying your face in the pillow.

It was wildly embarrassing that everyone was talking about it, as if you and Jungkook had actually done something forbidden. But then you noticed Jungkook's response.

📲 Jungkook: "Shut up."

And that was it.

No jokes back. No emoticons. No attempt to brush it off or pretend it wasn't serious.

Something about it made you stare at his message longer than you should have.

Did you even think that those six letters sounded... irritated? Or maybe he was really unhappy that everyone was talking about it?

You bit your lip thoughtfully.

Jungkook was usually the butt of many jokes, and if he thought this was just another prank, he would have responded in the same tone. But he just wrote it down. Briefly. Coldly.

You opened a private chat with him and quickly typed:

📲 You: "Are you alive there?"

No response.

Five minutes have passed. Ten. Twenty.

📲 You:  "Kook?"

He's deaf.

📲 You: "Jungkook?"

📲 You: "Are you okay?"

📲 You: "Kook, are you seriously ignoring me?"

He didn't even read the message.

You felt your chest tighten with anxiety. He didn't usually act like this. Even when he was angry or offended, he might joke or brush you off, but not ignore you.

Sighing, you threw back the covers and went to the shower. You washed quickly. You used dry shampoo to avoid washing your hair. You put on light makeup and tied your hair up in a high bun. You quickly pulled on a hoodie and sneakers and left the apartment. 

"If he's really sitting there pissed off about something stupid, I'm going to kill him," you muttered as you zipped up your bomber.

It took no more than fifteen minutes to get to his house. You knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Jungkook?"

Silence again. You pressed the bell, waited a few seconds, knocked louder.

"Kook, I'm serious! Open up!"

Again, nothing.

Panicking, you pressed your hand against the door. What if something happened to him? Or is he really so offended that he doesn't even want to see you?

"JUNGKOOK!" you almost screamed, slamming your fist into the door.

And then it finally opened sharply.

There stood a sleepy Jungkook, disheveled, wearing only sweatpants, with a naked torso and squinting eyes.

"What are you yelling about?" he muttered in a hoarse, sleepy voice, rubbing his face.

You froze for a moment. He looked so... relaxed, defenseless, not at all like the self-confident Jungkook who had teased you yesterday.

But then you remembered why you were here in the first place.

"You... You're serious? I texted you a bunch, called you, knocked on your door, thinking you were offended or something, and you're asleep?"

He blinked, still clearly not fully awake.

"Well... yeah."

"Jungkook, it's two in the afternoon!"

He yawned and stretched, showing off his well-defined abs.

"I went to bed at seven in the morning."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Then you opened it again.

"What did you do until seven in the morning? We got home at 2 a.m.!"

"I played."

"You played?!"

"Yes, in ‘Overwatch’, there was an important team outing. I couldn't miss it."

"God..." You rolled your eyes. You rubbed your temples, feeling your head start to hurt again. 

He yawned, ran his hand through his hair, and seemed to realize that you were standing in front of him in the hallway.

"Wait, what are you doing here?"

You sighed nervously, looking away.

"Well... I thought you were offended by our friends' jokes... on... well, yesterday..."

Jungkook snorted and shook his head.

"I don't care about their jokes." He answered casually. You felt something unpleasant squeeze your chest.

"Oh... Okay. Then I'll go." You turned around, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed your sleeve lightly.

"Don't be so dramatic." He yawned again. "Come in for now, I'm going to take a quick shower. Then we'll go downstairs to the restaurant and have some hangover soup. It will definitely bring you back to your senses. You obviously haven't eaten yet, because you look just as dead as I do."

You came in and slammed the door behind you. You wanted to argue, but he had already turned around and gone to the bathroom.

You walked into a small hanchib, a traditional Korean restaurant located in a cozy alley near Jungkook's house. The place smelled like broth, roasted sesame seeds, and fresh vegetables. You sat down at a low wooden table by the window.

Jungkook quickly placed your order without even asking you what you wanted - he already knew. Soon, the waiter brought hyeangguk, a traditional hangover soup that was supposed to help you recover from last night. Along with it, kimchi, scrambled eggs with rice, pickled vegetables, and warm ginger tea were placed on the table.

Your stomach was uncomfortably tight, and the tension between you was almost physical. You were sitting across from each other, and although Jungkook looked completely relaxed-slightly disheveled from his shower, wearing a white T-shirt and sweatpants-you could sense that something was... off.

When the food came, he started eating, and you just mechanically stirred the soup with a spoon, licking your lips as if you were going to say something. Then you couldn't stand it any longer.

"It's strange, isn't it?" you began from a distance, not looking up. "We've been friends for years, and then one kiss and everyone decided that there was something between us."

Jungkook didn't even look up, just smiled and put his spoon to his lips.

"Why are you think, that everyone thought like that?"

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to continue:

"It's just... they keep saying it.  You've seen their chat room jokes..."

Jungkook put down his spoon, sighed, and finally looked up at you. His eyes were calm, even a little indifferent.

"Why are you worried? They always have stupid jokes about us. And this kiss is just a game."

You felt something inside you clench.

"Just a game," you repeated, looking down at your plate. 

Why did those words hurt so much?

"All is right," Jungkook picked up his spoon again and continued eating as if nothing had happened. "We're still friends, and we'll continue to be friends."

He said it so lightly, so carefree, as if your kiss really meant nothing to him. As if you only imagined the warmth, the frantic rhythm of your heart that you felt when his lips touched yours. 

You fool! You were the only one who thought it was special. Of course it means nothing to him. 

You felt something shrink inside you. These were words you probably needed to hear. But for some reason, they were not what you wanted. You suddenly felt dizzy. Your appetite disappeared completely.

"I see," you whispered, putting down your spoon, "Kook, I'm going to go. I have to go to my sister's house. 

You stood up and took out your wallet to pay for the food you hadn't even touched. Jungkook raised his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

"Why are you taking out money...? You haven't eaten? he pointed out. 

"I'm still sick from the alcohol," you said, half-truthfully. 

You took out the money and put it on the table. There was no point in staying here, no point in discussing anything.

Jungkook said something else, but you didn't listen, you just turned around and walked out, feeling a strange warmth spreading in your chest. Was it anger? Or perhaps something much worse.

Two weeks have passed.

You tried to live as if nothing had happened. You worked, went out with friends, even started going to parties more often. You also avoided Jungkook. Very carefully. After you kissed him, you couldn't stop thinking about him. But you had to. Because he didn't care and that kiss meant nothing to him. 

He could see that. And even though he was acting as casual as usual, you noticed that his eyes were staying on you longer, that he seemed to want to say something, but didn't.

And then there was that weekend when you all got together again at the club.

You carefully avoided Jungkook, talked to everyone, and gave him only a limited amount of attention. And when you realized that his eyes were following you, you were annoyed. You decided you had to meet someone tonight to shift your focus to someone else. 

You met a guy while dancing. His name was Minho. He was cute, funny, and a little bit cocky - just what you needed right now.

You laughed at his jokes, touched his arm, looked him in the eye as if he were the most interesting person in the club. And then you invited him to your table.

Everyone warmly welcomed him. A few of his friends joined your company and you had a great time. Jungkook was the only one who was unhappy with the company that night. He watched all of this without changing his expression. He was angry, but he carefully hid it behind a completely indifferent expression. But Jimin noticed.

"Don't be so angry," he said as they stood outside for a smoke break.

"I'm not angry," Jungkook said, taking a deep breath. Jimin hummed.

"Yeah, and that look you're giving Minho is just friendly interest, right?"

Jungkook didn't answer.

But every day you were getting more and more distant. You stopped writing to him first. And when he did write to you, your answers were short.

📲 Jungkook: "What are you doing?"

📲 You: "Walking with Minho."

📲 Jungkook: "Do you want to go to a café?"

📲 You: "I can't, I'm with Minho, we're eating samgyopsal."

He was angry that you were always with that "new friend" now. He was annoyed that this Minho touched you, made you laugh. What if you start dating? What if he told you that you and Jungkook shouldn't talk to each other?

But when he texted you the next day, you just ignored his message.

You didn't reply for a whole day.

And then in the evening, he saw in your stories that you were going on a trip with Minho. For a few days.

Jungkook's mind was blown. He came to see you. You were surprised to see him at the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you going on a trip? With him?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I am. What's the big deal?" you asked, irritated.

"Are you serious? What's the big deal?" he walked into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. 

"Jungkook, I don't understand what your problem is... This is my personal business," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"What's wrong with you, Y/N? You ignore me, you don't answer my texts, and then I see you going to the middle of nowhere with some Minho"

"Some Minho?" you flashed your eyes angrily. "Do you really care? You pushed me away first!"

"What?"

"After that kiss..." you gasped in anger, "I couldn't sleep properly, I couldn't see you properly, I was torn! And you... You just didn't care! And now you come here and protest about Minho?"

"You're not going with him!" Jungkook said firmly. You stared at him. 

"What?! Are you out of your mind?! What gives you the right to make decisions for me? You're just my friend, and you've been fine with that until now!" Jungkook was silent. He just looked at you. 

"I won't let you go with him." You clenched your fists angrily, feeling everything boiling inside.

"This is too much, Jungkook!" You took a step toward him, your eyes flashing lightning. "This is definitely not your concern! You are not my brother or boyfri…" You stopped talking, realizing that you didn't know what he was to you.

"Just get out!" you pushed him in the chest.

But he didn't leave. He abruptly grabbed your hand and pulled you toward him.

"Jungkook, I said..."

His lips covered yours.

This kiss was not like the one in the club. That wasn’t a game. This was an explosion.

He kissed you greedily, as if he was afraid you would disappear. His arms were tight around your waist, and his heart was pounding so hard you could feel it. You should have pushed him away. But instead, you responded. Your hand clutched his T-shirt, and then your arms reached for his neck and you wrapped them around it. 

Jungkook exhaled hotly against your lips before biting into them again, this time even more insistently. It was as if he was testing how far he could go. His fingers squeezed your hips, forcing you to cling to him even harder.

"Jungkook..." you tried to protest, but his tongue penetrated your mouth, and all words dissolved in a hot kiss.

He took a step forward, forcing you to back away until your back was against the wall.

"Tell me to stop," his voice was husky, his breath hot on your skin.

You swallowed. But you didn't say anything.

Jungkook looked at your face, his lips barely touching yours again, but this time the kiss was slow, almost gentle.

His hands, which had just been greedy, were now gentle. He ran his fingers down your cheek, along your jawline, then to your neck.

"Answer me," he leaned closer, his lips sliding down to your ear and then down to the sensitive spot on your neck.

You barely held back a moan as he left a hot, wet trail there.

"Jungkook..." your hands tightened around his shoulders.

"Is that a ‘yes’?" he smiled, his voice dark and husky.

You didn't answer again, but pulled him even closer to you.

His laughter vibrated against your skin before he captured your lips again in a deep, hungry kiss.

Jungkook moaned out loud as your fingers slid over his bare skin beneath his T-shirt. His muscles tensed, and his lips became even more insistent, opening you deeper, more greedily.

He dug his hands into your hips and lifted you up sharply, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Your back hit the door, but you hardly felt it because his lips were already leaving hot marks on your neck.

"Do you still want me to leave?" his voice merged with your heavy breathing.

You ran your fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer.

"Shut up."

Jungkook smiled and abruptly picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed and hovered over you, holding your wrist above your head. His eyes were dark, almost black, and something dangerous was burning in them.

"You drove me crazy, you know?" he whispered, letting his lips slide down over your collarbone and then down even further. His hands finally got rid of your T-shirt, causing the air to burn your bare skin. Following the T-shirt, he removed your bra in one motion. Your naked breasts made him even more excited. They are perfect. The size is exactly what he likes, they fit perfectly in his palm. Your nipples are excited and he want to taste them. 

You felt him smile as his lips left a wet trail on one of your buds. Jungkook lingered on your breast with his lips, tracing the sensitive nipple with his tongue, and then caught it with his lips, gently but challengingly. He knew what he was doing, and he enjoyed your reactions-you shivered, clutched his hair, dug your nails into his skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, biting one of your breasts reassuringly, while massaging the other with his other hand, "If you could only see how much you turn me on right now..."

"Kook..." you arched your back as his fingers, so strong, so sure, slid over your body, making you tremble with every touch.

"Shhhh," he covered your mouth with his lips, muffling all your words, but not changing what you both already realized.

This is not just a game anymore. This is something else entirely.

His fingers slowly slid down, causing an uncontrollable wave of desire to rise in you. He watched your every reaction, as if he were studying you anew-with the same rapt obsession he'd been trying to hide all these weeks.

"You made me angry," his hot whisper burned your skin, "I couldn't bear the thought of you with anyone else..."

Jungkook leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear, making you shiver.

"I wish I could say I don't care, but..." he pressed his body against you, and you felt how true that was.

His hands no longer hesitated. He studied you eagerly, making your breath catch with each new touch.

"Jungkook..." you squeezed his shoulders as if trying to keep control, but he just laughed in a low, raspy voice.

"What, baby? Do you have something to say now?"

Your body flexed under his touch, every movement a response to what he was doing to you.

"Tell me just one thing..." his lips stopped at your neck, leaving a hot trail. "Do you want me to stop?"

His eyes were full of expectation, desire, but he was really waiting for your permission.

You caught his gaze, and in that moment something clicked inside you.

"No. Don't stop."

Jungkook didn't see any point in delaying what he was already going to do. He towered over you and pulled off his shirt. You eagerly studied his body. It was so perfect. Too good to be real. 

He threw you a playful smile and reached for your sweatpants. He gently lifted your hips, pulling them down. You were left with only your underwear. You were wearing black ones fishnet thong. Jungkook raised an eyebrow. Too hot underwear to be alone at home. He grabbed the edge and played with it without pulling it down. 

"Were you expecting someone with such underwear?"

You could barely swallow, your heart beating furiously in your chest. Jungkook took his time. His fingers played with the thin fabric of your thong, gently running along the edge and then letting go, making the fabric click lightly against your skin. He smiled as he watched you tense up under his touch.

"Maybe I shouldn't take them off," he whispered, leaning closer, licking your lower lip before biting it lightly.

His hand slowly moved down between your legs, deliberately touching you as if to tease you. His fingers slid lightly over the thin fabric, assessing how wet you were already.

"Fuck... You feel that?" his voice was deep, almost hoarse with desire, "You're shaking... I make you so leak?"

You didn't have time to answer, because he abruptly pulled off your underwear, leaving you completely naked in front of him. His gaze darkened even more when he finally saw you without any obstacles.

"There's really no point in hiding now, baby," he slid his hands down your parted thighs, licking his lips, "I want to fuck you. I want fucking you right now."

But suddenly, somewhere in the living room, you heard the sharp sound of an incoming call. Your phone. 

Jungkook grimaced as he pulled away from you, his fingers still clutching your skin as if he wasn't going to let go.

"Do you want to take it?" his voice sounded hoarse, slightly irritated.

You glanced at the door to the room and then lay back down. 

"It's probably Minho... We were supposed to talk today..." You said awkwardly. 

Those words seemed to be the trigger. Before you could even say anything else, Jungkook abruptly pulled your attention back to him. His grip on your hips tightened, and a shadow of dangerous determination appeared in his eyes.

"Minho?" He smiled, but it wasn't a good smile.

His hands went lower, making you inhale sharply, and then, without giving you a chance to answer, he covered your lips with his. The kiss was harder, more dominant, as if he was trying to erase even the memory of the other man.

The phone continued to ring in the living room, but now you didn't care.

Jungkook pulled away for a second, his fingers sliding down your stomach, right down.

"Answer the phone if it's so important," he whispered, touching your pussy. You just squeezed him by the shoulders, realizing that you just couldn't talk now. Jungkook smiled again, victoriously. "I thought so." He pulled away from you, sitting comfortably between your legs. The phone was ringing, but neither of you cared. 

Jungkook touched his tongue to the most sensitive point between your legs... Your body twitched as his proficient tongue slid over you, wet and demanding. Jungkook inhaled your scent with pleasure, and then ran his tongue over your most sensitive spot again, leaving hot, sweet torment on your skin.

"You have no idea how much your taste drives me crazy..." he moaned, wrapping his strong hands around your hips so you couldn't move away, "So sweet..."

He dug his tongue into you, gently biting and sucking, making you shudder with every movement. You were breathing heavily, feeling electric waves running through your body. Your back arched as he slipped a finger into you, and then another, moving slowly inside, stretching you out beneath to him.

"That's it... You feel that, baby?" his voice was so low and excited that you could barely contain your moan.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging, making him press his lips harder against yours.

"Jungkook... please..."

He lifted his head, licked his lips, looking at you with a smug smile.

"Please what, baby?" his voice was mocking, but his eyes were dark with desire.

You couldn't get a word out because he bent down again, pushing you to the edge with his skillful movements. 

Jungkook didn't give you a second to breathe. His hands easily flipped you over onto your stomach, and you barely had time to prop yourself up on your elbows before he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer. His hot breath burned your back, and his lips left a wet trail from your shoulder to the base of your spine.

"You don't even know how much I want you right now..." he whispered, and then lightly bit your shoulder, making you flinch.

He ran his hand down your back, sliding it down until it rested on your hips. His fingers squeezed your skin hard and then pulled sharply on you, making you sag even more.

"Now I can fully see how beautiful you are..." his voice sounded so low and hoarse that you felt yourself shivering again.

He touched you again with his tongue, but this time from behind, making you moan louder than you wanted. His hands pulled you even wider, giving you no chance to hide from him.

"Kook..." you moaned, pressing your forehead against the pillow, trying to get a little bit of control.

But he had no intention of stopping. He took you by the hips and forced you to kneel down, leaning on your hands. His lips, tongue, fingers - everything worked together to drive you crazy.

And you had an orgasm. A wave of pleasant sensation went through your body. Your clitoris twitched, signaling that you had enjoyed yourself. Jungkook pulled away from you, but you were lying on your stomach breathing heavily into the pillow. 

You were still in the throes of orgasm when you felt Jungkook lie on top of you, his bulge pressing against your naked buttocks. He touched his lips to your ear, biting it lightly. He gave a thrust and you felt how hard he was. 

"Do you think I'm done?" his voice sounded dull, but there was a predatory undertone to it. 

Before you could answer, you felt him push into you again, not giving you time to breathe. 

"Just lie there." He ordered. You felt yourself getting wet again. The mattress under Jungkook's body bent. He got out of bed. He was gone for less than half a minute, but it felt like you had been waiting for him forever. You raised your head to see where he was, but he had already climbed back on the bed. 

You wanted to look at him, but Jungkook was behind you. You felt his legs move to the sides of your hips. You felt his cock rest on your buttocks. You squeezed the blanket in anticipation of him filling you with his length. 

Jungkook found your hole and put two fingers in it again. He stretched you so that you could accept him. He smeared the moisture on your clit and folds and then grabbed your hips, lifting them slightly. You could feel him pushing the head of his cock against your entrance and then pressing in. 

He went slowly, stretching your walls. It hurt. He was too big for you. When Jungkook heard your painful sound, he stopped. He came out, then plunged in again. You could feel him twitching. His hand stroked your thighs, as if to soothe you. 

Jungkook went on and hurt you again. But he didn't stop until he was completely inside you. He let out a low moan behind you. You tried to get used to his length. The pain quickly passed, giving way to bliss. 

Jungkook froze, breathing heavily. His hot fingers held your hips tightly, and your body barely restrained itself from moving.

"Fuck, you're so tight..." he groaned again as he felt you clench around him.

He ran his palms along your back, stroking gently, letting you get used to him. His warm breath burned your skin, and you felt his lips leave a hot kiss between your shoulder blades.

"Now... can you take me completely?" his voice was low and strained, as if he was struggling to contain himself.

You barely managed to squeeze out a 'yes', and that was enough. Jungkook began to move, slowly at first, as if stretching out the pleasure, and then his thrusts became deeper, more confident. He held you tight, making you feel every inch of his body.

"God, you're perfect..." he groaned, picking up his pace.

You couldn't hold longer. He sensed this and couldn't help but smile smugly. And then he lay down on top of you. He pressed his strong body against yours and you felt how hot you were together. The room became hot. From your sounds, from your passion. 

Jungkook suddenly slowed down. His movements became smooth but confident, he was enjoying every second of it, making you press your buttocks against him tighter. 

"Damn..." you moaned as he clasped your fingers and linked your hands above your head, completely subduing you.

He smiled as he leaned down to your neck, leaving hot kisses as his hips continued their rhythmic thrusts. His wet lips moved lower until they rested on your shoulders. He adored this moment - when you completely dissolved in his touch.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you submit to me..." he groaned, picking up his pace again, making you squeal with pleasure once more.

His hands went down to your thighs, pulling them up like this, giving him the opportunity to enter even deeper. You couldn't stop your moans, your body was on fire with pleasure, and he wasn't going to stop.

"You know this isn't over, right?" he slapped your ass lightly, making your body shudder with mixed emotions - shame, passion, desire.

Jungkook slapped your ass again, harder this time, making your body shudder. You felt him pulling out of you and were about to groan in frustration, but he quickly grabbed you by the waist and flipped you onto your back. His dark, aroused eyes caught your gaze.

"I want to see your face when you cum again..." he whispered hotly, running his tongue over your lips. 

Now you were lying on your back, your tangled hair scattered across the pillow, and he was hovering over you, gazing into your face.

His hands confidently spread your legs again. You finally saw him completely naked. His cock was hard and straight. It was big. No wonder you were in pain. The head of his cock was purple and dripping with semen. Jungkook took his length in his hands, and then he entered you in one quick motion. You threw your head back, breathing out his name, and he just smiled smugly.

Jungkook pinned your arms to the bed, not allowing you to move. He set a new pace, slow but deep, making you feel him completely. His eyes were fixed on your face, studying your every reaction, catching every sound that escaped your lips.

"So good..." he whispered, leaning down to kiss you.

His lips were greedy, demanding, as if he wanted to taste you completely. His hands went down to your hips again, to lifting them a little higher, changing the angle.

You felt him go even deeper, making you arch with pleasure.

"Do you feel how well you accept me?" he looked directly into your eyes, and this look made you feel even more overwhelmed.

His hands went under your knees, spreading them wider, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. Every thrust he made drove you into ecstasy, making you feel him with every fiber of your being.

"That's it, baby... Can you feel me? Can you feel me filling you up?" his words drove you even more crazy.

You could only moan, because you had no more strength to speak.

Jungkook leaned in, catching your lips in a deep kiss as his movements became even more rigid.

"I want you to cum with me..." he groaned, squeezing your waist as if he was afraid you might run away.

His hands held you tightly, he moved faster, deeper, continuously igniting a new wave of pleasure in you.

"Cum for me, baby..." he whispered against your lips, speeding up his pace.

Your body trembled, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You squeezed his cock and let out a loud moan, unable to hold back the pleasure in your middle.And that's when he came too, letting himself lose control, leaving traces of his cum on your stomach.

Jungkook and you were breathing heavily. He rested his head on your shoulderbone, still lying on top of you. His hot breath burned your skin. You felt both you and Jungkook sweating. 

Jungkook didn't move, just lay on top of you, trying to catch his breath. You could feel his heartbeat - fast, powerful, as frantic as your own.

He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes gazing into yours, still a little blurred with passion.

"Are you... are you okay?" his voice was hoarse, with a slight smile, but his eyes shone with concern.

You ran your fingers down his back, scratching it a little, and felt him flinch.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to walk after this," you exhaled mockingly.

Jungkook laughed softly and finally raised his head to look you in the eye. His hair was tousled, his lips were swollen, and his gaze... that gaze could drive you crazy.

"Then we'll have to stay in bed," his fingers gently brushed your cheek.

He slowly pulled out of you, making you tremble with hypersensitivity. He insisted that you go and shower and wash off the remnants of his sperm. And you did. You struggled to get up and went to the bathroom. You went to the toilet and then took a quick shower. When you came out, Jungkook was lying on your bed, with the blanket only covering his thighs. He smiled at you and called you to lie down next to him. And when lay down next to you, he pulling you closer to him.

For several minutes you just lay there in silence. Jungkook holds you, his fingers lazily drawing circles on your stomach. 

"It was..." he paused, as if searching for words, "It was more than just sex. You realize that, right?"

You didn't know what to say. It was more than that? Yes, it was. But what do you call it?

"Jungkook..." you tried to say something, but he only held you tighter, not letting you escape from this conversation.

"I'm serious," his voice was quiet but firm, "You felt the same way, right?"

You looked away. Your heart was pounding, and you didn't know if you were ready to admit it.

"This changed everything," he continued, leaning down to place a light kiss on your shoulder, "and you know it.”

You tightened your fingers on the sheets.

"But... what if we just..." you trailed off.

"Just what?" his eyes flashed and his jaw tensed.

"If it's just a physical..." you barely finished before he abruptly turned you on your back and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Do you really think so?" he leaned closer, and his gaze became dangerous.

You couldn't answer. Because you knew the truth. It was more than just a physical connection. It was much deeper than that.

"Shit..." he pressed his lips together as if trying not to say too much, and then he kissed you hard, making you forget all your doubts.

His lips demanded an answer, and you couldn't resist.

"I can't treat you the way I used to," he murmured between kisses, "and I don't want to."

"Okay, then let's try," you asked cautiously. Jungkook smiled. His eyes lit up with something dangerous, and he squinted slyly.

"Let's try?" he repeated, as if savoring the word on his tongue. "Baby, this has long been planned"

You wanted to argue, but Jungkook leaned closer, forcing you to lean back against the pillows.

"You do realize that you'll have to text your new friend and cancel the trip with him," his fingers slid gently over your cheek, "and then you'll have to stop talking to him altogether..."

You blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly," Jungkook tilted his head to the side, watching your reaction.

You snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"Why is that?"

"Because I told you to," he shrugged, as if it were obvious.

"Kook..." you rolled your eyes, but before you could add anything, he suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled you sharply against him.

"Don't roll your eyes, baby," his voice lowered and his fingers dug deeper into your skin, "I could see exactly what this Minho wants from you and why he asked you to go with him!"

You sighed.

"Oh, God..."

"Yes, that's him," Jungkook smiled smugly, ignoring your irony, "and he's clearly not averse to taking my place."

"Kook, there's nothing between us!" you tried to pull away, but he only squeezed you tighter in his arms.

"And there won't be," he replied calmly, running his fingers down your back, "because you have me now."

"You're acting like a real owner," you muttered, feeling your heart pounding faster and faster.

"Because I am," Jungkook smiled cheekily, making you blush, "and I own you too."

You sighed, burying your face in his neck.

"You're unbearable."

"And you're insanely sexy when you try to argue with me," he playfully bit your ear, "but don't try because I always win."

Jungkook suddenly flipped you onto your back, hovering over you so that your breath was mixed. His dark eyes glittered with something dangerous, and his lips barely touched yours, making your heart clench in anticipation.

"Let's get one thing straight," his voice was low, with the same confident tone that always made you tremble, "I'm not jealous..."

You could barely contain an ironic smile, not wanting to go along with him so quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," your voice sounded just as sarcastic, but it only made him squint predatory.

"...I'm just absolutely against any Minho hanging around my girlfriend."

You felt a warmth spread somewhere in your stomach, but Jungkook didn't even give you time to process his words.

"Your... girlfriend?"

He leaned in closer, his warm breath sliding across your lips, making you forget what you were about to say.

"Oh, do you hear what that sounds like?" his fingers slid lightly along your waist.

You might have said something witty if it weren't for the heat that began to rise in waves from his touch.

"But I haven't heard a formal offer to be your girlfriend!"

His lips stretched into a familiar, cocky smile.

"Do I need to say it? We just had sex, you screamed my name, and now you're lying under my hot, satisfied body. What needs to offered?"

Your face instantly flashed, and you instinctively punched him in the chest, although it didn't do much good-he didn't even flinch.

"Jungkook."

"I'm just stating the facts, baby," his eyes sparkled with dangerous sparks.

"It doesn't work that way!"

"Okay, then I'm officially asking you: are you mine?" He looked confidently directly into your eyes, and you felt your heart rise to your throat.

"What if I say no?"

This answer was a pure challenge, and Jungkook seemed to be waiting for it.

"Oh, then I'll have to convince you..." his hands closed confidently on your hips, forcing you to move a little closer to him.

His eyes flashed with excitement, and his fingers gripped you as if he had no plans to let go.

"Very, very convincing." You smiled slyly, deliberately resting your hands on his chest. "Give me a minute to think..."

"Think fast, because I'm already determined to prove my point in practice." His voice dropped a tone lower, and his fingers began to descend dangerously slowly down your sides.

You sighed, as if thinking, and then spoke slyly.

"What if I told you that Minho is really cute..."

Jungkook's face changed dramatically, as if you had just said something disgusting.

"Cute?"

"And he has such kind eyes..."

"Kind?" He almost spat the word, and his grip on your hips tightened.

"And he's always so polite..."

"Okay, that's enough," his voice became dangerously calm, and his eyes went dark.

Before you could even squeak, you suddenly found yourself under him. Jungkook climbed on top of you, sitting comfortably between your legs. You felt his cock pressing against your pussy.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking away your thoughts of all the other men," his lips moved to your neck, leaving hot, possessive kisses.

"Oh, God..."

"Yeah, and this time you won't be able to think about that what's-his-name anymore..."

"Minho?"

His fingers digging into your thighs.

"Don't say that name in front of me!"

His lips burned your skin, and his breathing became even more labored. Jungkook seemed to be throwing lightning bolts, his hands gripping your hips with a clear claim of ownership.

"I'll make you forget his name," his voice was low, husky, full of jealousy and desire.

He leaned down, sliding his lips down, leaving hot traces of his kisses on you. His fingers traced a line along your stomach, making you shudder with anticipation.

"Say my name," he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on your neck, and you couldn't help but moan.

"Jungkook..."

"Again." His movements became more determined, more demanding, and you could only obey.

"Jungkook!" Your body arched under him, and he exhaled in satisfaction, finally convinced that there was only one person in your head.

"That's it, baby," he raised his head and looked directly into your eyes, "Now be a good girl and never make me jealous again.

His lips found yours again, erasing all doubts, all thoughts, everything but him.

[moncesita-te4lblu]

🖤🖤🖤

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : kinda slowburn, Art almost kills you on purpose, funny stuff, rough smut, wall sex, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, oral (f! Receiving), multiple orgasms, you pass out mid sex, Art is stumped and confused, you're ok tho, talks about blowjobs, bit of fluff at the end, tell me if I missed anything

A/N : I have nowhere to go this Halloween ☹️ just stay home, write and take photos of myself

Its around midnight, you're in your kitchen cooking dinner. Usually you don't cook at midnight but you were busy all day and it just got pushed back. Plus, your boyfriend wasn't home yet. The infamous Mikes County Killer, Art the Clown. He was taking his usual time out there, spilling blood, guts, and pain, while you were home, working or being lazy.

You're surprised your still up with this much energy. You did wake up really late today, since you didn't have work that day. You took that time to organize the house, clean everything up, shower, maybe even trim your hair with a pair of random scissors you prayed didn't belong to Art- knowing what he does with them- and knowing that although he has okay hygiene, he doesn't properly clean his weapons like at all.

You switch between mixing and checking on the red rice, stirring the big pan of cooking chicken, stirring the smaller pan of cooking beef, and finally stirring the pan of cut up bell peppers, broccoli, corn, and onion. The rice finished cooking and so did the vegetables- the chicken and beef still needed some time- when Art busted through your front door, a scowl on his face, his leg and torso cut up a bit from (what you can only guess) a victim fighting back, and blood all over him. He drops his bag of weapons and goes to find you, the scowl not leaving his face.

That expression would've terrified anyone. But really, you were used to it. The more logical side of your brain knew it was only a matter of time before he treats you like any other victim of his; scalping, cutting, drugging, stabbing, torturing. But you decided to just play along with him. Maybe if you act nice and continue to treat him like this, he'll make your death less brutal. Hopefully. But truly you don't know. Nobody but him knows what's going on in his head. He's like a wild animal; sometimes you can get close and they look still- froze- waiting for you to get close and closer, before they pounce on you and attack. Brutally attack.

Art stands by you, not really doing anything but standing with the scowl on his face, staring at you. You smile and wave up at him, giving him a little "Hi baby", before turning your attention back to the food. There was silence, the only thing making noise being the food cooking.

You feel something cold on the back of your neck. You look up at Art and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand outstretched behind your neck. You can't really tell what it is he has but you will admit, it's scarring you. You tried not to show it though. You know Art loves when his victims show fear. If he has thoughts of killing you, fear will only fuel it.

He lowers his hand while you watch. Now you can see what he had pressed against you. A knife- which is probably the least painful object he owns for killing. You again, tried to show now fear. Your eyes didn't widen and your breathing stayed like before. But your heart is beating faster. That's something you can't control. You just showed confusion. Art drops the knife onto the floor- thankfully missing his and yours feet- and turn around, leaving and disappearing into your bedroom.

Once he leaves, you sigh. What the fuck was that? This isn't the first time he's pressed a weapon against you but it still shakes you up everytime. And maybe that's what he wants. You bend down and pick up the knife, throwing it in the sink. You continue cooking, acting like your boyfriend didn't just hold a knife against you.

You taste test everything, ensuring that everything's thoroughly cooked. When the taste is up to your standards, you go to turn off the stove. As your reaching for it, you hear a loud "honk" right in your ear. You jump and turn around, more terrified than when he held a knife to your neck. Art is there, now fully cleaned of blood, and silently laughs. Hard. And buckles over in laughter and pointing at you. He then puts a hand of his heart and mocks your shocked expression and the way you jumped. You bend over the counter, holding your head and laughing too.

Art comes over and grabs a hold of your waist, wrapping both arms around you and lifting you up. He swings you around a bit and kisses your neck. You laugh as he does, now forgetting about the past incident. "Baby-" you laugh. Art perks up and looks at you. "Go sit at the dinner table, I'll bring out your dinner." Art rolls his eyes and gives you once last squeeze before he lets go and slumps over to his spot on the dinner table.

You serve two plates; Art has some chicken, beef, rice and vegetables, which yours has the same but less beef. You bring out his plate first, setting it in front of him and kissing him on the lips. And go back to get your plate and when you come back and set your plate down across Art, you notice his vegetables are gone from his plate and... on the floor, a very thin, useless napkin covering them.

"Babe." Now it's your turn to scowl at him. Art was some of the beef in his mouth. He looks up at you, dumbfounded. "Why the shit is your food on the floor?" Art shrugs and looks around at the floor around him and looks puzzled, like he's pretending the food on the floor doesn't exist. "Art." You glare at him and he just looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, doing hand movements to tell you you're crazy.

You opened your mouth to speak but Art held up a finger, shushing you. He points to the beef and then his arm, his eyes questioning. "What?" He does the same again. You shrug, looking confused. Art rolls his eyes like you're the dumb one and points to the beef and then to you and him. "I dont-" Art rolls his eyes harder, throwing his body back in dramaticness too. He points to the beef again, and shrugs, looking at you like it's so obvious to know what he's trying to ask you.

"What is it??" You ask, trying to guess what he's trying to say. Art nods, happily and relieved that you finally got it. "It's beef. It's cow." You say and start eating, taking a bite of the chicken. Arts grin is quickly wiped off his face and he slumps. "What?" You ask and eat. Art does a handmovement to say "oh nevermind" and he starts eating. "I'm not cooking human, Art. Don't even think about it." You scold and Art mocks you in response. You just roll your eyes and eat, forgetting the vegetables on the floor.

🖤🖤🖤

After dinner, you two clean up the kitchen. Art washes the dishes while you put the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor. You have music on, singing along as Art bops his head dances a little to the music.

After cleaning, you two go to your shared bedroom. As soon as your door closes, you pounce on Art. You wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. Almost like he was expecting it, Art instantly grabbed onto you and kissed you back, using tongue and gripping onto your pajamas.

Art pushes you against the wall, his hands still gripping your hips. Your hands reach behind his back and zipped down the zipper on his clown suit. Art starts peeling off your clothes until you're completely naked. You pull off arts clown fit until he's naked too, just his facepaint and mini tophat on.

Art flips you over so you're pressed against the wall. You open your legs a bit and Art grabs your asscheeks, opening them apart and angling his dick with your pussy. He spits on his dick and slowly slips into you, his hands moving to your hips. You let out a soft moan and press your cheek against the wall, looking back at him. Your full body is against the wall, your ass poking out a little.

Art starts slamming his hips against you, his pace getting rougher and rougher. Your body jolts and you moan louder. With every thrust, your thighs slap against the wall. Art reaches around your neck. He wraps his bare hand around the front of your neck and he flips you two over. His back lays against the wall, one hand on your hips as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls your head back by your neck, squeezing a little. Your hands reach back and grab onto his legs as his pace becomes almost unhuman.

Art slaps your ass hard as he does, grinning at your yelp in response. He trails is hand down, roughly grabbing your tits, then trailing fully down to your hip. He pushes down on your back to make you bend over and his other hand grabs a fistful off your hair and pulls your head back. Art grabs your thighs with the hands that was once on your back and opens your legs more. He then grabs your hand and places it on your pussy, and you start mastutbating yourself. All the while his pace stays harsh and rough like usual.

After a while you warn Art of your upcoming orgasm, to which he replies by slapping your ass harshly a couple more times until you cum on his dick; your fingers still circling your clit and Arts pace not faltering. Art abruptly stops his movements, planting himself balls deep into you. He lets go of your hair, his hands just resting on your hips. You slowly stand up straight again. Art grabs the hand you used to pleasure yourself with, pressing it against his lips and into his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers. His other hand pulls your hair back. He slowly turns to look at you, a grin on his face, and he dives in to kiss your lips.

He lets go of you and peels you off his dick, walking you to the bed and pushing you on your back, onto the bed. Art opens your legs, kneeling between them. He uses his fingers to massage your clit for a while before he raises his hand up and slaps your pussy. Not too hard but enough to sting. When he hears you moan and watches your legs jolt, he does it again. And again. And again. And again, till your pussy was wetter and red.

Art stops slapping you, then leans down and starts roughly eating your pussy. You moan loudly and wiggle a little as he does. He forces your legs open and keeps them there as he makes out with your pussy. You grab his head and push it closer to you, his large nose pressing against your clit.

You grind against his face until you cum on his face and he keeps eating you out. Your body spasms. He finally pulls away and licks his lips, standing up again. He lines his dick up with your pussy, instantly pludging himself into you and his expression contorts at the feeling. He starts moving his hips again, fast.

You cry out in overstimulation, your nails digging into his arms as his hands grip your hips tightly. A single tear runs down your face. Art sees this a grins, enjoying the pleasure- and pain- he's giving you. He licks the tear, biting your cheek a little before he comes back up. Your legs shake and tremble and your face looks disheveled. But Art loves when your helpless like this with him. Because of him.

Art winks down and at you and blows you a kiss. He then slams into you, hard, and stays there for a second, balls deep inside you. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He grins wider and wider with every moan you scream out.

He then wraps his hand around your neck, tightly, and starts up his fast, rough pace into you. Your hands claw at his arm as he chokes you, but not too hard. Well... not at first at least. After a couple more minutes, and a couple more orgasms pulled from you, he grips your neck tighter. Your face is now redder than it's ever been.

Art slams into you, cumming inside you, his grin not leaving his face, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your pussy. Even after he came, he kept going, moving fast like before. Like he had all the energy in the world. He squeezed a little tighter at your neck for a second, cutting your airways for only a second before he let you breath again as he fucked you.

Your body slowly became more and more limp, your eyes getting loopy and your heart racing. Your moans start getting fainter and quieter, which makes Art falter a bit but he doesn't stop. Seconds later your body goes limp and your eyes close. You passed out. Whether that be from the choking or from the overstimulation, you don't know. You just know you knocked out.

🖤🖤🖤

You woke up minutes later, now laying against a pillow on the bed. You have a blanket over your still-naked body and the ceiling fans on. You see Art sitting next to you on the bed, now in sports shorts and a T-shirt. He's looking down at you as you wake up, and you have a feeling he's been like that for the whole time you've been asleep.

Art has confusion and... fear in eyes. Fear for Art is rare. Rarer than rare. Someone like Art is never scared. Confused yes, he's sometimes confused, but not scared. He's watched you almost cut a finger off while cooking and his eyes looked more hungry and like he was holding back than scared for your life. But now he's scared. There's finally some human emotion in his eyes.

You two don't do anything but stare at eachother for some time. Didn't Art almost kill you when he got home? Why does he look worried now? It's like he's not even blinking.

Arts tilts his head, looking down at you. He slowly inches his hand to your neck, lightly touching the red marks of his hand left behind. You turn on your side, smiling tiredly as you look up at him. Art touches your face and raises his eyebrows, still confused on why you just knocked out mid sex. "Ya kno-" you stop talking when you hear your own voice. It's very very raspy. You clear your throat and go to talk again. That didn't help. Still raspy. But you talked anyway.

"A girl can only take so much, baby." You laugh. Art rolls his eyes and mocks you. He's back to his usual self. "Whaat??" You laugh again and wrap your arms around his waist. Art ruffles your already-messed-up hair, grinning down at you playfully again.

"Maybe if I wake up first tomorrow, I'll wake you up with a blowjob." You rub your elbow on his crotch and he instantly gets hard again. You get off him and lay back on the bed. He looks down at you with a frown. "Tomorrow." You remind him. Art huffs and rolls his eyes, getting into bed with you. You two sleep, clinging onto eachother.

🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part four)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k | part 3 - 21.2k | part 4 - 26.3k

warnings: slowburn, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: its over, pls im gonna cry :(((( i absolutely hate the ending for many reasons but it'll grow on me (i hope)

twenty-five.

you don’t expect this to happen really.

in fact, the moment is so carefully tucked between the banality of reports and afternoon coffee that it almost slips past you. almost.

jake has been quiet all morning. not withdrawn – just… focused. he’s been holed up in his office, the door half-closed but not locked, emerging only to refill his mug or grab a file. he greets you when you pass, offers you a small smile when your hands brush accidentally reaching for the same stapler, but otherwise says nothing about the phone call. nothing about the way your name had tumbled out of his mouth late at night, stargazed and slow. nothing about the half-confession you’ve replayed in your mind too many times to count.

and to be fair, you hadn’t expected him to. not really.

because jake wasn’t the kind of person who brought up feelings easily. he spoke in numbers and probability, hid behind logic, folded his uncertainty into late-night lab notes and tentative half-smiles. he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. he barely wore it at all.

so no, you didn’t expect him to bring up the call. you didn’t expect him to repeat the quiet ache in his voice when he said what he said. you didn’t expect him to stand there, heart in hand, and name whatever it was that had been building between you for weeks now.

it’s a new week. there are deadlines to meet, proposals to finalise, and his conference to prep for – the same one he’s been talking about under his breath for the last month, biting his pen caps and pacing in front of his whiteboard when he thought no one was watching. you’d encouraged him about it once, when he was doubting everything and you were too tired to be tactful.

you hadn’t meant for your words to linger.

but maybe they had. maybe something about the way you’d said he was the most brilliant man ever had rooted itself deeper than you realized.

because today, there’s something different in the way he moves.

not obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but you see it. you’ve always been good at reading the quiet things. the little twitches of his hand when he’s nervous. the way his fingers hover over the keyboard just a second too long when he’s overthinking. the crease between his brows when he’s trying to talk himself down from something he might actually want.

and today, he’s… composed. still jake – focused and quiet – but he hasn’t chewed a pen cap once. he hasn’t sighed dramatically and muttered about how he’s probably going to black out halfway through presenting his research.

it’s like…he’s made a decision.

and it’s not until after lunch, when you’re both still riding the inertia of a chaotic morning, that it happens.

you’re seated at your desk, skimming through slides, red-penning a typo in one of the research titles when a shadow falls across your desk.

you glance up.

jake’s standing there. a little uncertain, fingers curled at his side, but his eyes are steady.

“hey,” he says. his voice is low, casual, but there’s something clipped at the edges. like whatever he’s about to say has been reworded in his head a thousand times already.

“hey,” you reply, blinking. “need help with something?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just clears his throat, then leans forward slightly, voice quiet enough that only you can hear. “do you have a minute?”

you nod, confused but curious, and push your chair back. he gestures for you to follow him, and you trail behind, expecting maybe some urgent error in a file, maybe a last-minute check on a layout or venue arrangement or whatever else could’ve possibly warranted a hushed hallway escort.

but he doesn’t lead you to his office.

he walks right past it in fact – past the labs, past the shared workroom, past the break room – and stops near the far end of the corridor, just outside the old faculty lounge that no one really uses anymore.

he opens the door, waits for you to step in first, then closes it behind him.

it’s quiet here. dim lighting, a couple of mismatched couches, and the faint hum of the vending machine. it smells like coffee and old carpet.

jake takes a breath.

“okay,” he says. “so—uh. you know the conference?”

you blink. “the one this weekend?”

he nods. “yeah. that one.”

you tilt your head. “did something happen with it?”

“no – no, it’s all good. i mean…actually, it’s better than good. i’m done with the slides. jay double-checked my data sets this morning and the university’s confirmed the final schedule.” he pauses. “it’s… kind of real now.”

there’s a flicker in your chest – something warm, something proud. you smile softly. “that’s amazing, jake. i told you you’d—”

“i want you to come with me.”

you freeze.

“what?”

jake looks at you then – really looks at you. and it’s not the same quiet, distracted gaze he gives you when you hand him a new report to read or when you tease him about forgetting lunch again. it’s steadier. intentional. like he’s finally stopped letting the moment pass him by.

“i want you to come with me,” he says again, slower this time. “to the conference. it’s in daegu, yeah, but the university’s covering most of it. i can get a plus one – uh, unofficially. it’s allowed, technically. and i just…” he trails off for a second, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “i think i’d do better if you were there.”

your heart stutters. you search his face. “like… as your assistant?”

jake blinks. then quickly shakes his head. “no. not – no. not as my assistant.” his voice catches for a second, then steadies. “as you. just you.”

the silence after that is immediate – and a little unfair.

because now it’s loud in your chest. loud in the stillness between you. loud in the way you suddenly can’t seem to find the right muscles to control your face.

jake scratches the back of his neck, his eyes darting away. “i mean, only if you want to. obviously. you don’t have to. i know it’s last-minute and kind of out of the blue and maybe a little weird, and i’m not great at asking for things, and i wasn’t going to bring it up but then i remembered that—”

at this point, jake stops himself from blabbering. because he knew he was going to bring up friday night, the way your words had stuck with him since then. the way he had put away your note – folded it once, then again – then tucked it inside his wallet like it was something fragile and private, like it meant something he wasn’t ready to say out loud. and maybe it still does, because even now, as he stands in front of you, shifting from foot to foot, eyes fixed anywhere but your own, he doesn’t finish the sentence. doesn’t tell you how often he’s looked at that note since. doesn’t tell you how it had kept him grounded when everything else felt like it was slipping.

you watch him now, shoulders drawn tight under the crisp line of his button-down, lips parted like he’s still weighing the risk of finishing that thought. but then, as if something shifts, he lets out a breath and meets your gaze again, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“what i mean is,” he says, softer now, “it would mean a lot if you came.”

you open your mouth. nothing comes out.

because this isn’t a follow-up to the phone call. not directly.

but it’s something. it's… more.

you think about all the hours you’ve spent orbiting each other lately. the shared coffees. the exchanged glances. the silence between your desks that somehow doesn’t feel empty.

you think about jake – brilliant, brooding jake – asking you not to help, but to be there. just you.

“you don’t have to decide now,” he adds quickly, mistaking your silence. “i just wanted to ask. and i didn’t want to make it weird. if you’d rather not, i get it.”

“no,” you say, a little too fast. “i mean – yes. i mean—”

you take a breath. start over.

“i’d like to go.”

jake lifts his head. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you nod, smiling now. “i’d like to be there.”

there’s something like relief in his eyes. something almost boyish that softens his features, makes him look like he did that night in the observatory when you stood under a starkissed sky – uncertain, but wanting.

jake lets out a breath, a small, almost sheepish grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"alright then," he says, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, like he's trying to hold onto this moment, this piece of something new between you two. something that feels... easier now, lighter, like the weight of the unspoken has been lifted just a little bit.

"i’ll send you the details later," jake adds, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant, like he's afraid of making it more complicated than it has to be. but for the first time, you don’t mind. the words feel good, even if they don’t say everything. they don’t need to.

and then as if caught in a moment of realisation, he pauses, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he realizes what he just said. "actually, you probably already have the details."

he chuckles lightly, a bit embarrassed at himself for the slip-up. "i mean, i guess i just wanted to make sure it was official. and, you know, make it... not weird."

you can’t help but laugh softly, the tension finally easing as the moment shifts into something more comfortable. "it’s not weird, dr. sim. don’t worry."

the name slips off your tongue on impulse more than will. jake doesn’t say anything this time, simply resigns to biting down on his lips but smiling regardless.

he gives you a relieved smile, his eyes softer than they’ve been all day. "right. thanks."

you both stand there for a beat longer than usual, neither of you wanting to be the first to break the silence, but there’s a sense of understanding now. no need for more words. the unspoken things are already there, ready to be discovered when the time comes.

twenty-six.

the next morning, the office feels strangely louder.

not because anything is out of the ordinary. it’s the same rhythm as always – printers humming in the distance, chairs creaking, conversations laced with half-laughed jokes and the occasional echo of footsteps down the hallway. but somehow, all of it feels more intense, more alive. maybe because your brain won’t stop noticing everything today. every time someone walks past jake’s office. every time jake shifts behind his desk. every time you accidentally make eye contact and forget what you were supposed to be doing.

you blame the way your brain has decided to loop the words “as you. just you,” like it’s a new favorite playlist. a sentence dropped casually, nervously, and then buried under stammered disclaimers. and still, it clings. sticks like honey to your thoughts, dripping into every idle second, every empty stare at your screen. you’re trying to be normal. you’re trying so hard.

jake, for the record, is doing a terrible job at being normal too.

it’s not that he’s awkward. jake doesn’t really do awkward, at least not the way most people do. but there’s something off about his calm today. like it’s a little too deliberate. like he’s concentrating too hard on being unaffected. his greetings are polite, measured. he answers your questions with just enough eye contact and just enough of a smile. but there’s a carefulness to the way he moves around you today that wasn’t there before. a precision to the way he chooses his words. and it shouldn’t be driving you insane, but it is.

you barely make it halfway through your second coffee when jay pops his head over the divider between your desks.

“you two are the worst at pretending,” he announces cheerfully.

you blink. “what?”

jay gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “you and our dear doctor sim. you’ve been orbiting each other like emotionally repressed satellites all morning.”

your mouth opens, then closes. “that’s – what does that even mean?”

jay squints at you. “it means i’m right and you know it.”

“i literally don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“okay,” he says slowly, as if humoring a child. “so you weren’t smiling like a teenager after he asked you to go to the conference with him yesterday?”

“i wasn’t—”

“and he hasn’t looked like he’s lowkey planning an interstellar exit every time he sees you today?”

you scowl, heat crawling up your neck. “jay.”

“okay, okay.” he raises his hands in surrender, though the grin never leaves his face. “i’m just saying. it’s very compelling television.”

you groan, dropping your forehead onto the desk.

jay snickers and tosses a wrapped granola bar at you before retreating, humming to himself like a man victorious.

the rest of the morning passes in fragments – emails, adjustments to the schedule, a brief discussion with the logistics team – and all the while, you’re distinctly aware of the time ticking toward the prep meeting you’re supposed to have with jake. you’d agreed to help him finalize the slide decks, sort through the printed materials, and double-check the itinerary.

when you finally knock on his door and peek in, jake’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his desk, papers fanned out around him like constellations.

he looks up immediately. “hey.”

“hey,” you say, a little breathless even though you’ve barely walked two feet. “i brought the revised program list.”

“perfect.” he gestures to the floor beside him. “come on in. i made space.”

you lower yourself to the ground, your shoulder brushing his as you settle in. it takes you exactly three seconds to register how warm the room feels. or maybe it’s just him. he’s in his sleeves-rolled-up mode today – loose collar, fingers ink-smudged from scribbling across his notes, hair a little messier than usual. you try not to stare. you fail a little.

“okay,” jake says, and you focus hard on the papers instead. “so i figured we could split this by session blocks. i’ll walk you through what i’ve got, and you tell me if it makes sense or if i’m completely losing my mind.”

you grin. “deal.”

what follows is a deep dive into color codes, footnotes, and logistics – half of which make no sense to you because you don’t do science and physics the way jake does, but you let him breeze through his keynote speeches,  your eyes flicking across the words he had printed out and annotated on flashcards. and somehow, in the middle of all of it, you both slip into a rhythm. you catch the typos he misses in his presentation. he rephrases the awkward blurbs you hesitate over. you pass him your highlighter without being asked. it’s fluid. comfortable. natural.

except for the moments that aren’t.

like when your hands brush reaching for the same paperclip, and he stills for a second too long.

or when he catches you smiling at a doodle you scribbled into the margin last week that he kept regardless.

or when you mention one of the speakers and he mutters, almost distracted, “you’re the reason i didn’t drop out of this thing.”

you pretend you didn’t hear that one. you both pretend.

it’s a slow afternoon, heavy with the kind of focus that only happens when you’ve got a deadline and too many feelings you’re both avoiding. and somehow, somewhere in the mix of shared eye-rolls and shuffling documents, you forget how easy it is to lose track of time around him. you forget to look at the clock. you forget that people are probably heading out for lunch already. you forget that you haven’t eaten.

that’s a first for even you. until jay appears in the doorway, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“you two,” he says, arms crossed. “you’ve been in here for three hours. did one of you die or fall into a wormhole or something?”

jake blinks up at him. “wait – what time is it?”

jay sighs, stepping inside and snatching the half-empty mug beside jake. “time to take a break, dr. cosmic. go eat and hydrate. stop staring at each other like you’re characters in a tragic novella.”

“i wasn’t—”

“we weren’t—”

jay’s eyes narrow. “out.”

jake stands first, brushing his hands on his slacks before offering you one. you hesitate a second too long before taking it. his palm is warm, fingers steady, and your heart does a quiet little somersault as he helps you up.

jay’s already muttering something sarcastic under his breath when jake looks over at you again.

“i can go grab us something,” he offers. “if you’re still okay to keep working after?”

you nod. “yeah. of course.”

jake’s eyes soften. “okay. i’ll be back in ten.”

you watch him disappear down the hallway, and for the first time all day, you let yourself smile without worrying about what it might mean.

later, after sandwiches and soft laughter and the return of a calm that felt like it belonged only to the two of you – you find yourself alone again in the office. jake’s stepped out to talk to one of the coordinators, and you’re left flipping through the finalized agenda, your fingers ghosting over the notes you’d scrawled beside his name weeks ago.

you don’t even realize he’s returned until he’s standing beside you again, quiet.

“i… meant what i said,” jake says suddenly, voice low.

you look up. “about?”

his gaze is careful. focused. “about wanting you there. not because you’re my assistant. but because you make things easier. i think better when you’re around.”

your throat goes dry.

“and i know i kind of suck at saying stuff like that,” he continues, glancing away like he can’t quite hold the weight of his own words. “but… the other night. the call. i wasn’t just drunk. i meant it. i just didn’t know how to say it sober.”

there’s a beat of silence that stretches a little too long. you try to say something. you really do.

but all you manage is a quiet, “jake…”

he shakes his head, stopping you gently. “you don’t have to say anything. i just… wanted you to know.”

the moment feels suspended in amber – still, slow, fragile. and maybe there’s too much you’re both still figuring out. maybe it’s too early for names and confessions and clearly drawn lines. but it’s not too early for this. for the space between you narrowing. for the truth to inch closer. for something real to begin growing in the light.

outside the window, the sky begins to shift. dusky and pale gold.

inside, it’s warm. quiet. and for once, neither of you rushes to fill the silence.

later that night, your apartment is quiet. too quiet.

you’ve showered, finally managed to eat something, even lit that vanilla candle you always forget you own. your suitcase sits at the foot of your bed, zipped and ready, but your thoughts are anything but. you’re half-propped up against your pillows, legs tangled in the sheets, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly but not seeing a thing.

so when it buzzes, sharp against your palm, you jump a little.

dr. sim (jake).

your thumb hovers over the screen for a second before answering. “hey,” you say, voice low.

there’s a pause on the other end, like he hadn’t expected you to pick up on the first ring. then – “hey,” he echoes, and it’s soft in that way he always gets after a long day. tired, but warm. roughened edges, but still reaching for you.

you smirk a little. “you’re not drunk again, are you?”

he huffs out a laugh, quiet. “no,” he says. “sober as hell. unfortunately.”

“that’s a shame,” you tease gently, shifting to lie more comfortably on your side. “you’re more honest when you’re drunk.”

“i’m honest now.”

there’s a weight to the words that catches you off guard. not defensive. just… sure.

you blink up at the ceiling. “so,” you say, tone lighter. “what’s up, dr. sim? nervous about tomorrow?”

jake sighs, and you can picture him – one hand cradling the phone, the other probably scrubbing at his face, hair all messed up from pacing. “a little. i keep thinking i’ve forgotten something important.”

“you haven’t,” you say, immediate and certain. “you’ve gone over your checklist at least twelve times. and i’ve checked it five times.”

there’s a pause on the other end of the line – not heavy, just quiet. comfortable, almost. you can hear jake shift, the creak of his office chair, the soft tap of his fingers against the desk. he doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t rush him. maybe because this call already feels like the kind of conversation that lives between words, in the hesitations and sidesteps and everything left unsaid.

you lie back against your pillows, the phone pressed to your ear, and exhale slowly. your room is dim now, lit only by the soft amber glow of your nightstand lamp. outside, the city hums low – a distant lullaby. inside, it’s quiet enough that you can hear jake breathing.

“i’m… glad you’re coming,” he says at last. his voice is softer now, closer to what it had been on that late-night phone call – the one you both haven’t mentioned again. like he’s not sure how loud to be with this kind of truth.

you smile at the ceiling. “i’m glad i said yes.”

another pause. then, a sound like him letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. you imagine him there, probably hunched over his desk, glasses slipping down his nose, a hundred crumpled notes and draft slides around him. maybe he's got one hand tangled in his hair.

“i keep thinking about tomorrow,” jake says, voice thoughtful now. “the conference. the presentation.”

“and you’re nervous?”

“terrified,” he says, then laughs quietly, like he’s only half-kidding.

you roll onto your side, tucking the blanket under your chin. “you’ll be brilliant,” you say simply. “you know that, right?”

there you go again, calling him brilliant. like it’s a fact, not a compliment. like you’ve already decided it to be true, the way some people decide the sky is blue or the earth is round. and jake’s quiet for a beat too long – not because he wants to disagree with you, but because you say it like you’ve always known it, and he’s still learning how to believe it.

“i want to be,” he admits, and then, more quietly: “especially with you there.”

it lands gently, but not softly. like a pebble dropped into still water – quiet at first, then rippling outward until it touches everything.

your heart stutters. not in panic. not even in surprise. just that soft jolt of hearing something you didn’t realize you were waiting for until it was spoken aloud.

“you know,” you murmur, “you’re not that terrible at this.”

“at what?” he asks, confused.

you smile. “saying how you feel.”

there’s a beat. then he says your name again – and it’s not slurred this time. it’s clear, careful. like he’s holding it with both hands.

it makes your heart stutter regardless and pull your sheets up to your chin as if it's a shield. you’re the one who fills the quiet this time.

“i’ve been looking forward to this trip,” you say, gently redirecting. “not just because of the conference. it feels like... i don’t know. something different.”

jake is quiet again, and you can hear the shift in his breath, the way he’s turning that over in his mind. you’re not sure if it’s too forward. not sure if you’ve said too much. but then he says:

“yeah. me too.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward. it’s not even silence, really – not when you can hear the soft thrum of connection, not when his presence seems to stretch across the distance like a thread pulling taut.

eventually, you yawn – quietly, but not quietly enough.

“you should sleep,” he says. “it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“you should too.”

“i will,” jake replies. but he doesn’t hang up. and neither do you.

you don’t remember exactly when your eyes start to slip closed. only that the sound of his breathing is steady in your ear, grounding you. only that the weight of the day has finally settled, and for once, it doesn’t feel heavy.

you fall asleep before either of you says goodnight.

jake stays on the line a little longer. he doesn’t say anything. just listens.

and in the stillness of his house, alone but not really, he lets himself believe – just for tonight – that maybe this is how something real begins.

twenty-seven.

the morning air is brisk when you step onto the platform, suitcase rolling behind you, fingers still wrapped around a half-finished cup of coffee. the city is just beginning to wake – light bleeding across the buildings, wind curling through narrow lanes, carrying the scent of something warm and sweet from a nearby bakery.

the train is waiting, sleek and silver, idling on the tracks like a held breath. and just ahead, jake stands near the door, his duffel slung across his chest, one hand rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to ease out the tension.

you catch his eye. he smiles.

it’s a small thing. easy. but when he lifts a hand in that casual, awkward little wave, your heart flickers.

neither of you says it out loud – not anything about last night. about the late phone call, his voice soft and uncertain through the line. about the way your voice had gone quiet near the end, how the line had stilled with your breathing. the way he didn’t hang up until long after he should have.

you could bring it up.

but you don’t. he doesn’t either.

instead, he says, “hey,” and takes your suitcase from you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you follow him up into the train carriage, your seat assignments side-by-side. the compartments are small but clean – sunlight streaming through the wide windows, scattering light across the glossy floors. the city slides further away behind you.

jake wrestles your suitcase into the overhead rack with an ease that makes your throat go a little dry – veins shifting under the skin on his arms, shirt stretching slightly at the shoulder. you look away too quickly, pretending to be busy with your sling-bag, cursing yourself silently.

he drops into the seat beside you, lets out a quiet sigh, and rakes a hand through his hair.

“barely slept,” he mutters. “you?”

you shrug, watching the early light catch on his lashes. “some.”

he doesn’t ask why. maybe he already knows.

the train jolts once, then starts to move. slowly at first, and then faster, the city blurring into color as you head toward the edge of everything familiar.

it’s calm. peaceful.

there’s a quiet thrill in your chest – part nerves, part anticipation. the kind you used to feel before field trips or final presentations or nights when something new was about to begin. and it is something new, even if neither of you will name it yet.

you sit shoulder to shoulder, brushing every time the train rocks too far. jake pulls out his tablet, starts scrolling through slides for the presentation you’ve both seen a hundred times. you try to focus on the scenery outside, but your eyes keep drifting.

his hair’s still a little messy from the wind. he’s mouthing something as he reads, tapping the edge of the screen absently. his thumb brushes yours once where your hands rest on the shared armrest, and you both freeze for a beat – but neither of you pulls away.

at some point, he glances over at you.

you’ve settled into your seat by the window, the early sun pooling in streaks across your jeans, your lashes catching light like threads of gold.

you’re dressed casually. comfortable. out of the formal setting the office follows, jake’s still trying to get used to this situation. just you and him together on a train to a different town. yes, it's for work, but maybe he’s hoping for more.

your lips – he notices them before he can stop himself – are glossed, faintly tinted, like it’s nothing at all. like it isn’t absolutely undoing him.

he looks away.

the edge of your knee knocks into his when the train shudders, and he pretends not to notice that either.

you say something about the schedule, about the route from the station to the hotel, maybe the session times – but he’s a beat behind, trying not to get caught in the curve of your mouth.

and then you smile. and god.

jake doesn’t even mean to look, not really, but it’s like gravity – like something in the way your lips curve, gloss catching the light just right, effortless and warm. it hits him all at once. too real. too much. you’re not even trying. you’re just smiling, bright-eyed and easy, saying something about something he’s not listening to, and he’s sitting there like an idiot, pulse thrumming in his ears, trying not to stare at your mouth like a man who’s never seen one before.

his brain short-circuits, rewinds, plays the scene again: the way your smile tugged slow at the corners, how it lingered like it had nowhere else to be. he swallows, shifts slightly in his seat, pretends to zone in on his tablet again. anything to pull his gaze away from your lips, from the subtle sheen still soft in the corner of your mouth.

and god help him, he’s not even thinking straight – just wondering, helplessly, what it might feel like if you smiled against his own lips like that.

and then, with a jolt, he realizes what he just thought.

his brain stutters – trips over itself like a record scratch mid-song – and something tightens, sharp and visceral, in the pit of his stomach. what the hell. he blinks, once, twice, and looks away fast, like that might undo it.

like the thought hadn’t just bloomed wild and uninvited in his chest. he’s not even sure where it came from. it’s not like you’re doing anything. just sitting there, chatting softly, your legs curled under you and your bag tucked by your feet. you’d smiled because you always do, easily, openly, like it costs you nothing, and jake had looked at you like he always does. or so he thought.

but this? this is new and entirely different and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

he tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, runs a hand through his hair, shifts again in his seat like the discomfort is physical. like he can physically move away from what just flickered through his head. because it wasn’t just the thought of kissing you – it was the way he’d imagined it. the tenderness of it. the tilt of your smile, that faint press of gloss, the way he wanted to feel it up close, wanted to know what it would be like if you laughed into his mouth and leaned into him just a little. if you looked at him like that – but for real. for keeps.

and now he’s warm. too warm. like someone lit a match behind his ears and the heat is blooming down his neck, his spine, searing him with mortification. he should say something. should think of anything else. should not be sitting here next to you on a train, legs brushing and shoulders nearly touching, wishing he could rewind his entire brain five seconds and pretend he’s never had a single thought about your lips.

but you’re still talking – sweet and oblivious – and god, he doesn’t want to ruin this. doesn’t want to make it weird. doesn’t want you to look at him differently.

so he nods along. forces himself to breath, plasters on a smile he’s sure looks too polite and tries not to fidget.

tries not to imagine how your lip gloss might taste.

he keeps his gaze forward after that. keeps his thoughts leashed, jaw tight, expression neutral – like if he just focuses hard enough on the scenery blurring past the window, he can hold the chaos inside at bay. you’re still beside him, warm and so very real, occasionally pointing something out, occasionally laughing at something small. and jake tries. he really does. tries to engage. tries not to overthink the last five minutes of his own brain, of his own treasonous thoughts.

but it’s been a long week. and the train rocks in a rhythm that’s steady and slow, like a lullaby whispered against the tracks. the muffled announcements blur into the hum of passing fields and fading light. at some point, you shift beside him and your shoulder brushes his.

and he exhales. deep. shoulders loosening.

he doesn’t even mean to fall asleep.

but the next thing he knows, it’s your scent grounding him, something soft and familiar. the faintest citrus from your shampoo. the warmth of your coat where it folds against his side. the press of your shoulder, steady against his.

jake’s head dips without him realizing. and when it lands, gently, in the crook between your shoulder and neck, it feels – god, it feels safe. too safe.

you don’t flinch. you don’t move.

and that’s somehow worse.

because he should pull away. should apologize, should be mortified, should do something. but sleep is fogging him too fast, and your presence is too kind, and whatever tension was coiled tight in his spine begins to unravel like thread. his breath evens. his hand, which had been loosely curled in his lap, shifts and brushes against yours where it rests on the armrest – fingers just barely overlapping.

he doesn’t even know he smiles, faint and unconscious.

and you don’t say anything. don’t dare breathe too loud or move too fast. just sit there, spine stiffening for one startled beat before melting back into your seat, watching the reflection of the dusk-streaked window, pretending your heart isn’t skipping out of rhythm.

he’ll probably be embarrassed when he wakes.

but right now – right now, he’s at ease. so you let him rest. let your head lean slightly against his. let the silence stretch between you again, soft and tentative and sweet.

outside, the train barrels ahead. inside, you stay still, heart full of something fragile and unfolding.

when jake wakes, he’s disoriented for a moment. it’s already mid afternoon, which means he’s slept through most of the train ride. the sound of the train is quieter now, the hum of the wheels against the tracks more distant. he blinks rapidly, trying to shake off the grogginess, but it only takes him a split second to realize that his head is still resting on your shoulder. his breath hitches when his eyes flutter open, and for a fleeting moment, he’s caught between the warmth of your proximity and the awkward realization that he’s actually fallen asleep on you.

his pulse quickens. a heat spreads across his face. he lifts his head, moving slowly, careful not to disturb you. but the space feels different now – too intimate, too real. his hand jerks away from where it had been resting against your side, and he clears his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“sorry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he does when he’s embarrassed. "i didn’t mean to – uh... fall asleep on you."

you glance at him, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at your lips, but you don’t tease him. you’re too gracious for that. instead, you just nod, offering a reassuring, quiet, “it’s fine, jake. you looked like you needed the rest.”

he opens his mouth to say something more, but his words get tangled in the quiet tension that fills the space between you. the train slows, its wheels grinding against the track as the station nears. he has the strangest sensation of wanting to stay here a little longer, in this bubble of peaceful, fragile calm, but the moment evaporates as the train announces its arrival.

you both stand up, moving toward the overhead compartment to grab your bags. as you reach for yours, jake is already there, just a step ahead of you, his hand on your suitcase handle. the gesture is familiar, routine even, but there’s a tension now in the way his fingers brush yours.

“let me grab that for you,” he says, his voice a little too loud in the otherwise quiet train car, almost like he’s overcompensating.

he pulls your bag from the compartment, and the moment his hand closes around the handle, the weight of it shifts awkwardly. his body leans forward slightly, just enough to knock into you. in the same instant, you take a half-step backward, trying to avoid the sudden closeness, but your foot catches on the edge of the seat. the stumble is subtle, a brief moment of instability, but enough for you to lose your balance.

your heart skips a beat as you begin to pitch forward. and then, in one fluid motion, jake’s hand is there, steadying you. his fingers press firmly against your elbow, his body coming up close behind you, his chest brushing against your back in a way that’s entirely accidental but still undeniably there. his breath catches as he steadies you, the proximity more than either of you had bargained for.

“gotcha,” he mutters, his voice low and close to your ear. you feel it in the curve of your spine.

his touch is warm, firm, but not too forceful. just the right amount of pressure to help you regain your balance. and for a brief, dizzying moment, you’re so close you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek, the sharpness of his gaze as he looks down at you, his face inches from yours. the sudden proximity sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, a shock of awareness you didn’t expect.

“careful,” he says this time, his voice low, almost apologetic, like he didn’t mean to crowd you so much.

you nod, but your heartbeat is too loud, too fast, to say anything more. he’s still holding you by the arm, steadying you, even though you don’t need it anymore. you’re both standing there, the space between you narrowing, the air thick with something unspoken.

“thanks,” you manage, still caught in the closeness, the lingering heat of his hand on your skin.

he nods once, clearing his throat. “yeah, no problem.”

but then, with an awkward shift, he lets go, and the brief tension between you both snaps. he moves to grab your bag from the overhead compartment before you can, his movements slightly more rushed now. he hands it to you, but his fingers brush against yours for a split second, and just like that, the moment fades.

the shuffle of your feet, the awkward adjustment of your bags – it’s all a blur now, overshadowed by the weight of what just happened. you take a steadying breath, trying to find some kind of grounding.

but even as you both shift away from each other, the subtle jolt of awareness remains. jake clears his throat, ruffling his hair, his face flushed just a shade darker than usual, but he doesn’t say anything.

his gaze catches yours for a brief, unsure moment, and then it’s gone, replaced by the busyness of the crowd, the noise of the station pulling you back to the present.

as you step off the train and into the bustle of the station, the world feels suddenly too wide, too full of distractions, and the brief, charged silence between you becomes something heavier. neither of you speaks of it, but you both carry it with you, in the space between your steps, in the quiet of your shared glances.

twenty-eight.

the knock on your door comes soft but persistent, enough to draw you from the low hum of your thoughts.

the ride to the hotel had been a breeze, facilitated by someone who had come from the organising committee for the conference to pick you up. settling into your own separate rooms had also been a smooth process, everything according to the itinerary. by the time all of this had been done, you and jake had both bid each other goodbye and you, for the most part, had slept off the fatigue from the train ride the entire evening.

you had awoken, still dazed and comfortable in a way you would only feel when your back sinks into plush hotel bedding after a long journey and decided to shower.

by the time you’re done, you glance at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how late it’s gotten. it’s a strange sort of quiet in the hotel now. it’s just you, alone in your room, and the sound of a knock you didn’t expect.

you walk to the door with damp hair, the strands clinging to your skin from the shower. the loose tee you threw on after drying off is soft, hanging just right, too relaxed, and you pull at the fabric near your collarbone – letting it slip off just a little more to dry off the dampness still clinging to your skin there.

when you open the door, there’s jake, standing in the hallway with his usual composed but slightly frazzled expression, holding a few pages of notes. his eyes catch yours for a fraction of a second before he’s looking away, clearing his throat.

“hey,” he says, his voice rougher than usual, as if he’s trying to swallow back something he can’t quite manage. “you, uh, got a minute? i... was hoping you could help me with these notes.”

you raise an eyebrow, surprised at the request. you might be imagining it, but he looks… off. he’s standing a little too close, his body stiff, like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

“sure,” you say, a little too easily, but you can’t help it. he’s asking, and there’s no way you can say no.

you open the door wider, motioning for him to come in. he hesitates for a split second, before stepping inside, his gaze flicking back to you, noticing how your damp hair frames your face, how the loose tee clings to your skin just enough to make him forget his next words. the very casualness of it all hits him like a ton of bricks. the way you stand there, completely unaware of the effect you’re having on him.

he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, clearing his throat again. “i… uh, i can’t focus. so i figured… maybe i could go over it with you? it’s… easier with someone else around.”

you nod, catching the hesitancy in his words. it’s odd seeing him like this, so out of his usual element. you try to make the air feel more natural, gesturing to the desk where he can lay his notes out. “of course,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile.

you leave him to it for a moment, moving to adjust your shirt, pulling the hem up as it slides off your shoulder. it’s a subtle motion, but one that catches jake’s attention more than it should. his eyes flicker back to you, a fleeting moment of something in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long.

you sit down at the desk beside him, trying to focus on the papers, but the quiet weight of the moment is almost too much. he’s sitting there, hunched over his notes, totally absorbed, but there’s something about the way he’s so intent on them that makes you watch him a little longer. he’s so focused, so professional when he wants to be, but there’s a quiet vulnerability in the way he rubs his temples or adjusts his glasses for the hundredth time tonight.

your gaze flickers from the papers to him, the curve of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. you admire how committed he is to getting everything right. how he cares. it’s endearing, but it’s also… distracting.

you let the silence stretch between you, but it’s comfortable now. you start going over the notes, pointing out a few things here and there. the awkwardness is fading slowly, replaced by that quiet focus that comes when two people are in sync with each other, working on something, something small and simple. but still, even as you’re so close, the tension hovers just beneath the surface.

after a while, you glance at the clock. the night is getting late, and you can sense jake’s exhaustion. you feel it in the way he rubs his eyes, the quiet, constant shift of his weight. he’s ready for a break. and neither of you have had any dinner.

you pause, leaning back in your chair, and it’s then that you get the sudden urge to change the pace, to break away from the work. you stand up, stretching a little. “you know, we’ve been at this for a while. how about we get some dinner?”

jake looks up, clearly surprised. “dinner?” jake had, evidently, forgotten about dinner altogether.

you grab your phone and glance toward the door. “maybe we can find something downstairs? i think the hotel has a restaurant that's open late.”

jake blinks, like the concept of dinner is just now dawning on him, and the corners of his mouth tug up in a sheepish smile. “right. food. yeah, that sounds good.”

there’s something boyish about the way he says it, like he’s a little embarrassed to have gotten so wrapped up in his work that he forgot the basics. it makes your chest tighten strangely, fondness blooming in a place you didn’t even realize was hollow.

jake pushes back his chair and stands too, running a hand through his already-messy hair. he looks so casual like this – hoodie sleeves pushed up, his glasses sliding a little down his nose, the tired, endearing kind of handsome that makes your heart stutter without permission.

you slip your phone into your pocket and glance toward the door. “come on, professor. before you starve to death.”

jake huffs a soft laugh, following after you.

the hotel lobby is quiet when you both step into it. most guests have retired to their rooms, and the overhead lights are dimmed to a softer glow. in the distance, past the marble floors and the polished front desk, you spot the hotel's late-night café tucked into a corner – still open, a few stragglers nursing drinks and quiet conversation. a handful of patio doors are propped open beyond it, leading out into a small private garden bathed in warm outdoor lights.

you exchange a look with jake, silent agreement passing between you without a word. the air outside would do you both good.

as you step into the garden, the evening air rushes against your skin, cool enough to raise goosebumps. instinctively, you rub your arms, tugging at the sleeves of the oversized hoodie you had thrown over your head earlier.

jake notices instantly. “here.” without thinking, he tugs the zipper of your hoodie up for you, his knuckles brushing your collarbone in the process. his touch is featherlight but scorching somehow, setting off a tremor of awareness that zips straight down your spine.

you glance up at him, startled by the proximity, but jake just ducks his head, pretending like zipping you up wasn’t the most intimate thing he’s done all night. pretending like this wasn’t the most out of world thing he had ever done in his whole existence. like you weren’t entirely capable of zipping up your own goddamn hoodie like the adult you were.

fortunately, you choose not to say anything, instead letting a quiet thanks fall off your lips before almost stumbling to grab a seat. jake tries not to combust, sliding into the seat across from you, still fidgeting slightly, like he hasn’t quite shaken off the feeling of your skin under his fingers.

he rubs the back of his neck, awkward in a way that makes your chest ache, and squints at the menu like it’s in a language he doesn’t speak.

“you picking something?” you tease lightly, trying to lift the tension sitting between you like mist.

jake hums, noncommittal, still pretending to study the menu even though you both know he’s not reading a word of it.

you grin and close your own menu with a soft thud. “i’ll just get whatever you get,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

jake finally looks up at that, startled, like he wasn’t expecting you to make it so easy for him. his lips twitch in a half-smile.

“careful,” he says, voice low and teasing. “i’m not known for making the best food choices under pressure.”

you laugh, and the sound feels like it cracks something open between you. you don't look away from him when you say, “i’ll take my chances.”

jake stares at you a second too long. you see the moment he forgets to breathe – the tiny catch in his chest – before he blinks hard and waves down the server like his life depends on it.

he orders something simple. grilled sandwiches and soup. comfort food. easy. safe. but none of this feels particularly safe at all, not when his knee keeps brushing yours under the table, not when he’s looking at you like he wants to say something but keeps swallowing the words back.

when the food comes, neither of you speaks. you can sense that he is brooding over something, most likely his own notes floating around in his mind, so you don’t push. you want to say something, but for a while, you focus on the sandwiches in front of you.

jake’s hair is even messier now from the way he keeps raking his hand through it, and you realize it’s a nervous habit. one he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

jake tears little pieces off his sandwich without eating them, his hands restless on the table. you sip your water, watching him, letting the silence stretch a little – not awkward, just… tentative. like standing at the edge of something and wondering if it's safe to step forward.

“were you always like this?” you ask lightly, resting your chin in your palm.

he looks up, startled.  “like what?” he says, a little wary, a little amused.

you shrug, smiling. “you know. quiet. careful. the kind of person who pretends he's not nervous even when he obviously is.”

jake lets out a breathy laugh, scrubbing his hand through his hair again. his glasses nearly topple off his nose.

“wow, thanks,” he says dryly, but he’s smiling, too, a little shy. “you make it sound so charming.”

“it is charming,” you say, softer than you mean to.

jake’s eyes flick up to yours, something flickering there, something sharp and searching. he shifts a little in his seat, like he’s suddenly too big for it.

“for the record,” he says after a pause, “i wasn’t always like this.”

you tilt your head, curious. “no?”

jake shrugs, a quick, jerky motion. “i think… i think i just got used to not expecting much. from people.”

he says it lightly like a joke, like a throwaway comment, but there’s something underneath, brittle and tired. you don’t call it out. you just let it sit there between you, a quiet offering.

jake fidgets with the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it. his voice is careful when he adds, “sometimes it’s easier to… not count on anyone, you know?”

you nod slowly, heart aching a little.  “yeah,” you say. “i know.”

jake glances at you, quick and searching again, like he didn’t expect you to understand so easily. like he’s not used to being met halfway.

the night hums quietly around you;  the low chatter of other tables, the clink of cutlery, the warm summer air pressing soft against your skin.you want to reach across the table. take his hand. something. anything. but you stay still. you let him keep this moment under his own control.

and jake –he doesn’t know what to say anymore. the very fact that this is the kind of thing that he has never experienced, the way he has never even hinted at anything in his personal life to a stranger, not even his colleagues and he’s here right now, mind churning at the way it wants to spit out all the words stuck in his throat but he doesn’t know how to.

he’s never talked about it before. not like this. not without feeling the need to make a joke of it, to lace it all up in irony and pretend he doesn’t care.

but now you're just looking at him. not flinching. not pushing. not asking for more than he’s ready to give. just sitting there like you're willing to catch whatever he drops without expecting him to be more, or better, or whole.

and something tight and small and stubborn in him – just gives in. like a dam cracking, not breaking, but loosening under the weight of being seen. of being understood. maybe for the first time in longer than he wants to admit.

he glances up, catching your eyes across the table, the way you're holding still like you know he's scared and you're not trying to scare him more.

and jake thinks, wildly, stupidly, i don't know why i'm telling you this. i just... am.

like it's the most natural thing in the world. like trusting you is something his heart decided for him before his head could catch up.

he doesn't quite know why, but he feels lighter. a little bit freer.

the silence stretches between you, but it’s not heavy now. it’s not thick with the unspoken things he wants to hide. it’s… okay.

when you finally speak again, it’s a soft smile in your voice.

“but… i think some people are worth the risk. not everyone leaves. some people stay. even when it’s easier not to.”

jake blinks, the words catching him off guard. he didn’t expect that, and for a moment, his throat tightens again. he feels vulnerable but for some reason, this feels safe. and so, so unfamiliar.

“yeah, well... i don’t usually talk about this stuff,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. his voice is quieter now, like a breath let out after holding it in too long. “i guess i just... i don't know. i’m not sure why, but...”

you let him trail off, and after a moment, you both start to stand. the air between you has shifted – subtle, but there. he’s not entirely sure where it’s going, but he's not quite as terrified as he was walking in.

he’s surprised by how easy it feels to fall into step beside you as you head back towards the lobby, the silence now comfortable in a way that wasn’t there when you first sat down. somehow your steps naturally find themselves taking the path to the garden out front.

the night air is cool, the garden lit only by soft, ambient lights. the space feels serene, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you both. the path stretches ahead, bordered by low hedges and the occasional bench, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground.

you walk side by side for a while, neither of you saying much. the peacefulness of the moment settles in, and even though you can’t help but feel the weight of the closeness between you, the silence feels… comfortable.

jake’s hands are shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tense as if he’s not sure what to do with himself. his steps slow a little, his thoughts racing in that familiar pattern of self-doubt, the kind of cycle he’s lived with for years. he’s so used to keeping everything in, staying controlled, staying guarded. so used to avoiding this kind of space, this kind of proximity where someone else could see him, could... feel him.

but walking beside you now, there’s something different. his mind drifts to that conversation earlier – how easy it was to let the words slip out. maybe it was the setting. maybe it was you. he doesn’t know. but there’s a softness to the way you’re letting him be, letting him exist without the usual weight of expectations, and it’s throwing him off in the best way possible.

the light breeze brushes against your skin, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. jake notices, the faintest flicker of concern in his chest. he’d noticed how the night air had started to chill, but he hadn’t said anything, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. it’s an automatic response when you see someone close to you even the slightest bit uncomfortable, and without thinking, the words tumble out of his mouth – 

“are you cold?” jake asks, his voice low, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. he feels a slight awkwardness rise in his chest, but the concern outweighs it.

you glance at him, a little surprised by the question, but you shake your head, offering a small smile. “i’m okay. just a little chill, nothing to worry about.”

jake doesn’t quite believe you, but he doesn’t press. he’s learned over the years that pushing people to open up rarely works. but there’s something in the way you’ve stayed close without saying much that makes him feel… seen. he’s used to being the one who keeps things in check, the one who doesn’t allow too much to slip through. but with you, it feels different. he wants to give, to open up, but he’s not sure where the line is anymore.

you glance over at him, watching the way the moonlight highlights the sharp angles of his jaw, the subtle flex of his shoulders under his shirt, the way his breath comes out in quiet puffs in the cold air. your heart stirs at the sight, the thought creeping in again – the one that makes you wonder just how close you’re really willing to let yourself get to him.

his head shifts slightly, and suddenly his eyes lock with yours. it’s just a brief moment. but there’s something different in his gaze now, a flicker of heat there that wasn’t there before. and you feel it too, the way your pulse stutters, the way your body reacts to his proximity. it’s no longer just the quiet intimacy of the walk; it’s something more, something charged.

“do you want to sit for a while?” you ask, your voice quieter than before, trying to break the spell that’s settled between you both. there’s a small bench nearby, nestled against the edge of the path, half-hidden by a low shrub. it’s an excuse – something to keep the momentum of the night going without having to say too much.

he nods, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leave yours as he follows you to the bench. he sits first, and you take a seat beside him, close but not touching. the air between you feels thick, but you’re both pretending it’s not, for now. you fold your hands in your lap, looking out over the garden, but every inch of your skin is aware of the space between you.

jake shifts slightly, and suddenly, his leg brushes against yours. the contact is so accidental, so brief, that you almost think it’s your imagination. but then, it happens again – his thigh grazing yours just enough that you can’t ignore it.

your breath hitches, and you try to brush it off, pretend it didn’t affect you the way it did. but you can feel the heat from his body now, the warmth of his side, the steady thrum of his presence next to you. your fingers itch to reach out, just to feel him. but you don’t. you can’t.

“sorry,” jake murmurs, his voice soft, almost embarrassed, as if he’s the one feeling the tension. he pulls his leg back just a little too quickly, the motion awkward, and you catch the way his eyes flick down to your hands before meeting your gaze again.

you shake your head quickly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s fine,” you say. the words feel like a safe way to keep the conversation light, to mask the strange fluttering in your chest.

but it’s not fine, is it? not really. the small brush of his leg against yours has set off something you weren’t prepared for. a pulse of heat running straight through your veins, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. it’s impossible to ignore now. the attraction, the way your body reacts to his presence, the way his proximity makes your heart race in a way it shouldn’t.

jake doesn’t seem to know what to say after that, his eyes flicking everywhere except to you. it’s almost like he’s trying to distance himself, trying to regain control of the situation, but you both know it’s not going to work. not now.

you look up at the sky, trying to clear the thoughts in your mind, but it’s hard when you feel his gaze still lingering on you, even from the corner of your vision. he’s just there, so close, the air between you thick and heady. every breath you take feels like it’s somehow shared with him.

and then, in a moment that feels like it’s been drawn out for far too long, you feel him shift again. this time, his hand brushes against your fingers, his touch fleeting but deliberate, like it’s a test – a question without words.

your heart skips a beat, and you don’t pull away. you can’t. instead, you let your fingers linger just a moment longer, your pulse quickening as his hand hovers near yours, unsure whether to close the distance.

and then, without thinking, you let your hand slip just a little closer to his, your fingertips brushing against his palm. the touch is brief, but it feels like a spark. and for the first time tonight, you’re not sure who made the first move.

jake’s breath catches, and for a split second, everything goes still. the world, the garden, the night, all fade away until it’s just you and him and the pulse of something between you. it’s a breath away from something more, and you can feel the shift, the weight of the moment settling around you both.

the moment hangs in the air, thick and heavy with possibility. you can almost taste it, the way your heart races, the way your body hums, the way his body leans just a little closer, the barest shift in his posture that tells you he’s feeling it too.

and then, very selfishly, you both hope that the night doesn’t end.

twenty-nine.

somewhere between the chaos of the morning and the remnants of last night’s unspoken almost, you find it impossible to actually have a conversation with jake.

you had woken up in your room, tangled under your sheets in a comfortable daze. and the second your eyes had opened and brain started to function, you had thought of last night. the soft touches, the lingering gaze and well, everything else you couldn’t possibly put into words.

you had gotten ready with a smile on your face, looking forward to grabbing breakfast with jake, checking your reflection twice in the mirror before bounding off to his room and knocking. surprisingly, there’s no response.

that’s weird, you think, checking your phone to see if there’s a message from jake himself but there’s nothing. and you know the conference starts in about three hours, so there’s no way he’s still asleep.

so you head downstairs instead, the quiet thrum of anticipation already thick in the air. the breakfast hall is lively, a low buzz of conversation floating over clinking plates and coffee machines sputtering out cappuccinos. your eyes sweep over the room once and then pause.

there he is.

jake’s seated at one of the round tables near the window, surrounded by a few other presenters you vaguely recognize from the program brochure. he’s leaning slightly forward, listening intently to someone speak, his brow furrowed in that way he does when he’s trying not to interrupt. he’s got a black pen in hand and is absently tapping it against the rim of his coffee cup, nodding slowly at something being said. professional, composed, quietly magnetic in the way he always is when he forgets anyone’s watching.

except, he catches you. his eyes lift, and the moment they meet yours across the hall, his expression softens. it’s small, barely there, but unmistakable: a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth like he’s been waiting to see you.

your heart stutters.

still, you don’t go over. you just offer a little wave, trying not to look too obviously giddy as you grab a plate and move toward a quiet corner table. you don’t want to interrupt. he looks like he’s mid-conversation, and besides, it’s fine. you just thought…well, you thought maybe you’d have breakfast together.

you’re halfway through buttering a piece of toast when a familiar voice speaks beside you.

“hey,” jake says, placing a fresh cup of coffee next to your plate before he sets his own down and sinks into the seat across from you. “i’m sorry. got roped into an early breakfast by the committee folks.”

you blink, startled, and then glance at the cup.

“no, it’s okay,” you say, a little breathless, trying not to let how relieved you feel show too much. “really. it’s fine.”

but then you look up, and he’s already watching you. his hair is perfectly in place, his suit crisp, and his tie knotted with the kind of precision that suggests he’s been up and ready for a while now. there's not a wrinkle on him, not a single sign of hesitation. he looks calm, professional, every bit the man about to speak in front of a room full of scholars. and yet, when he smiles at you – soft and a little shy around the edges – it’s not polished at all. it’s just jake.

you catch the way his gaze lingers on you too. the way his eyes flicker briefly to your lips, the faint shine of your gloss catching the light. your hair’s loose, falling around your shoulders in a way he’s come to realise he likes too much. he takes all of you in with that one quiet look, and somehow, your heart forgets how to beat properly for a moment.

and he’s trying not to stare. he really is. but your lips keep catching the light, and your skin glows in the soft morning hue, and he’s suddenly forgetting the names of the other people he’d just been talking to. you look so good it almost hurts to look at you directly. polished, but still you. familiar, but somehow brand new under this hotel lighting and soft linen air.

he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him just by being here, just by smiling that gentle smile and meeting his eyes like you’ve already forgiven him for missing breakfast. he wants to say something else – anything, really – but it all knots in his throat

he takes a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking down to the rim of his cup before lifting again to you, softer now. “i wanted to grab breakfast with you,” he says, voice quieter this time, just between the two of you. “sorry.” he adds, like a quiet confession. like one missed breakfast with you was the end of the world.

you shake your head quickly. “no, really, it’s fine. you look like you’ve had a whole day already.”

he laughs, short and dry. “feels like it.” then, his gaze lingers on you again, this time more intentional. like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

he sets his cup down, fingers tracing the sleeve absently before he finally asks, “will you meet me in an hour? my room. i’ll be finishing up some prep, but… i just. i’d like to see you before it all starts.”

your breath stills at his words – not from surprise exactly, but from the sheer gentleness of them. there’s something tentative in the way he says it, like he’s not asking for much, like he doesn’t know he already has your full attention, your full heart, maybe.

you nod, eyes meeting his. “yeah,” you say, and it comes out steadier than you expect. “i’ll be there.”

his shoulders relax a little, the tiniest bit of tension unspooling from him. he leans back in his chair like he’s allowing himself to exhale. “good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

you glance at the time, realizing the hour will pass quicker than either of you would like, but right now, he’s here and you don’t want to ruin the moment by rushing.

still, he checks his watch, reluctantly rising from the table with an apologetic tilt to his head. “i should go,” he says. “there’s one last meeting with the panel before we start.”

you try not to look too disappointed. “okay. i’ll see you soon, then.”

he hesitates, like he wants to say more, maybe even reach out but instead, he just smiles. that shy, uneven curve of his lips you’ve come to memorize. “see you soon,” he echoes.

and then he’s walking away, coffee cup still in hand, hair slightly tousled despite the perfection of his suit.

you don’t move for a while after he leaves.

the breakfast hall swells around you again – cutlery clinking, chairs scraping, small conversations humming from every table – but you sit there quietly, hands wrapped around your coffee cup like it’s the only anchor you’ve got. your heart feels oddly light and heavy at the same time, like someone’s gone and opened the blinds in your chest but forgotten to take the weight off your ribs.

you drink the rest of your coffee slowly, eyes drifting to the exit he disappeared through.

you rise from your seat eventually, plate barely touched, and head back to your room to freshen up. you try not to stare at your reflection too long, but your fingers still linger a moment too long near your lip gloss. you reapply it without thinking.

when the clock nears the hour mark, your nerves start to hum. not quite nerves, actually. something softer and  hopeful, stupidly so.

his room is warm with morning light when you knock softly, fingers curling at your side as you wait. jake opens the door almost immediately, like he’d been pacing by it, waiting for you. somehow, in that one hour timeline, he had managed to lose his blazer, which lay slung over the back of a chair. his sleeves were rolled up and his tie... half-done, hanging crookedly around his neck.

you step inside, careful and quiet, like the walls might echo with whatever's built up between you two. but jake’s eyes soften the second they meet yours, and somehow, the nerves fade just a little.

“hey,” he says, voice a little rough around the edges. like maybe he hasn’t spoken much this morning, or maybe he’s just been thinking too hard. you understand the feeling.

“hey,” you echo, eyes scanning over him without meaning to. his hair is slightly tousled in a way that’s almost unfair. he’s always been handsome, but right now, with the daylight pooling through the curtains and his shirt sleeves rolled up, he looks like something out of a dream you never quite let yourself have.

you reach up before you can think better of it, fingers brushing a lock of hair back into place. he freezes, ever so slightly, as your touch lingers.

“i—” you start, faltering for half a second. “you had a bit sticking up.”

jake smiles then. slow, soft. “thanks.”

you don’t pull your hand away immediately. it’s a tiny thing, fixing his hair. but for you, it’s a step. a quiet way of saying i’m still here.

you watch as jake adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, his movements slightly more rushed now that the conference is looming just ahead. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens every now and then, like he's trying to prepare himself for something bigger than he’s willing to admit.

you’re standing by the dresser, fumbling with the hem of your blouse. your fingers feel suddenly unsteady, and you almost want to laugh at yourself. you’d spent all night thinking about this moment, but now that it’s here, now that you’re in his room, with him so close, you’re not sure what to do with yourself.

jake catches your gaze in the mirror, and there’s a softness to his look that makes your heart skip. almost instinctively, you find yourself standing behind him, your hands hovering near his tie.

"can i?" you ask, your voice quieter than usual, unsure if you should make the first move. you’re hesitant but steady in a way that surprises you. his eyes meet yours through the mirror, and you see something soft, something genuine.

he nods, just a small movement, and he’s turning to you fully then, letting you adjust his tie. the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers sends a shiver up your spine, but you keep your focus, trying to make the moment last just a little longer.

you smooth the fabric with gentle hands, and as you do, his breath hitches ever so slightly, his eyes darting away from yours for a second before meeting your gaze again.

you brush another stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. his gaze is fixed on you now, but you can’t quite read it. it’s too much, too intense, and for a moment, you’re afraid you might lose control of the situation altogether.

you swallow, nerves suddenly tight in your chest. "you’re going to do great," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. it’s meant to comfort him, to steady him, but when your eyes catch his, you realize it means something else. you want him to know you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere. not after last night. not after everything. you’re here, and you mean it.

jake’s fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly, like he’s about to reach for something. his hand hovers over the breast pocket of his suit jacket, the one where he’s kept the note you had left him all those nights ago. the one that’s tucked safely away in the folds of his suit, hidden but there, as much a part of him now as anything else.

"here," you say, breaking the silence. you pull something small from your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as you hand it to him. "i thought you might like these."

he looks at the tiny box, his brows furrowing in curiosity. when he opens it, his eyes widen in surprise. a pair of star-shaped cufflinks, delicate and elegant, their silver studded surface catching the light just right. you watch as his fingers hover over them, his touch reverent.

jake’s eyes stay fixed on the cufflinks for a long moment, as if trying to make sense of the unexpected gift. his breath catches slightly, a barely-there exhale, before he lifts his gaze back to you, an unspoken question in the air between you two.

“they’re... perfect,” he says softly, like he’s not sure how to react to something so personal. his fingers brush over the silver stars again, their sharp points reflecting the light in the room, their smallness somehow giving them a sense of significance.

you swallow, unsure what to say. a thousand thoughts are racing through your mind. you had picked them out because they reminded you of him, of his quiet brilliance and the way he always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he tried not to. but now, you’re not sure if they’re too much, if they’re too... intimate.

"i just... thought you'd like something to remind you of today," you say, your voice softer than you expect, as if your words are a little too fragile for this moment. "something small, but... something that means something."

“thank you,” he says, his voice low, and for the first time today, he sounds genuinely moved, like he’s struggling to find the words.

you nod, heart fluttering in your chest. “you’re welcome,” you whisper, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze.

jake hesitates, his hand still hovering near the cufflinks as if he’s not sure what to do with them. then, as if he’s made a decision, he looks up at you again. his eyes, usually so sure and measured, hold something different now – a softness, a flicker of uncertainty that makes your heart skip.

“would you... would you mind helping me put them on?” he asks, his voice still low, but there’s something new in it. a quiet, unspoken request, as if asking for more than just the simple act of fastening the cufflinks. his fingers twitch at his side, itching to do something but uncertain what that something is.

you hesitate for a moment, your pulse quickening, but you don’t say no. instead, you step forward, your hand reaching out to take the cufflink from him. your fingers brush against his palm as you do, and for a split second, the connection between you two feels electric, as if the room itself is holding its breath. it’s simple, just a touch, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. the moment feels charged in a way that makes your chest tighten.

when you finish with the cufflink, you pause for a beat, not ready to pull away just yet. the space between you feels charged with something more than just the act of fastening a cufflink. your heart beats faster, thudding against your ribs as you find yourself wanting to say something else, to tell him how much this all means. how much he means.

but before you can find the words, jake breaks the silence, his voice low and unexpectedly raw. “thank you,” he says again, his eyes soft, lingering on you. and in that moment, you feel like the words are carrying more weight than they ever have before.

you nod, offering a small smile, but the air between you two feels heavier now, filled with unspoken things. you take a step back, but just as you do, jake’s hand gently catches yours. it’s the smallest touch, but it sends a rush of warmth through your entire body, and you freeze for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

his fingers curl around yours, a subtle yet deliberate move, and your breath catches in your throat.

“you’re here, right?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. the question is simple, but the way he asks it, the way his eyes search yours – it feels like more than just a reassurance. it feels like a question that’s been lingering in his mind for a long time, a question that has no easy answer, but one that he needs to hear.

you squeeze his hand gently, your heart pounding. “i’m here,” you say, your voice steady, but the weight of the words hits you in ways you hadn’t expected. it’s true, isn’t it? you are here. you are staying.

jake exhales softly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i don’t want to do this without you,” he admits, the words raw and vulnerable, like he’s finally letting the guard he’s kept up for so long slip away. it’s the kind of honesty that takes you by surprise, leaving you breathless in its wake.

you meet his eyes, and for a moment, you both just stand there, silent and connected in a way that feels more real than anything else. and as much as you want to say more, you find that there’s no need. not right now.

instead, you simply nod, your heart swelling in your chest. “you don’t have to,” you whisper back. “i’ll be right here.”

“i should go,” he says, glancing at the time. “they want us mic’d up in twenty minutes.”

you nod, stepping aside as he gathers the rest of his things. and then he’s gone.

you’re left in the quiet hum of the room, heart still skipping beats like it can’t decide whether to calm down or keep spiraling. you glance at your watch, and for once, you wish time would speed up – because something about today feels different. like maybe it’s not just about the work anymore. maybe it never really was.

you smooth your blouse, take a breath, and leave.

you’ll see him again in the next room. and this time, you’ll see him in all his glory.

thirty.

the room is full of people, the buzz of conversation giving way to the soft hum of anticipation. jake stands at the front, a calm presence amid the sea of experts, each of them waiting for the presentation to begin. his fingers tap lightly against the podium, a quiet rhythm that betrays the nerves he’s trying so hard to hide.

you sit at the edge of the room, watching him with a sense of pride swelling in your chest. the way his eyes scan the crowd, his posture straightening as he takes in the energy of the room – there’s something undeniably magnetic about him in this moment. you know he’s capable of handling all the eyes on him, but there’s still a flutter of uncertainty in the way he checks the slides one last time before diving in.

you shift in your seat, trying to calm your nerves, even though they’ve been buzzing ever since you walked in. the truth is, you don’t understand much of what’s about to happen. the intricate details of his research, the equations, the complex ideas – it’s all a little above your head. but that doesn’t matter. you helped him prepare for this. you helped him build this presentation, slide by slide, even if you’re not entirely sure what half of it means.

the first slide appears on the screen, a complicated diagram that you recognize as something you stared at together late into the night. your lips move along with the words, mouthing the explanations you helped him write, even though you don’t fully grasp the details yourself. 

every pause he takes, every slide change, you’re there. mouthed words, shared memories of long nights at the office, every moment of helping him make sense of something that was so far out of your league. it’s all here, woven into this quiet, unspoken bond.

jake’s voice fills the room, steady and confident now, his presentation flowing seamlessly. you can tell he’s found his rhythm, the nervousness fading away as he gets lost in the data and the patterns he knows so well. his eyes shine as he speaks, the passion for his work clear in every word. and even though you still don’t understand most of it, you find yourself captivated by the way he’s able to make something so complex feel so easy.

at one point, you catch his gaze again, just for a second. there’s a flicker of recognition there, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips as if he’s acknowledging that you’re there, that you’re with him through all of this. it’s quiet, but it’s enough. enough to remind you that even if you don’t understand everything about his work, you understand him. and right now, that feels like more than enough.

the presentation continues, and the room is hanging on his every word, but all you can think about is how he looks so different up there; so confident, at ease, alive in a way that you didn’t always see. you find yourself smiling quietly, mouthing along with him once more as he slides into the final portion of his talk, the culmination of everything he’s worked so hard for.

and when the presentation finally wraps up, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride. jake stands at the front, looking over the audience, his posture taller than it was when he first walked in. the applause that follows is warm and genuine, and you’re right there in the back, clapping along with everyone else. he turns his head for a split second, catching your eye, and you can’t help but smile wider, mouthing a simple “you did great.”

he nods, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, before he steps down from the podium to join the group, but that connection remains. he did it. and you were right there, every step of the way.

by the time the conference has wrapped up, and the buzz of conversations fills the air. you linger in the back of the room for a moment, feeling the weight of everything. jake’s presentation was flawless – and you’re not the only one who thinks that. 

the conversations around you are filled with praise, business card exchanges, and eager discussions about future collaborations. you watch as he’s swept into another conversation with a group of senior researchers, his bright smile and quick wit doing the heavy lifting, while you stand at the edges of it all, feeling a strange sense of distance.

the post-event dinner and networking session is the final hurdle. it’s all very professional, very academic. no glitzy gowns or champagne toasts. just a buffet of finger foods, awkward mingling, and endless conversations about research, funding, and collaborations. there’s an undercurrent of tension too, though – academic egos, the unspoken need to impress, to position yourself in the right way. it all feels too much, and yet you can’t escape it.

you glance around again. jake is still deep in conversation, his face animated as he talks with a group of prominent researchers. you can’t help but feel a twinge of something – pride, maybe, but also a little loneliness. for all the people surrounding him, there’s still something about watching him from the sidelines that makes your chest tighten. you want to be part of the conversation. you want to speak with him. but you know that won’t happen until he’s finished being the center of attention.

a soft sigh escapes your lips, barely audible, but enough to remind you how weary you feel. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling the slight discomfort of standing for too long, and the buzzing in your head grows louder. you scan the room, searching for a reason to get involved again. the conversation around you is all the same – research talk, industry lingo, polite but distant. it’s exhausting.

a tray of appetizers passes by, and you absentmindedly grab a couple of things off it, nibbling without much interest. it doesn’t matter what’s on the tray anyway. you’re not really tasting the food, more just chewing to keep your hands busy. the thought of having a real conversation, something deeper, is gnawing at you now. something about all of this just doesn’t feel right.

you’re starting to wonder if it’s time to slip away when you spot jake again, still talking but now seeming to peel himself away from the crowd. there’s a slight hesitation in his steps, a subtle shift in his posture that tells you he’s likely looking for an escape. he notices you across the room, and for a moment, you lock eyes.

as he makes his way toward you, you try to steady your breath, your pulse quickening in your chest. this is it. the chance you’ve been waiting for, the conversation you’ve been putting off all day. he stops in front of you, and for a brief moment, the noise of the room fades away, leaving just the two of you standing there, caught in the unspoken tension.

“hey,” jake greets you softly, his voice familiar and warm. he’s a little breathless, like he’s been moving between too many people too quickly. “sorry about that. got caught up in all the conversations.”

you give him a small smile, the exhaustion of the day still weighing on you. “it’s okay. you’re kind of a big deal tonight, huh?”

jake chuckles, but there’s a slight edge to it, a nervousness that he tries to mask. “you could say that,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck, clearly still coming down from the high of his successful presentation. “i just…i don’t know. it’s a lot. i didn’t expect it to be this... overwhelming.”

you nod, understanding more than he knows. you’ve seen the way he’s handled the spotlight all day, how easily he’s slipped into the role of being admired and praised. but behind it, there’s a hint of discomfort, a desire to pull back and catch his breath, maybe just for a moment.

“you did great,” you say quietly, your voice a little softer than you intended. “seriously, everyone was talking about how amazing your presentation was.”

jake smiles, but there’s a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something deeper. “thanks,” he says, voice low, as if the weight of your words means more than just praise. “it means a lot, hearing that from you.”

the moment stretches, filled with things neither of you can say. but before either of you can break the silence, a group of researchers approaches, their attention immediately turning to jake.

“oh hey, dr. sim, that was a fantastic presentation!” one of them greets him enthusiastically.

“yeah, seriously, we were all really impressed!” another chimes in.

the conversation turns to you when one of them glances at you. “and who’s this?”

you smile, trying to keep it casual. “i’m just his assistant,” you say, voice light, though you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. “i help with the logistics, mostly.”

the change in their demeanor is almost imperceptible, but it stings. they glance at you for just a moment – polite, but distant – before their focus shifts back to jake. their attention is fully on him now, and you feel the weight of it. you watch as they exchange pleasantries, their questions directed solely at jake, with barely a second thought for you.

you stand there, just on the periphery, feeling smaller and smaller with each passing second. it's not that anyone’s being overtly rude or dismissive – no, it’s the quiet things that sting. the way their attention fades from you, the slight shift of their posture as they turn back to jake, as if they’ve finally placed you into the category they understand: assistant.

you want to leave. the air is suddenly thick, suffocating, like it’s too much to bear in your chest. but instead, you stay. you force yourself to stand there, a smile frozen on your lips, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your drink as you watch the conversation unfold in front of you.

jake notices, of course. you don’t know why you’re surprised by that – he’s always so attuned to the smallest shifts in the room, to the unspoken things that others might miss. but when his gaze flickers back to you, you see it. a flicker of something, maybe guilt, maybe frustration, but it’s enough to make you take a deep breath.

you stand there, feeling the heaviness of the situation, watching as the conversation moves further away from you. they’re all hanging on every word jake says, his presence suddenly the center of attention. it’s not that they mean to ignore you – it’s just that you’re the assistant, the one who fades into the background. and for some reason, tonight, that feels like more than you can bear.

“well, i should probably catch up with a few others,” jake says, cutting in smoothly when the conversation lingers just a little too long. “but thank you for the kind words, i really appreciate it.” his voice is polite, but there’s an edge to it now, something that wasn’t there before.

the group nods, seemingly unaware of the tension, but you catch the way their focus shifts back to jake, no longer sparing another glance in your direction. it’s as if they’ve already moved on, the conversation over before it even truly began.

you don’t look at him as he approaches – something about that would be too much, too raw right now. instead, you take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to be absorbed in the conversation nearby, though your mind is miles away.

he stands next to you for a moment, silent. neither of you says anything at first, the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the space between you.

“i’m sorry,” he finally says, and there’s an edge of frustration in his voice that you don’t quite recognize. you glance at him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you say, your voice almost too quiet. “it’s just—”

“no, it’s not just that,” he interrupts, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way that makes him seem younger, almost unsure. “it’s not... just you. it’s... me.”

you raise an eyebrow, surprised by his admission. “what do you mean?”

“i hate that they did that.” his words come out sharp, more frustrated than you’d expected. “it’s like they completely... disregarded you, just because of your role.” he glances down at you briefly, his voice softening. “i know it’s not just a title. i hate that they reduced you to that.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. instead, you let out a breath, realizing that you’re finally hearing him say it out loud, finally acknowledging the difference between what he feels and what others might see. it doesn’t make everything better, but it helps.

and yet, the space between you two still feels so... distant. there’s something lingering in his eyes, something more than frustration. something you can’t quite place.

“you don’t have to say that, jake,” you finally manage to say, shaking your head. “i know what i am here.”

he winces, his gaze flicking away, and for a brief moment, you both just stand there, neither sure how to move forward.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, quieter this time. “i don’t want to treat you like... like you’re just...” he struggles to find the right words. “i don’t want you to feel small. not when you’ve done so much for me.”

his words are soft, earnest, and they hit you in a way you didn’t expect. the weight of everything that’s been building, the distance, the tension – it all suddenly seems too much to hold in.

you let out a soft breath, steadying yourself before you speak.

“then what am i to you, jake?”

the words slip out quieter than you intend, but they land with weight. you’re not asking to be reassured. you’re asking for clarity. for the truth. for something real in the space where everything has felt suspended.

he looks at you sharply, like he wasn’t expecting that – like it never even occurred to him that you’d say it out loud.

you continue, a little bolder now, your voice steadier than before. “i mean… if you don’t want me to feel small, if it’s not just about work…then what exactly is this? what am i to you, really?”

jake exhales, slowly. his hand drops from the back of his neck, but he still doesn’t look at you. “you’re…” he starts, but falters.

and that’s what hurts. that he still doesn’t know. or won’t say. or can’t.

you step back slightly, the chill of the moment creeping in even under the warm lights around you.

“it’s okay if you don’t know,” you say, trying to keep your voice even, though there’s a tightness behind your ribs now. “but i wish you wouldn’t make it seem like i mean more than you can let on.”

“i’m not,” he says quickly. “i’m not pretending it doesn’t matter. i just…” he finally meets your eyes, and for once, he’s not hiding. “i don’t know how to say what this is. i don’t even know if i can afford to say it.”

there’s a pause. you tilt your head, confused. “afford to?”

“i told you, i don’t like when people leave,” jake says, quiet but sure. “and you…you’ve been the one person i never had to chase. you’ve just been there. always.”

he swallows hard.

“so if i say it,” he continues, voice rough now, “if i say how much you mean to me… and you still leave… i don’t know what that does to me.”

you nod slowly, letting his words settle. letting them bruise.

then, just above a whisper, you ask, “jake… if you’re so afraid of people leaving… would it even matter if i promised to stay?”

it’s not an accusation. it’s not even desperation. it’s just the question you’ve been carrying in your chest for too long.

and jake – he flinches like the words physically hit him. like you’ve put a name to the exact thing he’s been running from.

his lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak. for once, jake sim – always so composed, always so careful – is completely, visibly caught off guard.

because he’s thought about this. he’s thought about you staying. he's wanted it more than he's let himself admit. he’s wanted it in the quiet, in-between moments: in the way you’d nudge his coffee closer without saying a word, in the scribbled notes you left on his desk when you knew he’d had a long day, in the way your presence felt like something steady in a life he was always bracing to watch unravel.

he’s wanted it in the seconds before you walked into a room, when he caught himself hoping you’d sit closer than you needed to.

he’s wanted it in the way your laugh made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was someone worth sticking around for.

but he's also thought about what happens if he lets himself believe it.

“i don’t know,” he finally says, his voice barely audible. “i want to say yes. i want to say that’d change everything.”

you stare at him, waiting.

he looks back at you, and you the storm behind his eyes, the quiet war between wanting and fearing, between holding on and staying guarded.

“but i think,” he says, slower now, steadier, “i’m scared that if i let myself believe someone would stay… and then they don’t…” his voice falters. “it’s not just disappointment. it’s confirmation.”

you blink, taken aback. “confirmation of what?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just shifts, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“that maybe i was never enough to stay for,” he finally says. “that’s what i’ve always been afraid of.”

the air feels too still now. too full. you want to reach for him. you want to say you are enough, you’ve always been enough, but something in your chest tightens.

because he’s not really asking you to say it. he’s saying this because he doesn’t want to risk needing to hear it.

you look at him, at the boy who talks about constellations like they’re constants, who studies collapsing stars but doesn’t know how to hold onto something without bracing for its end.

and in a voice so quiet it almost breaks you, you say, “then maybe it was never about me staying at all.”

his eyes shoot back to yours.

“maybe it’s about whether you ever intended to meet me halfway.”

jake opens his mouth, but before he can respond, voices cut through the space between you. someone calling his name. a few colleagues walk by, catching sight of him, waving him over.

the moment cracks. you step back. and he hesitates – his hand twitching like he might reach for you. but he doesn’t.

and that’s all the answer you need.

you set your glass down gently on a nearby table. the clink of it feels final.

you don’t look at him again. you just turn and walk away – through the lobby, past the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware, out into the night.

because you did promise to stay.

but jake never promised he’d be ready when you did.

thirty-one.

you skip breakfast.

not intentionally, not really. it’s more of a quiet decision. a quiet avoidance. the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away since last night, and the idea of sitting through a meal, pretending everything’s fine, pretending you didn’t ask him what you asked, pretending you didn’t want the answer more than you should have and it’s unbearable.

so you pack. methodically, in silence. you fold your clothes with more care than necessary. brush your teeth with your eyes on the faucet instead of the mirror. it’s easier not to look at yourself this morning.

there’s still a part of you hoping he’ll knock. even if it’s just to check in. even if it’s awkward. but your phone stays silent, your door untouched.

you meet him in the hotel lobby at 9:02.

jake had been surrounded when you arrived. some of the other researchers were still buzzing about last night’s sessions, laughing too loudly, sharing plans for future collaborations and projects. and jake, with his polite nods and that brilliant mind of his, stood right in the center. you saw the way he glanced at you when you walked up – quick and cautious – but he didn’t step away. he didn’t even speak, not until everyone had moved toward the hotel shuttles and you were left standing side by side by the glass doors.

even then, he only managed a soft, almost apologetic, “hey.”

you nodded. that was all. just a nod.

the train station was quiet when you arrived. too early for the weekend rush. the platform smelled faintly of coffee and rain, the sky still grey with the last dregs of morning. you boarded together, but said nothing. jake helped lift your bag into the overhead compartment, and you mumbled a thanks without meeting his eyes. then you sat – aisle seat, facing forward – and he slid in across from you, the little table between you both now feeling like a wall.

he looked like he wanted to say something. several times, in fact. you felt it in the way his leg bounced occasionally under the table, in the way he would glance at you and then away, like words hovered on his tongue but couldn’t find the air.

you turned to the window. let the trees and buildings blur past.

the train rumbled softly, a low, steady hum that filled the silence neither of you seemed ready to break. it wasn’t angry, not really. just… heavy. you were still replaying the night before – your own voice trembling when you asked what you were to him, the way he struggled to answer, the way your chest tightened when you realized he couldn’t. or wouldn’t. you hadn’t meant to put him on the spot. you hadn’t meant to make it sound like an ultimatum. but the truth was, somewhere along the way, you had started to hope for more. and that hope had begun to ache.

jake hasn’t spoken since the train pulled out of the station. 

he doesn’t remember sleeping. maybe he didn’t. maybe the entire night blurred into one long stretch of staring at the ceiling and silence, the words he didn’t say repeating in his head like an unfinished equation. the kind that just loops endlessly because it’s missing something. a constant. a variable. a courage he never had.

you hadn’t waited for him in the morning.

jake had hoped – naively, perhaps, that there’d be a moment. a breath. a second to pull you aside, to ask if you were okay, if you still meant what you said, if you hated him. but when you had made it to the lobby, your eyes were cast low.

and you didn’t say much. just nodded. gave the receptionist a clipped thank you. walked toward the taxi without looking back.

and he followed. what else could he do?

now, the train hums beneath him, a steady rhythm against his spine, and jake can’t stand how loud the silence between you two has become. it’s not the easy quiet he’s grown used to with you. not the kind where you both sink into your own thoughts, knowing you’re still tethered by something unspoken but understood.

this quiet feels like a door shutting. and he doesn’t know if he’ll get the chance to open it again.

he keeps glancing sideways. you’re across from him, curled slightly toward the window, arms crossed like a barrier. the light flickers over your profile as the train speeds past towns neither of you care to name. you haven’t spoken a single word since sitting down.

and he wants to talk to you. god, he wants to. but everything inside him is tangled.

jake thinks about last night. about the way your voice broke when you asked what you were to him. about how you said you didn’t expect him to meet you halfway anymore.

he doesn’t blame you. if he were in your place, he would’ve walked away too.

because the truth is, he’s spent so long keeping people at a distance that now, when someone stands close, he freezes. he panics. and with you, it’s worse. because you were never supposed to matter this much.

he rests his elbow against the window edge, forehead pressing lightly to the cool glass. his reflection stares back at him, tired and strained, like someone halfway through realizing they’ve ruined the one good thing in their life.

he thinks about his father.

he doesn’t talk about him. he never really has. not because it’s painful in the way people expect – there’s no single wound he can point to, no event with sharp edges. it’s more like a long absence. an empty chair at birthdays. a voicemail never returned. a room in his memory that’s always been locked.

and jake, just a boy who thought the stars could solve everything – waited. for days. for weeks. every car that passed, every shadow in the hallway, he hoped.

he waited until the waiting became a reflex. until he stopped believing people stayed.

so when you said last night, “would it even matter if i promised to stay?”—it had hit him in a place so buried he didn’t know how to respond. because he’d wanted to say yes.

yes, it would matter. yes, you already do. yes, he’s been terrified every day of how much he needs you, and how little he deserves to ask you to stay.

but instead, he just looked at you. and let the silence answer for him.

now you’re sitting there, further than the two feet between your seats should allow, and jake feels like he’s watching something precious slip through the cracks of his own fear.

he draws in a shaky breath and finally speaks, voice low. “i didn’t know how to say it.”

your head turns slightly, but your eyes stay trained out the window.

“i didn’t know how to say that i wanted you to stay. that i want you in… all of it. not just as my assistant. or someone who fixes the pieces when they fall apart. i just…” he trails off, hands curling into fists in his lap.

“i don’t expect you to believe me. after how i acted. after last night. but it’s not that you imagined things. you didn’t. i just… i’ve never been good at this.”

jake presses on, softer. “my dad left. when i was a kid. he didn’t say why. he didn’t even say goodbye. just… disappeared. and i think some part of me thought if i didn’t ask anyone to stay, i couldn’t be disappointed if they left.”

his throat tightens. he hasn’t said this out loud in years. maybe ever.

“but then you,” he whispers. “you stayed. you just stayed. without asking for anything. and it scared the hell out of me.”

you finally look at him. and jake swears that look could break him. because it isn’t angry. it isn’t even sad. it’s tired – like you already knew. like you were already letting him go.

because his words make your insides ache.

because you’ve waited and hoped even, for a moment like this. for the wall between you two to crack, just enough to let light through. for him to tell you why he always faltered right when you thought he’d reach for you. why he’d look at you like he wanted to say something, only to swallow it back every time.

but it’s not satisfying. it’s not cathartic. it just hurts. because now that you know… now that the curtain’s pulled back and you finally see the thing that’s been haunting him – it makes all of it make sense.

his hesitations. his silence. the way last night he had just stood there, frozen, caught between fear and want. and maybe if he had told you earlier – maybe if he had trusted you with this sooner – you would’ve held it differently.

but he hadn’t. and you’d spent months being the one who stayed. the one who filled in the silences. the one who waited and waited, until waiting began to feel like begging.

now you’re sitting across from him in a train full of strangers and endings, and you finally understand: he was never rejecting you, not entirely. he was protecting himself.

from history, from hope.from the fear that if he let someone close, they’d just leave, too.

it doesn’t make the pain vanish. but it does make it quieter.

you lean your head back against the window, your eyes fixed on the blur of trees racing past. you can’t look at him when you say it, when the words form softly in your chest and spill out like rain.

“i get it,” you say, your voice steady. “i do.”

you do. that’s the cruel part. you do.

you understand how loss can reshape a person. how abandonment lingers in the spaces people never talk about. you know how it claws at the way you let others in, how it makes you brace for every good thing to fall apart.

but even understanding has its limits. because knowing why jake can’t meet you halfway doesn’t erase the fact that you kept hoping he would.

and so, you say what you’ve already decided – what you’ve been deciding, little by little, since last night.

“i’m not asking for anything anymore, jake. not because i don’t care,” you add gently. “but because i realize now – you’re not ready. and maybe you won’t be for a long time. and maybe it’s not fair for me to wait around hoping you’ll wake up one day and decide i’m worth the risk.”

his lips part, but no sound comes out.

“i’m still here,” you continue, quieter now. “i’m not leaving. i meant that. i’ll still be there to remind you to take your meals, and hand you pens when you lose them. i’ll still print your reports and schedule your meetings.” a long exhale, like you were bracing yourself for what you were about to say, and when the words tumble out, they’re cracked in the middle, airy like a breath had clogged up your throat, “i’ll be there as a friend, if you want it. but i won’t expect anything more.”

jake feels like the world just tilted under his feet. not because you’re angry, but because you’re done asking. and that’s worse at this moment.

he nods, because it’s the only thing he can do without breaking completely.

the train rolls on, a blur of motion and endings and silence. and jake thinks, maybe for the first time, that regret is the sound of a heart closing gently, without slamming the door.

jake turns away again, eyes fixed on the window now. the scenery has changed – gray city edges replacing soft fields – but the heaviness in your chest hasn’t.

“i wish i was braver,” he murmurs. “i wish i could promise you something more.”

“i know,” you say. and you mean it. you really do. “but i need to stop wishing, jake. because it’s starting to hurt.”

he closes his eyes, and for the first time since the train left the station, neither of you says anything.

the city grows closer. you grip your bag tighter. you’ve made peace with your choice, even if it aches. you didn’t come into this expecting answers, but you leave knowing you can’t wait in the hallway of ‘maybe’ anymore.

when the train finally slows to a stop at the station, you rise before jake can. he’s still gathering his things, slow, hesitant.

“i’ll see you around,” you say softly, and he lifts his head. and you’re already walking down the aisle, your coat fluttering behind you, your shoulders squared.

you don’t look back. and for the first time in a long time, neither does he.

there is no dramatic farewell. no final confession. just two people watching something fragile fall apart in silence.

and maybe that’s all it ever was.

maybe that’s how some stories end – not with a bang, but with a train ride, a quiet ache, and the echo of things unsaid.

thirty-two.

the office feels too quiet now.

not the kind of quiet that means peace or progress, but the kind that fills the space after something’s ended. the kind that makes every keyboard clack sound too loud, every cough or printer beep feel like a disruption in a room that no longer knows what it’s waiting for.

jake sits at his desk with the blinds tilted halfway open, letting in slants of pale afternoon light that don’t quite reach him. the conference ended days ago, and technically, life has resumed. meetings scheduled, data reviewed, reports in draft. but nothing feels normal.

not when your desk is still across from his.

and not when he can’t look up without wondering what you’re thinking.

you’ve been…fine. not cold, not distant, but composed. efficient. maybe even softer than before, like you’ve laid something heavy down and are finally moving through air instead of water. but that’s what makes it worse – because jake knows exactly what you laid down.

he hasn’t stopped thinking about the train ride. about the way your voice cracked in the middle of your promise to stay as a friend, and how that – more than any anger or silence – gutted him. because you meant it. you meant everything you said, and jake had just sat there, paralyzed by a past he hadn’t even explained to you.

he catches glimpses of you throughout the day. sometimes you’re fixing the printer, tucking your hair behind your ear with the same tired grace that once made him forget what he was saying mid-sentence. sometimes you’re typing so fast he wants to ask what it is – what project, what plan, what version of the future you’re building that no longer includes him in a way that matters.

but most times, he doesn’t say anything at all.

jake’s fingers hover over his keyboard now, the same sentence blinking at him for the third time. he can’t focus. all he can think about is how he should’ve told you. about everything.

about how his dad left, just never came home from work one day. about the silence in their house after that – his mother sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea going cold in her hands, and jake pretending he didn’t notice the way she kept setting a second mug beside it for weeks.

about how no one ever explained why. just that he was gone.

that kind of abandonment carves into you. it teaches you not to believe in things that don’t come with guarantees. it makes you fear doors that open too easily, because you start to wonder how quickly they’ll close again.

jake had never told anyone that. not even you.

and maybe that’s why he’s here now, spiraling, stuck in this echo chamber of guilt and longing, because he knows now that you weren’t asking for forever. you were just asking for something. a word. a sign. a reason to keep hoping.

the air between you and jake is still thick with everything that’s unsaid.the awkward glances, the stiff nods, the polite exchanges – it’s all there. there’s no animosity. no anger. just a quiet, painful distance.

jake’s been trying to figure out what he can do. he knows he’s messed up. he knows he should’ve been braver, should’ve spoken up, but he was too scared to risk the one thing that truly mattered: you.

he hasn’t said much, but he doesn’t need to. jay sees it. jay always sees it. he’s not blind to the way jake spends every free moment staring at his screen like it’s the only thing keeping him from spiraling. he knows jake isn’t just working. he’s avoiding the guilt, the truth, the reality that he’s let something precious slip through his fingers.

and jay watches the way you move, the way you seem to have found a rhythm without jake, working, going through the motions. it’s like you’re there, but you’ve put up a wall. you’re not cold, but you’re not here anymore – not in the way jake wants. not in the way he needs.

it’s in the small moments that jay notices. like when jake brings up your name over coffee, his voice too quiet, like he’s trying to keep it casual, but the way his eyes flicker to jay for confirmation says everything. jay knows jake’s still asking the same question. how’s she doing?

and jay doesn’t lie. he doesn’t sugarcoat it, either.

“she’s fine,” jay says, like it’s an answer that should mean something more, but it doesn’t. “she’s doing alright. she’s... moving on.”

jake’s stomach twists, and for a second, he looks away, trying to hide the fact that it hits harder than he thought. but jay’s seen it before. he doesn’t say anything more, just lets the silence fill the space between them. jay’s the kind of guy who doesn't push, but you can tell by the way his gaze lingers on jake that he knows exactly what’s going on.

days blend into one another, a cycle of work and routine. you’re always in the background, in the periphery of jake’s life, moving with purpose, as if the world hasn’t changed. but it has. everything has shifted, and jake’s caught in the wreckage.

he watches you sometimes – when you’re walking to the printer, or when you’re talking to a colleague, your voice light, casual, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. he wonders if you’re really fine, like jay says. he wonders if you’ve really moved on.

he tells himself that he’ll be okay. he tells himself that this is what he deserves. but the truth is, he’s not okay. and he hasn’t been okay since that day.

but it's a feeling that persists the entire week, bleeding into the next one like a cold draught. it’s a random wednesday when things happen.

the rain outside had been relentless all day, casting a gray pall over the office. jake’s desk is cluttered with papers and half-finished calculations, the weight of them hanging in the air like the storm itself. his eyes flicker back and forth between the numbers, but they’re starting to blur. he’s been here longer than he should have, pushing through the fatigue, trying to make sense of the chaos in front of him. but no matter how hard he tries to focus, his mind keeps drifting.

it’s not even work anymore. it’s you. it’s the empty space between the two of you. the silence. the fact that nothing is really okay and no amount of math can make it right.

he rubs a hand over his face, the exhaustion creeping in, when he hears a faint knock on his office door. it’s soft, tentative, like a hesitation he can almost feel in his bones.

he doesn’t look up at first. “come in,” he calls, his voice sounding hollow, even to him.

the door creaks open, and there you are. you’re holding something in your hands – a small, unassuming box wrapped in paper, the kind of gesture that, to anyone else, might seem insignificant. but to jake, it’s like a quiet message. a lifeline thrown into the storm.

“i thought you could use something sweet,” you say, your voice light, almost apologetic. you step forward, placing the box gently on the edge of his desk.

jake doesn’t know what to say. the words feel lodged in his throat, and the weight of everything between you two presses in from all sides. he wants to thank you, but his words feel too small for the moment. instead, he just nods, eyes fixed on the box.

you step back, about to leave, and something inside jake snaps. it’s as if the quiet, unspoken weight of everything between you finally breaks through. he stands up, hurriedly this time, too quick, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t act fast enough.

“wait,” he says, his voice catching.

you turn back, startled, and before you can react, jake is there. his hand comes out, just slightly, but it’s enough. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but somehow, instinctively, he’s closing the distance between you. you don’t step back. you don’t flinch, but you hesitate, eyes searching his face for something. for what, exactly? he doesn’t know.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i didn’t – i didn’t mean to make things harder.” his voice breaks slightly on the last part, the weight of everything he never said pressing into his chest. “i shouldn’t have shut you out. you didn’t deserve that.”

the sincerity in his voice hits you like a wave, knocking the air from your lungs. and before you even realize it, you find yourself taking a step closer to him. the air between you is charged with all the things that were left unsaid, and all the things that can’t be unsaid now.

for a moment, you both stand there, inches apart. his chest is rising and falling with every breath, his eyes glued to yours. it’s almost like he’s waiting for you to say something – anything. but it’s you who speaks first.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “i know you didn’t mean to hurt me. i just... i don’t know how to…fix this.”

jake shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “i don’t either. but i’m trying. i swear i am.”

and in that moment, the tension between you both is so thick that jake feels like he can’t breathe. his hand slowly moves toward you again, this time with more certainty. there’s something in the air now, a fragile, unspoken connection that he can’t ignore. he reaches up, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your cheek.

your skin is soft, warm and flushed under his fingers, eyes looking up at him almost in wonder and he swears he sees stars in them. he swears, even as a man of science, that he sees literal stars studded in your eyes.

you don’t pull away. you don’t say anything. you just lean into his touch as if it’s the only thing that’s real right now. and a part of you waits for what is about to come – if ot does. it hopes that it comes.

the sound of the rain outside is distant, like a fading echo. and then, without thinking, jake leans in. just a fraction, but enough for your breath to mingle, for the space between you to be filled with the pull that’s been building for weeks. his lips hover so close to yours, you can feel the heat of his skin, the tension building, but neither of you moves any closer.

but then you feel his hands shaking, the shuddered breath that leaves his lips, the way his fingers squeeze ever so gently around your cheeks. and you know he’s scared. he’s still unsure. so you pull away.

jake’s fingers twitch, confusion flooding his gaze. he wants to chase after you. he wants to close that distance and take the leap, but something in you stops him. something in you knows that, even though this feels so right, it’s not enough yet.

“i can’t, dr. sim,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i can’t do this... not when you’re still—” you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t need to. he knows.

jake steps back, his hand falling to his side. the air feels cold now, despite the heat that lingers between you. neither of you moves for a moment. the silence is heavy, suffocating, but it’s also full of understanding.

“you’re right,” he says softly, regret lacing his words. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—”

“no, don’t apologize,” you interrupt, shaking your head, trying to smile through the ache in your chest. “i’m just… i’m just not ready either.”

and it’s true. maybe you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready, but right now, you know that you can’t wait for him to be something he’s not yet. you’re not angry. you’re not frustrated. you’re just… exhausted. the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid, the lingering feelings you’ve both been tiptoeing around, it’s too much to carry on your own.

jake looks at you, eyes searching yours for any sign that maybe, just maybe, you still want what he’s offering. but all he sees is the quiet resolve in your gaze – the same one that told him, just a few days ago, that you’d be there as a friend.

he nods, slowly, his heart heavy with all the things he wishes he could change. “i understand,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

you force a smile, the ache in your chest making it feel like a weight. “i’ll see you around,” you say softly, turning to leave the office, your footsteps quieter now, slower. the door clicks shut behind you, and jake stands there, frozen, the sound echoing louder than it should. his hands drop to his sides like they’ve lost purpose, still tingling from the feel of your skin.

the silence that follows is deafening.

he stares at the empty spot where you were just moments ago, his breath still shallow, his heart thudding like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. the rain outside taps steadily against the window now, no longer romantic – just real.

he runs a hand through his hair, pacing once, then twice, before collapsing back into his chair. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

what the hell was that?

jake has kissed no one. he’s never even come close. but just now, with you – he would’ve. he wanted to. not out of guilt. not to erase mistakes. but because, in that quiet, fragile second, it felt like the most honest thing in the world.

and still, you were right. he wasn’t ready. not really. and the last thing he ever wanted to do was drag you into the storm that still lived under his skin.

so he lets you go – for now. not because he wants to, but because loving you half-formed would be worse than not at all. and as the door stays closed and your footsteps fade, jake finally understands: this isn't about earning forgiveness or chasing moments. it's about becoming someone who won’t flinch when love finally looks him in the eye. someone who, when the time comes, can meet you there – whole.

thirty-three.

you take a leave for the first time since you started working here. not just a day or two – a full week.

"sick leave," you tell the department head, voice clipped and even. there’s no visible fever, no cough, no limp in your walk, but you look… tired. something in your eyes is hollowed out, something that no amount of caffeine or concealer can fix. you pack your things on thursday morning, the office still groggy from the previous day’s rainstorm. jake isn’t there yet.

you’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed by that. it wasn’t the almost-kiss that scared you. not exactly.

it was the way you felt when you stepped back.

jake had looked at you like you’d just taken the sun out of the sky. and you had to look away, because for one terrifying moment, you’d wanted to kiss him back. not because it was time. not because you were ready. but because it would’ve been easy. because it would’ve made everything hurt less.

it’s not that you can’t face jake. you know that you can. it’s just that you can’t face the disappointment, the knowing look in his eyes every time he glances your way. the ache of wishing things could be different, while everything between you two is fractured and hanging by a thread.

you have thought about it a lot though. the way his lips were so close that for a fraction of a second, the entire world seemed to shrink down to that one breath between you.you have thought that, for how, just one moment, you could almost forget the reason you held back – the fear that he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t know what he was asking for. or maybe that he just wasn’t asking for anything at all, and the rest was just a byproduct of guilt.

on friday morning, your phone buzzes with a message. from him.

dr. sim (jake): hey. just checking in. i hope you’re okay.

you stare at the message for five full minutes before locking your phone again.

no follow-up comes. no calls. you don't blame him. maybe he thinks he already said too much. maybe he’s ashamed. or maybe he really did just want to kiss you to feel better about everything he broke.

the thought hurts more than it should.

there’s a message waiting for you on friday afternoon.

dr. sim (jake): i know you probably don’t want to talk right now. i get that. but if you ever need a coffee, or just want to vent, i'm here. i’m sorry for everything. i know i’ve messed up.

the words sting more than they should. because jake’s always been straightforward, but here, in his message, you feel a quiet vulnerability, the kind of rawness that you didn’t expect. you’d almost forgotten that he had a side to him that wasn’t wrapped up in intellectualism, in the cold logic of science. but now, in his message, you see it – his humanity.

and it brings everything back to the surface.

by sunday evening, you’re still not sleeping right. still not eating much. you’ve been pacing in your apartment, trying to talk yourself out of doing it, trying to hold onto your own resolve. but when you see his name on the screen again, you finally snap.

you’re angry. and not just at him. but at the situation, at yourself for hoping, at everything that feels like it's falling apart. so you pick up.

“hey,” he says. “i wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

you almost laugh, but it comes out bitter. “i’m sure you weren’t.”

he doesn’t respond right away. there’s an awkward pause before he finally says, “how are you? really?”

“really?” you can’t help the edge that creeps into your voice. “i’m fine, dr. sim. just needed some space. that’s all.”

another pause. you can practically hear him struggling to find the words. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to pull away. it wasn’t supposed to be like that. i know i—” he cuts off, and you can hear the soft clink of a glass in the background. “look, i’m not drunk. not this time.”

you roll your eyes. “so, what? are you just calling to apologize again?”

“no,” jake replies quickly, his voice tight. “i’m calling because you’ve been distant, and i get it. but i need to know if you’re okay. really. and if i’ve messed things up too much for you to even want to try again.”

for a moment, you just stare at the floor, feeling the weight of it all. “you think that’s what this is about?” you sigh deeply, the words thick with emotion. “i don’t know, jake. i don’t know what you want. i don’t know if you want this. i don’t know if you’re just... stringing me along because you feel guilty.”

his response comes quick, but with a rasp. “i’m not stringing you along. you’ve got it all wrong. i never meant to hurt you. i just... i’m not sure if i can give you everything you deserve, not right now. i don’t know what i’m doing. i’ve never known.”

“jake,” you say, soft but firm, “i need you to stop calling me and telling me these things in pieces. i can’t keep hoping based on half-truths or almosts.”

“i’m not trying to confuse you—”

“then don’t,” you cut in. “if you want something, you need to say it to my face. not over a call. not like this.”

“you’re right,” he says. “you’re completely right. i’ll… can we meet? i know it’s late. i know it’s sudden. but please.”

you hesitate.

“i’m not asking for forever,” he adds. “just… tonight. one honest conversation. no running. no almosts.”

you exhale slowly. and then against your own better judgement, because this is what you asked for, to do things face to face, not over a call, you ask, “where?”

“the observatory,” he says. “it’s the only place i know that still makes sense.”

your chest aches.

“okay,” you whisper.

you hang up before either of you can say something that might shatter the fragile truce forming between your tired hearts.

and then you get up. you pull on a coat. and you walk out into the cool, quiet night, hoping that this time he means every word.

thirty-four.

jake waits patiently by the observatory doors.

there’s a nervous energy in the way he shifts from foot to foot, hands tucked into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the cool air. he hasn’t been able to sit still since the call. the night is quiet, the campus mostly deserted, save for the occasional flicker of motion-sensor lights or the faint hum of traffic far off in the distance.

he checks his phone once. no messages. then he looks up at the sky.

cloudless. that’s a good sign.

jake’s always found comfort in the sky – so constant, even in its vastness. stars burn and die, sure, but their light travels so far, for so long, that we still see them even after they’re gone. there’s something deeply unfair but also quietly beautiful about that. the idea that something can leave you, and yet, linger.

when the crunch of footsteps finally cuts through the silence, he turns.

and there you are.

hair a little wind-tousled, coat wrapped tight, eyes trained on him in a way that’s unreadable, but real. you don’t say anything at first. neither does he. the moment stretches, awkward and fragile, until jake finally clears his throat and gestures toward the doors.

“i, uh… kept it unlocked. figured we could talk inside.”

you nod and follow him in.

the observatory is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the soft amber floor lights that run along the baseboards and the faint glow of the stars above through the open dome. the telescope sits idle in the center of the room, and everything feels suspended, like time’s holding its breath.

jake doesn’t sit right away. instead, he paces once, then turns to face you.

“i didn’t know if you’d come.”

you lift your chin, heart pounding. “i said i would.”

a beat of silence passes before he says something.

“i meant what i said. i didn’t want to confuse you. i just…” he exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “god, this is harder in person.”

you cross your arms, not cold, just needing somewhere to put your tension. “then tell me the truth. the whole thing. no science metaphors, no soft landings. just tell me what you want, jake.”

and god, this time when you say his name, it’s so careful. so wary, so full of an adoration you’re not sure you deserve to speak with.

his eyes meet yours, steady despite the storm behind them.

“i want you. not as an assistant. not as a friend i owe an apology to. i want you, knowing full well i’m complicated and messy and scared shitless most days.”

your lips part, the smallest of smiles flickering on them but you bite down and he keeps going. his voice doesn’t tremble, but you can hear the pressure behind it, like a dam straining under the weight.

“i wasn’t scared that night because i didn’t want to kiss you. i was scared because i did. because it was the first time something felt… real. and not like a distraction or something to get me through the stress or the guilt or the expectations. you’re not a coping mechanism. you’re—”

he stops himself, eyes darting upward to the stars. it calms him.

“there’s this concept,” he says softly, “called parallax error. it’s what happens when you measure the position of a star from two different points in earth’s orbit. six months apart, same star… but it looks like it shifts positions. it doesn’t actually move, though. the shift is just a trick of perspective.”

you blink at the sudden shift, but he’s not rambling – he’s guiding himself.

“sometimes i think that’s what i did with you. i kept looking at you from different angles; first as a colleague, then a friend, then someone i couldn’t stop thinking about – but i couldn’t get close enough to admit what you really were to me.”

you breathe in, slowly. “and what am i?”

jake steps closer. “someone who saw through me before i even knew i was hiding.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

because there’s something unraveling inside you, something warm and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

“i didn’t kiss you that night,” he adds, voice lower now, more fragile, “because i was scared it would feel like stealing something i hadn’t earned.”

you swallow hard. “and now?”

he holds your gaze. “now i’d ask.”

a long silence.

then you move.

it’s subtle at first – just one step forward. then another. jake doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t close the distance. he waits.

you stop in front of him, eyes flicking between his and his slightly parted lips. he smells like soap and notebook paper and his woody cologne.

“i was scared too,” you say, barely above a whisper. “not of you. just… of getting hurt. of wanting something i wasn’t sure you wanted back.”

“i wanted it,” he says immediately. “i want it now.”

your chest rises and falls. “jake, have you ever done this before?”

he blushes. actually blushes. “no.”

a beat. you tilt your head. “never?”

he shakes his head. “no. not because i didn’t want to. just… never found someone i trusted enough to want it to mean something. until you.”

your breath catches.

jake shakes his head, not ashamed, just honest. “i don’t think i ever wanted to. not like this. it was never… right. i never met someone who made me want to risk it. not until you.”

you freeze, something tender tightening in your chest. he goes on, more certain now, eyes steady on yours.

“it’s not that i was waiting for some perfect moment or whatever. i just… i think part of me didn’t believe it could be real. that i could want someone this much. and have it feel… like it matters.”

you don’t know what to say for a moment. because it does matter. god, it does.

you glance up. the stars are faint through the dome, soft and silent above you. distant, but still burning. and it feels right – that something this real, this quietly extraordinary, is happening here.

so you lean in, slowly. and jake meets you halfway this time

it’s careful, at first. tentative, like touching something sacred. his lips brush yours, feather-light, unsure but aching to stay. you pause – just a breath, just long enough to feel his heartbeat skip beneath your fingertips, where your hand has come to rest against his chest.

then he kisses you properly.

it’s not perfect. it’s a little awkward, a little hesitant, but it’s real. and god, it’s soft. his hands hover for a moment before one lands gently on your waist, the other staying at his side like he’s afraid to overstep. you press your palm against his chest and feel the rapid-fire beat of his heart under your fingers.

then, all at once, something in both of you gives.

the press of your lips is deeper. still gentle, but more certain. like he’s no longer afraid of wanting this. like he’s finally decided it’s okay to let himself want something this much. your hand slips up, fingers curving at the back of his neck, and jake exhales like he’s been holding it in for years.

when you pull back, barely an inch, he stays close. his forehead presses to yours, his breath warm between you. you can feel the tremble in him – not from fear, not anymore, but from the overwhelming quiet rush of feeling.

“i didn’t know it could feel like that,” he says, voice hoarse.

you smile, eyes still closed. “like what?”

jake pulls back just enough to look at you. there’s a softness in his eyes, like starlight diffused through mist.

he shakes his head slowly, as if searching for the right words. “like my brain completely shut down and forgot how to function.”

you let out a small laugh at that, the sound barely a breath. it’s not just the words, but the way jake’s still staring at you – wide-eyed, a little dazed, like he’s been hit with something too big to fully comprehend. his teeth are biting down on his bottom lip, and it’s in that moment that you can tell for sure; this was his first kiss.

you can’t help but smile. “that’s an interesting way to describe it.”

jake’s brow furrows slightly, a touch of concern flickering across his face. “wait, is that a bad thing? like, you didn’t – did i mess it up?”

“no, no,” you rush to reassure him, your hand gently resting on his chest. “i just didn’t know kissing was that much of a brain-melter.”

he blinks at you, clearly processing what you just said. then a small grin starts to tug at the corners of his lips. “so… you’re saying i wasn’t totally terrible?”

you can’t help but chuckle, the moment lightening just enough. “no, no. it was good.” you pause, tilting your head thoughtfully. “but maybe next time, you can, y’know, move a little more. like... try not to get stuck in your own head.”

jake groans and laughs, his face flushing bright red. “i didn’t think i’d have to practice kissing. is this what people do? do they... like, rehearse?”

you burst out laughing at that. "rehearse?!" you shake your head, still laughing. "jake, you are so ridiculous."

his face turns even redder, and he starts running a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. "okay, maybe i don't know how this works," he mumbles, eyes darting around like he's trying to figure out how to recover from the situation.

"no, no, you're fine!" you say, still laughing a little at the sheer absurdity of it all. "i can't believe you just asked if people rehearse kissing like it's a... a dance move."

he fidgets, clearly not sure if he should be mortified or just roll with it. "well, i mean, i didn't want to mess it up! i thought there might be some kind of... manual. like, step one, lean in. step two, lips meet. step three, don't panic."

you chuckle again, giving his arm a playful shove. "jake, this isn’t instructional. it’s... it’s just—" you pause, realizing how much you mean what you’re about to say. "it’s about being with someone you want to be with. you’re not supposed to overthink it. it’s supposed to feel natural."

jake looks at you, that unsure yet utterly endearing look in his eyes. "natural, huh? so no manual needed?"

"nope. no manual. but i can’t promise i won’t laugh at your rehearsal idea next time," you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

jake laughs too, the sound warm and easy now. "alright, well, next time, i won’t ask if i can practice in the mirror first." his grin is almost too cute for words.

you roll your eyes playfully. “don’t even joke about that. please.”

“i’m just saying,” he replies, feigning seriousness, “if this is a regular thing for us, i might need to... you know... train a little bit.” his teasing tone and that shy but sweet smile on his face make it impossible for you to take him seriously, and you can’t help but laugh again.

“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head at him with an exaggerated eye roll.

jake shrugs with a grin. “well, i’m learning. and, uh, can’t promise i won’t mess up next time either.”

“i’ll take my chances,” you say, fighting to hide your smile.

you both fall into a comfortable silence for a beat, the air still crackling with something sweet, but light. it's not perfect, but it feels good. too good to overthink.

“just for the record,” jake says, his voice softer now, “i wouldn’t mind kissing you again. manual or no manual.”

you smile, your heart warming at the honesty in his words. “good to know, because i don’t mind kissing you either.”

so he takes his chances and leans in, and this time there's no hesitation. he kisses you again, but it's different – deeper, a little more sure, as if he's not afraid of what it means anymore. 

when you pull back, the air between you feels heavy, but not uncomfortable. there's something sweet about the quiet, the way his forehead rests gently against yours, like he's taking a moment to savor the feeling before he says anything else.

you stay there, suspended in the quiet, just feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. the moment stretches, both of you caught in the softness of it, not quite ready to pull away. his hands have shifted, one resting lightly on your waist, the other drifting up to cup the back of your neck, thumb grazing gently over your skin. the way he's holding you now feels like an unspoken promise, like he doesn't want to let go, and you don't want to either.

for a moment, neither of you speak, just breathing in sync, taking it all in. you let your arms slip around his neck, pulling him just a little closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. it’s not desperate, just... right. like you’re both settling into something that feels almost too good to be real.

“you’re really not that bad at this, you know?” you tease, your voice low, still caught in the softness of the moment.

jake chuckles, his hands tightening slightly around you, pulling you just a little closer. “i’m glad to hear that. i think i could get better with a little more practice.”

you lean in again, this time your forehead resting against his, arms still wrapped around each other. the warmth between you feels safe, comfortable. in this moment, it’s as though nothing else matters. no questions, no hesitations – just the quiet understanding that you're here, together.

jake’s hands slide from your waist up to your back, holding you tighter, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll slip away. you let him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder and letting the feeling of his arms around you settle into something even more real. the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest is like a grounding rhythm, something that’s telling you, in the gentlest way, that this is just the beginning.

you pull back just enough to meet jake’s gaze again. there’s a weight to the silence, a quiet realization settling between you that this – this moment, this connection – wasn’t really something you’d planned for. you’d both danced around it for so long, unsure and careful, but here you are, tangled up in something that didn’t come with a map.

jake's eyes linger on you, watching the way your expression shifts from playful to something more soft, something more real. he can still feel the heat of your touch, your hands around his neck, the rhythm of your breath syncing with his. it’s all still sinking in. still feeling like something he should probably be questioning, but he’s not. for once, he’s not overthinking. and that’s… new.

he watches you breathe, and the quiet of the room seems to wrap around the two of you, like it’s cocooning this moment in a way that makes everything else feel so far away. this was never part of his plan.

nothing about tonight, nothing about the way you’ve gotten under his skin without him even realizing it, was something he could’ve mapped out. he was so sure before – so certain that if he just kept everything in neat little boxes, kept his distance, it would be easier. safer.

and now here he is, holding you, unsure if he even knows what the hell he’s doing, but too lost in it to care.

you’re here, in his arms. the thing he wanted, the thing he never thought he could have. the kind of closeness that makes his chest feel a little too full, a little too overwhelmed with this thing that’s more than just chemistry. it’s more than just a kiss, more than just the surface-level stuff he used to think was enough. this is different. this is something deeper. something that matters in ways he’s still trying to wrap his head around.

he’s never been good at this. he’s always been the guy who keeps people at arm’s length, never letting anyone in too far. he’s the one who can talk about his work all day long, but when it comes to this? to the messy, emotional, uncharted territory of actually letting someone in? he’s been too scared to even try. but with you… with you, it doesn’t feel like something he needs to guard against anymore. you make it feel like he can just… be. be himself. be vulnerable.

and maybe that’s what’s funny about it. how life, or maybe just people, work that way. how you can do everything right, follow the rules, and yet still end up somewhere you didn’t expect. but it doesn’t feel wrong.

in fact, it feels like maybe the best thing that’s ever happened, even if it wasn’t part of some grand plan.

— outtake.

jake’s sitting on the floor, his back against his couch, nose buried deep in one of his theoretical analytics book in front of him, eyes scanning the page but not really absorbing the words. his mind keeps wandering – mostly to you, of course. he’s been trying to focus, to get through the research he’s been putting off, but it’s hard when you’re here. in his space. wearing one of his hoodies that’s far too big for you, hair tousled in the way he secretly loves.

you’re sitting next to him on the couch, feet tucked underneath you, fiddling with your phone. but your attention keeps drifting to him, to the way he scrunches his brow in concentration, pushing his glasses up every few minutes. you can’t help but smile. it’s a little endearing, how lost he gets in his work.

your fingers itch for something to do, so you casually reach over, your hand sliding into his hair. he barely reacts at first, his attention still on the book in front of him, but as your fingers thread through his hair, he lets out a soft breath, like he’s been holding it in without realizing.

he shifts a little, trying to focus again, but it’s hard to ignore the soothing way you’re playing with his hair. your touch is gentle, but there’s a playfulness in it, too. you keep running your fingers through his soft locks, your movements becoming slower, almost rhythmic, as if you're testing how far you can get him to relax.

it only lasts so long before your attention drifts to a piece of paper sticking out from under the pile of books on the table, tucked safely within his wallet, but just the corner peeking out. without even thinking, you pull it out from under the pile of papers and there it is. the note.

the same one you’d left for him that night, tucked carefully into his hand. the one with those words you’d never thought would mean so much: “betelgeuse is still shining. you’ll get through it too!.”

you freeze for a second, feeling your heart skip a beat as the memory of that night floods back. the quiet moments, the way he’d looked at you with something raw in his eyes. the way he hadn’t let go of that note, of your words, keeping them close.

jake’s hand, still resting on the edge of the couch, twitches slightly as he notices you holding the paper. his eyes flick up from his book, and he suddenly goes still, a hint of panic crossing his face.

“no—” his voice is almost a whisper, but his gaze is locked on the note in your hand, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look at it, a warmth flooding your chest. but when you glance up, you see jake’s face has gone pale. he’s trying to hide the sudden tension in his shoulders, but it’s obvious.

"jake," you tease, holding the note up between your fingers. "what’s this doing here, huh?"

he glances at you quickly, trying to cover up the fact that he’s been caught off guard. “i—i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck.

“really?” you raise an eyebrow, the playful glint in your eye growing. “this is still in your wallet, isn’t it?”

before he can respond, you lean forward, holding the note just out of his reach. “you’ve been carrying this around, huh?” you tease, voice low and soft, yet filled with playful mischief.

jake narrows his eyes, trying to keep a straight face, but you can see the tug of amusement around the corners of his mouth. “give it back,” he says, his voice holding an edge of feigned seriousness.

but you’re not backing down. instead, you shift just slightly, pushing him back a little, nudging him gently with your body. jake responds with a low chuckle, his hands coming up to tug at the paper, but you pull it away, your fingers a little quicker than his.

“you’re not getting this back that easily,” you laugh, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

jake’s face flushes more, but he leans forward, suddenly grabbing at your wrist with a playful strength, pulling you closer. “okay, okay,” he says, but his eyes are dancing, that mix of exasperation and affection that always gets to you.

and just like that, you’re laughing, tumbling in a gentle, playful wrestle, the two of you grappling for the note, your movements tumbling together on the couch. it’s a tangle of limbs, both of you laughing and trying to outmaneuver the other, jake’s glasses slipping down his nose as he leans over you.

you feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, his chest against yours, and in a sudden, quiet moment, you freeze. your eyes meet, the note still clutched between your fingers, but now all you can think about is the space between you two. you’re both so close, and in that instant, everything slows.

jake’s hand moves to adjust his glasses, but you reach up and gently push them up his nose, your fingers grazing his skin. it’s the slightest touch, but it makes the room feel even smaller, more intimate, the air thick with something unspoken.

he looks at you, just inches away, his eyes soft and almost... vulnerable. and then, before you can second-guess it, you pull him closer. you kiss him, gently at first, just feeling the press of his lips against yours.

but then he deepens it, and everything else fades. the note, the teasing, the wrestle – it all vanishes. all that matters is him, the way his hands are tender but urgent, the way his lips move against yours with a newfound, quiet intensity.

when you pull away, breathless, your foreheads rest together for just a moment, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

you stay like that for a beat longer, the quiet settling in, the world outside feeling distant.

jake’s thumb traces the back of your hand, and you glance down at the note still clutched between your fingers. the words come back to you like a quiet hum in the background. it’s a simple thing, but it feels like everything in that moment – like a quiet reminder that, even when things seem uncertain, there’s still something constant, something that endures.

you meet jake’s gaze again, and without saying a word, you both know: yeah, we’ll be okay.

[hannie-dul-set]

나비 / NABI — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, somehow also a christmas and new year’s au, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, rumors as a plot device, bullying, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit, a few makeout scenes WAHAHHAHA. WORD COUNT. 28k (out of 49k).

NOTE. whoa.....HAHHAHAHA. this was long overdue, so i saved up my yapping for the afterword. anyhow, here it finally is 😭😭😭 my blood, sweat, and tears. mostly tears. enjoy. please let me know what you think, and happy new year to all!

모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE

#3: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. Your title has changed from Choi Beomgyu’s girlfriend to Choi Beomgyu’s cheating girlfriend. Such an upgrade. It’s like you have a sign with that title label hovering and pointing to your head every time you pass through a decently crowded hallway, or enter an occupied area. Like Horangnabi, for example. You’re minding your own business, sipping on your iced mocha, and the people on the next table keep snagging glances at you.

Julie shows up with a loud cough, practically slamming your cinnamon waffle onto the table. The group snaps their eyes off of you and jumps into a sudden conversation. Julie rolls her eyes. “If I hear anyone talking crap, I’m kicking them out of the shop.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?” You’re pretty sure the cafe belongs to the school. And Julie seonbae is still a student here. 

“No one’s ever here to supervise. This is my store now,” is her logical response. She takes a seat in front of you. You’re also pretty sure she’s still on duty. “Anyway, how was your break, pretty? Did you get some rest?”

Last week was the rest week after midterms, so you were able to spend the last six days at home in Daegu. Beomgyu wasn’t able to join you because he and the coding club— and this was hard to believe at first— had decided to join a game development contest hosted by TXT Inc. Shocker, you know. You couldn’t believe your ears after hearing the news from Beomgyu. 

But he crushes your feeling of pride just as quickly as he triggered it. They’re not doing this entirely out of passion and willingness, he said. The extracurriculars office threatened to shut down their club if they fail to show any tangible results before the end of the semester. 

Well, you guess if there’s anything that can get a bunch of boys to actually start properly operating their club, a dissolution threat will work wonders. They scrambled to find something they could do— a proposal to improve the MIS, events, anything. Fortunately for them, the TXT Inc. competition advertisement showed up on Yeonjun’s feed right when they needed it. Unfortunately, the deadline for the contest is mid-December. It’s now the last week of October. They’ve got like two months to cram an entire game from scratch, so for the entirety of the one-week break, they’ve been in a self-imposed isolation in the clubroom. To say that they’re on a tight schedule is an understatement. 

Which is why you’re at Horangnabi right now. To buy a fuckload of coffee for those poor, sleep-deprived chumps. Another barista walks up to your table with a dozen cups of coffee, halved into two takeout containers, and you bid Julie farewell before heading out to make your way to the clubroom.

It’s concerning how they haven’t even locked the door. It’s even more concerning how you’re met with pitch darkness the moment you swing the door open— save for the singular glow of one computer screen on the opposite end of the room.

You flick the lightswitch on. Groans erupt. It’s like you’ve just revived the dead.

“Turn off the sun,” you hear Heeseung groan from below. He’s laid on the worn out couch by the door, shifting around underneath a blanket. Looking around, you see the other corpses strewn about. “Turn it off.”

“What a mess.” Navigating through the sleeping bags on the floor (sleeping bodies included), you notice that it’s littered with a distressing amount of plastic bottles and takeout boxes. You grimace. “I got you guys coffee. Come and get it.”

The first person to be revived is Yeonjun. The sound of the containers set on the table stir him up from the couch, next to Heeseung, and he stumbles over to you, finishing out an americano from the box. “Thanks,” he drawls out, patting you on the head before making a turn towards the door. “Ugh. I need to wash my face.”

“You go do that,” you say. “Everyone, come get your coffee then get out. This place is a biohazard. Go out and get some sunlight while I clean up.”

If they keep working in this environment, you’re pretty sure one or seven of them are gonna catch a disease. After a few more moments of coaxing and physical threats, most of them eventually evacuate from the clubroom. You had to physically kick Heeseung out before locking the door. The only one left is a certain Choi Beomgyu, still curled up on a chair against the half-wall. He’s stuck behind the table, one remaining cup of coffee left behind for him. Poor guy. He looks like absolute shit. You decide to pick up the crap on the floor first before kicking him out.

To get some more light in this damned cave, you pull open the curtains and turn on the lights in the back. Copious amounts of rustling and two full trash bags later, Beomgyu is still knocked out. You’re not surprised. He sleeps like a corpse.

You set the bag aside against the door, spraying some sanitizer into your hands before walking up to him, quietly wedging yourself behind the table because he’s still got his headphones glued to his ears. That can’t be healthy. You try to remove it from his head, sitting down on the chair next to him, carefully placing your hands on the sides of his face, but this stirs him awake.

Beomgyu grumbles and shifts in his seat. And then you hear him mumble out your name with a question mark at the end. “Morning, idiot,” you say, retracting your hands. “I got you coffee.”

“It’s...it’s morning?” he groans, barely coherent.

“It’s five past nine,” you tell him. “What time did you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” he grunts, pulling up his legs to the chair and scrunching himself up even more with a yawn. “I just decided to nap when my eyes couldn’t distinguish the ones from the zeroes anymore.”

You laugh. “Get some more rest,” you say, getting up from the chair. “I’ll close the curtains, hold on—”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re tugged back onto your seat, and you feel Beomgyu drop his head onto your shoulder. “I’m gonna—” he releases another yawn. “I need’ta get up in a bit anyway.”

A breath slips past your lips. His head is so god damned heavy and you struggle to squirm into a comfortable enough position, all while trying to make sure you’re not moving too much to keep his head steady on your abused shoulder. While you’re doing that, you hear a knock from the other side of the clubroom door. Which is weird, because none of those fuckers knock at all. They tend to just barge in whenever they want.

Beomgyu recognizes this anomaly as well. He jolts up, relieving you from his weight. “Ah, shit,” he remarks, and— for some reason— starts...crawling underneath the table? “Can you answer the door? If someone’s looking for me, tell them I’m not here.”

You’re more than a little confused. Beomgyu’s face wrinkles into a grunt when another round of door knocks echo into the space, and he ducks further under the table, shielded from whoever the hell is on the other side of the door in case they walk in. Despite not receiving any answers on an explanation, you do as he says. Opening the door, you’re immediately slapped in the face by a loud, over enthusiastic voice that you don’t recognize.

“Choi Beomgyu, you can’t keep running from us anym—”

The guy cuts himself off, eyes wide at the recognition that you are not his person of interest. You don’t recognize him, but he seems to recognize you, confirmed by how he coughs up your name with so much weariness that it almost feels like he’s wronged you somehow.

“Yes?” you say, brow raised. He gulps. Who is this man, how does he know you, and why is he scared of you?

“Oh, uh— Yeonjun told us Beomgyu would be here…?”

“He’s not,” you reply, crossing your arms and tilting your body to the doorframe, just to give your friend some extra coverage. “But I can send the message. What do you want from him?”

You’re very aware of the amount of attitude you’re expelling right now. “W—well, you know the autumn festival is next month, right?”

“Get to the point.”

He flinches out a nod. “I, uh, I came here to try and convince your boyfriend to join the Battle of the Bands competition for the festival. The ICT department still needs some vacant slots to fill, so...do you think...you can maybe…?”

Ah. Right. There’s that thing. The festival. Your seniors have been sending messages in the group chat about it and Heeseung did mention that off-handedly at one point. They scouted him for your department’s band, too, but he’s still on the fence about it because of the competition deadline they’re trying to catch. That doesn’t answer why Choi Beomgyu is currently hiding under the table though. “Who are you again?” you ask in an attempt to get some hints. This question sends the guy frozen and standing perfectly upright.

“S—sorry, I’m Choi Soobin,” he introduces. “I’m Beomgyu’s senior from the department.”

Your face stiffens. Well, god damn, you’ve just been totally rude to a senior. You clear your throat, brushing your embarrassment aside by inhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll see what I can do,” you simply say before shutting the door. Once the lock clicks, you immediately taunt Beomgyu out of his hiding spot. “You piece of shit, you could’ve at least told me I needed to be respectful!”

“Wow. You’re so brave for talking to someone older than you like that.” He snickers, shuffling out from under the table before grinning at you, now standing at full height. “Your temper has mellowed out lately. I forgot that you’re inherently Satan’s underling whose default setting is to be mean and cranky.”

“Shut it,” you roll your eyes, moving back over to the door to take a peek if Choi Soobin had already left the premises. He has. The hallway is more or less empty. You turn your head back, looking over your shoulder at Beomgyu, who has his hands in his pockets, face scrunched in a yawn. You can’t help but notice the bags underneath his eyes, the gaunt paleness of his skin. A sinking feeling hits you. “C’mon. All your clubmates have left. Let’s get you photosynthesized, fuckface.”

The both of you trek the relatively barren path from the ICT building to the courtyard, planning to circle all the way back because god knows when was the last time this guy had been able to do some exercise. Pace slow, you cock your head to eye Beomgyu. He’s silently sipping on the coffee you got him, the mid-autumn leaves crunching underneath the soles of his feet as more cascade down from the trees lining your path. When your gaze shifts up, Choi Beomgyu still looks as tired as ever underneath the sun. You frown, biting on the straw of your own drink. 

“Why didn’t you want to join the band thing, by the way? You usually say yes to these things.”

Beomgyu looks over at you. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” you start. “Last sem’s E-Sports Fest. The conference thing. Not to mention all throughout highschool, you’d never miss the opportunity to be the center of attention. I’m just a little surprised.”

He lets out a hum. “Well, my priorities have changed.” Beomgyu reaches out for the top of your head with his free hand, plucking out a stray orange leaf from one of the trees above before flicking it away. “I’m already busy with the game dev contest as is. I’d rather focus my time on the important things.”

“Wow. So mature. I’m gonna tell your mom her son is all grown up.” All he does is roll his eyes at you. You laugh.

Despite that conviction of his, however, Choi Beomgyu is pretty quick to change his mind.

The next day, you’re back at the clubroom again with another set of coffee orders. It looks a lot more livable than yesterday. You call out their orders one-by-one, “Heeseung, iced mocha,” and they come up to the table to snatch it from your hands.

“Thanks, dear friend of mine,” Heeseung says, tipping your service with a firm smack on the back.

“I spit in your drink,” you retort back. He ignores your threat and saunters over to his spot next to Beomgyu, who’s busy doing god knows what with the computer, aggressive keyboard noises filling the room. You have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you try to find out. The most help you can offer to these losers is being their coffee intern.

When you finish handing all of them their drinks, ready to disappear and head off to your own business for the day, Hyunjin’s voice perks up your ears. He announces something to the entire club, eyes glued to his phone like he’d just read something very interesting. “Hey,” he starts. “Apparently Jang Seung is the drummer for the econ department’s band. You know. For the festival next month.”

They all stop doing whatever they’re doing— all heads pivoting to Beomgyu’s corner, who has now stopped typing on the keyboard. 

Beomgyu promptly gets up. He marches over to the couch, near where you’re at, and fishes for his phone from the scattered bags on the cushion. “What are you doing?” asks Yeonjun. “I thought you won’t stop coding until nature starts calling the need for you to piss.” Beomgyu simply waves him off, successfully retrieving his phone. You watch as he taps and scrolls and taps and puts the device up to his ear. 

Everyone is looking at him. There’s a moment of silence before he finally says, “Hyung,” into the phone. You eye him curiously. He meets your gaze— a flicker of a second— before turning his head just a centimeter away. “You still haven’t found a singer and guitarist yet, have you?”

Your eyes widen. Holy shit.

“Cool. I’ll see you later.”

Beomgyu throws his phone back onto the pile. “You’ll be in the band?” you manage to quickly get in before he scuttles off into his station again.

He turns to you. A smile. “Yeah?” he says. “You’re gonna cheer for me again, right?”

“But I thought you said you didn’t want to—” you stop yourself. “Nevermind. I will cheer for you as long as I don’t have to wear an ugly tangerine cosplay again. Why do your department colors have to be orange?”

He laughs. “Wear whatever you want.”

The news finally settles into the rest of the club. “Oh my god. Oh my god, holy shit, fuck, wait— I’ll prepare the posters—” Heeseung frazzles. The rest of the idiots start freaking out too. Jeongin says he’s going to design a lightstick. Jesus christ. Beomgyu’s fanclub has greatly diminished since, well, the issue, but you’re amused to see that his biggest fanboys are still standing strong. You bid the coding club farewell as they prepare for their fanchants on top of having a deadline to catch. 

This changing of his mind just made seeing your friend’s face throughout the following weeks a lot more difficult. He gets home late almost everyday, sometimes not even coming home at all. You know this when there’s no invader unlocking your door and sauntering into your home at 11 p.m. just to complain about how tired he is. But he still texts you often. Too often, and he gets cranky when you don’t text him back even though all he sent is just a photo of his forehead with a sad face emoji, and you’re in the middle of taking notes for a class, and he gives you a call not long after to complain about his grievances out loud.

“Are you ignoring me?” You hear him huff over the phone. You’re on the way to leave campus now. Usually, you’d hitch a ride with Choi Beomgyu, but he’s been occupied lately, so it’s the bus for you today. The sun is setting. The moment you walk past the gates, there’s already a bus waiting for you.

“Cut to the chase,” you gripe, hopping onto the vehicle. “What do you want?

“Free up your schedule tonight,” he demands. Wow. Does he think you’re a pushover? “Band practice is finishing up early because of the Lantern Festival downtown. Let’s go check out the night market.”

“Sure,” you say. “If you’re late again, you have to pay for the equivalent of my wasted time.”

“I won’t be late! I promise, I’m gonna rush out as soon as—”

“Yeah, whatever,” you laugh. “See you later.”

Funny guy. Despite his packed schedule, he still manages to squeeze in some time to hang out with you. Whether it’s by knocking at your door at two in the morning for a sudden drive, or this. On holidays and special occasions. The Lantern Festival is celebrated annually in the city, matching the schedule of your own university’s autumn fest. It’s now early-mid November. You freshened up at your apartment before heading back out once the sun had fully set, waiting under the streams of brightly lit posts downtown. 

You look at Beomgyu’s last text saying that they’re finishing up and he’s gonna head out in a bit. That was twenty minutes ago. You begin counting his debt as you walk down the lantered streets lining the path towards Gwanghwamun Night Market, a thousand won every minute he’s late. There are countless stalls and pop-up bars, pitched up tents selling souvenirs and food and trinkets. There’s a lot of things to keep you busy while you wait for him.

Your eyes catch one particular stand upon closing into the area. On the table and display at the far end of the tent are countless second hand, vintage digicams for cheap. You walk up to it, fiddling with the displays before asking the store owner for his recommendations. He hands you a silver, retro looking camera, the Canon logo stamped on it, with its price tag dangling behind. It’s pretty affordable. You make the purchase, carefully storing it inside your tote bag just in time for your phone to buzz. 

A text from Choi Beomgyu. You whip your head around and stop the moment you see him looking lost amidst the crowded square, brows furrowed as he tries and fails to find you. You feel a laugh bubbling. You respond to his text. [eyes ahead, doofus] He follows your instructions, face brightening the moment he sees you. Beomgyu then quickly jogs up to your spot, a little sweaty and breathless and quite frankly disheveled. “Hey!” he calls out. “Sorry, there was traffic and I had to run away from my bandmates. They wanted to have dinner together, and, uh—”

“Thirty minutes.”

Your flat tone causes him to flinch. He presses his lips together, guilty. 

“I waited for thirty minutes,” you tell him. “You owe me thirty thousand won.”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt and an apology and starts towing you away. “Fine,” he whines. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.” You let him drag you to the lines and lines of street food stalls, quickly finding something to settle your appetite, and before you know it, he’s scammed you into filling his 30k quota on nothing but snacks.

You realize this just as you and he are standing in front of a stall, sticks of fishcakes in hand and you’ve already half chewn yours. “Cheater!” you exclaim the moment it hits you. “You made me use up all your debt in less than an hour!”

He mocks you with a close-mouthed smile, cheeks still filled with fishcakes and he waves his stick at you, taunting.“Cry about it,” he muses. You roll your eyes. “Why? Did you want me to buy you something? I might consider it if you say it nicely.”

The sounds of nighttime festivities fill your ears. It’s very bright for eight in the evening. You buy another two sticks from the vendor. “Yeah. I do,” you reply, handing one of the sticks to Beomgyu. He takes it and starts nibbling. “I wanted you to buy me a turntable.”

And then he coughs on the fishcake. “The fuck?” he leers at you. You cackle and enjoy your own food without choking on it. “That’s— five times more than thirty fucking thousand won. You don’t even own any records? Wait, where did this even come from, you’ve never been interested in this kind of stuff, what the he—”

“I was joking, doofus,” you roll your eyes, but your lips remain smiling. Smiling because he looks so appalled, it’s funny. He doesn’t share your sentiment— the corners of his mouth downturned into a frown with knitted brows, and you snort at his expression. You throw away the empty sticks, ask the vendor how much you both owe, pay the equivalent, and your eyes wander off to the sound of chatting and laughing passing you by, groups of people funneling into the direction of the stream nearby. “Hey,” you tap on Beomgyu’s arm, before taking the liberty to grab a fistful of his sleeve, tugging him closer. “Let’s go check out what’s going on.“

Beomgyu allows himself to be dragged along by you without much protest into the shuffling crowd. You manage to squeeze into a gap, not even being able to turn your head and check on him when the pace of the crowd pushes you forward, moving further away from the bright and warm stringed lights of the night market, now into a dimmer portion of the area that greets your cheeks with cold brushes of the wind.

The crowd fizzles out near the ledge overhanging the stream, allowing you to patter your steps across the pavement, running up to get a better view of what’s underneath with Beomgyu’s still in tow. On the water, you see a line of intricate floats slowly making their way downstream. Historical arches and buildings, dragons and folklore. You can even see a Doraemon float way back in the line if you squint and the air is knocked out of your lungs, from sheer awe and amazement. It’s so pretty. What catches your attention more is further down, there are people releasing their own orbs of light into the water, and some letting the lanterns loose into the sky. 

“Whoa,” you breathe out. “That’s so cool.”

You feel a nudge on your shoulder. You turn to see Beomgyu, engulfed in the cold evening light, and he cocks his head back into the direction of the market. There you see a tent filled with similar looking lanterns that everyone else was releasing, not too far away with people queuing up in rows. Your head snaps back to Beomgyu, eyes sparkling. He huffs out a smile and leads you to the tent, getting in line to have your own.

“Please wait for any available spots by the table to write your wishes down.”

“Thank you,” you smile at the stall attendant, a paper lotus lantern in hand with Beomgyu right next to you, and you take a spot on the table the moment it becomes vacant. 

It doesn’t take you long to ponder your wish. Good health. A fucking boyfriend. The works. Not that you’re superstitious, but it’s a cute idea. You peer over at Beomgyu, who’s still holding an unopened marker with a thoughtful expression. His brows are furrowed, lips pursed, and all of a sudden, he snaps down and quickly scribbles something you can’t see. Wow. He’s serious about this, you laugh a little. “Are you done?” He jolts, a little surprised before looking up at you.

“Oh, yeah.” Beomgyu sets down the marker, picking up the lantern from the table. “Are you?”

The both of you get off to get your lanterns lit up, and the once pink-tinted paper now burns a warm orange in your hands, toasting up your palms in spite of the cold weather. You head off back to the stream, all the way underneath the overhanging bridge to its shore. Carefully, you crouch down near the water, Beomgyu following your lead, and you look at him, the contours of his face tempered by an almost sunset-like glow amidst the frigid glimmer of the moon all around you.

“Do we just...drop them here?” he asks. You blink. You turn your head to the surface of the shimmering stream as it waits for your burning offering.

“I—I guess so,” you cough out. “Should we count?”

“You’re so lame,” he laughs. You glare at him. “Sure. On three. One—”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The lanterns escape from your grasps at the same time, pulled away from you by the current and the breeze. You watch as the two orange orbs slowly float away above the water, bumping into each other, drifting away from each other for a mere moment before colliding again, and remaining at that same proximity as they both follow the same current, pushed by the same breeze. 

You look at Beomgyu, who watches the two lanterns until they fully escape your line of sight. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask. 

His gaze shifts over to you. It’s heavy. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

“You can’t just ask those kinds of questions,” he jeers, bringing up a hand to your retreating face just to punch your nose. “That’s gonna nullify my wish. Stop trying to sabotage me.”

“I’m not! I was just curious!” You swat his hand away, annoyed. You two are still crouching by the stream, hands resting on your knees. There’s a lot of people around you too, also indulging in the festival tradition. At this point, your lanterns have been completely swallowed by the multitude of other glowing lotuses on the water. You’re pretty sure that the government is just gonna clean it all up come morning and throw them into the dump. So much for lantern wishes. Whimsy destroyed. Romanticism ruined.

Before your nihilism can completely take over, Beomgyu starts speaking again. “The game deadline is nearing,” he suddenly starts. “And the uni autumn festival is like, next week.” For some reason, you can hear a sigh in his voice. Poor idiot. He must be so tired. “I seriously can’t wait for everything to be over. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even been able to drive you home lately.”

You stare at the water. You feel a knot in your throat which you cough out, bumping your shoulder against his before your arms stretch out, fingers locking and elbows hitting your knees to release the tension in your muscles. “I can get home by myself, you know,” you tell him, allowing your hands to hang languidly in the air.

“I know,” he says, reaching out for your pinky finger, a jolt of warmth running down your spine as he plays around with the contours of the joint, tracing down to the tip of the finger when he continues, “It’s getting colder. We should go.”

Beomgyu pulls you up with him when he stands, fully enclosing his hand with yours.

He drives the both of you home that night. First time in a while, and the last time in an even longer while because he gets even busier. Band practice. Club meetings. Game dev contest on top of your also staggering amount of coursework. Most of your time is spent with Minjeong and Sungchan because Heeseung has also been swallowed by work. Poor pathetic guy number two. He deserves all of his misery.

It’s a weekday, and you’re at the library with Minjeong and Hanbin this time. He’s been liberated from coding duty because he has an exam tomorrow. These two have just been formally acquainted with each other, as far as you know, but while taking a bathroom break with Minjeong for a brief moment, she suddenly tells you, “I like him better than Beomgyu.”

You cock a brow at her through the mirror, shaking your wet hands over the sink. “Hanbin? What’s the point of comparison here?”

“Yeah,” she answers, retouching her lip gloss. “He doesn’t make fun of you and he’s less annoying. You should date him instead.”

A laugh leaves your lips. You walk over to dry your hands and once the restroom is relieved from the echoing whirs of the drying machine, you quip back. “Hanbin is nice, but he’s not my type. Just because I want to date doesn’t mean I’m just gonna try it with every decent guy I know,” you nag as you walk out the restroom and back into the library. “And I think he has eyes on someone else. And quit hating on Beomgyu. He annoys everyone he likes. If you think he’s annoying then you’ve fallen into his trap. Congratulations, you and he are friends.”

On the way back to your table, you notice a group of students eyeing you. While passing, you hear one of them whisper. But it’s too loud of a whisper. Like you were meant to hear it.

“I can’t believe she still has the guts to show her face on campus.”

Minjeong stops in her tracks. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Leave it be,” you sigh, tugging your friend away before she starts a cat fight in the library premises. Yeah. You’ve already been branded as a cheating whore. Maybe you should just give up dating altogether.

“Why do you keep letting these fuckers talk shit about you?! Let me at ‘em—”

It’s less of you being a pushover and more of you not wanting to waste energy, really. You’ve gone through this bullcrap in high school (though at a lighter degree). People believe what they want to believe and it doesn’t matter what you tell them. So, why bother. You have a group of nerds plus Minjeong and Sungchan behind your back, anyway. And of course, Choi Beomgyu, who got into a fight with his friends (former friends, he insists) that were involved with the anonymous post issue. The funny thing is, they all apologized to him with their foreheads scraping the ground not even a day after the event, but none of them even bothered trying to receive your forgiveness— until Beomgyu pointed it out and they eventually, reluctantly, came to your feet to mumble out incoherent sorrys.

It’s whatever. The post got taken down, but you still hear some snide remarks here and there like just now. Again, it’s whatever. It’s not gonna stop you from enjoying your uni life. Which is why you’re here, right now, at the uni autumn festival with a trove of nerds who are all arguably vitamin D deficient, all carrying banners and flags with Choi Beomgyu’s name in one way or another, waiting for the Battle of the Bands to start at the campus courtyard.

“Put this on!” Hyunjin shoves a bright, orange bandana into your hands with bold, white text text BAMTORIS 4 BEOMGYU on it. They came up with a fucking fanclub name. Your head rings. The bandana wrinkles in your hand as you shove it into your coat pocket, never to see the light of day.

“Hey, it’s starting!”

The large, heavy speakers boom through the crowd. Indeed, it is starting, and you already can’t wait to go home. But you persist. You’re going home after Choi Beomgyu’s stage. His text said they’ll be performing fourth, after the economics department. You can handle that much noise and chaos. Your social energy needs to last, else you’d have to coax a sulking dog tomorrow for ditching him. The host screams a welcoming spiel into the mic, and everyone else starts screaming. You wince. Yeah, you can deal with this.

When the performances started, you were actually able to vibe a little with the music. Having Heeseung shaking you around and screaming lyrics into your ear does help a bit. When the third band comes up however, you feel the mood around you shift. The coding club boys are so much louder now. No, they’re not cheering. They’re hell bent on sending an overpowering amount of boos and jeers at Jang Seung the moment he got up on stage.

The guy was so flustered at the non-cheers that he was offbeat for half the song. You’re thoroughly enjoying this. Heeseing continues yelling different iterations of, “Get off the stage! You suck!” until Jang Seung finally does with his bandmates drilling dirty looks at him. You laugh. Absolutely deserved.

The boys’ jeers shift again the moment the host calls out the ICT department onstage. They start cheering. Very loudly. Ferally, almost. You see Beomgyu walk his way into the center, electric guitar hanging from his neck as the lights focus on him. You hear nothing but yelling. Jesus fucking christ. It’s an assault at all fronts with Heeseung, Yeonjun, Jeongin, and Hyunjin surrounding you. Maybe...maybe you shouldn’t have joined these damned nerds.

It hushes down when Beomgyu grabs the mic to give an introduction of the band. Heeseung is still screeching, though. You grow concerned.

“Anyway, sing and dance along if you know the lyrics.”

Beomgyu’s hands grip the microphone as you hear his voice continue through the speakers, staring down at the crowd as if he’s looking for something. Then his eyes land on you. You’re taken aback for a moment. Just a moment, because you manage a smile. Good luck, you mouth, hands cupping your lips. 

He smiles back. “This song— is you.”

The instrumental is familiar. A guitar sings. Drum beats crash. You’ve heard this numerous times from Beomgyu’s playlist before. In his car. Along the streets. On the floor of his apartment at three in the morning after he called you out to do nothing in particular until you fall asleep on the couch. Then his voice resonates in the night, carried by the still familiar melody and you feel your heart thump along with the bass vibrating from the speakers. 

Time and time again, Choi Beomgyu proves to you that he’s always meant for the spotlight. He belongs there, to receive all the attention and adoration of everyone that catches sight of him. Seeing him up there brings an unconscious smile on your face. That is until you feel Heeseung shove his shoulder against you, prying your attention away from the blinding stage lights to the dim glow of your friend’s lightstick. “Hey, lovergirl,” he says, grinning widely. “He says he’s nothing without you.”

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, cheeks stretched by a flurry of heat. “It’s just a song.”

It’s over before you know it. You were able to snag a few shots of your friend at the near end there as per his request for his Instagram feed, but your plan to run away after their performance is ruined because the boys have decided to hold you hostage because, “There’s no way you’re missing tonight’s celebration!” as if the winners have already been announced. There’s like three bands left. Tonight, you suffer.

Still, your waiting and leg aches for standing too long aren’t wasted because when the winners are indeed announced, the ICT department are called as the victors, and the rest of the night is a blur of hoots and yells and many, many bars and clubs all throughout the city. 

Unfortunately for you, this is only the start of your series of night outs leading up to the end of the year. 

After finals, Sungchan dragged you and Minjeong out for another night out to celebrate. When TXT Inc. announced the winners for their game development competition not long after, you’re dragged to another night out since the boys managed to scrape by 3rd place and save their club from the threat of administrative shut-down.

You’re exhausted. Absolutely drained. You sleep the entire car ride home to Daegu with Beomgyu, recharging just enough for the joint Christmas eve dinner with your family and his. Your friend manages to notice your pitiful state and saves you from conversations by answering questions from the parents on your behalf over the meal.

“Ah, I heard from our daughter that you performed at your festival last month? Oh, how was it? You used to sing and dance during our village Christmas parties all the time when you were still in elementary school.”

“He was trying so hard to look cool, dad.” Regardless of your exhaustion, your system always has enough energy to jump at the opportunity to make fun of him. 

Beomgyu glares at you from across the table, and you feel a kick from underneath. “I was cool. We won, if you forgot. Just so you know, I only joined to put that Jang Seung back in his—” You kick him back. Beomgyu jolts, eyes widen. Oops, he sends you an apologetic look. You send him a silent warning in return.

“Who’s Jang Seung?” his mother asks, curious.

“Some annoying guy from our department. He likes to think he’s cooler than me and I needed to give him a reminder,” Beomyu responds. You release a silent sigh and sip on your drink. “Which I am. Proven by my victory during the competition.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

“Auntie! She’s being mean again!”

By the time you reach your apartment building, the clock at around eleven at night, you are barely alive. The rest are walking ahead of you. You are but a bamboo stick getting brushed along by the wind and Choi Beomgyu’s stops you from falling face flat into the floor because you bump into him.

“Idiot,” he scolds, balancing you by the shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll be your navigator up the stairs, you withering stick of bamboo.”

“Wait,” you protest (verbally, because you have no strength left in your body and could not physically stand your ground). Beomgyu eyes you, halting from bodying you all the way up the apartment. You look over his shoulder to yell at your parents up ahead. “You go in first! I’m gonna talk to Beomgyu for a sec!”

“It’s late,” your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Can’t you two talk tomorrow?”

“It’s—it’s important,” you stammer. You look at Beomgyu. He raises a brow, confused and suspicious.

You step on his foot. He gapes his mouth and lets out a silent swear. You make a face. He makes a face back before letting out a defeated grunt, spinning his heels to confirm your initial sentiments. “We won’t be long. Mom, you can toss the keys to me. I’ll lock up.”

Not long after, you and Choi Beomgyu are left alone at the foot of your apartment building. He stuffs his apartment keys into his pockets, swirling around to look at you with a face stoned by disapproval. “What is it?” he gnaws. “You’re about to pass out any second. What could be more important than getting some sleep right now?”

You ignore his nagging. “Come to the playground with me,” is your unrelated response. His face jitters— disapproval churning into a shock of anxiety, but he attempts to brush it off.

“You’re not gonna ask me to do something along the lines of pretending like we don’t know each other, righ—”

“No! Fuck off! I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”

“I’m coming,” he sternly says, trailing behind your heated steps to a corner of the apartment square, on the way to the playground at the back of the building. “At least tell me what you want to talk about first.”

“It’s—it’s nothing bad.”

“You’re being suspicious.”

“I’m not!”

Your foot stomps over the dirt of the playground, pressing your lips together as you scramble out your phone to check the time. 11:13 p.m. Dammit. Your coat pocket feels heavy, the thing inside snuggled deep and concealed. How do you distract him for forty-seven more minutes? He’s already yawning. Your eyes flicker around— the spring riders catching your attention first. “Come here,” you say stiffly, just as mechanically hopping onto what you assume is a duck on the spring. 

Beomgyu is evidently weirded out by you, but he follows you anyway, unquestioning whenever you lead him from one equipment and ride in the playground to the next— the swings, spinners, monkey bars, tubes, slides, even the fucking climbers that probably can’t handle your weight. It’s not the most appropriate age and weather to be doing this, but you needed something to kill the time.

The only thing left untouched are the seesaws. It’s 11:55. God damn it. You’ve been willfully avoiding this contraption in case it reawakens your moment of shame and weakness, but having been caught in the pattern you’ve started, Beomgyu is already plopping down on one of the ends.

You bite your tongue. You follow and take your spot on the other end, quiet. The both of you see and saw in silence, most likely carrying the same thing in your minds.

The moment your feet hit the ground again, you stay there. You flip open your phone. Three more minutes. Beomgyu springs you up in the air. You’re brought back down.

“Whatever you’re planning on saying—” he starts, from above. “Don’t say it.”

“It’s not what you think!” you argue. Two more minutes. “Stop moving. Hold on a sec.”

You and Beomgyu are on both ends, both on the ground. One more minute. He eyes you suspiciously, maybe even nervously and you don’t blame him. You dig into your coat pocket, feeling the crumple of the smooth fabric of the pouch you pocketed before leaving for dinner earlier, the item hard in your hand.

“Choi Beomgyu, you’ve been working hard all semester.” Your phone alarm rings. Fucking finally. You pull the pouch out of your pocket. “I thought maybe you deserve a treat.”

You toss it at him. He lets go of the seesaw handle to catch it.

“Merry Christmas, fuckface.”

The pouch lands in his hands. He just stares at it for a moment, eyes wide in surprise and your heart rattles. Why are you nervous right now? You begin to palpitate even further when he actually pulls the strings open, revealing the vintage digicam you bought during the lantern festival. From the moment you saw the stall, you knew the sentimental idiot would like one of these. It’s been waiting in your drawer for this occasion. You start to feel even more self conscious every second he takes to examine it.

“I—I know it’s a bit cheap,” you stammer. “But I already spent so much money on your birthday gift, so don’t you even dare—”

Click!

You look up to see the camera in front of Beomgyu’s face. You blink. He puts it down, tinkering with the buttons with a smile on his face. “I like it,” he says, flashing his eyes at you. “It’s pretty.”

Without a second to waste, you jump off the fucking seesaw and Choi Beomgyu’s ass lands on the ground. “Hey, delete that!”

“Nuh-uh! No way!” he fends you off, swatting away your hands as you straddle him on the dirt ground. “You gave it to me so this is mine! I can do whatever I want with it!”

“My portrait rights! You’re violating the law!”

“Ow! That hu— owww! Fine! Okay, fine—”

It’s Christmas, and the both of you are on the dusty ground of your apartment complex’s playground, a little breathless from squabbling. Beomgyu has one forearm shielding himself from your attacks, the other keeping the camera safe to his chest.

“I’ll delete it! I’ll delete it on one condition.”

You slump back, already tired. “What?” you wheeze. 

He grunts and picks himself up, dusting his clothes and you follow not long after once you’ve caught your breath. “Come to my place for a sec.”

This time, you’re the one eyeing him with suspicion. Still, he humored you tonight, so you shall humor him too. You follow him into the building, up the flights of stairs until you reach your floor. Beomgyu grumbles out a few swears under his breath as he puts more effort than necessary to unlock the door to his place. “Need a little help doing simple movements there, buddy?”

“Shut your mouth,” he grunts, finally managing to unlock it. 

Their festive living room greets you upon entry. The rug is different from what you remember. The curtains shielding the interior from the moonlight have gingerbreads and snowmen on them. Beomgyu leads you up to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, painted with tinsel and ornaments and stars. He sits down on the carpet, patting on the spot next to him without looking at you and you gingerly cross your legs down. He digs into the mix of real and fake gift boxes for decoration. You know because some have names, some are blank.

“I didn’t expect you to throw me a gift right at midnight. That was an unprompted attack.” He finally leans back with a pretty big box in hand, setting it down on the floor right in front of you. “Still. I refuse to lose. Here.”

There’s a name on it. Yours. From your pretty and handsome and amazing most favorite person, Choi Beomgyu. You snort.

“Open it,” he nudges.

“Now?”

“Duh.”

He’s annoying, but you let him off. Carefully, you unwrap the ribbon, a pang of nervous anticipation hitting your bones as your hands hover over the box lid. 

You open the present.

You see the gift.

Your hands instinctively jerk back down to fucking close it.

“Choi Beomgyu! I said it was a joke! Why would you—” you hiss out, a quiet scream as you throw your head around to look at him, only for the words to fizzle out your throat upon seeing the expectant look on his face. His eyes are big and sparkly and looking at you with so much expectation. Your face grows hot, the burn even more palpable amidst the December weather, and you suck in a deep breath, looking down in acceptance and defeat. “A fucking turntable. You’re insane. Why would you get me this? You said it yourself that I don’t even own any records or LPs or whatever you use for this. What’s wrong with you?”

“You said you wanted one.” He’s grinning. He’s grinning very proudly. “Merry Christmas, dipshit. Now, we’re even.”

Ah. God damn it. He really is insane.

“He got you a what?”

Within the last week of December, you and Beomgyu return back to Seoul. There’s some crap to do at uni regarding your scheduling and classes, and Jung Sungchan is throwing yet another party to celebrate the incoming new year. Not at his parent’s place this time because he got an earful after the previous party. He’s hosting it in his apartment, so the invitation list is smaller. More bearable, because you and Minjeong are forced to attend again. 

“Girl, you don’t even own any records.” Minejeong’s head pops up from the other side of the clothes rack, looking both appalled and amazed from the information she’d just received from you. “Have you even used it yet?”

“No!” you remark in response. “The thing has been catching dust in my apartment and I’m starting to feel bad. Is it okay if we stop by a record store after this?”

Which is why you and she are out shopping right now to buy a cute new year’s outfit to match Sungchan’s black and gold party theme. You don’t understand why he has to have a theme, but it’s a good excuse to treat yourself to some new clothes. You and your friend have been thrifting and boutique hopping, spending a good chunk of your holiday money for a one-day millionaire spree. 

A few shopping bags in hand, a bell jangles when you push open the door to a vintage record store you saw in passing earlier, in between thrift stores. The scent of rubber, dusty wood, and pressed vinyl hit your senses, along with the dull hum of music from the store’s speakers from the background. You walk in with no plan on what the fuck you should buy, so needless to say you are overwhelmed by the gigantic selection on display.

“Hey, how may I help you?”

The singular employee present in the store has probably noticed your swirling eyeballs trying to take in everything. “Oh, I’m just looking around,” you say with a smile. The store clerk smiles back, telling you to feel free to browse, and you thank him. He’s tall, presumably college-aged with sandy hair, and your mind wanders around the idea that it would be nice to find another part-time job for extra allowance. But your break is almost over. And you’d have to look for somewhere else because it won’t be a great idea to work at Horangnabi again and deal with the rest of the studentry considering your current, uh, reputation.

But you’re not here to dwell on that. You’re here to finally put Choi Beomgyu’s fucking gift to good use. Minjeong stays by the door with her phone while you walk further into the store with the clerk trailing behind you. As you run your hands over a few familiar covers, familiar names and titles, he shoots you a few questions here and there— are you looking for a specific artist? What kind of music do you like? I can give you some recommendations if you’d like? Clearly, there’s something more than customer service going on here. 

As you check out a selection of two records (because holy shit, these are expensive), it dawns on you that it’s almost the end of the year, and you still have yet to find a god damned boyfriend. Granted, you don’t believe doing so will help salvage your image in any way at all, but it kind of sucks to think that you’ll be spending another new year single and lonely.

“Come again any time.”

Well, maybe not too lonely because you won’t have time to think about any nihilistic bullshit at Jung Sungchan’s party. Minjeong scolds you as you walk out the store with a new paper bag and no new number in your contacts. “He was clearly trying to hit on you,” she says.

“He’s not my type,” you deflect back. She clicks her tongue and nags you that every shot you don’t take is a miss, and you simply brush her off with a laugh. But she has a point. Maybe you’re the reason why you’ve been single this entire time. Perhaps the universal false assumption that you and Choi Beomgyu have been dating for the past one-hundred years has nothing to do with it.

Lee Heeseung agrees with this new speculation of yours. “You’re too prickly,” he says over brunch at a local bed-and-breakfast. You and Minjeong meet up with him right after your shopping spree because he just happened to be in the area. “And a little scary. Everyone from the club used to be afraid of you at first because you’re so mean.”

“You nerds are just losers,” Minjeong defends you. 

“Wow. Two bullets in one shot,” you say in between enjoying your bacon, fried rice, and eggs.

“Hey, you have no right to say anything. You’re single too.” Heeseung points his fork at her. “It can’t be helped. This is unsalvageable. It seems like I must share this secret trick I found on TikTok to solve all of your problems.” 

“That source sounds very credible,” you snort.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Heeseung proceeds to explain the secret trick: eat twelve grapes under the table within the minutes passing into the new year, and your wish will be granted. You nearly cough out your brunch. Minjeong bursts out laughing right next to you. You can’t even begin to imagine how Heeseung managed to land himself into that side of the app.

“Incredible,” she chortles out. “What do you plan on wishing for, Hee? For you to get back together with—”

“No!” he screeches out. “No way. That era of my life is over now. I’m gonna get accepted at HYBE Inc. for my fucking internship.”

“Wow,” you gape, taking a sip from your iced tea. “You’re maturing.”

“Right? This is crazy.”

Heeseung’s outburst melts down, and the redness slowly starts seeping out from his cheeks. He looks at you, a little proud and rubs a finger under his nose with a grin. “Heh. It’s nothing.”

“You’ve got some rice on your face, Mr. Maturity.” You hear an ‘oh shit,’ from across the table as you look down to your lit up phone from a message notification coming in. Your eyes narrow, letting your utensils clatter on your plate to make a few taps on the phone screen. “You asked Beomgyu to come?” you ask, looking back up at Heeseung. “Why is the idiot telling me he’s on the way here?”

Specifically, it was a shot of him from the eyes up and a bus ceiling with [omw 2 u 🛵🛵] plastered on his forehead. “Oh, he’s coming?” Heeseung responds, unsurprised. “He asked if I wanted to hit the PC room with him. I told him I’m still with you two and sent him my location.”

“Ah, fuck me. Now I have to change seats.” You watch in slight confusion as Minjeong pushes her food over to Heeseung’s side of the table before following suit, leaving the space next to you cold and barren and empty, and your look of confusion muddles into betrayal. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Beomgyu always follows you around like a puppy with severe attachment issues and I don’t really want to be caught in between the both of you.”

“He does not!” you defend, your fist bouncing on the table with a clatter, just in time for your eyes to flicker off to the direction of the restaurant door opening, welcoming a Choi Beomgyu, who’s whipping his head around to look for you three, inside.

“Hey, dude, over here!”

Unfortunately, he proves Minjeong correct. Beomgyu turns his head to you at the recognition of Heeseung’s voice, blank face shifting into an easy smile. His next set of movements are programmed right into his system: he walks up to you, he plops down right next you, and he dips his head down to take a long sip from your iced tea, right before releasing a refreshed lip-smack and sigh with his shit-eating grin, directed right at you. “Thanks for the treat.” His hand meets the top of your head, utterly ruining your hair. 

“Fuck off. No one even invited you here.” You wrestle him off with your elbow. Beomgyu retreats by letting his arm stretch behind your back, causing the cushion of the booth seats to sink down while he calls a waiter for the menu. You feel your throat dry. You reach for the ice tea Choi Beomgyu just drank a third of to rinse down the dryness. Minjeong’s eyes are on you. Heeseung is pressing his mouth together, and his face is pissing you off.

“Do you want me to find another table then? I see you’re almost done with your meals.” The bitch is trying to play victim. You give him a look of aversion. He’s unfazed, looking at Heeseung with a subtle quirk of his lips inching towards victory, because the latter took his bait.

“I’m ordering another meal,” Heeseung announces. “You. Sit. We’re hitting the PC room after this.”

“Sure thing.” All you can do is sigh while Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. “Quit grumbling,” he snarks. “And quit acting like you don’t want me around. Didn’t you say it yourself? Should I give you a refresher? Ahem, what makes you think I can’t live without—”

“Moving on!” 

Your face is now hot. Beomgyu is still grinning like a bastard, but he doesn’t finish the statement. You can still see the amusement on the corners of his lips even when he leans down to sip from your iced tea again. “I hate being here,” Minjeong breathes out, gulping down the last of her drink before slamming the glass down onto the table.

Beomgyu’s order arrives. “Why are you two so moody today?” He points a pair of chopsticks at Minjeong before stabbing them into his salad. “Did your shopping trip go badly or some shit?”

“For your information, our day was going great until you showed up,” you glare at him.

“Yeah,” Minjeong doubles down. Heeseung’s second meal also arrives. He ignores the squabbles and starts happily digging in. “Our shopping trip was great. You should see the dress she bought for the party. It’s really pretty.”

At that mention, Beomgyu’s head tilts, eyes flickering over to your direction. “Is it?” 

There’s something in the tone of his voice that forces you to swallow something down. “Mind your own business, buster,” you hiss at him. He shrugs and continues eating. “What the hell is Jung Sungchan thinking dress coding a college party, anyway? It’s not like he’d kick me out if I end up wearing bright green.”

“Is the dress you bought bright green?” Beomgyu chimes in. “Now I’m even more curious.”

You look at him, face scrunched up. “If you want to wear my dress, just say so.”

“Hey, I think I’d body it.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Indeed, no one gets kicked out for wearing the wrong thing. The moment you walk into Jung Sungchan’s blasted apartment, you see red, pink, purple, maroon amidst the gold foil decorations and fuzzy warping lights. No, Choi Beomgyu did not show up in your dress. He’s in a beige wool blazer, white undershirt, and lazy black trousers with a beer can in hand, waiting for your arrival by the door. “Oh, hey.” You do not recall beige being in the goddamned dress code. At least his pants are black and his necklace is gold. “You’re here.”

“I wish I weren’t,” you grunt, wiggling out of your coat because although it’s currently the cold season, Sungchan’s apartment is humid. Though it’s significantly less people than his house party last summer, it’s still thirty people more than to your liking. You grimace, hanging the garment on your forearm. “Where is he? Where’s the host of this shithole?”

You point up your chin, looking around for Sungchan, but to no avail. Maybe he’s at the balcony, but your friend over here isn’t answering you.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” You whip your head back to Beomgyu. He hasn’t left, no. He’s just standing there, a faint buzz tinting his cheeks. You peer at the drink he’s holding. You click your tongue, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

Luckily, he isn’t fully checked out yet. He swats your hand away and clears his throat. “I think he’s on the balcony. C’mon.”

Sungchan greets you with a barreling hug and nearly bulldozes you into the floor because he’s a dramatic bastard who hasn’t seen you since finals week. “Now that you’re here, we can officially start the party!” he yells, as if it hadn’t already started, and drags your limp body back to the living room. Right now, it’s around ten in the evening. Minjeong clocks in not long after you and gets roped into the mess of drinking games happening on Sungchan’s carpeted floor, already a few rounds in.

In between all the yelling and the music and the chants to chug, chug, chug it, Heeseung stands up with a microphone in hand. You have no idea where he got that from, but he has it, and has decided that it would be a great idea to start singing your hearts out. 

“Sing or drink! Sing or drink!”

Yeah, no. You’re downing that fucking shot.

“Boo! You’re no fun!” Heeseung jeers at you. You toss him the now red solo cup with the droplets of whatever the fuck they mixed into that, gagging slightly. The microphone eventually gets snatched by a very drunk Yeonjun, who already got his necktie wrapped around his head. This is a big mess. Yeonjun gets his solo moment. He starts singing Through the Fire by Chaka Khan.

“Yeonjun hyung! Yeonjun hyung!”

“Hyung, why do you have to graduate?!”

“Hyung, I’ll miss you!”

You’re definitely not drunk enough for this. By eleven-thirty, you’re already fucking exhausted, so you ready to escape to the kitchen. A lot of people have left, the ones remaining consisting mostly of Sungchan’s close friends. Minjeong sees you escaping and runs after you. “Going down for a bit. I need some fresh fucking air.”

“Don’t die,” you hum, patting her out the door.

“You don’t die.” She nudges back at the directions of the living room, where the boys are gathered in a sudden emotional huddle. Choi Beomgyu included. The year’s coming to an end. Meaning a few of them are gonna be graduating from uni soon like Yeonjun. You swear you can hear someone wailing. “I don’t want to deal with that. Good luck. Hide safe, soldier.”

She salutes you off, marching out the door. You turn back to look at the mess of the apartment. Sungchan’s prettily hung gold foil have either been ripped off, their remnants tattered on the floor, or barely strewn. There’s still music playing, the bass thrumming through the walls. Cups and plastic and confetti and a few pairs of shoes are scattered all over the floor. You grimace and walk over a wet spot, heading over to the kitchen to help yourself with whatever wine’s still left over.

Pouring yourself a glass, you can’t help but notice what’s left on the moderately sized dining table. Jung Sungchan put an effort to drape it with a pretty sheet of fabric stitched with metallic gold, serving as a bed for the display of various round fruits at the center. A single melon. A bowl of oranges and kiwis beside the bed of green and red apples. You huff out a small laugh, teeth clinking against the rim of the wine glass. Even Jung Sungchan is a little superstitious. You’ve heard about the round fruits for good luck on new year’s before. It’s a miracle none of these were massacred. Save maybe for the half-eaten apple abandoned right by the sink.

Your eyes notice the package of untouched shine muscat grapes sitting soundly on the table, still covered in plastic wrap. You check the time on your phone. 11:45 p.m. Heeseung’s dumb voice echoes in your brain. Twelve grapes. Wishes. Good luck. Superstitions. God, this shit has been haunting you since November.

“Hyung! Promise me you’ll still visit the club even after you graduate, okay? Promise that you’ll—”

“Dude, you have to learn to let go! If you love someone, let them go!”

“No! I don’t want to let Yeonjun hyung go!”

Still. Just like the paper lanterns last month. Just like the damned alarm you have on your phone that rings every night when the clock strikes eleven-eleven, you find yourself falling for this bullshit again.

This is fine, right? No harm in humoring the teeniest-tiniest possibility that these affirmations will hold true? Before you know it, you have the grapes in your person, the tablecloth flung open for a glimpse of a second, and ten minutes before the new year, a singular thought runs laps inside the pitch darkness of your head in the form of the question— can you get any more fucking pathetic?

“What...what the hell are you doing?”

You wince, light leaking into your safe space under the dining table, at the same time as the intrusion of Choi Beomgyu’s voice. You look up at him. He has peeled back the tablecloth— your cover— and honestly you’re not even offended by the look of pure and absolute judgment littering his face right now. You’re judging yourself too for listening to Heeseung’s fucking stupid trick, crawling underneath the table at new year’s party for god’s sake, sitting on a dirty ass floor, a bowl of grapes on your lap, a glass of wine next to your folded up legs, and an expression not befitting the holiday spirit because you’re looking up at him like you want to die.

“I’m—I’m manifesting,” you say petulantly with a squeak, cheeks burning and refusing to explain any further for the sake of your shame and pride. It’s eleven-fifty. You hope he’d politely fuck off before midnight so you can do your business in peace.

Your eyes should be sending the message right now. Beomgyu continues to stare at you with a less than amused expression, a contemplative pause that you hope is a sign that he’s going to leave you alone. But, no. Your message does not come across because Beomgyu decides to plop down, cross-legged, right in front of you. 

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he says. Why can’t he just mind his own business? He should leave you and your grapes alone. “Sungchan’s looking for you and before I left the living room, he picked up a megaphone. Tell me what you’re scheming or else I’ll rat you out.”

“You, bitch!”

Eleven fifty-five. Shit. Choi Beomgyu doesn’t seem like he’s going to budge any time soon. His lips are pursed and he’s got the base of his palm holding up his chin. You bite down your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a sharp inhale before airing out your pathetic desperation in its rawest form.

“Like I said. I’m manifesting.”

His eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “Manifesting what exactly.”

“A fucking boyfriend.”

Whatever. Fuck it. He can make fun of you all he wants.

“Heeseung said if you eat twelve grapes from eleven fifty-nine to twelve o’one on new year’s, your wish will be granted. I—I—I looked it up because it sounded stupid, but—” You pause. You take a half a second glance at Beomgyu’s expression and decide that you are unable to look him in the eye. “Listen, Beomgyu, I’m desperate. I’m grasping at the straws here. I’m sick and tired of being single and misunderstood by all those damned fucking rumors and I know you’re nowhere near responsible, but I’m very annoyed right now, okay? So, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, please leave because there’s only, like three minutes left before twelve, and I really don’t want you deliberately ruining my chances this time, Choi Beomgyu.”

You breathe in. That. That took you an entire minute to say. Maybe you drank a little too much. Maybe you were rattling on like a maniac just now, but you can’t quite decipher Beomgyu’s reaction to your insanity. 

Is he judging you? Is he weirded out? Pitying you? Because you sure are pitying yourself right now, but you don’t fucking know because all he’s doing is looking at you dead in the eye, face unmoving, totally blank expression, and you gulp. What the hell is he getting at?

Two minutes left. You hear the premature hiss of fireworks outside. “Scoot over,” he finally says. “I can’t believe you’re doing something stupid by yourself and leaving me out.”

“Wh—what are you doing?!”

The tablecloth falls. Your vision is darkened. Choi Beomygyu is wedged right next to you underneath Sungchan’s dining table, on the dirty kitchen floor of his apartment, two minutes before the start of a new year. A new point in history. And here you are, with your friend of over twenty years who’s plucked a shiny green grape from the stem, rolling it between his fingers with an unsure look. “Twelve? We have to eat twelve of these?”

“You don’t have to do it if you’re just gonna make fun—”

Beomgyu pops the grape into his mouth. 

“How many minutes do we have again?”

You pause a little, staring into space before coughing out, “Th—three.” You put a handful of grapes into the cup of your palm to toss it all in there in one shot. It’s twelve fifty-fine. “Three minutes. Starting now.”

“Got it.”

Now, you can’t even begin to fathom the absurdity of this scene. You can hear the boys making a ruckus from the other room, yelling into the megaphone, counting down while you continue to shovel the fruit into your mouth. Eight. You have eight left. 

“Woohoo! Happy new year!”

Fireworks are bursting, music is blaring.

“Six! Five!”

Four. Four grapes left in your hands. The juice spurts into your mouth. You glance up at Beomgyu. His brows are knitted together, counting the remaining grapes he has to swallow down before the time is up. 

“Two!”

You seriously can’t believe you two are doing this. You’re about to choke, stuffing the remaining grapes into your cheeks and god forbid your obituary say that you died asphyxiating on round fruit on December 31, 11:59 p.m. Seriously. How did you get so pathetic? You swallow down the last bit of fruit while the rest of your friends are having fun outside. So single, so desperate, so pathetic. You’re never gonna eat another grape again.

“One!”

And the thought hits you 

“Happy new year!”

If you’re so single, so desperate, and so pathetic, then—

“Done!”

Beomgyu’s sudden voice causes you to jump and bump your head against the table. His eyes widen, and firm hands clasp your shoulders to pull you in. “Sorry, are you okay?” he sputters out, little panicked while one hand travels up to the top of your head— where he’d usually ruffle, tousle to ruin your hair and annoy you, but this time Beomgyu’s touch is gentle, checking to see if he’s caused any damage, while your face remains pushed down, eyes trained on the ground where your tight knuckles are pressed into. 

The fireworks haven’t stopped. There’s still a lot of noise outside, but Beomgyu’s soft voice manages to ripple through everything you hear. 

“Nothing hurts, right? You’re good?” 

He guides you to look at him, hands gingerly placed on the sides of your head, and you can feel his index fingers grazing the helix of your ears. You look at him. His former blank, judgemental stare softened with a concern that almost sounds like he’s carrying the weight of the whole universe on his shoulders, as if accidentally causing you to bump your head against the table would endanger the fate of the world.

You’re so single, so desperate, so pathetic, and also so, so stupid because why did you even waste your wishes on that paper lantern, those twelve grapes, and all the countless eleven-elevens these past months when the answer to your wish has been right in fucking front of you this entire time?

“At this point, we should just start dating.”

You gasp.

You cover your mouth, jolting up. Your voice was a little louder than you thought, and your heart sinks down into your stomach as you try to focus your rattled gaze at Beomgyu— at his face, his expression, but you don’t get to do any of that. You don’t get to laugh it off, take it back, say it was just a joke. A joke. Because just as when you open your mouth, the words threatening to jump out of your throat—

“You’re right.”

Beomgyu says something first, and none of it comes out.

“We should just do that.”

You’re not sure what you’re feeling, but it’s like your heart that got dropped right into the pits of your stomach just burst into a million, fluttering pieces.

Your breathing is ragged. Your eyes flit back up to Beomgyu. Your face flushes. Why isn’t he laughing? Why isn’t he saying it’s just a joke?

“Jesus christ—! There you two are! What the hell are you doing— oh my god, were you hooking up under the table?!”

“It’s new year’s, baby! Everyone, get crazy!”

You can’t feel your legs. You’re fished out from down there and into the mess of noises and singing and firecrackers bursting and you never get to clarify anything to Beomgyu, because he’s tugged along by Heeseung and Hyunjin for a group photo with the boys, and Sungchan and Minjeong are asking you a million questions that you can’t hear over the unfamiliar sound of your heartbeat. What...what is this? What the fuck is going on?

“Don’t tell me you actually did Heeseung’s stupid fucking trick.” 

And then it hits you.

Butterflies. There are butterflies in your stomach.

This cannot be normal. You douse them all dead with a shitload of alcohol. 

“Whoa, holy shit, that was half the bottle!”

That ought to kill the fluttering and buzzing insects. Only temporarily because the next morning, you’re hit with a different kind of buzzing.

Your head is ringing— buzzing— brain fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the mess of Jung Sungchan’s apartment. You’re in yours. In your bed. Still wearing your dress from last night under the covers. You have no idea how you got here. 

It takes a moment for your mind to settle. You groan, vision swaying when you lean over to the bedside desk to feel around for your phone. You don’t feel it. But you do feel your purse that has your phone in it. What the fuck. Seriously, how did you get home? When you turn it on, you see on your lock screen message notifications from Heeseung and Sungchan, asking if you got home safe, pictures from last night. Some of the events caught on camera, you remember happening. Some, you definitely don’t remember happening and you grow all the more concerned.

One text in particular pulls in the only memory you need to remember, though. It’s from Minjeong, saying [choi beomgyu hauled your ass home in case you’re wondering btw HAHAHHAHA i never saw you drink that much before. jesus christ].

And you freeze, the blood draining from your face as you recall just what happened during the new year’s countdown.

You might have asked out your friend of twenty years.

And he might have said yes.

Your face drops into the plush of your pillow, lurching over to let out a long, distressed scream. That fucking grape trick was more effective than you hoped. Instantaneous. Heeseung should’ve warned you of its effects, what the fuck. Your moment is ruined by the sound of dull knocking, which you can locate coming all the way from your front door. 

You pause, face still muffled into your pillow. The knocking is followed by a short pause. Then the sound of your door code beeping. Then your door unlocking.

Motherfucker, shit, fucking crap.

You throw your covers over yourself. You’re buried underneath. Choi Beomgyu can’t hurt you from down here. Maybe. God damn it, you don’t know what to do, you haven’t had the chance to think yet. The sound of footsteps from outside your room causes you to jitter. It’s still pretty far off, shuffling into the kitchen, you think, and they stop for a moment. Cupboards draw open. The sink turns on then stops. Footsteps resume. They enter your open bedroom door and you bite down a swear. Fuck it all, you’re so fucking fucked.

The desk chair behind you is pulled out, the sound of its legs screeching against the floorboards, ending with a quiet clatter. You hear a second clunk. Then the voice of someone sitting right behind your curled up and pathetic, vulnerable frame.

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck. Fuck everything.

“C’mon, get up. It’s past two in the afternoon. I can’t believe I woke up earlier than you.”

Begrudgingly, you peel yourself out from under the covers, and just as hesitantly turn yourself around to face the face you aren’t quite ready to see at the moment with squinting eyes from the bright sunlight. You hear Beomgyu let out a sigh. “You drank way too much last night. Or this morning. Whatever.” Instead of looking directly at his face, you choose to look at whatever he’s brought to your desk instead. A tray. A tray with oatmeal, aspirin, and a glass of water. Your stomach is starting to act up again. You’re not sure if it’s whatever the fuck you drank last night, or something else. “How’s your head?”

Not well, thank you very much. You can’t even manage to verbalize your comeback. Shit, just how much have you fallen after just one slip-up. Why isn’t he bringing it up anyway? Why is he acting so normal? You grunt as you sit up from your bed, head still ringing as the aftermath of last night, and set the tray right onto your lap.

You drink your water, eat your meal, and take your medicine in silence. Beomgyu doesn’t do anything to bother you. All he does is watch you with steady eyes, gaze following the movements of your hand especially when you bring the water to your lips, leaned slightly forward as if he’s ready to jump in in case you drop it because your hands are shaking a little. 

Thankfully, you don’t do that. When everything’s done, Beomgyu gets up and ducks down to get the tray off your lap, and— much to the demise of your entire nervous system— you’re forced to look at his face in such a close proximity, that you hiccup and jump back into the headboard.

Beomgyu turns up to look at you, still hunched over you. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Th—thanks?”

His eyes are fixed. His nose scrunches a little before setting the tray back down and returning to his seat. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, asshole,” you correct, getting riled up. He’s fucking smiling. Seriously, why is he being so normal? “Now, leave. I’m gonna wash up so I look less like shit.”

“Sure,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you at around four?”

You look up. “Why?”

“To take some pretty photos around the city.” He’s up again, tray in his hands to return to the kitchen. 

“Why?” you continue to squint at him.

“Why not? I didn’t bring the camera at the party because some of the guys might’ve used it as a ping pong ball, so I wasn’t able to take any photos for the new year. But it’s still the first day of the year today. Let’s go make the most out of it.”

Cheesy as hell, but you’re already all dressed and ready to go out when he barges into your apartment again. He makes an impressed holler upon seeing you, saying that you look like a human being again, and you land a kick on his shin before locking up your door, Choi Beomgyu trailing behind you with an anguished yelp.

It’s late afternoon, the streets of downtown Seoul are uncharacteristically free. Most are probably still behind the shutters, nursing their post-new year’s hangover. Some are probably back in their hometowns for the holidays. You and Beomgyu trail down the walkway. Your hands are stuffed into your pockets, him holding up the digital camera to his chest while he whips his head around, probably looking for a pretty scene to capture. You laugh, racing up your steps as you walk ahead of him. “Pick up the pace, loser,” you call out, turning half-around to provoke him with a snicker.

Your lips quirk just in time for the sound of a click to stop your backwards walk. Beomgyu has the camera up to his face. He puts it down, grinning. 

“Hey!” You’ve halted in your steps, stomping down a single foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Like I said.” Beomgyu hums and looks down at the shot he just took, a satisfied look on his face upon inspection before flicking his eyes back up to you. “Taking pretty photos. Let’s go near the crosswalk. I think a shot would be nice there.”

You thought you were just going to accompany him on this excursion but somehow, you got roped into being a subject in the countless photos he’s taking. On the sidewalk. By a tree in the park. In the arcade. In the middle of walking into the facade of a cafe. Most of his shots are taken without warning, causing you to throw a mini-tantrum immediately after the taunting sound of the shutter. But all he does is laugh and shield the camera from you, assuring you that you look fine, that it’s pretty, that you guys should hurry off because the evening is nearing, and you’d just have to huff and and surrender and move on, else he’d notice the warmth on your cheeks and the stirring in your stomach.

“Ah, I want to try the mocha cake.”

“Then order it?”

“Now, I don’t want to because you’re telling me to.”

“You’re ten years old.”

“Nyenye, you’re ten years— hi! We’d like an iced matcha latte, iced americano, and a coffee mocha cake, please. Dine in, yes. Thanks.”

The things he’s always done that seemed so, so natural that you never even put a second thought to them suddenly linger in the forefront of your thoughts. The way he puts his lips on your straw even though you know he hates matcha just to annoy you. The way your hands rest on the table, his fingers tapping on your knuckles while droning on a rant about some game you don’t even know the name of. The way he naturally brushes a crumb off your face, shares a dessert with you, holds up the last bit of cake and icing on the fork in front of your mouth for you to have. Really, nothing has changed. Nothing has, but it feels like your entire life just got turned upside down thanks to the event of last night— of which neither of you are even addressing.

You still show up to each other’s places unannounced. You still go to 7-Eleven ice cream runs at three in the morning. You still shove your face into his arm while watching horror movies and screaming bloody murder, but nothing happens beyond that. 

Not once have you brought up the conversation you had under the table at the strike of the new year. Not even after a month has passed since then. 

It’s now the beginning of February, and you’re on campus to register for your classes next month. While there, you’re forced into the coding club room by the pest named Lee Heeseung. He rattles into your ear on the way there, talking about how they’re currently polishing the game they submitted to TXT Inc. (Which won. He never fails to emphasize that). When you get there, you’re jumped by three more boys wanting you to try out the said winning game. 

“C’mon, just give it a shot!” Hyunjin bulldozes you into the computer corner.

“We’ll walk you through!” Yeonjun chimes in right after. 

“I’m not— I’m not interested in your—” Jeongin sits you down on the seat. Heeseung is covering your path to escape. Yeonjun and Hyunjin are on the other side. God damn it. Where’s Hanbin? Where’s the only normal person here? Heeseung is messing with keyboard and mouse, the screen immediately loading, and you’re greeted by what appears to be a first person shooter game that honestly looks...pretty good? Wow. They actually worked hard on this. 

“What are you guys doing?”

All five of you turn your heads back to the door. It’s Beomgyu. He’s got a backpack on him, which he tosses off to the sofa before walking up to your huddle. “Great! You’re here!” Hyunjin welcomes him in. Beomgyu finds a spot in between Heeseung and Jeongin, curious eyes glancing down at you. “We’re trying to get her to play our game!”

“Oh?” Beomgyu hums, leaning down against the back of your chair. “Sounds fun. Go ahead. I want to see this too.”

Do they enjoy fucking with you this much? Is this their favorite hobby? For some reason, clicking start is making you more nervous than you expected. Your hand is literally shaking on the mouse and you can hear Heeseung snorting at the way your other hand is positioned on the keyboard. “I hate all of you,” you announce, the stage loading. “I really hate all of you.”

“This is gonna be fun,” Jeongin assures from behind you. “The controls are simple. You just—”

“No, let her figure things out by herself.”

“Okay, it’s start—”

“Go, go, go! Run! Start shooting!”

“What?! Shoot what?!”

“The enemies! No, no, you’re going the wrong way don’t—”

“What is this?! What’s going on?!”

“Oh my god, this is hilarious.”

“Am I dead? Is it over?”

“Dude,” Heeseung lurches over, laughing and wheezing. “You’re so bad. You suck.”

Beomgyu is also laughing with them. You give him a side-eye. He immediately shuts up, clearing his throat, but obviously still smiling in avid amusement. “Let’s try that again,” he says. “I’ll help you this time.”

He cracks his knuckles, teiling Jeongin to scoot over so he’s the one directly behind you now. No, you don’t want to try again. You start turning around, but are immediately stopped with a quiet squeak because Beomgyu leans forward, pushing the office chair further into the desk, and you stiffen when his arms stretch out to cage you in. “What—what are you doing?” you sputter. 

“These guys aren’t gonna leave you alone until you finish a level,” he simply says. His hands rest over yours on the keyboard, on the mouse. He’s pressed up against your upper back, your shoulders. He’s way too fucking close. 

“Awh. This is way less fun.”

At this point, your eyes aren’t even registering the screen, and Beomgyu is basically playing the game himself. The shooting noises and fighting sounds from the speakers run dull. Dizzy. You feel dizzy. “Nice! Good job,” he says. His low voice is a rumble right into your ears. “Hey, you’re doing it. Nice shot.”

You shoot up, nearly headbutting him in the process.

“What’s up?”

“Restroom,” you squeak out. “I need to go to the restroom.”

The cold splash of water against your face is very effective. You’re at the restroom, hands gripping the edges of the sink as you stare at your drenched face at the mirror. There are things that you can’t ignore anymore. You two should address what’s up as soon as possible. Otherwise, you’re going to go insane.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Not now, though. You...you just haven’t gathered enough courage yet to talk to him about it yet.

“Pass me the pillow.”

Right now, you’re on your living room floor, the aftermath of your takeout lunch on the coffee table, and Beomgyu grabs a cushion from behind him on the couch and pats it down onto your laps, eyes glued to your laptop screen, a dog grooming YouTube video playing.

There’s still a little bit less than a month before the semester starts. Beomgyu is supposed to leave for Daegu in a bit. The Chois have a family event back home, and they invited you as well, but you promised to accompany Jung Sungchan for a seminar later this afternoon, so you had to decline. Beomgyu’s brother is in the city, so he doesn’t have to drive or commute all the way there. He’s gonna get picked up in like, thirty minutes, so he decided to wait around and loiter at your place for the time being.

The entire time he’s been here, seemingly unbothered and unchanged even after the new year’s thing, you’ve been trying to get your shit together and just clear the air. What the fuck are you two now? Does he even remember what happened? Or is he just trying to sweep it under the rug? Is he overthinking about it just as much as you are right now? What the hell is going on?

“What are you thinking about?”

The video he’s watching has ended. His attention is now completely on you.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Yeon—Yeonjun seonbae is the only graduating student from the club, right?”

“Ah. Yeah,” he hums in affirmation. He twists his body a bit, crossed-legs slightly turned towards you, and he places an arm on the sofa seat, head resting on the knuckles of his hand. “The guys are planning on throwing a party this weekend to celebrate. To, you know, send him off.”

“He’s probably gonna end up crying again, isn’t he.” You attempt to dissuade your brain for now. 

“Oh, definitely,” he laughs. “We’re gonna set up cameras in the clubroom. He won’t be safe.”

Bzzt bzzt. The both of you look at his vibrating phone on the table, right next to your laptop. Beomgyu grunts in annoyance (and slight back pain), pulling himself up to grab the device. You silently watch while he takes the call. He looks so annoyed. You’d be making fun of him right now if your brain wasn’t in so much of a mess.

“Hyung,” Beomgyu whines into the phone. “What do you mean meet you at the gas station? That’s so inconvenient. Ugh, fine. What time are you gonna be there?” You shoot him a thumbs up. He pushes it down, hand enclosing the back of your fist, and he continues complaining into the phone. “Just text me before you start driving. Yeah, she’s here. Do you wanna say hi?”

He hands you his phone. You clear your throat and put it up to your ear with your free hand. “Hi, hyung, how have you been? Yeah, he’s at my place again. A freeloader— exactly!” Beomgyu squeezes your knuckles at that remark, visibly pouting and offended. You brush him off. “Ah, yeah. Sorry I can’t join you guys. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Beomgyu snatches the phone back. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wait for you there. Bye, hyung. Later.”

The end of the call signals that you two should maybe start cleaning up. You throw out the boxes, wash the dishes and cups you used and tidy up the living room floor and couch. Beomgyu is grumbling the entire time, asking if you really have to attend the stupid seminar later. “I’m not gonna flake on my friends, Beomgyu.” You lean against the doorway with your arms crossed, seeing him out. He frowns. “You’re gonna be gone for three days right?” 

“Yeah,” he responds, audibly deflated. 

A huff of air blows past your lips. Three days. You should just talk to him once he gets back. “Have you packed already? Need any help?”

“No, I already took care of everything last night.”

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed. “That’s so unlike you. You’re well prepared for once.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond to your jab with the same energy. “I didn’t want to spend the entire morning packing when I can use it to spend a bit more time with you.” 

Instead, he decides to be sweet. Honest. 

You feel your rib cage rattle, your stomach stir. “O—oh,” you rasp out. “Um.”

“What’s with the look?” he laughs a little, taking a step forward. Your back is still pressed against the doorframe. Beomgyu’s arm reaches up further above your head, pushing himself closer. “I thought that much was obvious when I knocked at your door at nine in the morning.”

When you follow his gaze, you can tell that his eyes are tracing the lines on your lips, eyelids heavy. Your breath hitches in your throat. Shit. Oh my god. Is he going to kiss you? Is he leaning it to kiss you? You’re about to freak the fuck out and Beomgyu seems to notice that. He pulls back, allowing the air to circulate back into your lungs, and he lets out a sigh. 

His arm falls down to his side. “You can still take it back,” he says. You look at him, brows furrowed. What? Take what back? Beomgyu waits for you to answer, and when you don’t, he decides that it’s best to be more clear. “We can pretend like what happened on new year’s didn’t happen— uh, remain with what we’re used to if you’re not fine with this. If you think we’re better off as friends like we’ve always been, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh. Oh. You weren’t ready to talk about this yet. You planned to talk about this three days later, but when did your plans ever work? Never. 

Beomgyu attempts a smile and starts heading back to his apartment. “We can talk more once I get back so you can think about it. I’ll go get my—”

“No, wait.”

You grab hold of his arm. Beomgyu turns back, surprised. 

“I’ve al—already been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking a lot.” Crap. Your throat is dry. You didn’t plan any of this. You weren’t expecting to say this to him right now at all. “What I’m saying is—”

Choi Beomgyu looks a little expectant. You suck in a sharp breath. This feels weird. It’s like there’s something jittering at the base of your stomach. Many things, fluttering all the way up to your ribcage and throat and causing your cheeks to flare up.

“We...we can give it a try.”

There. You said it. You finally fucking said it and you can breathe again. Your gaze focuses on Beomgyu, heart racing, and his expression is yet again indecipherable.

He takes a step towards you. Your nerves jolt when you feel his touch on the arch of your spine, pulling you in even closer. “You sure?” 

You let out a squeak. “Tech—technically, I was the one who asked you out, so shouldn’t I— shouldn’t I take responsibility…?”

Beomgyu takes a moment’s pause at your resolution. You’re nervous. You’re so nervous right now that you might have severely fucked up. He looks at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to avert your eyes, face flushed from the heat of the moment, only for him to release the tension with a big laugh, fully embracing you by the waist, and dropping his head down onto your shoulder before lifting it back up to look at you with a wide smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

This time, when he leans in again, doesn’t draw back midway. 

You feel his lips on yours and your eyes flutter wide open, heart rate spiking up and up and up until your lips part, him kissing you deeper, until you can’t keep them open anymore. Beomgyu’s hold around your waist loosens, one hand traveling up to the back of your head before it could collide with the doorframe when you stumble back as you lose the strength in your knees, and before you know it, you’ve got your hands tangled in his hair, dizzy and short-winded and making you think that this— this isn’t so bad.

He draws his lips back with a heavy exhale. “God,” he sighs out as the heat of his breath hits your skin. Your foreheads are pressed together, eyes hazy and cloudy when he leans in again, mumbling into your mouth, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

The reverie ends when a jolt of self-consciousness hits you belatedly. Your hands travel down to his chest, barely pushing off in a surge of sudden panic. Your face is burning, your lips feel fuzzy, and Beomgyu looks both surprised and disappointed which makes the churning in your stomach even worse. “A—a—aren’t you supposed to go now?” you stutter out, still a little breathless. Holy shit. That just happened. 

“You’re right,” Beomgyu responds. “I should go now.” But his body language isn’t showing any signs of leaving. You wait for him to budge. He doesn’t.

Somehow, you manage to push him off you and finally drag him out of the building with his backpack in tow, much to his whines and protests. His brother has been endlessly calling him with all calls left unanswered except for this one. “I’m going! I’m almost there.” He is not. He’s at the bottom steps of the apartment building. 

“Text me when you arrive,” you tell him, ready to head back inside. Beomgyu pockets his phone, looking more alive than ever and it’s annoying you a little.

“Mhm,” he hums in response. His eyes flicker down, debating whether or not to put whatever he’s thinking about with that into action, but decides against it and settles for a rough pat and a ruffle on your head instead, pressing out a small smile. “See you when I get back.” You wave him goodbye as he disappears out into the road. He sends you a text the moment he meets up with his brother.

It’s still a little awkward. You still can’t wrap your mind around this change after being nothing more than just two good friends for two decades. You’re just glad he isn’t trying to rush it. What doesn’t change is his incessantly annoying texts every goddamned hour throughout the three days he’s away. 

And indeed, you do see him when he gets back. He’s supposed to go shopping for the Yeonjun farewell party tomorrow anyway, so you decide to meet him at the station and just proceed to the store immediately after. When he departs from the train and sees you waiting amidst the crowd, he immediately comes rushing over like a puppy. Christ, Minjeong was right. 

Admittedly, you can’t get used to this yet. He’s always been touchy, but they’ve always been subtle. Devouring you into a bone crushing embrace to the point where all you can see and feel with your face is the fur of his jacket isn’t exactly subtle. The sounds of trains zipping, people chatting flood your senses. You quite frankly, cannot breathe. “Hey, chill out. It’s literally been only three days.”

“Bleh, whatever. Chill out, fuck off. Just let me have this.”

Your attempts to wrestle your way out of this good-natured suffocation is fruitless. You used to be able to push him around like nothing back in middle school. How far you have fallen.

“We still have errands to run,” you grunt out, managing to at the very least pop your head out from being smothered into his chest. He looks down at you, bitterly clicking his tongue and loosening his grip a bit. “Jeez, do you like me or something?”

That was supposed to be a joke. Beomgyu doesn’t find it very funny because he suddenly draws back, arms crossed and expression utterly exasperated. “Are you serious? Are you an idiot?”

“I was just pushing your buttons, stupid,” you shoot him a glare, taking advantage of your freedom to start walking ahead and out of the station.

“You’re stupid.”

There isn’t a day where Beomgyu doesn’t decide to irritate the crap out of you. He’s walking behind you. He’s stepping on the back of your shoes and bumping into you like a sixth grader. “Quit it!”

“Make me.”

He’s so annoying. He continues being annoying even at the event supplies stores downtown, where you’re picking up some streamers and party hats for tomorrow. You and he debate between hot pink and baby pink for the color theming. Rock paper scissors declare hot pink the winner and you get paper plates and cups in matching colors. “By the way,” Beomgyu starts, putting in two party poppers into the basket once you’re done loading up the utensils. “I met up with some of the guys from highschool yesterday. You know. Seungmin and Jimin. They were back in town for the holidays as well.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember them,” you respond, not very enthusiastically. The memory still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth like a permanent carpet burn. Beomgyu notices you shooting daggers at the innocent, inflated teddy bear balloon right in front of you. He tugs on your hand and leads you to the checkout counter before you can vent your temper at the poor balloon. “Anyway, how are they? Did you guys hang out?”

“Same old. We hit up the PC room for old times sake,” he hums, waiting as the cashier buzzes your items. “Actually, our high school batch is apparently planning a small reunion or get together of some sorts here in Seoul. They’re asking if we wanted to attend too.”

Well. You don’t exactly want to mingle with a bunch of kids that you weren’t even close with back then. And your social battery is already beyond depleted and has had no chance of ever getting a full recovery after all the events from December to January.

You mull it over while the counter finishes bagging your things. The both of you decide to make a pitstop at a nearby cafe. After ordering, you two pick a table on the outside porch because the weather is nice out. Beomgyu drags the metal chair from across so that he’s sitting next to you. Again, Kim Minjeong might’ve been onto something when she called him a puppy with severe attachment issues. The server comes by with your order. Your caffeine intake has been atrocious so you opted for a lychee drink instead, and he settles with a regular latte. Beomgyu hums out a tune while stirring his coffee, playfully hooking his opposite leg with yours underneath the table.

“About the reunion thing,” you chime up. “Will Chaeryoung be there?” 

“How should I know,” he grimaces after trying out your drink. At this point, you think he’s faking it. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

He just keeps pushing your buttons today. “Hey, jerk.” You snatch back the drink from under his chin, visibly provoked. “Why have you gotten even more annoying now that we’re— we’re. We’re—”

Your initial attitude is immediately gone. You choke on your words, one left unsaid because at this point it’s still a little fucking embarrasing, especially with how Choi Beomgyu’s is eyeing you with a shit eating expression while taking a sip from his coffee.

“Now that we’re what?” he hums in provocation, smiling that annoying smile of his with twinkling eyes. “C’mon. Say it.”

“Fuck you, nevermind—”

“No, I want to hear this! Now what we’re what?” Suddenly, he’s twisting over his chair to directly face you. You groan and quickly jerk away when you notice he’s enjoying this a little too much. You seriously want to sock him in the face. “Do you want me to stop being annoying? Hey! Hey, look at me!”

You let out a squeak when you feel his palms on your warm cheeks, turning your head to face him in bewilderment and you panic and hold onto your chair. “What the hell are you—”

“Tell me,” he interrupts. “What do you want me to do?”

This bastard wants to kill you via heart failure. Any ability to speak coherently has completely left your body.. “I, uh, well—”

“Hm?” he touts even further. “What was that?”

You hate him. You hate him so much. You want to hide and bury your face into the ground, and he’s just visibly laughing at you like a sick freak.

Beomgyu finally releases his hold on your face to snatch both of your hands instead. He pulls them towards his chest, but his eyes remain on you, the sheer amusement never leaving his gaze. “Do you want me to be sweeter?” he hums, tracing his thumbs over your knuckles before pressing a light kiss in between the narrow gap. “I can do that.”

His eyes are still trained on you, almost taunting.

“Baby?”

Then the sun spits on your face and you feel the primal instinct to book it and run away.

“Sweetie?” He tugs you forward, pulling your forearms into his chest, just in time for him to land a peck on your nose. “Darling?”

But you can’t run away. No. Because Choi Beomgyu has you hostage while he attacks you with an onslaught of cringey endearments and butterfly kisses on the face to remind you that he is, in fact, strong now, and you can’t do anything about it. Had you known he was going to torment you like this, you should’ve just taken it all back.

“Ow! Why are you hitting me, I’m just doing what you wanted me to do— ow! Then again, dipshit does suit you better than—ow! This is assault!” 

“You’re assault!” you screech out, finally managing to retrieve your bearings and you immediately cross your arms over the table, next to your barely touched lychee drink, and bury your face, never to see the light of day ever again. You hear Beomgyu having the time of his life next to you, laughing like an asshole. You send a blind kick in his direction. It hits. His cackling stops and he makes another pained noise.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” you hear him say. Then you hear the squeak of the chair, a bump on your elbow, and you peek out to see him laying his head on his crossed arms on the table as well, facing you. “I was just happy to see you again.”

You stare at him. How the fuck are you supposed to keep protesting when he’s being like this. “Beomgyu, you were gone for three days.”

“Three days too long,” he whines, muffling himself into his sleeves. “I’m with you every single day. I was suffering from withdrawals especially when my parents and your parents kept asking me why I didn’t bring you this year.” He tosses his head back up, suddenly looking at you with narrowed eyes and petulantly pursed lips. “And to think that when I got back, all I’ve been getting are swears and punches and rejection and— ah, my heart is wounded. I won’t ever recover from this. Never, ever, not even in a million— mmph!”

Choi Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, the tips of his fingers lifted up to his slightly parted mouth after you’d just shot up to shut up his never ending yapping by kissing him. There’s a heavy blush on his cheeks and even though yours are a little warm too, the corner of your lips involuntarily quirk upward. Holy shit. So, this is how it feels to be on the attacking end. Choi Beomgyu, you can eat shit and die. “Hah. Two can play it that game, fuckf—”

“Oh my god?!”

Your victory is cut short. Your blood runs cold. You should’ve remembered that you’re on the outside deck of a cafe right now, where people can just freely pass by and see you. You two are, in fact, seen, not just by any people. 

With the creaks of hesitance in your joints, you turn to the sound of the very appalled, very alarmed, very familiar voice. There, you see Kim Minjeong and Sung Hanbin standing with shopping bags, some of which have fallen on the floor, all of which are for what you assume is Yeonjun’s farewell party. The former looks at you in horror. The latter is just smiling and waving. “What the fuck did I just see?” Minjeong croaks out. “Tell me, what the fuck did I just see?”

“I—I can explain!” you quickly sputter out. You turn to Beomgyu for help, but the fucker is still lost in a lovestruck daze. Oh my god. You want to die.

“Congratulations,” Hanbin happily remarks. You want to die very much. Maybe at the hands of Minjeong because she’s marching up the deck and her eyes are on fire. 

Somehow, you manage to smooth things over. You fill them in with what happened on new year, and Minjeong says she saw this coming but still can’t accept it because you’re way too good for Beomgyu, which snaps him out of it and they get into a squabble. “So you approved of Jang Seung but not me?!” Hanbin is all smiles, though, and he promised to keep it a secret from the rest of the coding club guys for now because you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if they find out. Heeseung especially. Oh god. It’s going to be a disaster.

The disaster comes not even twenty-four hours later, at Yeonjun’s farewell party. 

Most of the morning, you all spend the time to decorate the clubroom and set up all the cameras to record Yeonjun’s inevitable sobfest. Hot pink and white streamers are hung around and about. There are balloons on the wall spelling CONGRATULATIONS, Y3ONJUN! because there weren’t any letter E’s available. The boxes of pizza and chicken arrive. Jeongin walks in with a cake. You’re all decked out in party hats and birthday trumpets while waiting for the man of the hour to arrive.

“Pink or brighter pink?” Beomgyu asks, holding up the two cones for your perusal. You’re both wedged in a corner in the room, slightly detached from the rest of the group scuttling by the door.

“First one,” you hum, and he draws the string down, tapping the cone cap on the crown of your head while he slowly lets go of the string once it’s set underneath your chin. Beomgyu takes a step back, examining his work, before nodding into a satisfied smile and putting his own party hat on himself.

He’s. He’s so dumb. You brush off a smile with the shake of your head, and in doing so you inadvertently lock eyes with Heeseung, who seems to have witnessed the entire exchange and is now squinting at you— like he’s trying to understand something. Clearing your throat, you look away before he can take your eye contact as an invitation to talk, and Heeseung is just about to approach when the clubroom door clatters open, a series of party poppers go off, confetti shoots out, right in time for Yeonjun to step in, eyes wide in half-fear, half-surprise.

“Wh—whoa, what? Hey, what’s going on?”

In a matter of seconds, things escalate. Congratulations are yelled out. Some happy birthdays (whatever makes them happy). The pink graduation cake is released. It takes a moment for Yeonjun to let it all sink in, and when it does, the boys’ predictions are ultimately proven correct because he tries to play it off that he’s definitely, absolutely not crying (he is). 

They laugh at him, make fun of him, and group hugs are shared. It’s all very silly and very cute. You’re on photo taking duty until Hyunjin pulls you into their mess of limbs and yelling and sobs until you’re finally able to wiggle out back into your corner. 

Beomgyu returns to your corner with a slice of cake on a paper plate, two forks, and a dollop of icing on the tip of his nose. 

“Is that a new look you’re trying?” you laugh, taking one of the forks on the plate.

“What are you talking about?” His brows are furrowed. You tap on your nose. Beomgyu mirrors your movement, still confused until he feels the smudge of icing, and he draws his hand away with disgust. “God damn it. Jeongin, that rat.” Despite his desire for revenge, Choi Beomgyu doesn’t leave the corner. He stays there with you, watching all the rest of the boys making a mess as you share your cake, plucking off a crumb from the corner of your mouth while you wheeze at Heeseung trying and failing to pin the tail on the Yeonjun-donkey. 

“Idiot, to your left! Left! That’s not your—”

“Hey, hold still for a sec—”

“Are you directionally— oh!”

Lee Heeseung rips off his blindfold— ready to whine at you— but that intention immediately simmers down to something else when he snaps his head just in time for him to witness Beomgyu touching your face and getting away with it unscathed. You jolt. Heeseung’s eyes are narrowed at you. “Hey, what’s going—”

“We got a noise complaint! ICT publication from next door!”

“Ugh, party poopers.”

“Choi Beomgyu, go deal with it.”

Thank god for that interruption. The man in question doesn’t seem as happy about it, though. “What? Why me?” he groans in protest. You see Heeseung pause mid-stride towards the both of you.

“Because we need someone with charisma to make sure we don’t get in trouble and Yeonjun hyung is useless right now.” Hyunjin reasons. Cut to Yeonjun who’s still sobbing his eyes out at the paper roll of messages you guys wrote for him. He really is useless. Beomgyu sees the waterworks and lets out another grunt.

“Ugh.” Pouting, Beomgyu turns back to you, handing you the plate and finishing it off by messing up your hair. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Quit acting like you won’t miss me, meanie.”

You stick your tongue out. Beomgyu rolls his eyes and heads off with Hyunjin outside to deal with the complaint, hooking the latter by the neck with his arm. You’re about to finish up your cake when Heeseung replaces Beomgyu’s spot. You nearly choke on the damn thing when he suddenly bolts up saying, “Hey. Why the fuck are you two acting so weird?”

“Jesus fucking—” you cough. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The look of suspicion never leaves Heeseung’s face. You can feel it— cold sweat breaking. Shit. Is this it? Is this the end of your peace and quiet? “Beomgyu has been all up in your space since we started preparing and at this point, you would’ve sworn at him at least two dozen times already,” he starts. “I haven’t heard your unrecyclable mouth utter even a shit or damn. There hasn’t even been any bickering and it’s freaking me out.”

Of all times, why does he decide to be perceptive now? You can’t even muster up a response. Thank god he’s a yapper because he fills in the silence himself.

“Well, whatever,” Heeseung simply shrugs. “I guess that’s a good thing because my ears are spared from your potty mouth just for today.” 

He’s perceptive but not sharp. Today, you are saved. “Go suck a dick.”

“That’s the spirit. Back to normal.” Your friend grins and gives you a thumbs up. You shoot him a glare and he blocks your punch with his palm. “But did something happen? The vibe between you and he is a little different. How do I put it?” You struggle to remove your fist from the bastard’s grip, but he doesn’t let you budge while he continues to ponder. “It’s like you’re a couple of high schoolers who just started dating or some shit, haha. Something like that.”

You rip your hand away and press it close to your chest.

“Yo, what’s with the face?”

Turns out, your good for nothing friend has been speaking a little too loud that it’s gotten quiet. Quiet in anticipation because everyone in the room is looking at you right now— including Beomgyu, who’d just gotten back with Hyunjin after their successful mission. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asks. You gulp. You look at Beomgyu, who’s a little taken aback by what’s going down. Oh, you’re so fucking screwed.

“Wait, why aren’t you denying it?”

How could you when Choi Beomgyu is looking straight at you? Sure, you don’t want them to find out, but you don’t have the heart to deny it and make Beomgyu upset, either! You remain quiet for five, sixe seconds— several seconds too late because they construe your silence as a yes, and Heeseung’s eyes start beaming, and it gets loud again, and your face is starting to grow way too hot for you to handle

“Oh my god? Oh my fucking god? Oh my god, my biggest wish is finally happening— guys! Guys!”

That’s it. It’s over. It’s all over. The news spreads like wildfire, but it’s all Heeseung’s hearsay until a confirmation comes out from either of you two’s mouths. Heeseung is shaking you by the shoulders. Yeonjun is crying even more. Hanbin is watching everything with a smile and he sends you an assuring thumbs up, but you don’t feel assured at all. From the corner of your eye, you can also see Beomgyu getting assaulted. He’s got Hyunjin and Jeongin yelling at him from both sides. He looks like he’s getting a migraine.

“Is it true?! Did you two really decide to date?”

“No way! Not with how adamantly she’s been against—”

“Wait, this isn’t our business, we shouldn’t—”

“Who asked who out? C’mon, you gotta tell us!”

Despite it all, Beomgyu’s usually loud mouth remains quiet. He says nothing to them. Instead, he meets eyes with you from across the room— a cock of his head, a slight raise of his brow as if to say just give me the signal, what do you want me to do? 

You feel as though you’ve already been asking him for too many favors this year. You suck in a sharp inhale, and, while ignoring Heeseung’s vigorous shaking of your person, answer Hyunjin’s question in his stead. “I did,” you said. “I asked him. On new year’s. Under the table.”

Heeseung suddenly freezes. You squeeze your eyes shut and look down, cheeks burning. Then you hear a scream.

“You?! You?!”

“This is crazy. What the fuck, I don’t believe it.”

“I knew it! I knew something big happened then! Gosh, I fucking knew it!”

“You were barely conscious then, how could you know—”

“About time, really.”

“Hey, I’m so happy for you two,” Yeonjun suddenly saunters up to you, eyes red and threatening to spill again. He sniffles and pulls you into a hug. “I’m just so...so—”

And your shoulder is wet. You give him a few pats on the bag as you watch Beomgyu fed off his rabid fans from jumping him while he attempts to move closer to you. He manages to succeed by announcing that he needs to talk to you in private and then go crazy. He doesn’t succeed as much in prying Yeonjun off of you, though. You’re both suffocated in a group hug and best wishes from the soon-to-graduate club member. 

“Hey, I hope none of you have forgotten who this party is actually for,” you raise in the hopes of dissuading the situation. Which works. Somehow. You’re in no position to question a blessing from the skies.

“Sideshow over! Time to watch the message video—”

“Where’s the cord? Whose laptop are we using again?”

“Hey, nobody leaves until we clean everything up! Jeongin, I’m looking at you.”

Regardless, Heeseung wouldn’t leave you alone until you fess everything up to him. Even after the party, he kept texting and calling you to tell him the how, what, where, and why. Mostly because he wanted to confirm that he has all the credit of introducing you both through that blind date. It was very funny to see his entire world shatter when you told him that you and Beomgyu had known each other since forever. He stopped bothering you after that and decided it’s not fun anymore to tease you.

Unfortunately, the rest of his club members haven’t tired themselves out yet. When Beomgyu told them he wasn’t gonna join their night out this weekend because you guys had the high school reunion thing he mentioned to you the other day, they refused to believe him and that he was just making an excuse to spend time with you. You owe Hwang Hyunjin a punch to the gut. He must’ve forgotten that there was a reason he was scared of you the first time you met.

Anyhow, those headaches are set aside because you have a different headache to deal with— that is, the impending hell of meeting your high school classmates again. You contacted Chaeryoung the other day, asking if she’s also attending and she responded with a sudden call, which turned into a two-hour catching up session. Needless to say, you have no choice but to show up now. 

It’s the day of, and you’re getting ready inside the bedroom apartment. There’s soft music humming through the turntable Beomgyu gave you as a Christmas gift, loaded with the record you bought last month. It’s the same song he played onstage two months ago. The room is dimmed, the bronze ceiling light the only thing illuminating the walls, floor, the bedsheet you’re sinking into and the mess of makeup items scattered about, as well as Choi Beomgyu’s face that’s inches away from yours— a focused look of concentration etched on his pursed lips as he brings up a brush up to your cheekbone.

“Hey, stop that! It tickles!” you laugh, albeit unwillingly, as you swat his hand away. “If you mess up I’m gonna have to wipe my entire face off and start over.” You feel your phone vibrating next to your hand that’s pressed into the mattress. Must be from Chaeryoung. You look down to grab it, but Beomgyu taps on the side of your jaw, lifting your face up to look at him.

“Who cares? We’re already late anyway.” His brows are all knitted up in concentration, wielding your lipstick wand like it’s a scalpel and he’s about to perform open heart surgery. Why is he taking this so seriously? He barged in while you were putting on makeup earlier and bragged that he could actually be pretty good at this, and you egged him on to prove it. So far, he’s been all talk, sweating after tapping on barely any product on your cheeks with your blush brush. “Stay still, dipshit. Unless you want to end up looking like a clown.”

“I’ll kill you if you mess up.”

“Then maybe shut your mouth for a sec.”

“Nyeye, then maybe shut your mouth for a—”

“Shush! I’m concentrating!”

You muffle down a laugh, seeing him try so hard. You can see the sweat bead trailing down his forehead as he lifts up your chin with one hand and now brings a shade of lipstick to your lips with the other. There’s a jitter of hesitation the moment you feel the product brush against your lips— a light press and a pause. You look up at his eyes but he’s not looking at yours. And then you watch as Beomgyu’s takes a deep breath while clumsily applying the product in a rush, mumbling something you can’t quite hear under his breath, and he twists the wand back into its container before tossing it onto your bed.

“What was that?” you ask, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. You can see him even under this dim light. You can see just how red his ears are. You fight back the urge to laugh and make fun of him outright. You need a different strategy to win against him. “What did you say?”

Beomgyu is still not looking at you. He’s not fighting against your grip, but the heat has traveled down to his neck as he continues to look away. “I said pretty,” he coughs out, then repeats, “your lips are pretty.” Your grip loosens. He takes this as an opportunity to peek at you once more. Which proves to be the wrong move. “No, your entire face is pretty. What the hell? How am I supposed to make fun of you now? This is pissing me off.”

You don’t recall giving him any blush, but Choi Beomgyu is blushing red when he stomps out of your room in a fit. You’re flustered yourself, but your annoyance and confusion overtakes any other emotion as you quickly gather your purse and phone and wallet to catch up to him and his sudden tantrum.

“Now, why the fuck would that piss you off, you dick?!”

You’re both in your living room now. Beomgyu is throwing on his coat when he snarks back, “See! Because it doesn’t match your vulgar mouth and nasty personality!”

“You talk as if you’re any better than me, fuckface.” Somehow, you’re both on your way out now, walking down the hallway and down the stairs to the lobby as your…civilized conversation continues. “In fact, your mouth is way worse than mine.”

“Lies!” he barks back. You’re both out of the building now. “Statistically speaking, you swear exponentially more times than me.”

“You failed our statistics and probability final in ninth grade. Don’t get smart with me. And should I show you the voice recordings Heeseung sends me whenever you two are playing a game? Your mother would cry if she heard them.”

“I can’t believe you’re using my own strategy against me.” Now, you’re walking to the parking lot and even while he’s ranting, Beomgyu manages to lead you right to his car. “And mind you, those are exceptional circumstances. In general and on average, you are the worst offender of all. There isn’t a day where you don’t tell me to fuck off or eat shit, and I’m not the only victim. There’s Heeseung. There’s Sungchan. There’s—”

His throat holds his words hostage. You are being held hostage in between him and his car when he leans in to open the passenger door for you, hand already on the handle, but Beomgyu remains unmoving. His lips are pressed tightly, together and a wrinkle creases the space between his eyebrows.

Then, he breathes out a swear.

“Dammit.”

His grip leaves the door, cups your cheeks, and lunges in for a kiss like a crazy person.

The first moment, you’re shocked and wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck is this idiot trying to pull. The next moment, you find yourself getting swept up in his insanity, wide eyes fluttering close with your arms around his neck, securing another five minutes of tardiness to the event, and the five minutes end with his exhaled breaths warming up your lips amidst the cold evening. “I swear to god, Choi Beomgyu,” you grunt, barely shoving him away. What was the point of his whole make-up guru charade earlier? What was the point if he was gonna smudge it all off anyway? “There’s seriously something wrong with you.”

Your complaint is met by a pout and him retaliating by pulling you in with one arm, and his free hand finding its way to your face. “Is this your way of breaking up with me?”

He’s insufferable. “You wish.”

“No, I don’t,” is his quick reply. It almost made your heart stutter— even more so when he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips with the disappointed click of his tongue. “Sorry I ruined your lipstick. I’ll fix it in the car.”

You smack his hand away, covering your face with the back of your hand. “It was ruined the moment you put it on!” You quickly whisk yourself into the car, finally. Beomgyu follows into the driver’s seat not long after, but not without yelling out his self-defense.

“Hey, I did a pretty good job! I just need a bit more practice!”

Sometime in the middle of the car ride, the argument fizzled out and got replaced by his playlist, and a conversation on when you’d be coming back home to Daegu before the semester starts since your mom wants to show off the new sofa set she bought. It’s very cozy, she says, with the only downside being the fact that it’s too cozy to the point that your dad’s evening naps have become more frequent.

It’s just mindless meandering on the way to the venue— a karaoke room at Grand Hyatt Hotel that you and the rest of your attending batchmates chipped in to book. Of the thirty students from your batch, twenty-three confirmed attendance including Beomgyu and yourself. Of the other twenty-one people, you’re only close with one of them.

Maybe your endless prattling about your mom’s new cushions and throw pillows to distract yourself from why you even volunteered yourself to attend. Maybe you’re just using Chaeryeong as an excuse to validate yourself and witness exactly how much you’ve and everyone else has changed since highschool in spite of your vocalized disinterest. 

“You good?” 

The car engine has stopped humming. The streetlight road has been replaced by a dim hotel parking lot, and you turn to see the dim image of Choi Beomgyu’s blurry face eyeing you in concern. You recall his initial surprise when you voiced out your intent on coming with him this evening. Not that he’d stopped you, but you figure even his dummy self could put your initial reservations, and the confession you dropped a few months ago when you made up after your fight. I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always been around you and nothing else. I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you. 

It still makes you cringe whenever that memory would creep into your brain like a rat at two in the morning when you’re trying to sleep. Sure, things are different now, but you felt that way at a time when your world consisted of nothing more than your town back in Daegu, and eighty percent of your life was spent in high school. You’re stepping back into that world right now, where you’re nothing but Choi Beomgyu’s friend, acquaintance, something— never had been just yourself. 

And you know Beomgyu knows that this is exactly what you’re thinking about right now. Which is why he doesn’t get out of the car yet, and instead asks, “Do you wanna just ditch and go hang out somewhere else?”

You let out a laugh. He’s such a dork. “No way. Chaeryeong’s gonna sulk if I don’t see her today, and I could use a few drinks, you know.” You have no intention of stripping him the opportunity to hang out with his old friends again. You’ve seen how much his phone has been buzzing on the way here. Why does he have so many clingy male friends? You’ll never understand. Choi Beomgyu is just some guy.

That some guy stares at you for a bit as he mulls over your answer. “If you say so. But if you wanna leave early, just tell me.”

Seriously. It’s not like he treats them like this, for them to go crazy over hum. Then again, maybe this guy just has the inherent knack of drawing people in. You’ve been a witness of that phenomenon for the past two decades, and you’re witnessing it again tonight, counting down from the moment you two leave the car and enter the building, enter the karaoke lounge, and despite Choi Beomgyu (and you) interrupting an ongoing performance by Seungmin and Jimin on the machine, the response to his entrance is, quite frankly, a bit over the top.

“Look who’s finally here.”

“Man, what took you so long?”

“Woohoo! Time to get the party started!”

Neon lights are already lighting up the dim room. Beer bottles have already been cracked open on the tables. You watch as he gets whisked away by his old high school friend group, stifling your laughter because maybe Choi Beomgyu has changed because he looks a little overwhelmed and taken aback by the assault of attention. Surprisingly, it’s a very funny sight. He turns back to you while Jiwoong hooks him by the neck and ushers him into the lounge as if he’s asking for help. Which draws attention to you, obviously. His friends turn around. The first one to greet you is Seungmin. “Oh, hey!” he exclaims, leaning in for a quick half-hug. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’ve been stuck at the door for the past few minutes due to the traffic you idiots are causing, thank you very much for asking,” you respond after pulling back, smiling.

“You still have an attitude,” he snarks. “And you two are still joint at the hip. Did you arrive together?”

“Yup. I’m getting sick of him, so I’d appreciate it if you take him away from me now.”

“You can bet on it.”

Before Beomgyu could protest, he’s already been handed the mic and had been fed a shot glass. The rest of the guys follow suit in giving you quick greetings, how are you’s, how have you been’s. You still haven’t seen Chaeryeong around so you shoot her a text. She responds with exclamation marks and the text, [WAIT A SECOND. BATHROOM. BE THERE IN A BIT], and she emerges through the door not long after to greet you with the gift of suffocation. “Oh my god, I missed you so much,” she wheezes out. “Why haven’t we made plans even once since starting uni? I know we talked a bit last time but how have you been? Has Choi Beomgyu been treat—”

You prompt shut her mouth with your hand. You did keep her posted over the phone last time, but you don’t intend on sharing the status update between you and Choi Beomgyu to your whole class that had been under the assumption that you’ve been together, anyway. It’s none of their business— and definitely not the business of the girl that had been staring at you the whole goddamn time since you arrived here.

Among the twenty-one people that came today is Haena. Haena, the girl that invited you to hang out with her friends for coffee around a year ago. Haena, the girl who kept grilling you about your relationship with Beomgyu, just to ask if you could help her get together with him. Haena and her friends, Bora and Seohyun, who’d been drilling holes into the back of your head for the past fifteen or so minutes. Last you’ve heard of her, she’s studying nursing at DSU. 

You’ve never told Beomgyu about the little incident because it never escalated into anything more than dirty looks in the hallway and the classroom and the proliferation of gossip about you and Choi Beomgyu. And since nearly a whole year had passed, you were hoping that that was all water under the bridge now, but apparently it’s not. Jesus, what does she want?

“Okay, okay, let’s stop the singing for now since everyone’s already here and raise our drinks up! To the class of 20XX!”

You’ve no intention of letting that bother the rest of your night. Yet Haena wasn’t the only bitter aftertaste of that period of your life. An hour or so into the evening, you get out of the karaoke lounge to get a breather in the lobby. Choi Beomgyu is still trapped inside thanks to his ten million fanboys-slash-friends. Chaeryeong wanted to come with you but she got roped into a drinking game and has shown no signs of escaping. Which leaves you some time to recharge a bit before the inevitable agenda of reminiscence once everyone’s gotten a bit too drunk and loose-lipped.

On the way to the hotel lobby, you bump into Jiwoong— that guy, ex-crush, who rejected you in the rain two years back, maybe. So much for water under the bridge because just looking at him makes you feel mortified. He greets you with a nod and a smile before walking past you back into the lounge. God, that was an embarrassing moment. You shake your head and race into the hall leading up to the carpeted lobby.

Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the only one with the same idea.

There, sitting defeated and exhausted on one of the plush seats is Lim Jimin. Embarrassing encounter number two. He notices you. You two make eye contact. Fuck. Yes, you two exchanged awkward hello’s earlier, but seeing his face just makes you recount the humiliation you felt when you expected a confession from him.

“O—oh, hi.”

He’s the one that greets you first, and it sounds a lot more agonizing than if you’d been the one to do it. Did Choi Beomgyu say something to this guy? Why does he look just as uncomfortable as you?

“Uh, hey.” You quickly squeeze out a response. “It’s getting stuffy inside, right? Haha, enjoy your alone time. I’ll be doing the same outs—”

“W—wait!” The last thing you expected was for Jimin to say something to you. You preemptively stop walking, and the momentum causes you to jerk a bit, giving him the opportunity to jump off his seat and keep talking. “This…this is a bit long overdue, and this may sound stupid, but I feel like I owe you an apology.” 

An apology? Your brows furrow. You regain your balance, resting a hand on the backrest of the sofa beside you. “For what?”

He struggles a bit. “Um…do you remember when I asked you a favor last year? To convince Beomgyu to help me rank up in League?” You can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing your cheeks again. God dammit, why can’t he be like Jiwoong who just smiled and walked past you like nothing happened? “You stormed off after that, and I couldn’t help but feel really guilty that I did something wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d be angry no matter how much I thought about it.”

Somehow, your hands find themselves covering your face, head down. “Ah,” you exhale a disgruntled breath, then force an inhale. You bring your head up. You look at the boy who’s looking guilty when he shouldn’t be. “You did nothing wrong, Jimin. I was just worked up that day and sort of lost my cool. I should be the one who’s sorry.” This is so ridiculous. At least with this, you think you can finally be over it. “Gosh. I can’t believe you’ve been stressing about that.”

Jimin brings his arms to a cross and rubs his palms against his sleeves, still looking down and sorry. “I felt really bad, okay? I really thought I said something wrong, especially to my friend’s girlfriend.”

You feel a twitch in your temple. Here’s another misunderstanding to clear. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to help you anyway. I wasn’t his girlfriend back then.”

This causes him to jolt his eyes up to look at you. “Huh? Really?” His widened eyes blink rapidly. “Back then? Then does that mean you’re—”

An interruption in the form of your name being called out arrives.

You turn your head back— back into the direction of the hall that led into the karaoke lounge. “Beomgyu,” you acknowledge, padding up to him upon his arrival. You figure he managed to listen in on the last part of that conversation, considering the fact he welcomes your arrival with a snug arm around you. Like Minjeong says, Choi Beomgyu acts like a puppy with attachment issues, but he hasn’t been committing any heinous acts of public affection the entire reunion event. You haven’t even said anything. He knows you a little too well. “What’s up? Got sick of all your friends’ love and attention already?”

“That’s one reason,” he grunts “But the guys wanted to gather everyone around for something. What were you two doing out here?”

The question seems to be pointed at Jimin, and the man in question struggles to come up with a response. You lightly elbow Choi Beomgyu. “We were just clearing up some misunderstandings,” you say, which Jimin echoes, and then you give Beomgyu a whispered reminder. “You know. The fake secret admirer incident last year. Looking back, that was also half your fault for planting ideas in my head.”

“Oh, yeah. That incident,” Beomgyu snorts upon recollection. “Damn. You never fail at being embarrassing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You elbow him again. Less lightly this time. Telling him about the whole confession misunderstanding on your part will forever be one of the greatest regrets of your life. “Jimin, We’ll head in first.”

“Sure thing. Tell the others I’ll be there in a sec.”

With that, you shuffle back into the hallway, and upon getting closer to the lounge, Beomgyu slowly paces away a considerable distance between the both of you. The last thing he lets go of is his gentle hold on your wrist as he led you down the hallway. He used that same hand to open up the door, announcing your re-arrival— which elicits a different reaction from the first time you two arrived. “Oooh, here they are. The lovebirds are finally here.”

Even though they aren’t misunderstanding your relationship this time around, it still is really fucking annoying.

“C’mon, sit down, sit down! We’ve already started playing truth or dare while you guys were out. Where’s Jimin?”

It doesn’t feel right to deny it. “He’s still out.” But it doesn’t feel right to just let them keep goading you either. “Said he’ll join us later. If you ask any weird questions, I’m out.” 

“Lighten up! We’re all just curious to find out what everyone’s been up to this past year.” The two long tables in the venue have been pressed together to form one big square where everyone is sitting around. With Beomgyu following behind you and seated to your left, you take the spot Chaeryeong has been saving, quickly filling you in with the revelations you’d missed, but it’s hard to keep up with her once the group got the ball rolling again by spinning an empty beer bottle in the middle of the square time after time, round after round. 

You all found out Seungmin was the one who put fake cockroaches in the faculty office. Jimin joined the table after that round. Your poor friend Chaeryeong had to chug down a terrible excuse of a drink for refusing to answer a question. She’s now mumbling incoherencies into your shoulder as you watch the botte spin for the nth time— spinning, spinning, spinning, slowly losing speed until it ultimately stops and points at you.

“Alright, alright! Truth or dare?”

Well, shit.

“Ah. Truth, I guess,” you grant. You’ve already had enough embarrassing moments involving your high school cohort. You need not add another one, and considering how everyone’s interest about you revolves around Choi Beomgyu and Choi Beomgyu only, you figured that the poor idiot next to you should be more scared of the question than you in case his friends want to ask about his deepest, darkest secrets.

“Oh, there’s something I’d like to know!”

The person who decides that you should be the one on the chopping block is Kim Bora, who’s grinning at you from across the table, right in between Haena and Seohyun. Ah. You have a feeling where this is going. You suck in a deep breath and muster up all the patience in the world.

“How did you and Beomgyu manage to stay strong after all these years?”

Unfortunately, that amount of patience is very thin. Very thin indeed. Even more thinned out with the number of voices doubling, tripling it down.

“Oooh, I wanna hear too!”

“Yeah, what’s your secret, man? All my relationships end after three months, I feel like there’s something I’m doing wrong.”

“Tell us your secret!”

“What are you guys—”

That last voice came from Beomgyu, who you promptly stopped with the squeeze of his hand. Don’t say anything, don’t stop them, you say to him with narrowed eyes. He gives you a conflicted look, but he relents anyway, settling back down, but you can tell he’s worked up. Well, you just want to know how far they’re gonna take this. You want to know how much you can bite your tongue. You know you’ve always been prone to outbursts and impulse, but after all the shit you’ve been through these past two semesters, mindless, nose-digging gossip like this is nothing.

More than that, you want to know what this girl Haena is planning with how much she’s been giggling for the past minute and a half.  

“What are you saying, Bora? You’re so silly! Don’t you remember what we talked about with her before? They’ve never dated!”

And there it is.

“Huh?”

Haena’s statement drops a blanket of confused silence over the table. “What are you talking about?” one of your old classmates asks, and you want to echo the same sentiments because what exactly is she trying to achieve with this?

“C’mon,” Haena waves the silence off, still grinning, still sneaking glances at you. “You didn’t know? You guys were all being judgmental for assuming a boy and girl are dating just because they’re really close friends. Well, it’s not like they ever denied it. Oh, well but the truth is they were never dating. You two were never dating, right? Right?”

Ah. This is kind of pissing you off.

“Hey, that’s enough—”

Is this because you wouldn’t set her up with Beomgyu? Jesus, isn’t she over that already? Is she trying to frame you as some attention-seeker who thrived off the misunderstanding that you and your childhood friend have something more going on? Well, too bad. You’ve already been branded as a cheater and a whore. This is so juvenile that it’s starting to prick at the patience you’ve worked so hard to build up.

“Damn, seriously? So I stopped myself from confessing over nothing? If you two weren’t dating, how come neither of you said a thing?”

“That’s what I’m saying! Kinda crazy that they just let everyone misunderstand!” 

“Jesus, why are we even talking about this?” Seungmin attempts to dissuade the conversation, but the misfortune that comes after is Jimin accidentally adding fuel to the fire by letting slip the information you’d shared to him just moments ago.

“Right? Why does it even matter if they were dating or not back then? What’s important is that they’re both happily dating now!”

Another blanket of silence mops the table.

At this point, you just wanna go home.

“Ha!” A noise of disbelief rips out of Haena’s throat as sneers at you from across. “I can’t believe this! You kept saying and acting like you weren’t interested in him when you’d end up taking the opportunity, anyway! Wow, you acted so high and mighty back then, bragging that you didn’t have any feelings for him as if it made you better than the rest of us. If it’d end up like this, you should’ve just hooked up and gone after him ages ag—”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve heard enough.”

The table rattles. Your eyes widen, snapping up to your left to see Choi Beomgyu who had stood up, who— for the first time in the years you’ve known him— looks mad. Angrier than when you two fought last year. Angrier than you think you’d ever been, even with your horrid short-temper.

His knuckles are tight. He’s seething. You’re too caught off guard to react in time and stop the damage he intends on making.

“Seriously. Why the fuck do you keep running your mouth about something that’s completely out of your business?”

It’s not only you. It seems that everyone is surprised to find the always easygoing, always friendly and outgoing Choi Beomgyu suddenly acting like this— acting like this on your behalf. “So what if we started dating? What’s it to you? What’s it to any of you?” You’re stunned. He draws his fingers to his hair. He shakes it off with an incensed breath. “Jesus christ. If you guys aren’t interested in talking about anything else other than our relationship, then I guess the both of us should just leave so that you can gossip more, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the damned night, assholes.”

When his head drops and his eyes make contact with yours, his gaze immediately softens. Let’s go, he mouths with a smile. You feel a lump in your throat. Beomgyu whisks you away before you can even acknowledge it.

“Whoa, that was scary.”

“Was he always like this?”

“You were the ones who crossed the line. What were you guys thinking?”

At some point, Beomgyu has completely dragged you out of the karaoke lounge, out of the hall, out of the hotel lobby, and into the dimly lit parking lot with nothing but a handful of streetlights illuminating the chalky pavement. You hadn’t even realized you’d been running until he stopped underneath the dancing particles of the ilt-up post, brightening up the empty parking space right next to his car. You hadn’t even realized you’d been catching your breath until he points it out for you

“Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people? Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and leave us—” The tempo of his rant fizzles out immediately. Beomgyu bites down a frown and pulls you in, brushing through the unkempt strands of your hair from the wind. “Sorry, was I running too fast? I just wanted to get you out of there as quickly as I can.”

Choi Beomgyu had confronted your old inhibitions on your behalf. He’d done the same thing with Jang Seung last semester. He’d done the same with his former friends that were talking shit about you and even got into a fight because of it. And it seems like the same thing is going to happen now.

It’s always him who does things for you. He was the one who took the first step in your reconciliation last year. He was the one who’d always put the entirety of his soft, tender feelings into the palm of his hands and handed them off to you without even expecting anything in return. 

Maybe it’s about time for you to do the same.

Maybe it’s about time for you to confront the one thing you’ve been confining in the back of your mind for god knows how long.

“Beomgyu.”

It’s always been there— since you were, what? Fourteen? Sixteen? Since he’d made you watch that stupid scary movie in middle school and your heart jumped out of your ribcage for the first time and all you could do was hold onto him for your dear life while you screamed bloody murder? You don’t know when these kind of thoughts started entering your head, but you never dwelled on them knowing and fearing that even considering them, acknowledging them in any way, shape, or form would open up a pandora’s box of emotions you’d have to sift through and organize alongside the fact that he’s just your friend, your friend for as long as you can remember, and you weren’t ready for it yet— even after what happened under the table on new year.

For your entire life, Choi Beomgyu has been a friend. A neighbor. An annoyance. Someone you care about. Someone you can’t live without.

And experiencing firsthand a life without his annoying presence always hovering around you cemented the fact that you really can’t risk losing him from your life again. And the likelihood of things going wrong, things getting tangled to the point where you’d have to cut each other off is less when he’s just your friend— just a neighbor, just an annoyance— than when he’s someone more than that.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to intervene.”

Which is why you feared that if you’d ever admit to yourself that you had feelings for him, that if you’d stopped brushing those feelings away, that risk of losing him would become more than you could handle.

“I just got too angry hearing them talk all that crap.”

But now—

“Ugh. Even thinking about it is making me mad. C’mon, let’s just go.”

You don’t have to keep lying to yourseff anymore. Because who gives a shit about what other people say? Because who gives a shit about risks and fears that are nothing but debris floating around your head?

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let’s head to car, and then—” He stops himself. He lets go of your hand to cup your cheeks, drying up the tears with the warmth of his fingertips. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Nothing is wrong. Because the only thing you give a shit about right now is the fact that the opportunity to love and be loved by Choi Beomgyu only comes once in a lifetime—

“C’mon. You should just forget what Haena and the rest of them said. They’re all nonsense.”

—and spending the entirety of it in denial would just be ridiculous.

“Oh, and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing and crying. Wow, you must’ve gone insane.

Stupid.

“What should I go? Go back? Should I teach them a lesson?”

Pointless.

“Stay here. I’ll go back and—”

Downright impossible.

“Hey, fuckface.”

You tug on his sleeve to stop him from leaving. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you.”

And it feels like air is entering your lungs for the first like, as though twenty years worth of heavy leaden weight has been lifted off your chest. But unlike you, Beomgyo looks like he’s having troube breathing. “Oh,” is all he says, wide-eyed and surprised. Almost as if he’d never been expecting it. Like it had never even crossed his mind that you’d ever say it to him. You, of all people. “W—well—”

“Choi Beomgyu.” You interrupt him befre he could say anything, smacking your palms on both sides of cheeks before the adrenailne leaves your system. Before you could even think twice about anything at all. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it outright before even after we started dating. But you should know that you mean the world to me, you idiot. I’m so in love with you, it makes me stupid. I’m nothing without you.”

This time, it’s him who starts crying.

You let him sink into your arms and bury his face into your shoulder. He drapes himself over while keeping steady around your waist. You hear him sniffle a little. Gross. “Seriously, you’re such a crybaby.”

Beomgyu mumbles an annoyed grunt against your shirt. “And you’re such a meanie for ruining the moment.” He’s glaring at you when he pulls himself up, eyes narrowed and stained red with tears. “Say it again, dipshit.”

“Say what again?”

He frowns. “You know what!”

God. What could you have done in your past life to have been tied together with think punk since the beginning of this one? You roll your eyes and kiss his face. “I’m in love with you, loser. You’re so annoying.”

He grins and lands another one on your lips. “I’m nothing without you, too.”

The streetlight continues to sprinkle its light over the both of you. Choi Beomgyu continues to stay in your life, and he’d keep staying there for as long as this life would let him.

OKAY. MAYBE YOU DO LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. As annoying as he is for wasting your time with how often he calls you up at four in the morning for an impulsive fast food run because he wants some company, for injuring your pride by forcing you to play another one of the games the coding club developed and obliterating your ass in the process, you still like him— beyond understanding or comprehension. 

Even when he’s being such a clingy idiot so early in the morning, in the first day of the semester, after he’d just finished being announcing to the entire campus via the anonymous student board gone un-anonymous that you hadn’t been cheating on him since at that time you weren’t even dating, but you are now, and that you’re in love, and that Jang Seung is just a whiney little bitch who made up rumors because he couldn’t stand being rejected.

“You’re crazy! Why the hell would you do that?!”

Choi Beomgyu rubs his nose while you scold his ears off. When you finish, he simply says. “He made another post about you last night. I think it’s because he saw us on a date the other day. What a loser. Hey, look. That’s him over there.”

Indeed, you do spot Jang Seung while you trace down the hallway, on the way to Horangnabi to spend your vacant period in between your next set of classes.

“Ugh. Just what I needed to make my morning worse.”

He’s with a group, and the group contains Eunseok, the guy you went on a blind date with once and got roped into your whole cheating rumor. He looks greatly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because Jang Seung is talking shit about you and how the both of them got played by you (you did not) when you’ve been going out with Beomgyu this entire time (you were not). Eunseok knows the truth. You talked it out with him before the semester started and he figured you weren’t that kind of person anyway. 

Poor guy wants to leave already.

But Jang Seung seems determined to paint you as a crazy, cheating, boy-crazy whore. Did ignoring his texts for one night injure his ego that much? And here you thought you were prideful. You know that things have died down and at this point people have either forgotten about the whole thing or just don’t care anymore, but the small crowd Seung managed to collect still seemed to be thriving in all the overinflated gossip.

“I mean, if she wasn’t all that into me, she could’ve said so, you know? Still, can you believe she picked that guy over me or you? And the poor cuck even has the guts to publicly announce their relationship like some idiot after she’d been hooking up with his friends.”

“Damn. How are they still together?”

“Quit spreading lies, dude. ”

“Hey, how can you just trust everything she tells you?”

“I still can’t believe that those two are still together, much less even started dating in the first place.”

Normally, you’d just ignore this. But you’ve gotten a bit sick and tired of biting your tongue and behaving as of late.

You march up to them. Eunseok spurs out a greeting. You give all of them a smile— mostly directed at Jang Seung, who’s been relishing the fact that you never gave him the light of day since the stunt he pulled. Until today, at least.

“Hi,” you start. The guy flinches at your delivery. “As much as it surprises you, yes I’m dating Choi Beomgyu. Yes, we’re fucking together, and I never cheated on him with a some half-baked, second-string loser like this bastard who resorts to high school tactics of spreading gossip because his fragile ego couldn’t handle being left on delivered for one night because I had a hospital emergency. Unfortunately, someone like that isn’t my type at all.”

Jang Seung’s face flushes scarlet. His jaw clenches and he barks out, “Hey, what the fuck—” until Eunseok fixes him on the spot by the shoulder. 

“But just to clarify things. No, I have not been cheating on him and you’d think that if I had, he would say so, wouldn’t he? How the fuck could I have cheated on him last year when he only started dating on January first?” 

Okay. You’re getting a little heated. Jang Seung and his group are now staring at you like you’re a crazy person. Beyond them, other people in the hallway have started to pay attention to the ruckus you’re causing.

Now, when a fuse is lit, it’s not easy to kill it.

So you continue talking. For better or for worse.

“Yes. Yes, I’m now dating Choi Beomgyu— are you all satisfied? Are you happy now? You’ve all been up in my fucking business since the first fucking semester asking if I knew him, if he and I were dating, so here’s your god damned answer! Do you want me to tell you how it happened, too? Give you a play by play of how I met him, knew, him and fell for him because you’re all so fucking curious? Should I do that? In fact, why don’t I keep you guys posted! I should just text every single god damned person who knows not how to mind their business to update you whenever, each and every single time we fucking—”

“Whoa, easy there.”

You’re yanked back by Choi Beomgyu, who has one arm hooked in front of your collar shoulders and safely pressing you close to his torso. His free hand is covering the muffled noises coming out of your mouth as you struggle out of his grip.

Beomgyu simply lets you struggle in vain. He looks ahead, smiling at Jang Seung and the rest of the people in the group. “As much as I wanted to continue listening to her, I don’t really want any more people anonymously talking shit about my girlfriend in the forum just for living her own life and minding her own business.” You’re still squirming in his grip. This fucking bastard. “Anyway, we’re off. Eunseok, see you around.”

It’s only when you two have managed to leave the building that Beomgyu decides it’s time to release you. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you jerk?” you yell, yanking him down by the backpack strap.

“What do you think? Saving your ass from any more rumors, stupid,” he answers while shaking you off. “We should really work on your temper.”

It’s a pleasant walk to Horangnabi. You haven’t been here again in ages.

“I have been working on it! Today was an exemption, so go fuck yourself off.”

“This is exactly what I mean,” he sighs and shakes his head, opening the cafe door for you to enter first, and he follows immediately after. “Potty mouth and a nasty personality. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your mother must have had a hard time raising you.”

“Quit bringing up my mother every single time you want to win an argument.”

You two find some empty seats right by the window in the right wing of the store. You sit down and set your things on the empty seats. “I can’t just give up on my cheat code, you know,” Beomgyu hums, smiling insufferably as slides the menu down from the table surface. “So, do I win? What’s my prize?”

“Hey, no PDA within store premises! I’ll blacklist you two!”

The both of you turn your heads to see Heeseung, who’s holding a notepad and wearing the employee apron as a uniform. He started working part-time at Horangnabi sometime last month. Extra pocket money, he says. You know it’s because he started seeing someone from the arts department and needed the date funds. Usually, he’d be happy to see you, but something’s gotten in his panties in a twist today. You snicker, about to egg him on, but to your surprise, someone else answers your curiosities.

“He’s just salty because he got dumped over the break.”

Your eyes brighten. You beam out a smile. “Julie!” 

She arrives with a pat on a grumbling Heeseung’s back as she mirrors your expression. “Hi, pretty girl. How was your break?” She moves on from Heeseung to coddle you with attention, hugging you from behind your chair. Have you considered working for us again? I started missing you more ever since this guy started working with us again.”

“Must be bad at the job,” Beomgyu snorts. Heeseung’s protests are left unheard. “Hey, when are you gonna take our order?”

“Ugh. I set you two up together and this is how you repay me?”

Heeseung takes your orders— an americano for him, a matcha latte for you, and a butterscotch croissant for you two to share. While waiting, Beomgyu takes out some of his notebooks from his bags and starts highlighting the pages based on the syllabus his professor handed them earlier. Wow, he’s become diligent, whereas you’re busying yourself with your phone in the midst of a conversation with Chaeryeong. She was so sorry for passing out in the middle of the reunion incident a few ago, and it was Seungmin who filled her in on what happened. She says gonna treat you to dinner this weekend to make up for it. You smile and text her that you look forward to it.

“Iced americano, matcha latte and butterscotch croissant.”

Hanbin is the one who delivers your orders. You thank him with a smile and he leaves with a pat on your head, telling you to come visit the clubroom later. 

“Stop smiling at him like that.”

You turn your attention back to the person sitting in front of you— Choi Beomgyu, with his arms crossed over the books scattered on his table, coupled with a pout and furrowed brows. “Ew, are you jealous?” you snark, picking up your latte from the table and taking a sip. “Wipe that look off your face. It doesn’t suit you. And Hanbin is way too nice and normal to be my type. Unfortunately, god made me like guys who are the slightest bit insane.”

“I keep your life interesting,” he hums out with a proud grin, satisfied with your answer. You set your drink back down, a thought entering your head. It’s quiet in Horangnabi. You two are the only customers at the moment, and soft music siphons through the speakers.

Ever since that day in the beginning of the year, not much has changed between you and him. He’s still calling you names. He’s still annoyingly hooking your feet underneath the table with his so that you’d have a hard time getting up.

It makes you wonder when exactly did he start seeing you differently.

“Beomgyu,” you start. He perks up, a curious expression on his face. “What if I tell you I’ve sort of already had the idea that you’ve had feelings for me since, I don’t know— when we made up after our fight last year?”

He blinks at you, curious expression replaced by something unreadable. You start to grow a little nervous. Then he drops the bomb.

“What if I tell you these feelings have been around since middle school?”

Well, damn.

“That...that would make a lot of sense.”

He only laughs in response, reorganizing his books and setting them aside. “But if you’ve known since then, then wooow— I can’t believe you’ve been leading me on for that long.” He’s shaking his head and clicking his tongue. You groan and cover your face guiltily. He laughs once more. “I’m kidding. It’s not like I didn’t put any effort into hiding it. I know how uncomfortable you got because of all the people gossiping about our relationship. I’d just make things even harder for you if I suddenly confessed.”

With the table now cleared, he slides down the untouched pastry to your side of the table.

“So, I just decided to try and hide it and wait for the right time. If that time ever would ever come, that is,” he continues. “But since you’ve known, I guess I wasn’t exactly doing a good job in hiding how I feel.” 

Your eyes linger at the crescent roll. You take the fork and knife and reply, “Yeah, you’re not very slick.”

“Hey, it was very hard for me, you know!” he huffs, pouting. You slice into the croissant and stab the smaller piece with the fork. “I felt like dying whenever you mentioned that bastard Seung or Song, or whatever. And you even asked me to set me up with my friends. You’re so mean—”

You reach an arm over the table. Beomgyu stares at your offering— a little surprised, a little flustered, but he clears his throat and leans forward, taking a bite from the pastry before wiping his mouth with a napkin, eyes down, face flushed.

He can be cute sometimes. You set the fork back down on the plate. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“T—tsk. I’m just cool like that, you know?” Still insufferable. You roll your eyes and grab a piece of the pastry yourself, but while the mood is still high, Beomgyu takes the opportunity to speak his own mind too, bringing up one more thing that had been lingering in the back of both of your minds. “That night— you know, on new year’s when you said that we should just start dating— I knew you just said it in the heat of the moment.” The pastry gets stuck in your throat. “And I knew at that moment that you’d end up taking it back as a joke and laugh it all off. I didn’t really want to hear that. So I just...decided to speak before you could take it back.”

Ah. Your face is getting hot. You swipe your drink from the table to swallow your emotions down. But Choi Beomgyu manages to snatch your hand before you could do that.

“And you didn’t take it back.”

Your flustered gaze flashes up at him. His eyes remain on you.

“So you just have no choice but to deal with all of this.”

He presses a kiss onto the back of your palm. You yelp and snatch your hand back, cheeks burning and heart racing. He’s grinning like a madman.

“Stop it! We’re in public. God, I hate you, you’re such a dweeb—”

You say you hate him, but he knows you don’t mean it. You’ve been saying all these years that you don’t like him, that he’s just an annoyance, destined to bother you until the end of time— but he’s come to know that none of that is true.

“No one’s here anyway! Heeseung doesn’t count as a person!”

You don’t have to keep pretending that you don’t like Choi Beomgyu. Because in fact, you kind of, really, do.

AFTERWORD. hello….whoo whee this was quite a ride wasn’t it HAHAHAHHAHA. 49k words of choi beomgyu being the only man ever 😞😞😞 anyhow, i hope you all enjoyed what i believe is my best piece yet!!! writing this was both extremely easy and difficult because hannie-dul-set enjoyers know that my brand is usually silly stupid fics, but the emotional weight of this one did make it a bit difficult for me to write sometimes since i’m a mood writer, even though none of the themes are inherently sad? just very very emotional HHAHAHAHA. two of the most challenging parts too in the planning process was how…i’d be able to depict a change in their relationship after the new year’s scene, while also making sure that beomgyu and mc’s dynamic is still…them, you know? it wouldn’t be them if they just became gross and lovey dovey overnight. it wouldn’t be them if they still didn’t call each other names and swore at each other’s faces despite being horrendously in love. but i think i managed to reconcile these two aspects pretty well in the fic.

the other challenging thing i had to tackle might have been a point of frustration for you guys— making sure that mc’s narration and monologue is completely devoid of any acknowledgement about her feelings for beomgyu and vice versa HAHHAHAHAHHA. but it was necessary because she herself didn’t want to acknowledge, even after they started dating, and the entire thing is written in her pov.

speaking of pov….i think a spin-off written in beomgyu’s pov would be nice after all of this. we only got some bits and pieces of how he’d been feeling all throughout and though i believe the limited information i’ve given is enough to give the idea on how beomgyu was faring all throughout, it would also be interesting to delve into his psyche, all the way from mogi to nabi.

anyhow, those are just empty plans for now HAHAHAHAHAH i hope you enjoyed all three parts of nabi— a sequel i never even intended to write in the first place, but ended up being one of my works that’s closest to my heart. please please do send in your thoughts in the comments, asks, dm’s, wherever!

happy new year! love you all!

나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[shellevisionfan]

Shellevision concept pt 1

To first declare, I don't really see shellvision as toxic honestly and if its perceived that way, there is a simple way to not steer into it being written like that.

(i am not a professional so give me some slack)

like i think its more of a slowburn with a tiny bit of one sided ness, possiblities for PROPER angst, and a good conclusion with both characters, with it all starting with the fact of vee and shelly of course being friends but not exactly being the closest, at least by vees own perspective...they sorta have their own clicks outside of their 'main' friend group! so i'd think vee doesn't really go out of her way to talk to shelly unless shelly talks to her or their own paths intertwine with one anothers like when in the elevator.

(more below)

shelly on the other hand goes out of her way to interact with everyone! even vee! as she sees vee as her closest friend next to of course astro, sprout, tisha etc...

now shelly does have a crush on vee, and is pretty obvious about it, but doesn't think she is really, out of anything shelly isn't obessive...she wants to support and show how much she loves her friends, she just developed a bigger feeling around vee since well, shelly finds her confidence aspiring and her straight forward and blunt personality to be charming! she is a gameshow host after all!...plus she can't really deny that she does think that vee is really pretty.

but i think shelly wanting to not put her own feelings over anothers, would try to not be so obvious with these feelings...but because shelly being shelly, she honestly can be a bit much and be overly affectionate...which leads to her accidently being too obvious about her feelings toward vee.

and you'd think that would lead to vee knowing that shelly likes her but, i kinda think out of anything, vee should be oblivious to all this since she'd be used to shelly acting like this or at least see this as a normal thing shelly does, vee is used to everyone behavior.

shes a robot, so logically she'd think shelly acting like this is normal, since its normal for her to be affectionate and supportive, its postive traits for anyone to have and shelly acting any different wouldnt make much sense, so she wouldn't look past that and just enjoy the praise and support that shelly gives her, since vee does seem to be a kinda gal to have a little bit of an ego...

eventually though...since vee isn't stupid, would sort of have a moment where she may notice shellys actions being different compared to how she is with everyone else, how more excited she is around her, more talkative, more quick to stumble on her words, more...flustered.

vee isn't used to this, confused by this actually...and for a bit would be stumpted on what was going on with shelly, maybe even go to sprout about it, asking if he could check on her possibly. which where sprout would question her on what could be wrong with shelly of all people.

leading to vee explaining things to sprout, and with all the info handed to him, he'd proubly be looking at vee with this sort of slowly realization on that the fact that first, shelly totally has a crush on vee and second, vee absolutely doesnt know and thinks her behavior is her being sick or whatever, i do think sprout wouldn't sugar coat it and would say that it sounds like shelly likes her, and vee would at first respond with her agreeing but would firmly ask who doesn't like her though, with sprout quick to interupt and say no, not that shelly likes her, that shelly like likes her, that shes crushing on her--ROMANTICALLY.

vee would be kinda fazed by this, shelly likes her? like THAT??? why? why her of all people? they weren't even that close and...

she was more stumpted than before, she's never had someone she considered a friend like her like this before, or even on her own case, has had feelings like that toward another if she were to be honest.

vee didn't know what to do, what to say...she's never felt so..out of control before, so out of the loop, she should've known about this, but...with shelly being just so nice and kind, that being the norm, she really must of brushed it off, which with that conclusion made her feel embaressed with herself.

but after this, i think vee would be in heavy denial, leading to her kinda trying to avoid shelly, maybe to clear things up in her head, shes just suspecting things, shelly isn't in love with her, theres no way she wouldnt of known about her liking her so it isnt true, but with vee actively trying to avoid shelly...

leads to shelly feeling quite ignored, and..very confused...

shelly knew vee could be stand offish at times, especially when shes upset or frustrated, but...for her to avoid her like she was the plague made her feel like she maybe did something wrong, and shelly being shelly, would make it be her mission to apologize to vee when the opportunity came to it...which that opportunity comes along on a very special run.

[gothwineaunts]

I don’t mean to assume or make anyone alarmed but I’ve heard you and flynn are skipping the focus on Annabel and Lenore bc of a group of Montresor fans (as Lenore and Annabel aren’t popular with them).

Is that true??

I’m not asking because of what’s happening in fastpass, I heard about this information around when season 2 came out.

Wow, that's honestly absurd. Sorry hon, I dunno where you heard that but it's made-up nonsense. A rumor, and not even a particularly good one. I think most anyone would be able to see through it, but I'll go through it with you anyway because I've seen some angst on the tag about this. 1. Lenore and Annabel are the main characters of the story, and that has not changed and will not change. If we intended to toss them aside in season 2, why on earth would we have set so much up in season 1? Also all of the promo art is still of them, and we spent a lot of time on it. So I think it's a safe bet to assume they're still the main characters. 2. Nevermore is, and has always been, a sapphic gothic romance. Montresor is a man. Where is the sense in changing the intent of a story, and likely losing readers in the process, just to appeal to a niche group? 3. As for this niche group of Montresor fans, where? Who are they? And what power do they supposedly have over us to force us to completely change the story to their shadowy whims? Idk if you noticed this but people kind of hate Montresor. He's easily the least liked character in the series. And making him the main character would be maybe the most unpopular decision we could possibly make, so how would that be selling out or making fanservice, if everyone... would hate it? Wouldn't that make it the opposite of fanservice? What is the logic there? 4. As far as I am concerned, Annabel and Lenore are popular with most everybody in the fandom (including people who happen to also like Montresor) on account of them being, once again, the main characters of the story. 5. Annabel got the first flashback, and then Ada, then Prospero, then Eulalie, and Will. I feel like there are enough data points there for most people to be able to see the trajectory of the arc. If you can't, I'm not going to explain it. 6. Related to the above point, do you suppose we've passed over Lenore by accident? Or we just forgot about her? Or is it more likely that we're doing a thing? 7. Y'know, it's always Montresor people make up these moralistic rumors about. I'm sick to death of people being weird about Montresor. Some of you out there really need to learn what a villain is, it's frankly wild how much confusion there seems to be around this concept. 8. This rumor smacks of "you don't actually care about the sapphics" but I regret to inform you that Flynn and I are both sapphics. And worse, we're sapphic together. Kinda shoots that idea out of the water. 9. Is this because everyone is mad they haven't kissed yet? Because this is still the same slowburn you read last season. I don't know why anyone thought there'd be a kiss like ten panels into the new season. 10. If I seem edgy, it's because it's pretty insulting to imply that we just do whatever readers tell us to do when it comes to creating the story. We really put our hearts into this series, and our plans for the plot will not change, no matter what y'all say or do. We do not crowdsource our art. And if we did, it would make an absolute mess of things. Thanks for your question, I hope I cleared things up. <3

[justcameheretobyler]

Byler doubt?

This isn’t even about bad writing

Will is one of the characters the Duffers care the most.

They didn’t give Will a place in the main plot in two seasons for a reason.

They said it themselves after s2, Will should be away from the Upside Down drama for a while.

He should just have a normal life as a kid, with his own struggles while growing up.

It was on purpose, they wanted to give him a break, at least a break from Henry and the MF.

And guess who is the one that leads the party when Will is in danger?

Ofc is Mike.

So, as Will is in the “side line” Mike is kind of too.

They were always a team, their dynamics in the story take the same amount depending of each other.

It’s not the same with the other characters.

So, it’s kind of logic that now, the story will get even better for them, if Will is in the spotlight, so is Mike.

And with the feelings they have now, it would be weird they don’t get to be together.

Their slowburn was specially for this moment.

I don’t know how it will be resolved in general, but I do know (I’m actually pretty sure) that Will and Mike’s scenes were beautifully shot. The dialogues, the cinematography, everything.

Now that is almost exposed to the audience, the directors will go crazy with them.

So, the real question is

Are you guys ready for Byler happening?

Cuz I’m not 😆

[doveywovy]

do you have tobiizu recs? i feel as though i’ve read them all 😔

i've been slowly working on a tobiizu rec list and its not done yet tbh. here's what it is so far!

Fanfics that are explicitly tobiizu:

Ghost marriage is a collection of multiple fics where tobirama gets haunted by izuna, gets driven a little bit crazy, and then talked into marrying him. And goes on to a life of wedded bliss that’s only mostly insane. Madara is there and also crazy. Izuna is having the time of his (un)life. Really delightful read with a surprisingly happy ending. The whole relationship has a haunting vibe to it that’s really enjoyable to read.

bloodline thieves is not tobiizu in the first part, but it does become tobiizu eventually. personally the vibe is there from the start to me and it's a fun read on its own. you get tobirama whump AND izuna feeling weird about him!

To dwell inside a hearthfire heart: blessed au! Worldbuilding! Izuna’s life getting saved twiceover! Izuna being a smug little rat! Tobirama and the “if peace is possible,i’m allowed to find izuna extremely sexy” pipeline! Such a good read.

Unthreading the needle is a slow burn on tobirama and izuna realizing they view each other as ‘people’ and perhaps….people they….like? Delightfully, the slowburn starts with their marriage (When they’re both convinced the other one is a monster) and they take a good long while the get anywhere from there. Izuna is deeply possessive without noticing it; tobirama has many deeprooted biases that she rationalizes as logical. My favorite plot thread within it is that izuna is, to some extent, a service top, and he spends the first 3/4th of the fic being denied the ability to service.

Death do us part: matrimony! Murder attempts! Matriomony-vibes for the murder attempts! Murderous vibes for the matrimony! Divorce is OFF the table! Izuna and the consequences of his own actions! 

A soft green glow: tobirama saves izuna’s life, and they are both so bitchy about it the entire time. This is a compliment. Izuna’s perspective while dying is so funny & tobiramas put-upon annoyance just adds to the fun. Love that tobirama never underestimates izuna throughout. Love when tobirama starts dragging izuna’s body, unwillingly to risk any of the more romantic ways to carry him.

Don’t give up the ghost allows for izuna and tobirama to slowly come around to the idea of eachother, ending up somewhere close to “old married couple”. Izuna is, of course, dead the entire time.

Footprints in the snow: the author is kind enough to skip the slowburn setup and give us the “Finally they get together” stage. Tobiizu had an arranged marriage, both fell in love, and took far too long to realize it was mutual. 

Gift horse: Tobirama saves izuna’s life in a moment of strategic diplomacy. Izuna cannot help but be a little bit wooed. Favorite line: tobirama would be the wife.

Can’t seem to shut my eyes: a collection of short light-hearted tobiizu fics, all of which are a fun time.my favorite is kagami’s fan :) 

there are also, of course, all my of my tobiizu fanfics (shameless plug) that if you leave nice comments on perhaps i will feel inspired to work on new ones. Perhaps if you leave nice comments on all of these tobiizu fics i’m linking more authors will feel compelled to write more. 

My fics: knifepoint , trouble brewing, powerplay, will you come into my parlor

gen fanfics that are not tobiizu but you can very easily imagine become tobiizu (or at the very least do not outright reject the possibility):

eyestealer is a delightful romp mostly about hashirama & tobiramas brotherly relationship, but it absolutely includes lots of opening for tobiizu and the author tagged it as open to a tobiizu interpretation. my favorite bit is the exchange izuna and madara have by the river, in which the audience knows what they do not- and what an eavesdropping hashirama fails to piece together.

Hide & seek: We don’t get izuna’s perspective directly, but a blessed au is always ripe for imagining and the worldbuilding on this one is SO fun. The implications that izuna is religiously-minded and struggling with the situation immensely really adds to the potential.

--------

i'll add a disclaimer that i don't have access to most of the chinese & japanese tobiizu fan creations bc they're primarily on twitter, which i do not have and refuse to get. if you do have twitter you can probably find a lot of cool tobiizu there and i will be very jealous of you (Except for the fact that you are suffering the existence of twitter to see it).

pixiv has lots of amazing art, and you can mostly understand what's happening in the comics even if you can't understand the language. i love this comic were birdboy izuna breaks tobiramas wing and then takes care of him. artists on the platform tend to do "dump posts" so you'll have to scroll past other ships/general fanart to get to the izutobi stuff, but it's worth it! that's how you get great stuff like this izuna upskirt photographing tobirama. and remember on pixiv that the name order is important! tobi/izu is top tobirama and izu/tobi is top izuna on there :)

you should also check out (and comment on!) all the comics slurmdog's made, especially since we have another longer project in the works :) library comic, bravest knight, multi-part comic "Cheaters never prosper"

[minustwofingers]

exoplanet epilogue

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

series masterlist

warnings: one vague mention of nsfw content if you squint, probably many errors that i missed bc i didn't edit this too well

a/n: hey. been a while. hope you guys enjoy. i know this one is short. i'm going to release deleted scenes/abandoned plots that i've written for them, but i just find it exceedingly difficult to write domestic bliss because that is an experience i have not had in literal years and have decided to make that everyone else's problem. hope the 2 remaining exoplanet readers enjoy this, thanks for waiting for over a year!

word count: 1.6k

enjoy!

ex·o·plan·et: a planet that orbits a star outside the solar system.

Love is not easy for Ellie. It has never been easy, not since Riley. There was Joel, who seemed like an exception at first when they met, like a mountain of strength that could never be moved. Even in the apocalypse  he seemed immortal . But then that day at the university happened, and for the first time she saw her image of him crack open and bleed out along with him. 

I should know better she’d promised herself that day, all bloody fingers and sloppily sewn stitches. I need to know better.

Because if the end of the world has taught her anything, it’s that nothing lasts. Not Riley. Not humanity. And, it logically follows, nothing else that she loves. 

It’s why Cat didn’t work out. Or, better said, Ellie didn’t work out for Cat. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Ellie had choked out to her one night after Cat had come back from patrol, coated in blood from an infected she’d had to kill off. She’d never been able to sleep when she knew that Cat was out, even if she herself had a patrol early the next morning.

Cat had frowned, pausing the washcloth she was swiping across her bloodied face. “What do you mean? I thought what we had was good between us.” 

“It is,” Ellie had said. “That’s not it.”

Cat had just given her a skeptical look. 

“It is,” Ellie had insisted. “I just can’t handle worrying about you. I’m sorry. I’m a wreck every time you leave Jackson.” 

“I don’t understand,” Cat had said. “You go on patrol. We’re both always fine. I’m going to be fine, babe. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

Ellie had glanced down discreetly at the arm Cat had just finished tattooing. She’d known that she was being irrational. But at the end of the day, Ellie had known of many people around her to die, and she herself hadn’t died yet. And then there was the immune thing, which just fed into the whole fucked up mess. 

“I’m sorry,” she’d said again. “I’m really sorry.” 

And that was that. Cat went back to her life as someone who was no longer Ellie’s girlfriend, and Ellie went back to moodily sulking around the house, writing in her journal about how for some reason she was always destined to be alone and that it’s better that way until Joel made her go out to see Dina and Jesse.

But it’s different with you. Love is easy with you. 

It’s in everything, from the way you link your pinky fingers under the dinner table where no one can see to the way she lets you hog the blankets every night.

It’s in the flowers you bring her in the spring from your gardening shifts, the trinkets she brings you from patrols, your hand in hers as you stargaze in the dead of winter.

Weeks stretch into months which eventually, somehow, inexplicably, stretch into years. Joel’s house turns into “our” house—the recently vacated one by the meadow with the obnoxiously blue kitchen cabinets. The empty rooms turn into something with meaning. The living room becomes a shrine to the stars, the old guest room a dedication to the stray black cat that had been left behind by some family passing, and, most predictably, the bedroom a shrine to you. Or her. Depends on the day. 

Ellie is actually a very good cook, which is the only reason you two don’t starve. She spends her evenings in front of the stove, spatula in hand and frown etched firmly into her face as she surveys the pan in front of her.

You ooh and aah at everything she plates, whether it be a slice of buttered toast or some elaborate cut of steak. 

But she doesn’t always cook. Sometimes, for old time’s sake, Joel invites you two over for dinner. Like he did tonight. 

From where she sits next to you at the dining table, she leans down into your ear like she’s going to whisper something sweet. Instead: “Are you going to finish that?” She motions to the thick slice of bread sitting untouched on your plate.

You roll your eyes, stabbing your fork into it and dropping it on her plate. 

She beams back at you, and you suppress a smile as you turn back to the conversation between Dina and Joel. 

“...and I told Maria that if she was going to keep putting me on the shitty patrol routes with fucking Robert, she was going to have to be okay with some attitude from me afterwards,” Dina is saying, a fork animatedly hanging from her fingers. She looks better than ever, skin glowing and eyes bright. So do you, but that’s sort of a moot point—Ellie always thinks you look good.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Well, I can have a talk with Tommy and see if he can have a word with ‘er.” 

There’s a nudge at Ellie’s hand, the one that’s resting on her thigh under the table. It’s your pinky finger, edging over to hook with hers. 

She nudges you back, but rolls her eyes at you so you know that she thinks you’re being a sap.

From the dim candlelight of the kitchen, she can see the ghost of dirt from the garden under your nails. You keep them short and bare now, a far cry from the pearly oval-shaped ones of the past. For a while, you tried to track down all the nail files and clear polish in Jackson to keep them looking pretty, but after Maria started exclusively putting you on gardening and baking duty, you were lucky to go a day without them breaking. 

Ellie isn’t complaining. The only job that requires you to not be doing hard work with your hands is patrol, and it’s tough to tell which one of you hates the idea more. You, because you’ll be worried sick about the prospect of getting killed; Ellie, because she’s worried even sicker every time you leave the bounds without her. Patrolling together isn’t so bad, but Ellie’s never forgotten the way you screamed after she pulled that arrow out all those years ago, and she’s vowed to never let it happen again. 

“We should probably get going,” you say after Dina’s finished complaining about her Maria-flavored angst. “Both of us are on morning shifts.” 

“Well, shit,” says Joel. “I was going to offer you some coffee before you went.” 

The walk from Joel’s to yours is short, just down the lane. Coincidentally, the only empty house that’d been ready for you two to move into was the one that overlooks the meadow by the stables. Something about it still tastes like fate, even though it’s been a year and a half since Ellie moved in with you. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid tomorrow morning,” you’re telling her as you both shed your jackets and boots in the foyer. “I don’t want to be a widow this young.” 

“As long as you promise me the same. I don’t want to hear that you fell into the oven while baking bread or something.”

You cross your arms and glare at her, and there’s a little kick of affection in Ellie’s chest. “This isn’t a joke!” 

“I know, I know.” She’s standing in front of you in an instant, hands cupping your face as she grins at you. “But I’m immune. I’m basically, like, invincible. You don’t need to worry about me. You, however…”

As the sun sets, you let her lead you to bed. When your shirt falls to the ground, there’s still a slight mark on your lower belly where the arrow had struck you all those years ago—a stamp of sorts, a reminder of a time much more complicated and arduous. Evidence that everything that happened really did, even though it feels like ever since you’ve shown up nothing in her life has fallen into the realm of probability anymore.

Like, really. Not even straight people get their soulmate virtually delivered to their doorstep. Ellie’s won two lotteries, and only one of them has anything to do with her immunity.

You two typically fall asleep right after, night accelerating into morning with the speed lent to it by exhaustion from a hard day’s work. But this night is different.

It’s special. 

It’s about to be the same day you parted ways, back in the meadow up north so many years ago. The one where you screamed out for her as the scanner glowed red, where you had to be physically dragged into the helicopter. Somehow she knows she’ll dream of it again, like she does every year when this day rolls around. 

You looked younger then, Ellie realizes as she looks down at you. You’re asleep and none the wiser, mouth slightly agape. There’s a few fine lines in the corner of your eyes now. An etched path where the skin of your cheeks meet when you smile. She can’t see them now, but she knows that there’s a gray hair or two somewhere on your head. You’d pointed it out to her in horror just a week or so ago, citing bad family genes that cause graying before 30.

But while you’re scandalized by the thought of going gray, Ellie is enthralled.

Riley will never get smile lines. Sam will always have the chubby cheeks of a child. 

But you—you get to grow old. Somehow she’s known this in the back of her head for some time now, but seeing the physical evidence of it, proof that you’ve made it this long, soothes her tired soul in a way she didn’t know was possible. 

So when she finally sleeps, she doesn’t dream of anything.

final a/n: and that's a wrap! after over a year of me stringing you guys along, i've finally completed exoplanet. this has been such a wild ride and a lot of stuff has happened since we last spoke. i'm excited to be back. thanks for reading <3

tags: @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl​ @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @sugarqueencosmos @iriswalrus @chiao1209 @lovecaraya @thatgiraffefromtlou @alwayslongingforyou @thelastofshimmer

[diremoone]

the door with the floral wreath | r. sukuna

when sukuna gets a new neighbor on the third floor of his apartment complex, he’s pleasantly surprised to see who it is behind the door with the floral wreath. her two cats on the other hand, are a massive fucking problem.

w — honestly nothing? save for fluff and some cussing, slowburn-ish, implied boxer & sorta rich! Sukuna, implied polyglot(ish)! reader, cat! Satoru and cat! Suguru and both cats being in love, cozy themed again (I can’t help it), the formatting of this “fic” was how it was in my brain so I’m sorry if it’s a lil strange haha, this apparently became longer than I originally anticipated lmao, reader is mentioned to be partially Japanese but no physical appearances are ultimately described, mild angst at the end

a/n: not apart of the ‘make me (yours)’ universe but it’s definitely inspired by it

🌸 When Sukuna wakes up on a Saturday morning and opens his front door to leave for his morning run, the last thing he expects to see is a floral wreath on the door opposite of his. That can only mean one thing: someone has moved in. But if someone has, then why hasn’t he seen or heard the furniture being moved in? These aren’t exactly the cheapest apartments, so did they just not have anything?

It was weird, to say the least.

🌸 However, three months pass before he gets to see who the person who’s behind the door across from his.

🌸 Sukuna gets back from his jog a little early, the light sprinkles of rain turning into a downpour. That’s when he sees you leaving your apartment, locking the door to leave. Unfortunately, you’re not paying too much attention to your surroundings, and you two nearly collide into one another at the top of the stairs.

You narrowly turn in time to place yourself flat against the wall to avoid the behemoth of a man that was your neighbor from running over you and sending you both down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” came your instant apology.

“It’s fine,” follows his gruff reply.

But he knows he certainly wouldn’t mind running into you again. Just not where you two can fall down the stairs and potentially break your necks.

On a random day not too long after your initial run-in (and near subsequent dangerous tumble down some stairs), you two run into one another to get the mail at the front office.

You pop up behind him right after he opens his mailbox, staring up at him and his very impressive height and build and apparently scare him, because when you speak next, his shoulders jump. “Gosh, you’re tall. You must’ve played basketball or something in high school, yeah?”

He would’ve either been silent or retort something in an asshole tone like he was used to. He just didn’t like people.

He would’ve, if it wasn’t his cute neighbor.

“Volleyball,” he replies quietly. “Quit after graduation.”

You frown. “That sucks. You must’ve been good at it.”

“It was a pastime.”

“Sounds fun though,” you chirp, putting your own key into your mailbox. “I tried to get into sports, but uh, lack of things made it hard to do so. Did track for awhile, until my ribs couldn’t keep up.”

Sukuna lets out a snort but says nothing further. He goes to leave, but not before hearing, “G’bye, neighbor!”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t told you his name, had he?

Hopefully, there would be a next time.

🌸 Sukuna doesn’t see you again for another month or two after that, fate still having you two separated like an awful slowburn romance.

🌸 What he doesn’t like in particular is the fact you don’t know his name and he doesn’t know yours. He doesn’t like that; doesn’t like that he’s missed his chance to know you a little better. By his logic, he should know your name, have your phone number, and have at least had you on a date and in his bed at least once already.

🌸 Come early December, he hears your door begin to open and close a lot. It becomes annoying, very very annoying, very very quickly.

That goes on almost until Christmas time.

Until one day he manages to catch the little reasons why your door has been slamming shut so much.

Twerp Number One wriggles in his hold as he holds them both up to eye level. She grunts and huffs at him. “Put me down!”

To which he scoffs at. “And why should I do that?”

Just as Twerp Number Two decides to speak, your door opens. This time it’s you.

“You can let them down,” you say, clearly amused. “They’ve come for cookies.”

Sukuna grunts. “So that’s why they’re always slamming the door.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried to get them to stop. They are six, though.” As genuine as your apology is, Sukuna can see the little twinkle of mischievousness appear at the end of your sentence in defense of the two twerps.

“Mr. Sukuna is a big grump anyway!” the oddly-orange-haired girl says. “At least that’s what my mama says.”

“Nobara, you shouldn’t be calling people names,” you scold the girl. “Put them down so they can get some cookies and head back, please. I’m sure Nobara’s mom is wondering about them. Nobara, the white box is for you to take home.”

Sukuna begrudgingly obliges. Nobara and her friend barge inside your home. The door stays open thanks to a cold breeze, allowing for the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon rolls to drift outside and into his nose. And damn does it smell nice.

“So, I finally know your name,” you muse.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” he says, half-correcting you, “but everyone just calls me by my first name.”

“I can see why,” you reply in a joking tone and smile. “But yeah… It fits you. I’m [Name], and pretty much the same: everyone calls me by my first name. Since my last name isn’t exactly normal, you know… Since I’m not inherently from Japan.”

Sukuna’s brows raise. “You’ve lived here before?” he asks.

“My mom is [part/full] Japanese,” you admit. And then to his surprise, you ramble on further, “I’ve popped around, uh, a few countries over the last several years of my life, Japan included. I’ve just… never stayed in one place to technically be from somewhere. I was born in the States, but… I don’t, uh, really feel like I actually am from there… Does that make any sense?”

“It does.” But he doesn’t go into his backstory in return. And thankfully, you don’t seem to mind, just about as much as you minded sharing such a part of your life to someone who’s technically nothing more than a stranger to you, not in the slightest.

Nobara pops back out with her friend, who’s just a touch older than her.

“Thank you for the cookies and cimmanom rolls, Miss [Name]!” Nobara says.

You don’t bother to correct her cute mistake. “You’re very welcome, Nobara. Now head home. Goodnight, girls.”

“Goodnight!”

You watch the girls descend, and when they’re out of sight, you listen carefully for the telltale of their first floor door closing. And when it thuds shut loud enough to wake everyone in the apartments in the block, you turn your attention back to the gigantic man that was your next door neighbor… Who’s attention was on your door, more than likely concentrating on the smell in your kitchen.

Your lips curl up and you prevent a giggle. “You want some?”

Your voice snaps him from his stupor. “What? Want what?”

“Some cookies and cimmanom rolls?” you question, cutely reiterating Nobara’s mistake.

“Uh…”

He takes too long to answer, so you decide for him. “I’ll get you some anyway.”

You go back inside, leaving him out in the cold. But you don’t take very long and come back out not even two minutes later with another white box and place it into his hands.

“Well,” you say, teeth chattering from the cold. “It’s nice finally knowing your name, neighbor. Maybe we’ll run into each other again soon… Goodnight.”

He barely gets out a “goodnight” before you close the door. Sukuna tosses his head back and settles for a heavy exhale rather than the audible sigh he knows you would’ve heard through your door.

Another fuck up. But at least he got some food out of it this time.

🌸 You both end up meeting each other a lot more often by “coincidence” after that, like fate has finally determined you’re allowed to see one another or something. (To him that just sounds stupid, until it comes out of your mouth.)

For Christmas, you end up gifting him a tin of popcorn and another box of sweets by leaving them at a front door with a cute handwritten note.

🌸 Gradually, the two of you begin to interact more, and naturally gravitate toward each other’s energy and finally getting to know one another; he’s over at your apartment most of the time, it’s cleaner and smells at lot more nice than his (in his opinion). It’s not that he’s dirty, he’s quite clean actually. It’s just that he prefers your apartment to his.

🌸 You find out that Sukuna is about ten years older than you, and was almost a volleyball player that almost went pro, had it not been for his father’s death. He lost all motivation for the sport, and eventually settled for doing numbers for his father’s company, taking up boxing as a side hobby. To which he was more than good at.

A year ago, he moved into these apartments, getting away from the corporate world had had dived into, opting to do things from home rather than in-person. His prior neighbors never stayed around for too long, not with the amount of noise coming from his apartment in the middle of the night. You’re honestly surprised the person below him hasn’t moved out yet either.

🌸 For Sukuna, he finds out that you almost didn’t get to graduate high school because of how much you’d been moving around. You’d gotten depression from leaving so many friends behind so often that you just made graduation by the skin of your teeth.

Now, you’re online for college, majoring in linguistics, all while working as a translator for a special needs school of Japanese children that are deaf. Through that, he finds out you speak several different languages as well.

God, your personality is just as sweet as the goodies you bake, huh?

🌸 There is one problem, however, when he comes over: your goddamn cats.

🌸 The white Maine Coon is for sure out to get him and make his life miserable, with his attempts at wooing you almost a failed attempt every single time. His name is Satoru, and he’s by far the most obnoxious cat he’s ever fucking met.

Why on Earth you’d give a cat a human name is beyond him. But the again, the fucking cat acts so human it’s disturbing — it almost kind of makes sense.

🌸 Satoru’s claws almost end up in his ass every time he walks through the front door. He can’t even stand openly, but has to stay against a wall or sit on the couch so the cat doesn’t get his claws into his backside. And he can tell that that damn cat has a smug-ass smirk on his face every time. How a cat can smirk, he’s unsure; but he just knows that the look on his face is the one of a smug little shithead that knows he’s gotten away with being a menace. Thankfully, you’re aware of his tendencies and can tell when he’s being more of an asshole than other times and get onto him.

🌸 The black Maine Coon, Suguru, isn’t as terrible, but he opts to creepily stare down at Sukuna from his cat tower rather than be proactive in his distaste. He studies him every second every time he comes over, paying attention to every single detail and movement Sukuna makes with you.

He’ll do things more subtly than his white counterpart, like “accidentally” wave his long, black fluffy tail into his cup of water you gave him. He’s just as much of a menace, although you don’t get onto him as often like the white one, because while you know Satoru is more of an extroverted menace, you just seemingly can’t see that Suguru is just as awful. (Mostly because you don’t actually see it.)

🌸 This goes on for months and months, Satoru scratching the behind of his pants as hard as he can to make it rip and getting white fur all over his clothes, and Suguru glaring down at him from his tower and putting his paws in Sukuna’s food. Although it becomes a little less as often because they’re seemingly growing used to him, as if they’re seeing that he actually makes you happy and finally get the sense that he isn’t just going to break your heart and throw you away.

🌸 And the growing approval of your cats seems to mean a lot to you.

“I picked them up off the streets,” you tell him after he asks about where you got the inseparable pair. “I found them as kittens in a cardboard box three years ago on the streets, drenched and matted in dirt and nasty water.”

You remember the day very clearly. It had just stopped raining, and just as you were about to head home, stopping at the vending machines before heading to your car, you heard animal-like cries of something small and weak. And sure enough, on the other side of the food machine, stuffed away in a tacky, ruined cardboard box, were two, rain-drenched kittens huddled together to keep warm.

That was the day you got two new cats, two new responsibilities. And although times got hard a few times, you’ve never regretted adopting them.

Sukuna gazes up at the two cats on the tower, sitting next to each other in the bed at the top. Their tails are intertwined, heads rubbing at each other’s necks lovingly. He would have never guessed that’s where you found them. From the looks of it, they he would’ve guessed they’d came from a pet store.

“So you’ve raised them since they were kittens,” Sukuna says. “They trust you with their lives. And looks like they love you unconditionally, too.”

“I’d like to think so,” you muse, sipping on your coffee. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it with how ornery they are.”

Sukuna keeps his eyes trained on the two cats in love. He’s slightly jealous, and no he’ll never admit it. He just hopes he can have that one day with you.

He just has to stop Satoru from ripping him a new one every time he comes through the door.

🌸 Your cats eventually grow fond of having him over, fond enough that they’re not being the usual mischievous selves when Sukuna puts his arm around your shoulders and tugs you closer to him when you invite him over for movie nights, not trying to bite his fingers off (Satoru) or sit between you both (Suguru).

🌸 After a year passes and you and Sukuna know each other, he finally gets to take you on a proper date after manning up. Although it’s not a restaurant date, since he knows you hate being looked at while eating. It’s a picnic by the ocean, with the weather nothing short of perfect.

🌸 Your attempts to leave your cats at home for said date, however, are fruitless, the pair determined to come with you and your now-boyfriend who declares himself as such after dessert just to piss off the pair of felines. Sukuna plants a big fat smooch on your lips, turning you into a giggly mess.

🌸 They in return, somehow find a stray kitten and plop it in his lap in return. The kitten isn’t as bad off as when you found Satoru and Suguru, but he’s just as scared. He immediately imprints on your oversized boyfriend, who secretly takes an instant liking to the orange-red (honestly a little pink, too) baby cat and becomes a cat dad.

Date not necessarily ruined. But definitely not what he had planned.

🌸 After a week of having, he fondly named the cat a human name — Yuuji, and the fur baby took just as much liking to it as his owner did him. You do have to teach him the ropes and warn your boyfriend that he’d better be ready to have some of his stuff deep-cleaned if Yuuji doesn’t get to the litter box in time.

Satoru and Suguru take to the kitten like two doting parents. And as much as they still kinda dislike your boyfriend taking you from them, they still help train him to use the litter box. (Long story short, they felt bad after seeing you cry after they’d tore up [and peed] all over your third couch and quit being as ornery as they used to be.)

A few months had passed since Sukuna got Yuuji plopped into his lap, since you two had become a couple. It was always amusing seeing your big boyfriend playing with such a small cat. Honestly, the cat looked like he was part tiger.

You feel overwhelmed with contentment. You have a good job, a wonderful boyfriend (who’s apparently secretly rich) who loves to give you kisses, and two cats who love you. You have enough now, so why was the universe trying to take that from you?

You don’t know how your ex got your number, but what you do know is that you have to tell Sukuna. No later than tomorrow.

You exhale. You can’t think about it. You’ll tell him. You’ll tell him tomorrow that your dyed blonde-haired ex wants to see you again. You’re hopefully of one thing though: that the moment your boyfriend meets your ex, you hope Sukuna has enough restraint to not beat the shit out of him.

“Baby, you okay?”

Sukuna’s brows are raised. One would miss the concern on his face if they didn’t know him as well as you do.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” Woman up, girl, you tell yourself. “I do have something to tell you later. Just… remind me before dinner.”

The concern becomes more evident on his face, which prompts you to walk to him and kiss him.

“It’s nothing serious… I don’t think. Don’t worry,” you reassure him, partially reassuring yourself. “What we should worry about is what’s for dinner,” you joke. “Don’t think I can eat those leftovers.”

“Goddamn, I’m sorry I put too much salt in it.”

You laugh, wanting this happiness to ever be trampled on. You’ll do what you can to protect and keep it.

taglist:

@vagabond-umlaut | @poe-daydreams | @heresan @thedovahqueen | @lotus-n-l0ve | @chiyoso | @miraclecherryblossomsblog | @unbreakableblueheaven | @marscatbutler | @vanillabloo | @wo-ming-bai | @visionsofmagic | @tohsri

[evorlaah]

INTENTIONS

Paring: Nonidol!Jake x Female!reader

Synopsis: “Off-limits,” is what your best friend Yunjin says, but the more you spend time with Jake, the harder it becomes to ignore the undeniable chemistry between you two.

Warnings: slowburn romance, emotional tension, suggestive content, friendship complications, Jake’s a tease and a freak.

Note: there isn’t really anything suggestive in this, it’s my first time writing anything like this too so 😭. Enjoy

@evorlaah

You’re perched on the edge of Yunjin’s bed, her laptop propped open as you both skim through lecture notes. The dorm is warm, filled with the faint scent of her lavender diffuser, and you’re doing your best to stay focused on her chatter about last weekend’s party.

“I mean, Jake’s always like that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Thinks he can charm his way through everything. Trust me, Y/n, he’s all talk. Totally off-limits.”

Your stomach knots, and you force a nonchalant laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Not my type.”

Lie.

Because the truth is, you never really thought about having a crush on Jake—or finding him attractive, for that matter. He was just your best friend’s older brother, the guy who’d occasionally crash your movie nights to steal a slice of pizza or tease you about the way you always wore mismatched socks.

But now? Now you’re seeing him differently.

It’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up just enough to show his forearms. The way his voice lingers in the space between casual and smooth when he says your name. The way he looks at you like he knows something you don’t.

You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. Jake Sim is not the kind of guy you fall for. And Yunjin’s right—he’s definitely off-limits.

“Y/n,” Yunjin snaps her fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out. Did you even hear what I said?”

“Uh, yeah,” you lie again, looking away to cover your awkwardness. “Totally. Jake’s… the worst.”

Yunjin snickers. “Exactly. Don’t let that golden-boy charm fool you.”

You force a smile, but all you can think about is how his “golden-boy charm” might feel when directed at you.

The next time you see Jake, it’s at Yunjin’s apartment, where she’s throwing a small get-together for her friend group. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, laughing at something one of the guys said. His hair is messy in that effortless, careless way that makes him look annoyingly good.

Your plan is to avoid him. Stay in the living room, stick close to Yunjin, and pretend he doesn’t exist. But of course, Jake has other plans.

“Y/N, can you go grab my charger from my room?” Yunjin calls over her shoulder from where she’s chatting with a couple of friends. “I think I forgot it.”

You blink at her, momentarily thrown. “Why me? It’s your room.”

“Because you’re closer to the hallway.” She waves you off without looking, as if that makes her logic foolproof. “It’s on my nightstand. I’ll owe you!”

You sigh, reluctantly standing up. Anything to get some air, right? At least Jake’s in the kitchen, far away from where you’ll be.

Or so you think.

Yunjin’s room is dimly lit by the fairy lights strung above her bed, the familiar scent of vanilla lingering in the air. You spot her charger on the nightstand and make a quick grab for it, eager to get back to the living room before-

“Avoiding me?”

You freeze, heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. Turning slowly, you see Jake leaning in the doorway, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his hoodie. The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips is unmistakable.

“No,” you lie, gripping the charger like it’s some kind of shield. “Why would I be avoiding you?”

He steps into the room, the space between you shrinking far too quickly. “I don’t know,” he says lightly, but his eyes are sharp, studying you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “You tell me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to keep your cool. “I’ve been busy. Yunjin asked me to get this, so—”

“You’ve been ‘busy’ every time I try to talk to you lately,” Jake cuts you off, his voice softer now. He stops just a couple of feet away, close enough for you to catch the faint trace of his cologne. “You’re not a great liar, Y/n.”

Your pulse quickens. “Jake, I’m not avoiding you,” you insist, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“Then why can’t you look at me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

You hate how he’s right. How his gaze feels like it’s burning holes into you, making your chest tighten with emotions you can’t even name.

“I can look at you,” you snap, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

Big mistake.

Because now, under the warm glow of the fairy lights, you can see every detail—the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes despite the teasing edge in his voice. It’s overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels too heavy, too charged, and you swear your heartbeat is loud enough for him to hear.

Jake’s voice drops, low and almost hesitant. “You don’t have to avoid me, you know.”

Your grip tightens on the charger. “I’m not avoiding you,” you repeat, though your voice wavers this time.

He steps closer, close enough that the tips of his shoes almost touch yours. “Then why does it feel like you are?”

Before you can come up with an answer—if you even have one—Yunjin’s voice echoes down the hallway.

“Y/m! Did you get it yet?”

You blink, snapping out of whatever daze Jake’s put you in. “Yeah, I’m coming!” you shout back, brushing past him quickly.

But as you leave the room, you swear you hear Jake mutter under his breath, “This isn’t over.”

And you know deep down he’s right.

You escape the room so fast you’re practically sprinting down the hallway, clutching the charger like it’s a lifeline. Your heart is still racing, the weight of Jake’s gaze lingering like a phantom touch.

“Finally,” Yunjin groans as you return to the living room, tossing the charger onto her lap. She doesn’t even look up, too busy scrolling through her phone. “You take forever, you know that?”

“Your room’s a disaster,” you lie easily, dropping onto the couch next to her. Anything to hide the fact that you needed a minute to compose yourself.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Excuses, excuses.”

Your attempt to blend back into the background is almost successful. Almost.

Jake reappears a few moments later, strolling into the living room as if nothing happened. He settles into the armchair across from you, casually sipping from a can of soda, but the way his eyes flick to you—just for a second—sends a fresh wave of heat up your neck.

“Jake,” Yunjin says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you look like you’re plotting something? You’re creeping me out.”

“Me?” he says innocently, leaning back in the chair. “I’m just sitting here, minding my own business.”

You snort quietly, earning a suspicious glance from Yunjin. She doesn’t press it, though, turning her attention back to her phone.

But Jake doesn’t stop.

The night has ended, and you’re helping Yunjin clear the table when she turns to you with a casual grin.

“You should just stay over,” she says, like it’s the most obvious solution. “It’s late, and I don’t feel like walking you out to your car.”

You glance at the clock. It is late, and you don’t particularly want to drive home in the dark. “You sure?”

“Of course,” Yunjin says, already tossing you a spare pillow from the couch. “You can take the couch. Jake’s crashing here too, so it’s no big deal.”

The pillow freezes mid-air in your hands.

“Jake’s staying?” you ask, voice higher than you intended.

“Yeah, he’s too lazy to drive back to his place.” She waves it off, completely unbothered. “You guys can share the living room. Don’t worry—he won’t bother you.”

You sneak a glance at Jake, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping water. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying to suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Jake echoes, his voice laced with amusement. “I won’t bite.”

Your stomach flips, and you resist the urge to throw the pillow at him.

Later, after Yunjin retreats to her room and the apartment falls quiet, you find yourself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Jake is on the other side of the living room, stretched out in the recliner with his legs draped lazily over the armrest.

You try to ignore him. Really, you do. But the silence feels too heavy, and his presence too loud.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jake finally says, breaking the stillness.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you reply without looking up.

He hums, like he doesn’t believe you. “You’re avoiding me again.”

Your head snaps up. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then why are you all the way over there?” he asks, gesturing to the considerable distance between the couch and the recliner.

You roll your eyes. “It’s a big living room, Jake. Not everything’s about you.”

Jake grins, shifting in his seat so he’s leaning forward slightly. “I didn’t say it was. But you didn’t deny it.”

Jake’s grin only widens as you stand, throwing the blanket off your legs. “Where are you going?” he asks, leaning back in the recliner like he’s settling in for a show.

“To yunjins room.” Just as your about to step into the hallway you feel a firm grip on your wrist.

The sudden warmth of his fingers wrapping around your wrist makes you freeze in place, your heart skipping a beat. You glance down at his hand, then back at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Leaving so soon?” Jake’s voice is low, casual, but there’s something in the way he holds your wrist that makes your breath catch. It’s not forceful, but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks.

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat. The tension between you feels thick, like it’s wrapping around you, pulling you in despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Let go,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, trying to pull your wrist free from his grip.

But Jake doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense. “Why are you running away, huh?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper now. “You think I’m that bad?”

Your pulse races, and you tell yourself to stay calm, but it’s hard when his presence is so close, when you can feel the heat of his hand still around your wrist.

“Cmon, you know what we did. Why run away now?”

Your breath catches at his words, and for a moment, everything around you seems to blur. Jake’s grip isn’t tight, but the weight of his hand around your wrist feels almost suffocating. The air between you thickens with unspoken tension, a quiet challenge hanging in the space between his words and your silence.

“What we did?” you echo, voice wavering despite yourself. It’s hard to ignore the way your heart is beating erratically, but you force your gaze to stay steady on his. “What are you talking about?”

Jake’s eyes darken a fraction, and there’s a flicker of something more serious in his expression now. He leans in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “You know exactly what I mean. Or are you pretending you don’t remember?”

His proximity makes it even harder to breathe, the knot in your stomach tightening as you try to keep your composure. It wasn’t supposed to happen, whatever it was—everything was supposed to be normal, a simple hangout with Yunjin. But this feels anything but simple now.

You swallow, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, but the uncertainty in your voice betrays you. Your pulse races, your mind swirling with a mix of confusion and frustration. What did happen between you two? Why is everything so complicated now?

Jake watches you, amusement flickering across his features, but there’s an edge to it that makes your chest tighten. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/n,” he says, voice still low and almost teasing, but the undertone is undeniable. “I know what’s going on, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Your hand twitches in his, the tension between you palpable now. His thumb brushes lightly across your wrist, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. It’s too much. Too much closeness, too much confusion, too much of everything you don’t want to deal with right now.

“I—” You cut yourself off, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. “Let me go, Jake.”

He doesn’t budge. “Come on, Y/n, you know you don’t want to run. So why are you still pretending like we’re not here?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The moment stretches, lingering in the air. Your mind screams at you to pull away, to get some space, but a part of you is too caught in the moment to do anything about it.

Everything slows for a heartbeat. The world narrows down to just the two of you—his hand still wrapped around your wrist, his breath warm against your skin. You feel the pull of him, magnetic, undeniable. And then, in a split second, he leans in, his lips barely brushing against yours.

You freeze. Your body tenses, caught somewhere between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean in. His lips are just a whisper away from yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and tantalizing.

Your mind screams at you to stop. This isn’t right. Not with Jake. Not like this.

But the part of you that’s been confused and frustrated, the part that’s been fighting against the tension between you two, hesitates for a moment too long.

Jake’s lips press just slightly more firmly against yours, his grip on your wrist loosening for the briefest moment before you snap back to reality. You step back, heart hammering in your chest, pushing him away gently but firmly.

“No,” you say, your voice shaky but determined. You can’t let this happen. Not now. Not like this.

Jake looks at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—regret, maybe. He doesn’t say anything right away, and the air between you both feels thick with the weight of what just happened. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing.

“I… we cant,” you mutter, turning away from him, heart still racing in your chest. You don’t wait for him to respond, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you is like a loud punctuation mark in the silence, but it does little to calm your racing heart. You press your back against the door, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as the weight of what almost happened crashes over you.

You want to be angry. You want to yell at Jake for crossing the line, for making you feel this way. But the part of you that’s confused, the part that wanted that too, refuses to let you let it all out. What was that pull? Why does it feel like everything between you and Jake is suddenly shifting into something you can’t control?

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. No. This was a mistake. You can’t let this happen. Not now, not when you’re still figuring out what you want, who you are in all of this.

But still… your lips still tingle from where his almost kissed you, and you can’t ignore the confusing pull you feel every time he’s near.

The next day feels like you’re walking through a minefield. The awkwardness between you and Jake is thick in the air, and you can feel it in every glance, every half-hearted word exchanged. You can barely focus on anything, your thoughts too tangled up in the mess of emotions and confusion from last night.

The constant glances from Jake are driving you crazy. Every time you glance his way, his eyes are already on you, and it’s like this silent pull, a connection you can’t ignore no matter how hard you try. You try to focus on the TV, on Yunjin, on anything but the overwhelming feeling that he’s watching you.

But you can’t take it anymore. You can’t sit here pretending things are normal when they’re clearly not.

You stand up abruptly, earning a curious glance from Yunjin.

“Hey, I’m not feeling great. I think I’m gonna head home,” you say quickly, avoiding looking in Jake’s direction.

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You don’t look too bad.”

You force a half-smile, feeling your cheeks flush from the lie. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired. I think it’s better if I rest.”

She nods, still not completely convinced, but she doesn’t push it. “Okay, feel better.”

You grab your bag and head to the door, avoiding Jake’s gaze the entire time. You just need some space. You need to get away from him, from the tension, from the confusion. But as soon as you reach for the door handle, you feel it—Jake’s eyes on you again.

“Are you sure?” His voice is calm, but the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t turn around, you just open the door and step outside, trying to shake the feeling that he’s right behind you.

You don’t want to deal with this right now, but you know you can’t keep avoiding it forever.

You collapse onto your bed as soon as you get home, the door clicking shut behind you. The moment your head hits the pillow, you stare at the ceiling, willing your racing thoughts to slow down. But they won’t. They keep circling, replaying everything—Jake’s smirk, his eyes, the tension that’s been building between you two.

You shouldn’t feel this way. It’s wrong. He’s Yunjin’s older brother, and you’re not supposed to feel this… connection with him. But you do. And it’s driving you crazy.

Your mind drifts to last night—the way his hand brushed yours, the way his words hung in the air. You don’t know what he was thinking, or what he’s trying to do, but you can’t shake the feeling that things are different now. You’re not just friends anymore. And maybe you never were.

A sudden knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, making you jump. You sit up quickly, heart hammering in your chest. Who could it be?

You don’t have to wonder long, because the door creaks open, and there he is. Jake. Standing in your doorway with that same calm expression, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to figure you out.

You swallow hard, not sure whether to be annoyed, surprised, or just… confused. “What are you doing here?” You try to keep your voice steady, but it wavers a little.

Jake doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just steps into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I thought you might need some company,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes that says otherwise. Something unspoken.

You feel your stomach knot. “Jake, I—”

“I know, I know,” he cuts you off, his voice softer now. “You’re trying to get away from everything, right? But you don’t have to. You don’t have to push me away.”

Your breath catches. “What are you talking about?”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, but not in a threatening way. More like… a magnet, drawing you in despite your better judgment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, a small, almost playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “So, you might as well talk to me.”

Your pulse quickens, your thoughts a jumbled mess. What do you say to him now? What is he even expecting from you?

You look at him, trying to make sense of it all. “Jake, this… this isn’t a good idea.” You know it’s not, but the more he stands there, looking at you like that, the harder it is to push him away.

You don’t say anything at first, just sit there, your gaze locked with his. The room feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you shrinking with the weight of unspoken words. You could tell him to leave, to stop showing up like this—but you don’t.

For reasons you can’t quite explain, you let the tension hang there, thick in the air. You don’t move, and neither does he. The only sound is the soft hum of the clock ticking in the corner, matching the beat of your heart, each second dragging longer than the last.

Jake doesn’t look frustrated, though. In fact, there’s something in his eyes—a quiet amusement, maybe even a little bit of satisfaction, like he knows exactly what this silence is doing to you.

He finally speaks, his voice low and smooth. “You know, Y/n, I’m not so easy to ignore. But you already knew that, right?”

His words linger, and for a second, you’re not sure if you should respond or just let him keep talking.

You swallow hard. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Sure feels like it.” He takes another step closer, closing the distance between you two, but still leaving just enough space to make you wonder if he’s waiting for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

You stay still, unsure of what exactly you want, but feeling the pull toward him anyway. You’re not sure if it’s the curiosity or something else, but you can’t deny that the closer he gets, the more you can’t breathe.

Jake tilts his head, studying you closely. “So, what do you want me to do, huh? Pretend everything’s normal and keep our distance?”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

He smirks. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

You want to tell him to leave. You want to tell him that you can’t handle this, that it’s too much. But all you do is sit there, heart racing, eyes still locked on his.

It’s quiet for a moment—an uncomfortable silence that seems to stretch on forever. But instead of stepping closer, Jake backs away slightly, not giving you the chance to say anything more, but also not completely leaving.

“You know, I’ll be around,” he says, his voice almost teasing now, like he’s enjoying the way you’re reacting to him. “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

As Jake turns to leave, you feel the words rising in your chest, unfiltered and urgent, like they’ve been trapped there for too long. The quiet that follows his departure feels like it’s pressing down on you, suffocating you with all the things you never said.

“Don’t go,” you call out, your voice stronger than you expect. He stops, pausing with his back still turned toward you.

For a second, neither of you says anything. But then, he slowly turns around, his eyes fixed on you, waiting for whatever comes next.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of your words hang in the air between you. The silence stretches, but you don’t break it. Not this time.

“I—” you start, but your mind goes blank for a moment, scrambling for something to say that makes sense. All the feelings, all the uncertainty, suddenly feel so loud, so overwhelming.

Jake takes a step closer, his gaze softening, as if he can sense your inner conflict. He doesn’t rush you, just waits patiently, giving you the space to find the words.

“I don’t want to push you away,” you finally manage, the words coming out in a rush. “But I don’t know what I’m doing. With you. With all this.” You motion between the two of you, frustration building. “It’s like I can’t tell if it’s something real or if I’m just… I don’t know. Caught up in it.”

Jake steps closer again, and this time, it’s different. He doesn’t feel like the same person from before—someone who would smile and tease, or just leave without a second thought. Now, he feels like someone who’s listening. Really listening.

“Y/n,” he says quietly, and the way he says your name makes your chest tighten. “I get it. I’m not expecting you to figure everything out right now. But you don’t have to keep running from this. From me.”

You glance up at him, unsure of what to say next, feeling vulnerable but also relieved. There’s something about the way he’s standing there, so open and calm, that makes it all feel just a little bit easier to understand.

“I just don’t want to mess things up,” you admit, feeling a rush of honesty. “I don’t know how to act with you, especially after everything.”

Jake’s fingers gently brush against your skin, the lightest touch, like he’s afraid of crossing some invisible line. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and vulnerable all at once.

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” he says quietly, his voice full of reassurance. “I’m here, Y/n. Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out together.”

His hand lingers near your cheek, but doesn’t quite touch you fully. The space between you feels charged, the air thick with everything that’s been left unsaid.

You feel a tightness in your chest as his words sink in, but also a sense of relief. It’s like a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying has been lifted, and for the first time in days, your mind is clear enough to just… breathe.

You look up at him, heart pounding in your chest. The tension between you both feels different now—not heavy, but uncertain in a way that’s almost comforting.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you say, your voice soft, your words hesitant but honest. “But… I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Jake finally lets his hand rest on your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. “It matters. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, no words needed, just the quiet understanding between you. The world feels a little smaller, a little more manageable.

Jake’s thumb gently caresses your cheek, his touch light, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. Instead, you close your eyes for a second, letting the warmth of his touch settle in.

When you open your eyes again, Jake’s face is closer now, just inches away. You feel his breath on your skin, the tension hanging between you like a promise, unspoken but undeniable.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

You nod slowly, the words you need just out of reach, but the answer in your heart clear. “Yeah,” you breathe out, feeling the truth of it settle inside you. “I’m sure.”

And before either of you can second-guess it, Jake closes the distance. His lips are soft, tentative at first. But when you don’t pull away, when you lean in just slightly, he deepens the kiss, and everything else fades away.

Jake’s hand stays on your cheek, but it feels like he’s holding back, like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything. The tension in the air is thick, charged, like it could snap at any moment. Your breath catches in your throat as you both just stand there, so close, but still not quite touching the way you both seem to want to.

The moment Jake picks you up, it’s like everything else vanishes. His hands are firm on your waist, and before you can even register what’s happening, he’s sitting down on the couch, pulling you gently into his lap.

“I’ll make sure you won’t avoid me this time.”

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 39.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I'm sorry that chapters are taking a while to come out. Life has been very busy, but I'm getting a new car!! and I'm so excited!! Also, I started to workout every single day, and I've gone down two pant-sizes since I started!! Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 38

In another part of the kingdom, all of the Avengers were sitting at a table with Shuri and T'Challa. All eyes were on Shuri save for Peter, who was fiddling with his Spiderman mask with a slight frown. Around Shuri were holograms that were showcasing high-profile individuals and locations. There was a grave expression on Shuri's face despite the determination that festered within her eyes, and she sighed slightly.

"As I stated before: In order to begin eradicating the rest of HYDRA, we are going to enlist the help of Nicholas Fury. He is currently on his way here to help us begin strategizing, but I must stress that this is going to be a very difficult and long mission. These people are...powerful people, and if we are not careful, it can have extremely dire consequences."

Natasha hummed, reclining in her seat as she murmured.

"A little espionage never hurts."

Clint snorted slightly, and Shuri sighed slightly. Steve stated firmly, crossing his arms as he looked at the different holograms that were floating around.

"This is going to be extremely difficult. The whole world knows our faces and who we are. How can we hope to hide within HYDRA when we are recognizable?"

Tony then pointed to Natasha, stating.

"Well, Miss Spider's Sunny Patch over here was able to fool Alexander Pierce with some sort of mask, so what if we just used that?"

Natasha shook her head, pointing at Tony.

"That's because the man was arrogant and let his guard down. These are going to be people with extremely difficult security measures. We're going to have to move in at the right moment, but let others do the work."

Peter frowned before asking, tilting his head slightly.

"Okay, sound logic, but how exactly are we going to do that?"

Bruce then shrugged, offering with a hesitant look on his face.

"What if we called Doctor Strange for help? Realistically, with what he can do, we might be able to pull this off."

Thor then perked up, squinting at Bruce.

"Bring in the magician?"

Bruce gave Thor a look, and Thor just stared at him. Tony then shook his head, raising his brow.

"Did I miss something?"

Bruce shook his head when Thor opened his mouth to speak, an embarrassed look on his face as he refuted.

"No, nothing at all. Can we move on? Doctor Strange?"

Shuri pursed her lips, crossing her arms as she began to think out loud.

"While Doctor Strange's abilities would come as a great help, I do not know if he would assist in something such as this. His sole purpose is to defend the Earth from inter-dimensional threats. I do not think HYDRA counts."

Bucky, who had been quiet the entire time, simply frowned. He wasn't exactly sure who the Avengers and Shuri were talking about, but from the sounds of it, he seemed to be a pretty big deal. Glancing at Steve, he was annoyed when he realized Steve wasn't looking at him to give him clarification, but Bucky didn't want to interrupt and ask.

Instead, his mind kept wandering back to his therapy session with Raynor, the annoyance making the plates in his metal arm whir and shift.

"Why do you insist on this? Things are fine."

Raynor just shook her head and sighed, stating with a firm look though her voice was calm and even.

"We haven't had a session in a while, and it seems that you've been busy. I noticed how you were reacting during the session with (Y/n). Why are you so protective over her?"

He wasn't expecting such a question, and if Bucky was honest, he wasn't even sure. There was a sensation of a need to protect; to shield (Y/n) that had his hackles rising every now and then. Bucky's eyes had looked everywhere but Raynor while he was in thought, and Raynor was gracious enough to stay quiet to allow him to try to figure it out for himself.

But he wasn't sure how to name the feeling that kept itching at his chest every now and then.

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I know how difficult it is to remember...how terrifying it is to relive the memories. I lucked out by having Steve, but (Y/n) doesn't have anyone."

Raynor was blunt as she replied, shaking her head as she crossed her arms.

"I think that's bullshit."

Bucky whipped his gaze to her, an offended look on his face as he regarded the woman with pursed lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's exactly as it sounds: it's bullshit. Just because you share that trauma doesn't mean you would be hovering like a goddamn guard dog."

Raynor uncrossed her arms and sat up a bit straighter, stating with a frown.

"James, at the first sign of distress, you were ready to end the session, and unfortunately, distress is a big deal when it comes to therapy. It allows me to understand where the wounds are, and it allows (Y/n) to know as well. I can't do that if you keep trying to shield her from her own therapy."

Bucky opened his mouth to reject her claims, but Raynor held a hand up to silently tell him to stay quiet.

"James, this is how healing works. You have to hurt before you can get better, and with (Y/n)'s specific case, it could be groundbreaking. I understand that you're her friend, but I think there's more to it than that."

Bucky frowned, his body tensing as Raynor looked at him with such an intense gaze that the man was starting to become uncomfortable.

"What are you talking about?"

"James...do you like this woman?"

Did he like (Y/n)? How absurd of a question was that? Bucky sighed slightly as he thought about Raynor's words. How did he answer something like that? Firstly, he didn't really know the woman. Sure, he was learning things bit by bit by helping (Y/n) to remember who she was and to learn who she currently is, but that was it.

Right?

He was just protective of her because Bucky knew how important and fragile this whole situation was. One wrong move could send (Y/n) down a spiral that he wasn't sure she would be able to come back from. She'd already made so much progress, and even Bucky knew that the smallest thing had a chance to set her off.

He was just trying to keep her sane.

So then why did his fists clench when the slightest bit of uncomfortableness came over her? Why did he feel the need to stand in between her and anything that was threatening her progress-including herself? Why did his chest tighten with every cry, every lost look, every flinch?

Bucky was just a man that cared about her. That was it. It was his duty and obligation to help her; an effort to make amends for what he did to her in the past. Not only that, but Bucky didn't want her to come undone.

That was all.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Bucky crossed his arms and sat back, his foot tapping quietly against the floor as he looked back at Shuri. Shuri was looking annoyed as Thor grilled her a little, and Bucky began to look around at everyone else in the room. On his right, Peter was watching with a wince as Shuri and Thor argued a little, but at the feeling of Bucky watching him, Peter looked at him.

"What is it?"

Bucky shook his head a little, murmuring.

"My money's on Shuri."

Peter chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he agreed.

"Yeah, I think so too."

Peter then became quiet, pursing his lips as he wondered if he should ask, and he took a leap, asking Bucky quietly.

"I'm sorry if I'm prying, but...you look a bit stressed out. Is everything okay?"

Bucky internally cursed, not realizing that he was making himself obvious, and he straightened up a bit, replying as he watched Steve glance at him through his peripheral vision.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just a bit stressed out about (Y/n) is all."

Peter perked up, asking as he leaned closer so he could talk quieter, concern lacing his features.

"Is she doing okay?"

Bucky nodded, glancing back at Peter.

"Yeah, she's doing okay. She's remembering a lot more, and now that she's got her old journals and some pictures of her life, I think she's going to make more progress."

Peter smiled brightly, a happy expression coming across his face.

"Really? That's...that's awesome! How'd you get your hands on her old journals and pictures?"

Bucky hummed, a strange sense of pride settling over him as his chest puffed a bit.

"I found out she had an aunt through Sam. So, I made a trip, and luckily, her aunt was still alive. She knows all about Project Achilles, and gave me some journals and pictures to help (Y/n) remember."

Peter was in awe, shaking his head with disbelief.

"Wow, that's really cool. Seriously."

Bucky smiled slightly, and he finally noticed Steve looking at him. Giving Steve a frown, he asked.

"What?"

Steve smirked and shook his head, looking away.

"Nothing, just eavesdropping."

"You? Eavesdropping?"

Steve rolled his eyes, and Bucky snorted before Tony rubbed his temples and groaned.

"Alright, Lightning McQueen, can it for a second, will you? I can hardly think when my IQ keeps dropping every time you talk. Princess, what are our options here? Obviously, we can't do anything until Fury is here, but what's the strategy here?"

Shuri walked to a console, her fingers flying over the keys as she worked, and a holographic map of the world came up. Dots lit up in various locations and continents as Shuri spoke.

"Waiting is not a strategy. With HYDRA's remaining operatives being people in high positions-CEO's, Senators, Military Advisors, etc-we cannot wait in the off-chance that the rest of HYDRA comes together and they fortify."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Shuri, shaking his head slightly as some of the Avengers nodded in agreement.

"These aren't just regular places. These are warzones in disguise."

Shuri nodded, tapping her fingers against the console slightly as she explained.

"Exactly my point. This is why we must slip in, and the best way to slip in would be with one person. A controlled infiltration with someone that could slip in reasonably."

Clint hummed, tapping his chin slightly as he gazed up at the holographic globe.

"This is a pretty high-stakes mission. If this person slips up even once, HYDRA won't just kill them off. HYDRA will go through whatever safehouses, whatever agencies, possibly even the Avengers Initiative, to send their message."

Shuri nodded, her eyes firm as she flicked up an image of (Y/n) mid-mission as a Winter Soldier. Her eyes looked dead within the image, a rifle raised and eyebrows furrowed. Her mask was tightly placed upon her face, and even within the image, Bucky could see the spots of blood decorating her face.

"That's why we send in someone that looks like one of their own."

The room immediately became tense, and Bucky exclaimed, jumping out of his seat.

"You can't be serious!"

Steve nodded, asking.

"(Y/n)? Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

Bucky looked betrayed, shooting his gaze to Steve with a look of awe and offense as Steve seemed to seriously consider the idea. Shuri stated gently.

"They made her. If she shows up, they would have reason to believe that we weren't able to break her programming. She's one of their most efficient weapons...would they really turn down an opportunity like this?"

Bucky hissed, T'Challa looking at the man with warning as he spoke.

"You're out of your fucking mind. Absolutely not!"

Before anybody could respond, the doors hissed open, all eyes on the doors.

"She's right."

Nick Fury walked in, Maria at his side loyally, as he walked in. The air of the room immediately grew tenser, and as his black trench coat waved like a shadow behind him, Nicky greeted everyone with a nod of his head.

"Every attempt to infiltrate HYDRA has been met with precognitive measures. They can see us coming before we can see them, and that's been our Achilles. We need someone to go in that they would welcome with open arms, and unfortunately, Barnes, that isn't you."

Bucky stepped forward, hissing and baring his teeth.

"She isn't ready for something like this. (Y/n) is barely holding it together as is!"

Nick gave Bucky a steely gaze, not backing down as he looked at the man with a frown.

"And yet, she's stabilizing and rebuilding. That's more than what most people can say that have gone through their system."

Bucky became offended, and Bruce finally spoke up despite the reluctance in his voice.

"Are you sure that you want to do that? What if she doesn't come back?"

"Then we burn HYDRA with her."

The room became heavy with silence. Bucky was seething, breathing heavily and his metal arm whirring loudly, and Steve murmured.

"You said it yourself-this is war. However, this needs to be done with her choice. We have to let (Y/n) make this decision. It isn't our place to make that decision for her."

Nicky shrugged and stated.

"Fair enough, but you need to remember that HYDRA created her since the beginning. She's their greatest asset, and they would be stupid to let her go again."

Peter then raised his hand sheepishly, all eyes on him as he asked.

"Okay, so...I know that this seems like the best course of action, but I do have to agree with Bucky. (Y/n)'s been through a lot...a lot...already, and I don't think it would be fair to make her do this. Are you sure we can't ask Doctor Strange for help?"

Thor finally spoke up, nodding his head.

"I agree with the spider. Perhaps, it would be smart to enlist the magician for help."

Wanda and Vision shared a look together, and Vision asked with an inquisitive look on his face.

"In what way would the Doctor's abilities be able to help where Miss Maximoff's wouldn't?"

Wanda spoke up, giving Vision a gentle look as she placed her hand against his.

"I can't shield her from her own mind. I can emotionally manipulate or influence memory and perception. HYDRA has broken and rebuilt her mind so many times that if I tried, I could cause more harm than good."

Vision took her words into careful consideration, humming.

"Yes, your powers are mainly empathetic, but the Doctor's are structural and anchored more in control and stability. Doctor Strange might be our best bet to ensure that (Y/n) is not lost to HYDRA again."

Bucky looked exasperated, stating.

"You guys are seriously considering this?"

Bucky shook his head, becoming increasingly upset, and T'Challa finally stated.

"We do not take this plan lightly, Barnes. We understand the risks that come with this, which is why we are exploring every other possible option and every possible failsafe for such a decision."

Bucky shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"This is ridiculous. What if she freezes or breaks down? What if they're able to break her again? All of this rehabilitation...it would have been for nothing! I can't believe you'd suggest something like this, Princess."

Shuri looked genuinely apologetic, but Bucky was angry enough to not notice. Steve stood and stated gently.

"Buck, I know that this is incredibly dangerous, but that's why I'm trying to give (Y/n) the choice. We don't have to use her for this mission, but she's the best option that we have."

Bucky shook his head, unwilling to listen, and the man wordlessly walked out of the room, giving Fury a pissed-off look as he left. The room became increasingly quiet, and Peter quietly spoke up.

"I'm sorry, but I have to agree with Bucky. This seems...counter-productive."

Wanda was gentle as she replied to Peter.

"Sometimes, the most dangerous choices are the best ones that can offer us control. If we can enlist the Doctor's help, then (Y/n) has a much better chance...and could come out much stronger."

Peter looked uncomfortable, and Tony shook his head.

"Listen, as much as I hate the idea of putting a ticking HYDRA bomb into the den, if there's a way to buffer this out, then I want to hear it. Do we know where Doctor Strange is located?"

Nick Fury nodded, and he stated.

"New York City. I've already sent the address to everyone. I suggest we round up a team to go knock on their door."

Natasha then raised her brow.

"Shouldn't we talk to (Y/n) first?"

Shuri cut in, shrugging.

"Perhaps we should have Doctor Strange talk to her. If she can see proof that she will be fine, then she might agree."

Peter then spoke up, looking sheepish despite his tone being firm.

"Princess Shuri, I really think that we should have a backup plan just in case. The idea is solid, don't get me wrong, but I...I don't know if this is really smart. I'm sorry."

Nick sighed and replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I do have a backup plan, but it's going to be even more difficult for this agent to establish trust with HYDRA since they are a new face for the organization."

The room became quiet, and Steve said.

"Whatever we choose, I do think Bucky should be present. Bucky is the only one that (Y/n) trusts besides Shuri and Natasha, and I think he should be allowed to be present no matter how strongly he feels about this. If anybody can convince Bucky, it would be Strange...but I do need to voice that I don't agree with this. Just like Peter said: it's counter-productive and extremely high-risk."

Shuri sighed, her shoulders falling as she replied quietly.

"I understand how dangerous this is. I don't want to put Isithunzi through this anymore than you do, but what option do we have? Fury's backup...they would be watched too closely."

Peter became slightly stressed, insisting.

"Can we just...maybe talk to Strange before we make anything final?"

Tony agreed, his tone firm but his voice quiet.

"I agree with Underoos. I hate this plan, but if there's any chance that Strange can make this as foolproof as possible, I want to know and see it for myself."

Fury nodded, and Steve stood up with a look of apprehension on his face.

"Then I'll go get Bucky."

Natasha stood, making Steve glance at her with a thankful expression as she spoke, a slight smirk on her face.

"I'll come with you. He listens to me...sometimes."

Shuri then reassured everyone in the room, Thor giving her a deep frown as she spoke.

"If Doctor Strange agrees to help, and (Y/n) agrees, then I will begin to make preparations to ensure that she can make it through this."

Fury announced then, stating.

"Then it's final. Bucky, Tony, Princess Shuri, and I will visit Strange. Everyone else, standby for further instructions."

Thor muttered, shaking his head as Bruce ran a hand down his face.

"This is lunacy...I'm almost certain Loki is here, playing tricks again."

"Give it a rest, Thor, please."

Bruce begged, and Thor huffed. Vision then stated, regarding everyone with a light expression upon his face.

"I suggest we compile psychological profiles, pattern analyses, and infiltration schematics in the meantime. If this is going to work, we’ll need more than just magic."

Peter nodded before he offered quietly.

"I'll make contingency plans...just in case everything goes to hell, or something like that."

Tony didn't even bother to correct Peter before the Avengers began to make their moves.

-STEVE-

As Steve and Natasha walked the corridors to find Bucky, Steve was eerily quiet. Natasha didn't say anything at first before she offered her two-cents.

"Are we really sure that this is a good idea, Steve?"

"No, it's not."

His voice was almost aggressive, a deep frown on his face, and Natasha noticed how tired the man looked. His lips were pursed, shoulders tensed, and the gait in his step was almost urgent. While Natasha had seen Steve like this a handful of times, this time it felt different.

"Bucky had a point. (Y/n) isn't ready for something like this, and even with all of the failsafes in the world, we can't ensure that she's going to come out of this...if at all."

Natasha hummed in agreement, her own lips pursing as she replied.

"Even so, if something goes wrong, I'm sure that Strange can pull her out of there. We all hate this idea, Steve, even Shuri."

Steve paused, turning towards Natasha with an urgent look on his face.

"Then why are we doing this? Why are we going to put someone that was horrifically abused and tortured right back to where she was before? She's told Bucky and I that she doesn't want to go back there ever again...and us doing this is going to feel like the biggest betrayal. We're going to ruin her."

Natasha looked uncomfortable for a moment before she murmured.

"I get that, Steve, I do. I'm not saying that you're wrong. Everyone is wrong...but you and I both know that if she doesn't agree, then that will be the end of it. It'll be increasingly difficult without her, but since when has anything for the Avengers been easy?"

Steve considered her words carefully, shaking his head as he looked down at the ground. After a moment, he murmured with a saddened expression.

"I can't hurt her like this, Natasha. We're asking too much of her."

"Then let her make that choice. (Y/n) knows what she can handle and what she can't. She's not a blank slate...she's a human and she has feelings, and she can reason within reason."

Steve finally relented, nodding once, and the two began to trek towards Bucky. When they finally found him, Bucky was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a faraway look in his eyes. His metal arm was whirring, the plates shifting every now and then, and Steve began to feel guilty.

"Buck."

Bucky didn't look at Steve as the man addressed him. He couldn't, the anger boiling beneath his veins too much for him. Bucky's voice was steely as he spoke, glaring a hole into the wall.

"I can't believe you're seriously considering this, Steve."

Steve shook his head, explaining as he spoke.

"We haven't made a decision with anything yet. That's why we're going to talk to Strange first before we even talk to (Y/n). We're not going to force her to do what she doesn't want to."

Bucky finally looked at Steve, his brows furrowed and his blue eyes darkened to a stormy cobalt. His pupils were constricted, revealing the deep-seated anger within him as Bucky snapped.

"Yeah, well it sure as hell sounds like you've all already decided to have her do this mission and send her right back to hell. Again."

Steve sighed heavily, and he murmured.

"I get it, Bucky, I do. We all agree with you, but we're running out of time and we don't have the best resources to do this. If there's a chance that Strange could protect her during this...keep her stable, then it might be the best option."

Bucky raised his arms in exasperation before letting them fall to his sides, exclaiming.

"You seriously think Gandalf and his magic tricks are going to fix her from what HYDRA did and keep her stable? She can't even look at a picture of her own father without breaking down."

Natasha finally spoke up, Bucky narrowing his eyes at her as she spoke.

"No, but it can give her a fighting chance if she agrees."

Bucky was quiet, his frame squared and dangerously still. After a moment of Bucky and Natasha staring each other down, Bucky finally shook his head and snapped.

"She deserves better than this. We can't ask her to do this."

Natasha replied, her eyes softening just the slightest as Bucky glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"She does, which is why we're bringing you in on this. She trusts you the most, and if anybody can get through to her and keep her safe, it's you. We're not going to Strange without you."

Bucky's jaw clenched, and Steve added gently.

"If she says no, then that's it. No pestering, no convincing. If she says yes, then she's going to need you."

Bucky stayed quiet before his shoulders fell and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Alright, fine, but I'm telling you, this is the stupidest idea to date."

Steve couldn't help but to quietly agree.

-NEW YORK-

New York City had become an uncomfortable place for Bucky to be. It was nothing like it used to be back in the 30's and 40's; neon lights and fluorescent signs hurting his eyes. Don't get him started on the sound and the smell. Despite most of his enhancements due to the serum being physical, the one enhancement that he never really talked about was his sense of smell.

It wasn't exactly superhuman, at least in his terms, but it was definitely stronger than most. The stench of vomit, random odors, exhausts, and the like were horrendous.

Granted, it wasn't as bad as being in a barrack full of unwashed men, but it still bothered Bucky to the point of annoying him. Though, Bucky had been royally pissed and annoyed the whole entire trip to New York.

He still couldn't get Shuri's words out of his mind. To Bucky, it really did seem like a betrayal. How could she had suggested something like that while knowing just how badly (Y/n) was treated by HYDRA? Hell, (Y/n)'s whole life was a fabrication of HYDRA, and (Y/n) didn't even know that. What if she found out during the mission if she chose to agree? What then?

As the group stood on the steps of the Sanctum Sanctorum, Fury raised his hand to knock the door. However, before his knuckles could make contact with the door, Wong opened the door with a frown.

"Let me guess, you need Strange. Bad guys, impossible odds, and something that smells vaguely like multiverse doom?"

Tony sighed and replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Close. Just brainwashing, a high-stakes espionage, PTSD, and did I mention a suicide mission? I think I did. Right?"

Fury rolled his eyes, and Wong just sighed and opened the door for the group wordlessly. As Bucky walked into the Sanctum, he was awestruck by the place. It was definitely bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, and he was distracted by a man coming down the steps with a frown.

"Do I even want to know why you're here?"

Nick nodded, leaning his head back slightly as he looked back with a stern look.

"I think you'll be interested to hear this, Doctor Strange."

Doctor Strange was unamused, raising his brow as he muttered and shook his head.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe. What do you want?"

As Fury began to launch himself into an explanation of the situation at hand, Bucky could tell that Strange was becoming increasingly annoyed, and Bucky began to feel hopeful. Perhaps, if the man disagreed, then the Avengers would have no choice but to go with Fury's backup plan. Pursing his lips, Bucky began to secretly pray.

When Fury was done with his explanation, Strange was eerily quiet. He was staring at Fury with his brows furrowed and shaking his head slightly as he asked.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to patch the mind of a barely-functioning recovered weaponized soldier that you are planning to send into a den of psychotic wolves?"

Bucky grit his teeth slightly as he corrected, Doctor Strange immediately glancing at the man with narrowed eyes.

"Not patch, just protect it. She's more than just a weapon, and she's starting to learn that."

Doctor Strange just frowned.

"Sounds like she's not the only one."

Bucky was taken back by his sincerity, but before he could reply, Strange asked.

"So, you want me to play mystic babysitter? Is that right?"

Shuri replied, shaking her head as she stepped forward, and the Doctor regarded her with a firm look that Shuri returned.

"Not a babysitter, but as a buffer. (Y/n)'s trauma is encoded into her neurological and magical footprint, if you will. If HYDRA attempts to reactivate her-intentionally or not-you could neutralize the trigger where my failsafes would fail. You would be able to keep her stable and focused."

Doctor Strange was quiet for a moment, looking down and bringing a hand to his chin as he began to murmur quietly to himself, and Bucky began to feel less hopeful that he would disagree.

"Hm, a warding spell laced through her subconscious could work...add mental reinforcements during psychic stress and a silent signal in case of override...and it might be successful."

Doctor Strange then turned to Bucky, asking him with a serious expression.

"And she trusts you the most?"

Bucky nodded, becoming irritated again.

"Mostly me, yes."

"Then I'll need you there with me. Not just to emotionally stabilize, but to act as an anchor. If she trusts you the most, then she can have someone to come back to if something goes wrong."

Bucky huffed and then Doctor Strange looked at Fury with a raised brow.

"But let me ask you this: why should I help you? If you have a backup, why not use them? What you are doing is immoral, you do understand that, right? Kind of a dick move, if you ask me."

Fury didn't flinch at the tone of Strange's voice-his irritation becoming evident from the questionable morality of the situation-and Fury replied.

"We're out of options. It's not about right or wrong anymore, but about the best course of action that we can take."

Strange rolled his eyes and began to pace slightly, stating.

"There's always a choice. You just don't like the ones that you have."

Tony raised his eyebrow, but didn't interrupt nor disagreed. Bucky, however, stepped forward. His voice cracked slightly from his boiling rage, and he accused.

"You think we like this plan? You think I want her to go through this again? If there was another way, we would take it, and I really wish we would."

He glared at Fury then, but Fury didn't bother to grace Bucky by returning the glare. Strange, however, became defensive.

"Then why the hell are you begging on my doorstep to send her back to hell?"

Shuri then stepped forward, glaring at Strange as she stood tall.

"Because she deserves the choice. She deserves the freedom to choose this or not, and it will be on her terms. Not yours, not ours. (Y/n)'s terms."

Doctor Strange finally paused, and he placed his hands on his hips before he stated firmly.

"I want to meet and speak her."

Bucky's hope that Strange would disagree to help was starting to diminish at an alarming rate, and he began to feel helpless. Fury replied, nodding his head slightly.

"That was already the plan. She's in Wakanda at this moment, but we can fly her out right this second."

Doctor Strange shook his head, giving Fury an annoyed look.

"Don't waste my time. We will go right now, but I need you to understand that if she says no, then I walk. I suggest that you all do the same."

Doctor Strange began to move his hands in a circular motion, and orange sparks erupted in front of him. A portal opened, opening into Shuri's lab, and the group immediately walked through.

"Wong, take care of the Sanctum."

Wong nodded, and Doctor Strange walked through the portal. The portal closed, and Doctor Strange looked around.

"Nice lab you have."

Shuri smirked, a haughty expression coming across her face, and Doctor Strange glanced at Fury.

"Where is she?"

"Hell if I know. Barnes, you know where she would be?"

Bucky nodded, and he muttered.

"Yeah. I'll be right back."

Bucky walked out of the room, and Doctor Strange turned to regard the group with a firm expression.

"Considering how close Barnes is to (Y/n), it wasn't smart to say this in front of him: there is a very real chance that this won't work."

Shuri frowned and nodded, replying with an equally firm expression.

"We know the risks that we are taking with this."

Strange shot back, glaring at Shuri.

"Do you? I don't think you understand the true fragility of the mind, especially one that has been completely rewired over and over. On top of the exponential amount of trauma (Y/n)'s mind has gone through, including the stress of remembering and trying to figure out what is real and what isn't, magically tampering with her mind could completely render her braindead if this isn't done with the utmost care."

Doctor Strange then sighed, adding quietly.

"I'm not trying to sabotage this, but you all are entirely too invested in this. It seems as though you haven't even considered the possibility of her refusal, let alone if she can handle the repercussions of the experience."

Tony frowned, asking as he crossed his arms and leaned against a table.

"Isn't that why you're here? To make sure she comes out of this alright?"

"No, it's not. I'm here to try. It's not the same thing."

The room became quiet, and Strange rubbed his temples before huffing.

"If I'm going to speak to her, then I need to be alone. None of you can be in the room, is that understood? No interruptions. This is to be her choice alone."

Shuri immediately nodded before Fury could retort.

"That's entirely fair. We will stay on the other side of the glass."

Strange nodded, and the lab doors hissed open. Bucky entered first, his eyes still dark and body tense with annoyance, and behind him walked in (Y/n). Strange was slightly taken back by her appearance. While Strange wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting, he wasn't expecting to see a woman that looked broken, confused, afraid, and so horrifically scarred.

His apprehension immediately grew at the way (Y/n) seemed to shield herself behind Bucky as she met Strange's gaze, and Bucky comforted her quietly.

"It's alright. He's a friend."

Strange resisted the urge to roll his eyes as (Y/n) looked at Bucky for confirmation, and Bucky nodded slightly before he introduced.

"(Y/n), this is Doctor Strange. Doctor Strange, this is (Y/n)."

Strange regarded (Y/n) with a nod, and (Y/n) murmured softly.

"You don't look like a doctor."

"I'm not that kind of doctor anymore."

His voice was clipped, but (Y/n) didn't seem to be affected by his tone of voice. Instead, she seemed to relax slightly, and she asked quietly.

"W...what kind of doctor are you?"

Doctor Strange gave the girl a slight smile, his lips twitching up as he replied.

"One that mends things that don't bleed."

(Y/n) looked confused, tilting her head slightly before her eyes widened with understand as Strange elaborated.

"I deal with dimensions, time, minds...things that people shouldn't tamper with, but here we are."

(Y/n) then frowned and began to fidget with her fingers, wringing her hands with anxiety as she looked away from him; her body beginning to tremble slightly as Bucky became protective.

"You're...you're here to mess with my mind then?"

Strange immediately shook his head.

"Not in the way that you think. I'm here to keep it in-tact for this mission. You've got a hell of a journey ahead of you."

(Y/n) immediately became confused, perking up as she frowned.

"M-Mission? What mission?"

Strange blinked slightly, becoming quiet before he asked.

"You do know what you're being sent to do, correct?"

(Y/n) quietly shook her head, and Strange's jaw clenched as he became angry. Rage bubbled behind his eyes, and he spun around to glare at Fury.

"You brought me halfway across the world, expecting me to keep her safe in a mine field, and you didn't even tell her what was going on?"

Before Fury could retort, (Y/n)'s voice cracked as she froze and her eyes widened with fear.

"What's happening? What are you talking about?"

Fury then stated, crossing his arms.

"We were going to tell her."

Strange snapped, giving the man a sneer.

"When? After they lit her up like a goddamn Christmas tree?"

Shuri's voice was gentle, noticing how alarmed (Y/n) was starting to become.

"She just became stabilized. We didn't want to overload her with this."

Strange hissed out, pointing at Shuri.

"She deserves to know and choose what she walks into. Did you seriously expect me to do this when (Y/n) wasn't even told about this mission? You want to send in some duct-taped weapon back into the field, and you didn't even tell her. Let alone told me that she didn't even know."

(Y/n)'s eyes watered, and she backed away, becoming panicked as she asked.

"What...what are you saying? What's going on? What is he talking about?"

Bucky turned to (Y/n), saying gently.

"We found the rest of HYDRA, and Shuri thought the best course of action was to infiltrate them. However, we can't do that unless we have someone who has already been on the inside...someone that they trust."

(Y/n) immediately understood what Bucky was saying, but the understand was misplaced. She whispered in shock, tears falling down her cheeks as her voice cracked and her nostrils flared; a sob threatening to break out.

"You...you want to send me back? But...what...what about Raynor and....and my mission to...to make things right?"

Tony frowned, finally speaking up and making (Y/n) shoot her gaze to him.

"We wouldn't think of it if we didn't think it was safe. That's why Strange is here. He can keep you safe during this, but listen to me: you don't have to say yes. It's a last-ditch effort because Fury is an idiot."

(Y/n) began to hyperventilate as she started to cry, and Strange immediately glared at Fury. Fury looked upset, but said nothing as he watched (Y/n) begin to breakdown.

"I...I thought I was...was making progress and doing good. I...I don't want to go back! I don't want to go!"

Before Bucky could comfort her, (Y/n) immediately ran out of the room, and Bucky glared at Shuri and snapped.

"This is all you, I hope you know that."

Bucky immediately ran after her, and Shuri called brokenly.

"Isithunzi, wait!"

However, her plea fell on deaf ears. The lab immediately became quiet, and she murmured sadly.

"I thought...perhaps if we told her and waited, she would be better prepared to make a decision."

Strange rolled his eyes and remarked, gesturing with his hand.

"What, did you seriously think that she would smile and volunteer for this? She didn't even know."

Fury sighed and replied finally, turning to Strange who gave the man a sneer.

"We didn't want to overload her."

Tony huffed and quipped to himself.

"Yeah, and look how not overloaded she is. Great move, Fury."

Strange hissed, taking a step forward as he pointed at Fury.

"You wanted to make her a pawn in a fight that could break her all over again and you didn't even warn her. You put that decision in my hands without even telling me that she wasn't aware of what the hell you dipshits were pulling."

"We didn't know how to break it to her."

Strange threw his hands up into the air.

"You don't break something like this. You have to be upfront and allow her to make the decision beforehand. No wonder she freaked the hell out. You basically just told her 'hey, we're sending you straight back to the people that cut you up like thanksgiving dinner'."

Tony finally sighed and crossed his arms, giving an annoyed look to everyone in the room.

"Gandalf's got a point-"

"-Don't call me that, Jackass-"

"-and we really fucked up on this one. Alright? Even I could see that this was going to fail. But of course, don't listen to the genius."

Fury gave Tony a look, raising his brow.

"As far as I remember, you didn't say anything about it."

Tony shot back immediately, giving Fury a challenging look.

"Would you have listened if I had? You kind of have a habit of being an annoying ex-girlfriend who won't take the hint."

Before Fury could retort back, Strange stated firmly.

"If you two are quite finished, we have something more pressing, like a recovered HYDRA weapon unraveling."

Shuri then quietly pleaded, clasping her hands together.

"Then please help her. Please tell her that we didn't mean to hurt her...we were just worried."

Strange made a face at Shuri, asking.

"Why is that my job? This is your fuck-up, not mine."

Shuri replied.

"We know that, but you're someone who doesn't have a hidden agenda. She would trust you and listen to you. Please, we didn't mean her any harm."

Strange quipped, shaking his head.

"You have a funny way of showing that. I suggest getting evaluated for that."

Fury became upset, asking.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Tell her the goddamn truth."

Fury gestured with his hand erratically, Strange narrowing his eyes slightly.

"We're telling her the truth. Now."

Strange rolled his eyes and stated.

"Truth delayed is trust destroyed."

Tony huffed and crossed his arms.

"Cool, so we all agree that we are all assholes. Can we please just try to figure out how the hell to make this right?"

Shuri was quiet for a moment before she pointed out with a guilty look on her face.

"We keep talking around her and not to her...and it's unfair. We...we should attempt to talk to her and tell her the complete truth."

Strange huffed and rolled his eyes as the tension in the room became too much for him to stomach.

"I'll talk to her. Alright? However, if she refuses to do this mission, then that's it. You back the hell off, and you don't push. You don't push, you don't manipulate, you don't do anything. She's not a pawn, and she's not a bombshell to use against HYDRA."

Everyone in the room nodded, and Strange turned on his heel. However, the man paused, throwing over his shoulder.

"For the record, she's a lot stronger than you give her credit for. Don't ever make the mistake of underestimating someone that has crawled out of hell once and lived to tell."

-

STORY NOTES: this is 7.1k pls dont make me summarize SDKJF;ASLDKFJ

TRANSLATIONS:

Isithunzi - Xhosa for Shadow/Shade

TAGGING: @mggslefttit @softpia @thebl00dwyrm @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos @highhopes1008

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 8

Buckle up, kids

Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Chapter 9|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 4.9k CW: Slowburn, Angst,Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, Sexual fantasizing, insecurity, alcohol/intoxication

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned into a couple of months as your relationship with each other and with the hotel crew continued to grow. It was nice not to have to worry about the "end of the world" clouding the dynamic, but both of you felt a little differently about the current progression of things.

Lucifer loved getting to give more energy to caring about you and Charlie, creating and feeling like he was himself again. The dynamic he had with you ended in more nights of chilling, doing not much of anything other than being with each other. He had attempted slipping in some more cute pet-names into the conversation with you, just to see how you would react, and you seemed fine with it, like everything he did. He kept ending up in the same spot when it came to figuring out how to tell you about his true feelings. His fear of being turned down was intense, but he was more worried about doing something to lose you completely. He logically knew that was silly, but he was so scared to return to the sad disconnected person he was before he met you.

You, on the other hand, were a little scared because of the simplicity and calmness of your time now together. You hade never experienced this in your living life, or hell, so it made you really uncomfortable. He had started calling you things like "Apple" and "Duckie" which you liked, but he was more focused on you and your needs, there was less for you to do. Was he trying to model more of what he needed from you? But then, when you tried to care give for him, he would tell you to just let him care for you. Was he getting bored of you? Were your days together numbered? Would he soon be ok enough to not need you anymore?

Ughh... and why did you care so much? You had numerous other clients drop off during your time with Lucifer, and you had not given them a second thought. Why was this so different? Had you become too attached? Well you definitely had... but why? What was it about Lucifer that had you clawing to make sure he still needed you around? Was it the connection to the hotel? That had definitely made it stronger, but you knew this feeling had lasted before you started visiting the hotel.

The hotel issues was another matter, Charlie had been trying you get you to move in for weeks, and you kept telling her that you needed more time to prepare. You hated lying to her, but you were worried about how that might complicate the relationship with Lucifer, and of course you could not tell her about the dynamic. You would hate for something to happen between you two and then have Charlie caught in the middle, or feeling like it was you or him. She had that enough between Lucifer and Lilith, she did not want to do that to you again. You wanted Charlie to remain fully on Lucifer's side no matter what happened.

You wished you could talk to someone, anyone, about what was going on, but you couldn't, and that drove you mad.

______________________________________________________________

One particular day, it was time for Lucifer to go off to another Sins meeting. Lucifer went off with to his meeting, blitzed through it with a lot more honest vigor and energy than the last meeting, was able to deal with Mammon's complaining, and got it all wrapped up in no time at all.

At the end, Asmodeus waited for the room to clear out before trying to chat with Lucifer again.

"Well, now, someone is in much better spirits from last time~" Asmodeus said wiggling his eyebrows and chuckling.

Lucifer waved his hand, "Oh, ppsssh, golly, is it that noticable? Well, you know, I just got some good advice from a friend, got my confidence and my daughter back, and I'm the happiest I've been in decades. It's not a big deal."

Asmodeus shimmied his shoulders with joy, "Ahh! I am just so happy for you. It's like I always say, there is nothing more healing than some good, earthshattering, dirty, mindless sex."

Lucifer froze, "Ya... a- about that... umm... there... uhh... there hasn't been any sex."

Ozzie paused and cocked an eyebrow at you, "Say what now?"

Lucifer ran some figures through his hair, "Well... t-there almost was! But... then I had a liiiiittle panic attack, she helped me through it and was so amazing about it, I cried myself to sleep in her arms, it helped me sleep and feel better, and then I've basically been falling asleep in her arms every night since..." He ended with a nervous smile.

Asmodeus blinked, and put his hands on his hips, "You fell in love with her, didn't you?"

Lucifer's eyes went wide, "Whaaaaa... no... pffft. You're silly Ozzie, me falling in love with a prostitute? That's... that's" Lucifer looked at Ozzie, holding his stance, cocking an eyebrow. Lucifer deflated, "That's... exactly what happened..."

Asmodeus chuckled looked around before looking back at him, "You wanna know a secret?" Lucifer looked up at Ozzie, Ozzie smiled and leaned in, "You aren't the only one who has fallen for a fling."

Lucifer stared at Ozzie, had the Sin of LUST fallen in LOVE. "Whaa.."

Ozzie help up a hand, "But. no questions right now, we are focused on you. So... you dating her now?"

Lucifer rubbed his neck, "Not exactly... we are together all of the time, but I haven't been able to figure out how to tell her. I'm scared that I'm just another client to her... and that the minute I'm open about this, the fantasy that I have been living in will disappear around me."

Ozzie shrugged, "Well... it might," Lucifer deflated, "butttt... it might also be an open door into the happily ever after that is the rest of your life! You can't let that fear get in the way. Look at what your daughter managed to do with her hotel, look at what you did with reconnecting with her! The risk was all there too, and look how those turned out!"

Lucifer thought, Ozzie was right, he just needed to figure out how to tell you. "Ok... any thoughts on how I should tell her, oh master of Love?"

Ozzie laughed and put a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, "Don't overcomplicate it, just treat it like any other night, adding crazy stuff might make her nervous. Be yourself, be open and honest. If all goes well, she feels the same way and your first real date together can be where you pull out all of your creative, romantic magic."

Lucifer nodded, "Ok... ugh... I'm just still so nervous."

Ozzie shrugged, "Nothing wrong with a glass of wine or two to calm the nerves. You can do this Luc, nothing the King of Hell can't handle." Ozzie started to walk out the door, then stopped, "Go get that girl man."

Lucifer gave a confident nod and teleported himself home. He looked at the clock, he only had.... several hours until you would be over. Ugh, this was going to be a long afternoon. He looked over at his bar, just one glass couldn't hurt? He would be good long before he had to go get you.

Well... Lucifer underestimated how nervous he was, one glass became two, two became four, and by the time it was time for him to go pick up up, he was having a hard time even standing up without swaying. Lucifer looked down at his left hand, and remembered he still had it on. He quickly took it off and put it next to his bathroom sink, touched up his hair, pointing finger guns at himself in the mirror and get set up to go get you. It took him a couple of minutes to get the portal activated and popped in your room, a few minutes later than usual.

You had started to get a little nervous, he had never been late before, but it was ok, he was allowed to be late. That is when he stumbled through the portal and into your room, almost knocking into you.

"Oh! There you are! You are always so prompt, I got a little worried haha," you laughed, straightening him out.

He looked up you, and then he melted into a lovesick smile, "Haha, golly, I'm s-sorry Duckie, the portal was being dumb, haha." He slurred, "I'mmm here now, haha. You ready to go?"

You cocked your head to the side and smiled, "Haha ya, you ok, Luci?"

"Of course my darling!" he said, wrapping an arm around your waist, before tapping his cane on the floor a couple of times, grumbling, before popping back to the manor. Lucifer looked over his cane in one hand, the other arm still remaining around your waist mumbling something about his stupid cane before looking at you, his face melting into happiness again.

"I'll fix it laterrr, hi theree, how are you? You look great todayy," he said hugging you and snuggling into you. You hesitantly hugged him back, you weren't convinced that something happened that day, he was being... more affectionate but... in a weird way. Was... was he drunk?

"Uh... ya I'm good. Busy day of clients, nothing crazy. What about you? Are you sure you are ok? You seem... different today," you said carefully.

Lucifer had no idea how he was coming off, he didn't realize how drunk he was, he had forgotten about the last two drinks in all of his anxious spiraling. "Oh ya, today was great! Sins meeting, paperwork, all went by preeeeetty quickly. Oh hells! Guess what? I was talking to Asmodeus, sin of Lust, right? Dude got a boyfriend! Crazy right? Well... not that he is dating his hook-up, but that the Sin of Lust found love! Oh shit... I wasn't s'pposed to say that. Don't tell anyone, k?"

You nodded, smiling, "Oh ya, that is funny. Not everyday that mindless sex turns into something meaningful, right? Especially in Hell with a Sin like that? But of course, I didn't hear anything" You nodded.

'Oh fuck! That's not what I meant, ughhh that's not what I wanted her to get from that.' he thought.

"I mean! I love the Sins, they always surprise me with ways will people that you never thought they would," he said with a nervous smile.

You played a long with a nervous smile, you didn't know why he was being so nervous and not just telling you want was wrong. But if it was that bad, he would probably burst at some point and then you could be there to support him again. You hated when something was stressing him out, but it made you feel good to feel needed. So you would play along for the night and wait.

"Ya! I totally gotcha! Just like the sinners at Charlie's hotel, even the Sins are able to grow and change," you said with a sweet smile.

Lucifer smiled his love drunk smile, 'Good, fixed it, that was close. She is so beautiful and smart, I love how she words things sometimes.'

Other than Lucifer's apparent intoxication, and him sometimes sneaking off to grab another drink to keep up the buzz, your night was no different than it normally was with Lucifer only... more affectionate? You were really confused, because everything about his behavior was staying something was wrong or that he was hiding something, but other than that he was being very sweet, a little more touchy than usual, which you were fine with, he was allowed to touch you however he wanted of course.

Oh! Maybe that was it! Maybe he was wanting to try being more sexually intimate again and he was just so nervous because of the last time! You wanted to be careful because he was drunk, and you still felt that consent was important, but leaning deeper into his pets and soft touches was not an issue as you snuggled watching tv. At one point, you even placed a hand on his thigh, and he melted into your touch.

As true at that was, for Lucifer overall, that was not his goal for the night. There were so many moments when he thought about just saying that he wanted to talk about his feelings, telling you how much he loved you and wanted you to be part of his life, outside of hiring you, and he wanted to know how you felt. But the stupid words just would not come, and all he could do was compliment you and touch you, playing with your hair and stroking your soft skin. He felt you start to lean more into his touch, and even putting your hand on his leg, ugh, he was going to die.

Eventually, Lucifer had wasted enough time and it was finally time to go to bed. As you two were getting ready for bed, he kept repeating in his head 'JUST FUCKING SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING! YOU NEED TO TELL HER OR ELSE YOU ARE GOING TO LOSE YOUR FUCKING MIND!'

You had gone into his bathroom to wash your face, and you noticed the ring sitting on the side of the sink. Huh, weird, had Lucifer not been wearing his ring all day? Or did he just usually take it off at night and you only just now noticed? You shrugged, and walked to the bed to get ready for bedtime. You got under the covers and waiting for Lucifer, who was still sitting on the side of the bed staring out.

You were about to reach over to touch his arm and ask if everything was alright, but at that moment, Lucifer snapped. He looked at you, eyes full of desire, and jumped on top of you, pinning you to the bed under him. He just stared down at you, breathing heavily. This both excited and frightened you a little, this wasn't like him.

"Lucifer, what is goin-" you started.

"I love you!" he finally spat out. "I love you and I want you!"

You eyes went wide as you stared up at him.

WHAT.

No, you must have misheard. He... loves you? But you were a nothing? A nobody? Sure you had helped him but... wait, was this a roleplay? Or was this real? Did he actually mean "love" like lust, or like Capital L Love? You ran through every single element of your relationship with Lucifer that both supported and refuted his statement in mere seconds, fact and opinion, memories that you couldn't remember if you were now twisting to validate something more romantic of him than it actually was. Things hotel people had said, the way he had cared for or protected you. Was that actually because he loved you, or did he just want to protect his financial investment? Was this a sick joke?

Lucifer loomed above you, waiting for you response, looking like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey. God he looked so hot, you wanted him to just sink himself into you. No! Stop. You couldn't think quick enough. What should you do? Do you play into it and risk being wrong about what he means here, or do you reject him and wait until he is sober to talk through this with him? If this was a normal person, you would take the risk, but with him... You think about the man now suffering in an eternal loop of torture, you think about the ring on the sink that tied him still to Lilith, you think about how small and insignificant you were in comparison to this beautiful angelic being above you.

No. As much at it hurt, you could not risk reading this situation wrong.

Lucifer had started to lean down to try to kiss you, when you shouted, "No!" and pushed him off of you. In Lucifer's intoxicated state, he was slow to respond, so you were able to easily able to put him off of you before jumping out of bed, tears already streaming down your face.

'No?' he thought, 'What did she mean "no"'?' he thought. Lucifer sat up and looked at you staring at him, heavily breathing and crying. What had he done?

"I... I'm sorry... I don't... I have to think... I don't... I don't want to be wrong, or hurt you, I don't know what to do, what is the right thing t-to do," you choked through tears.

Lucifer started to reach out to you, "Wait... Duckie..."

"No... Lucifer," you started grabbing your stuff to go, "I'm sorry, I need to think about this... I can't do this while you are so drunk... I'll see you later, ok?" You ran out of Lucifer's room, down the long hallway, and out of the manor. You weren't going to even try the driver, you didn't want Lucifer to have the chance to stop you. You would run all the way back home.

"Duckie... (y/n)..." he said before sinking into his bed.

What had he just done?

_____________________________________________________________

You would run for a long time, crying all the way, not caring who saw you, until you got all the way home. You busted into the Lounge, trying to run through up to your room. But guess who stopped you in your path? Cynthhhhia.

"What's the matter crybaby? That big money daddy of yoursssss not give you a big enough tip tonight so you ran home crying?" she snarled at you, grabbing your arm.

"Fuck off Cynthhhhia, just leave me alone!" you said trying to pull you arm out of her grasp, and in retaliation Cynthhhhia instead wrapped her tail around your leg and then let your arm go, making you fall on your face. The patrons and girls in the rooms gasped, this was humiliating.

"How about you make me, bitch! Ya know, I'm sssssso ssssssick of you being Larry'sssss favorite and getting all the good clientssss, while I get jack shit! It's time you learned a lessssson, you ungrateful little bi-"

"Cynthhhhia! That is enough out of you!' Larry screamed. The room parted between him and you both. "Drop her now, and get over here. Gemma, go check on (y/n), will ya?"

Cynthhhhia huffs and lets you go aggressively, and makes her way over to Larry as one of your Lounge friends, Gemma, came over and checked on you. You told her that you just wanted to go to your room, Gemma helped pick you up and half-carried you up to you room while Larry chewed out Cynthhhhia.

"What in the nine circles is wrong with you?! I have had to talk to you about your behavior with customers so fucking many times, now assaulting another girl?! I wanna hear what makes you think this behavior is ok? I don't care if we are in hell, I am not having any fucking cat-fights in here, and you know that!" Larry scolded Cynthhhhia.

"Wha- I... Ugh! Why does she get all the good clientssss! You are clearly playing favoritessss or she is tipping you off or something. I am not getting paid nearly what I was sssssince she showed up. Why am I not getting any high rollersssss?!" Cynthhhhia snarled.

"Well maybe if you put as much energy into your clients as you do going after girls like her, maybe you would have people who wanted to utilize your services. You do not seem to understand the fact that I am not giving you to high rollers because you are turning customers away with your behavior, or they are asking not to work with you anymore!" Larry yelled.

Cynthhhhia gasped, and looked around the room to see other girls and patrons laughing at her, "That's not true!"

"Like it or not, Cynthhh, that is the reality. And since you still don't seem to be getting it, I'm going to give you one more chance to redeem yourself, and if you fuck it up, you are out do you hear me?" Larry said pointedly.

Cynthhhhia tipped her head down in defeat, "Fine, what is it?"

Larry moved to meet her gaze, "Three days, on the phones scheduling appointments for the other girls, no tips."

"But-" Cynthhhhia started.

"It's the phones or you're out, got a problem with that?" Larry glared.

Cynthhhhia pouted, "No sssssir..."

"Good, now, off the floor with you, you are done for the night, I will see you down here at 10 am sharp," Larry then turned and headed to go up the stairs to the apartments.

You had made it upstairs with Gemma, she had asked if you wanted her to stay, but you said no. You just wanted to be alone. Several minutes later, you would be a knock on the door and a "Babydoll? It's Larry."

You sniffled and sat up, "Come in."

Larry opened the door and sighed, "God she is a right bitch, I don't know why I keep her around at this point. Now, what happened?" he closed the door behind him, "I'm not used to you having any issues with Lance."

"It... I don't even know how to explain. He was kinda drunk, he wasn't acting like himself, he didn't hurt me, but he told me something and... because he was intoxicated... I didn't know how to react. He's... got a fair amount of influence... I worried what would happen if I misunderstood the situation. So I panicked, I ran. I'm sorry if he called to complain or anything." You said looking down, covering your face with your hands.

Larry thought for a minute, "Rough situation, intoxicated clients can make things hard. Most wouldn't care, but you have been working with him for a while, it made sense that you would want to stay in good standing with him and not want to fuck that up. Are you worried about future actions? Do you need me to put him on you "No Kiss List"?"

"No, no. Nothing like that..." you sigh and run your fingers through your hair, "I just... I think I just need some time to think... would I possibly be able to take some time off?"

Larry scratched his chin, "Well... I don't know, Babydoll. I could do a day or two, but much past that... I need you, you bring in a lot of money..."

You sighed, "Give me two days and I'll pay for two more of my own days time? That sound fair?"

Larry thought for a moment, "Deal. What do you want me to tell your regulars?"

You sighed, "Just tell them I'm going on a quick rejuvenating vacation, and that their girl will be back for them before they know it." It will worry Lucifer, but you needed the space, you didn't want to say or do anything to fuck up the relationship any more than it already had by you running from him that night.

"Can do." You give Larry the payment for two days on your own time and he leaves your room. "Take care of yourself, babydoll," he says closing the door. You are alone again.

You take your phone out, scroll for a bit before finding a hotel and a ride to the other side of the Pentagram from both the Lounge and Lucifer for the morning, and booked them for as early as possible. You just needed some time away to figure out what to do and to figure out how you were going to respond to Lucifer.

You tried to fall asleep that night, but sleep never came. You spent the rest of the night replaying the situation in your head. Did he really mean it? That he loved you? Did he actually care about you and want you in his life? Or was it all a trick? Why would he say that to you?

The next morning, you packed up, got in your cab and disappeared on your 4 day escape to other side of the Pride RIng, hoping that when you returned, you would have the answers.

______________________________________________________________

That same morning, Lucifer would wake up with a light headache, crumpled in a weird position on his bed. Where were you? Why was he sleeping so weird? The previous night was fuzzy, damn, he had overdone it on the alcohol... Had you just left? That was not like you. What happened?

He got up, put on a robe, and started to walk around the manor, looking for anything that might jog his memory of what happened the night before. Everything looked normal, and all he could remember was the conversation with Ozzie, being a little tipsy getting you, and feeling nervous. The later into the night he thought, the fuzzier everything got. He ended up back in his bedroom for hours racking his brain. He wished he had a way to contact you, to ask you want happened, and you try to figure it out with you.

A while later his cellphone started to ring, he looked at the number and his groggy eyes went wide, it was the Lounge. This was the first time that the Lounge had called him. He picked up the phone and put on his "Lance" voice.

"Uh, hello! This is Lance, what can I do for you?" Lucifer said in a deeper and huskier voice.

"Yes, hello, this Luxurious Lady's Lounge, how are you doing thissss afternoon?" Said Cynthhhhia as pleasantly as she could over the phone. She had done well playing nice on the phone all morning, so now Larry was leaving her to call all of your cancelations for the next 4 days.

"Oh you know, just living the dream!" Lucifer responded. Christ... why did he say that?

"That issss wonderful to hear. We jussssst wanted to let you know that your next appointment for tomorrow evening with (y/n) will be canceled. She will out of town for a little bit," Cynthhhhia said through a fake smile.

Lucifer felt a sense of dread go through his body, 'Out of office? So suddenly?' "Oh! Well thank you for letting me know, I hope she is alright, she is quite a gem, haha."

Cynthhhhia's jaw tightened, "Oh yessss, she just needed to essssscape on a quick rejuvenating vacation." Cynthhhhia looked around to see if Larry was around, he was nowhere, and the office was pretty empty, she smiled, "... Isssss what they want me to tell you, but I don't want to lie to a man like you, Mr. Lanccccce."

Lucifer's heart beat fast in his chest, "Haha, what do you mean?"

"The truth of the matter isssss... you've been put on (y/n)'s "No Kisssss List".... basssssically a ban from being able to work with her," Cynthhhhia said with a wicked smile.

Lucifer froze on the other side of the phone. Banned. She banned you. Months of joy and beauty between you two, severed in an instant. Lucifer felt like he couldn't breathe.

"I'm ssssso ssssorry to break the newssss to you like thissss. She just came back from a.... recent interaction telling usssss she... oh what was it, "Couldn't handle the bullshit anymore" isssss I think how she put it. But we have plenty of other ladiesssss that would be willing to take her sssspot if you'd like," Cynthhhhia continued, looking around for Larry again, still nothing, good.

"That's... disappointing to hear. I thought we had a good connection," Lucifer said flatly into the phone.

"Oh she issss really good at that, a good little actressssss but honessssstly a bit prissssssy and shallow under it all, trussssst me, I'm around her all the time. A real heartbreak, I ssssswear, I bet she would even break the King'sssss heart if she had a chance," Cynthhhia said laughing.

Lucifer saw red with that comment, 'What did she mean by that? Did you tell? Did they actually know it was me? Was that just a figure of speech?' His name got thrown around a lot, so he had no idea in this moment, it just felt really personal at that moment.

"I see, thank you for the information," Lucifer said before hanging up.

Cynthhhhia growled at the sound of the dead line, before putting down the phone, and making a note that "Lance" had been notified of a cancelation and would call back if he wanted to reschedule. Cynthhhhia then moved on to the next of you client's, feeling pleased with herself. If she couldn't have a a high roller, at least she could take out one of your big money daddies.

Lucifer laid back in his bed and tossed his phone over to the side. Everything he had feared happening had come true. Everything he had built with you was gone, and worse, maybe even a lie. He did not want to believe that what you had was a lie, but maybe he was just that stupid after all. He wanted to show up to your room and talk to you, but he couldn't. If he had hurt you or maybe you really were some shallow bitch... maybe this was for the best...

Lucifer crawled back in bed and stayed there for the rest of the day and into the night. He would respect your wishes.

Lucifer would never ask see you ever again.

______________________________________________________________

Can we see why I gave a warning on one last twist? I broke my own heart writing this. I'm so sorry. I promise it will end up ok in the end though for these two. xoxo, dany As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop! Taglist: @froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @lilzebeth @kelppsstuff @loquacious-libra @pinkhoneydrop @luleck @writer-girl99 @lavenz @stormz369 @littleladydemon @soujiswife @melday0105 @luluxx118 @sseleniaa @futureittomainn @cktkat @zaneyyyy @uravitsy @liecoris @starlitvenus @hannahrose130 @elleofdragons @butch-medusae @concentratedconcrete @erosamasan @stranger-chan @aquaamethyst96 @lxkeee @holyspacething @hulyenl @leximus98 @lu-ferri12 @mixplara @katnisspeetaprim

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 11

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n → contains smut, fluff and angst → Chapter eleven ; wc | 5.5 k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook isn't comfortable in letting you in his personal space but he's got no choice. he wants to make sure everything is safe, and you're safe. he's letting you to his house not his room. so he thinks it's fine. 'I have no clue why he's being so insistent. I didn't ask for any of this,

and frankly, I don't want it,' you think to yourself, your scowl deepening as you stared at Jungkook in disbelief. "There's no way I'm going with you, Jungkook!" It took you a good five minutes to process his words. Jungkook was visibly frustrated. He just wanted to help you, for once hoping you'd stop resisting. "Look, Y/N—" he began, trying to reason with you.

"I'm not looking anywhere, and I'm not going to listen to a word you say," you interrupted, your anger rising. Jungkook sighed deeply, placing a hand on his forehead as he paced around, while you leaned against his car. "Y/N, please," he pleaded softly after a moment, aware that raising his voice would only escalate things.

He knew your temper well enough not to provoke it, especially not here, outside a hospital. You had your own anger issues; you needed space when you were mad, especially from someone like him, but he was right in front of you, a stubborn presence you couldn't ignore.

Taking a deep breath, you surveyed the nearly deserted parking area, the few remaining cars around you creating a small cocoon of privacy. "Speak. You've got five minutes, no more," you finally conceded, meeting his gaze.

Jungkook nodded, clicking his tongue nervously before launching into his explanation. "I understand you don't want to come with me. It's reasonable. But since I've taken this responsibility, I intend to fulfill it diligently. The doctor strongly recommended you be around someone, and since you have no one else, I'm volunteering to help."

He searched your face for any sign of relenting behind your stern expression.

Your glare was unwavering, arms crossed defensively, adding to the pressure he already felt. No, he wasn't scared of you; he just didn't want a scene, not now, not like this. "I'm not forcing you into anything, but logically, it's safer to take precautions and avoid any potential emergencies.

I'm simply asking you to stay at my place tonight until we know the baby's okay. Can you cooperate?" he asked, his tone almost sounding like Mr. Jeon rather than just Jungkook, his words practical and direct.

His argument made sense, whether you liked it or not. You softened slightly, dropping your guard a bit as you listened and understood. "Are you sure about this?" you asked cautiously. He nodded immediately. "Yes, I'm sure," he affirmed, and you nodded back, resigned to the plan. Glancing around, feeling uneasy about what lay ahead, you reluctantly got into the passenger seat of his car.

"This feels so wrong," you whispered to yourself, conflicted but knowing it was the right thing to do for your child's sake. Today had been harrowing, and tonight promised to be sleepless, especially in Jungkook's unfamiliar home.

"I need to grab some clothes," you muttered, relieved he heard you the first time. Louder, you added, "Sure." Without protest, he drove you to your place so you could quickly pack essentials for the night and the next day. The tension between you was thick as you packed.

Normally quiet around each other, tonight the silence felt heavy with unspoken emotions. Jungkook waited patiently in the parking lot, giving you space to collect yourself and your things, reflecting on the unusual turn of events. He couldn't quite believe he was doing this—taking responsibility, stepping up in a way he never had before.

he's always been, but never when it comes to girl matters, he was never with his mother nor his own girlfriends. 15 year old Jungkook wouldn't have been this way, he would've left you all yourself and told you to fuck off with the child. but here he is, mature, understanding, intelligent and moreover a gentleman. which he wasn't ever before.

He's never had a woman stay over before; he's had a few encounters, but they always left immediately. Jungkook never allowed them to stay, saying he wasn't going to take on the burden or deal with their sober selves. So, he feels nervous, jittery even, knowing that it's you—his one-night stand, his former employee, and now the mother of his unborn child. What a mess.

You put on long pajamas; shorts wouldn't be appropriate at his place, so long-sleeved PJs would have to do. Fortunately, your bump was still in its early stages, small and not quite round yet. Toothbrush, undergarments, perfume, makeup, office kit, and a casual kit. "Alright—uh, avocado!

How could I forget you? Wouldn't it be weird if I take you with me?" You looked at the plushie and pouted; cuddling it helps you fall asleep. "I'm taking you. This doesn't make me a kid, don't worry, Y/N."

You zipped up the bag and sat on the edge of your bed, looking at the floor and taking a few minutes to process everything. Does he live with his parents? He can't have a girlfriend, right? It hasn't been long since that club night. What if someone is waiting for him?

What if someone questions you? What are you going to say? Should you just decline his offer and lie that you'll call a friend? No, Dr. Sohee suggested you be with someone; lying to him won't do you any good.

This is about you, not him. 'Just go, spend the night there, Y/N, it's just for one day.' You walked out of your apartment, switching off all the lights and locking the door. What if he left? you thought, but when the elevator doors opened, there he was with a frown on his face.

He's always frowning. "What took you so long?" he questioned. You wanted to mistake his impatience for worry, but then he sighed and bent to take the bag in his hands. "Allow me—"

"No, it's fine. I can help myself." He nodded, rolling his eyes. Fine, he really didn't bother at this point; he just wanted to go back home. It's way past Bam's dinner time, and his poor puppy is surely famished. You both took your seats and drove to his place. You closed your eyes for 15 minutes.

It was quiet, not even the radio was on. Jungkook really is a boring guy, you thought. Not once did you hear him turn on the radio; your dad is a better representative of youth than Jeon Jungkook himself.

He kept his focus on the road until the car stopped, and you opened your eyes to face a beautiful contemporary modern mansion. Well, that was expected. Looking at the doors gave you anxiety; there has to be a whole family inside. Jungkook removed his seatbelt, his eyes meeting yours.

You gave no reaction, making him think maybe you've seen his place before or something. He didn't really mind. You walked behind him as he led you to the entrance.

It was rather suspicious—why was there no doorkeeper? The Jeon Jungkook arriving back home should have 20 service workers, but no. It seems you were wrong because he used his finger to type a code, granting him access to walk inside. "Ah," you whispered to yourself. Fancy.

As you walked inside, you were met with a strange sense of gloom. A sense of loneliness, absence of presence, and a dim lobby. Where the hell are his parents and his entire bloodline? It was quite awkward to stand there and look around. Well, at least the interior of the room had luxurious comfort, sophisticated like the owner of the house himself. "Firstly, what can I get you to drink—"

Jungkook's words were cut off by a pair of loud barks that erupted from the left side of the room. As you both turned to face it, an adorable little Doberman ran towards you. "Bam—" The dog reached your leg, screaming staccato barks with courage and protectiveness towards his owner.

The bravery of the little pup was commendable; it surprised you, considering his height didn't even reach your knee, but he barked like he would eat you alive if he found you to be a danger to his keeper.

"Bammie, she's safe. Come here! She won't hurt me, boy." Never had you heard Jungkook speak to anyone or anything so kindly and softly. You never knew he had that bone in him, but he seemed close to his dog.

In fact, Jungkook was trying his hardest to whisper it only to his dog; he even spoke louder with a manly tone just so you wouldn't hear him speak softly to his pup. The dog growled as he maintained eye contact with you. Huh, this little one's guts.

Bam forced himself to walk to Jungkook as he squatted, calming down a bit under his appa's pats. You had a soft smile on your face that kept getting wider. You've always been a dog lover. You have puppies back at home.

They mean the world to you, although they don't really like talking to you, quite angry that you left them alone with the two oldies. "Sorry about him, I never really have guests," he began to apologize when it wasn't even necessary.

You squatted near the dog. "May I?" you asked the owner for permission before laying a finger on the animal. You know how irritating it is when people randomly touch your pets without your permission. Jungkook nodded. The doggie snarled, trying to intimidate you, but in fact, that only increased your desire to pet him.

You placed your soft palm on his head, caressing his thin, soft ebony fur. He calmed down fully and moved his head along with your palm, wanting you to rub him more. His actions made you giggle. Maybe the puppy love inside you had grown, and you just missed Lana and Dubi even more now.

"There, you're my friend now," you whispered to the boy who circled around your ankles for more affection while Jungkook looked at the two of you with adoration, he'd never seen anyone pet Bam before, it's always him and the caretakers.

His one night stands would always be disrespectful and shoo Bam away. Standing upright, you met Jungkook's eyes, which had softened after witnessing the scene. He held back a smile.

"You're gonna crop his ears, right?" Jungkook's eyes widened as if they would pop out of his sockets. "No, never. What made you think I would do that?" You shrugged and looked at him. "You look like the type who'd have a dog that looks rude and egoistic like his owner and.... most people do that so."

He ignored you and gestured for you to take a seat. "What would you like to drink? Coffee, tea—" "Water is just fine." He nodded, walking to the kitchen, with Bam following his appa. "Five minutes, Bam. Dinner will be ready in five. Go, sit."

Jungkook filled a glass of water himself, which was quite surprising, leaving you to look at him in disbelief. Where are his maids? When he served you the water, you accepted it with a smile before finally voicing your thoughts. "You don't have a staff of your own here?" He tilted his head,

eyes looking around. Somehow, he knew that he would be questioned about this. He's literally the CEO of Jeon Industries; it's a wonder that a wealthy man like him lives alone without stay-at-home workers offering service 24/7. "Why so, Ms. Lee? Does every rich man require helpers? Is that some sort of norm?"

He inquired, dodging your question with a smirk and a raised eyebrow while loosening his tie with his thumb, index, and middle finger. Sighing, you gave him a smile, tilting your head while you gulped down the last few drops of water from the glass that probably cost a fortune,

considering how fancy it looked. "Didn't quite imagine Mr. Jeon lives such a down-to-earth life for all that ego you carry around." That fake, sarcastic smile sat lovely on your face.

He might even— "If you'll excuse me, my dog is waiting for his dinner." "Why sure—" "By the way—" He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you, suddenly remembering that you were together the whole evening. "What about your dinner? What would you like to have?" "I don't have an appetite. Thank you for asking."

"You must eat, fuck. Have you seen yourself? You don't look healthy, and ma'am decides to carry a child." The tone he used—how dare he. What is he, huh? Your boyfriend? He'd love to be, but wait, did he just call you ma'am to mock you? Oh, Jeon, you're in trouble.

"You don't get to decide for the child. What if he or she is hungry, but you're not feeding anything because you've so kindly said you have no appetite. I'm gonna cook a meal." "Excuse me?" You stood from his leather lounge sofa. "What do you mean by the way I look? Did i ask for your opinion?" This made him snigger. You're so hyper.

He guessed it was your pregnancy hormones slowly making changes internally because you got mad at the slightest thing. It was almost laughable. He looked at your eyes and rolled his own, tucking his hands back into his pockets. "You don't look healthy. It's actually very concerning. I'm not joking." He walked away toward the kitchen. You somewhat agreed with his words.

You've noticed the major weight loss, fully aware of the changes within you, and it is a serious matter. You've got to ask Dr. Sohee about this. Jungkook placed Bam's meat into his dog bowl and then patted his head to get him started. Before he prepared anything, he walked to you and spoke, "I'll guide you to the room you'll be staying in.

You can have a shower while I cook—" "While you cook? You can cook?" A blush crept up on Jungkook's cheek. He felt slightly embarrassed to admit it. No one knew about this. God, why couldn't he keep quiet? It's too late and he didn't want to order take out and wait for another hour until it arrives. "You'll see." Biting the inside of his cheek, he grabbed his bag and walked you upstairs.

He pushes open a door to the most serene room you've ever seen. The color palette—neutral shades of white, beige, grey, and a hint of pink—was simply marvelous to look at. What is this place? It's better than anything you've ever seen. "You can occupy this room. The washroom is right there, that door." Nodding at his words, he let you be, closing the doors behind him. You sat on the bed, absorbing the luxurious surroundings.

Isn't this weird? At your CEO's place? There's got to be some motive behind this. God, what is it?! You grabbed your clothes and walked into the shower. Holy shit, it's freaking huge. Your apartment and this—damn, you had one single shower, and here there's a shower for two, a massive bathtub, and what not. Is he insane? Where are the people? Why does he freaking live alone?! 'I'm off, I'm gonna take good advantage of this stay...'

Jungkook's pov

Honestly, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I invited her to stay with me. It's out of character for me, especially since I'm very protective of my personal space. Listening to her argue made me think I might just leave her to deal with things herself.

But then, I found myself explaining why it was important for her to have someone nearby, at least for the night. It's a duty and i've got no choice but to be part of this. as a gentleman. When she agreed, I felt relieved that i didn't have to argue anymore. However, sitting together in silence only heightened my nerves about the situation. Waiting for her to pack was tough too.

She took so long that I started to worry she locked herself in to avoid leaving with me. If she did, I was ready to confront her. Yet, I also felt concerned, checking my watch anxiously. It took her 15 minutes. I've never waited for anyone like that before, let alone brought someone, especially a woman, to stay at my place. But then, I realized it was her. Walking towards the elevator, the doors opened to reveal her, carrying a bag with her few belongings.

She was okay. Thank god was my first thought. How quickly life can change in just a few days. A few months ago, we were at a bar together, passionately involved. Now, here we were in my car, heading to my place to take care of... our child? It feels strange. Don't think of it that way, Jungkook.

Walking into the lobby, as usual, Bam greeted me, but today he was wary of Y/n's presence, forgetting how nervous he gets around strangers. However, when Y/n gently touched his head, all his fear seemed to melt away.

She handled him delicately, and I could see Bam was taken with her touch, just like I was. They looked good together, an unexpected sight. It was surprising to see Bam warm up to a stranger so quickly, but that's just who he is — affectionate. Offering her a glass of water led to questions about helpers and why I live alone, things I knew she would bring up.

Who wouldn't question that? But coming from Ms. Lee Y/n? If that isn't irony, I don't know what is. Arguing with her was like fine wine — the more you engage, the more frustrating it becomes. But seeing her in this state, I didn't want to escalate things, so I let it go. She's upset and has no appetite. Who needs an appetite when you're eating for two?

Does the baby have a choice? No? It already seems like she's not the most responsible mother, so how will she handle it when she's still a kid herself? I don't know her well, but from what I do know, she can be quite immature. Leading her upstairs, it seemed best to have her stay in the room closest to mine, in case of any emergencies, as the doctor suggested she shouldn't be alone, right? Back to cooking dinner, I wasn't sure what to make or what she would like, and I didn't ask. But does it really matter?

Pesto alla genovese it is then. Rolling up my sleeves, donning my brown apron,

I begin by pulling out the ingredients from the drawer and fridge, sipping on my usual green tea upon returning home. Making pesto pasta isn't too challenging—it's my go-to dinner, especially since I skipped my own meal, so a small portion will suffice. In about 20 minutes, dinner is ready. Y/n must be in her room because I hear no sounds from upstairs.

I serve the pasta in a bowl with a fork, placing it on the coffee table. I'm not going to cater to her hand and foot. "Dinner's on the table. Enjoy," I inform her after knocking on her closed door. I wait until I hear her response, which comes as, "Thanks, Mr. Jeon," accompanied by her irritating fake accent. I roll my eyes, grateful she's only here for one night.

Author's pov

You cautiously peek out of the room, but there's no sign of him. You're not very hungry, which has been the case ever since you found out about your pregnancy—quite odd for someone who always thought pregnancy was just an excuse to eat everything in sight. Despite this, Jungkook was right; your stomach is growling, so you force yourself to eat.

You make your way to the coffee table he mentioned in the TV area. There's a bowl with a fork and a glass of orange juice. Sitting down on his velvet beige couch, you pick up the bowl. It looks appetizing and feels warm, freshly prepared. The aroma of it heightened your senses, and you twirl your fork to gather a bite. Damn. The taste surprises you as it hits your tongue. Why does it taste so incredibly good?

Oh, the joys of food. It takes you less than 10 minutes to finish the entire dish, as if you hadn't had a proper meal in ages—which, technically, you haven't. You let out a deep exhale, sinking back into the couch, the lingering taste of pesto on your tongue. "No, why did I eat it so fast?" you whine to yourself, closing your eyes to savor the flavors. "I thought you had no appetite?"

Jungkook's voice startles you as you open your eyes to see him leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his silk black pajamas, that smug expression on his face that always irks you. "I had to eat. It would've been disrespectful not to,"

you retort, and he chuckles, approaching you. Peering into the empty bowl, not a leaf or pasta strip remains. "That bowl says otherwise," he teases. Rolling your eyes, you stand up, gathering the empty dishes to wash. "There's more pasta," he informs you, causing you to pause and turn to face him. "S-so?"

Jungkook tilts his head, smiling as he moves closer, taking the bowl in his hand. "Thought you might want seconds? Do you?" You avoid meeting his eyes, nodding with a slight pout, secretly hoping he doesn't notice your gratitude.

"C'mon," he beckons, and you follow him into the kitchen. Oh my god!!! The kitchen is stunning; you've always dreamed of having such a beautiful black kitchen, and his is exactly what you love. You find his entire home amazing. Jungkook retrieves a bowl from the refrigerator, removing the glass cover and warming the cold food in a pan. "There's a microwave right there," you point out. He glances at the microwave and back at you. "I know."

"Then use it." "Electromagnetic waves aren't healthy," he states, prompting a laugh from you as you cover your mouth, amused by his response. "What's so funny?" he asks with a puzzled look. "Why do you even have one then? Just for show?" you joke. "For the fun of it," he replies shortly, and you nod in acknowledgment, pulling out a dining chair as he transfers the pasta to a freshly cleaned bowl.

"Never did I imagine Mr. Jeon would be doing all this for me," you whisper to yourself, hoping he didn't catch your words, but he did. "Never did I either, Ms. Lee, but here we are," he replies, placing the bowl in front of you. You begin to savor the warm capellini pasta while he leans against the counter, cleaning the nonstick pan. Bam circles around his feet, leaving a smile on your face.

The silence makes him uneasy, so he glances at you, noticing your distant expression with concern. You don't want to tell him, but the shower today was difficult—

the sight of spotting of the blood frightened you. And you want to thank this man somehow, but you're unsure how. "Doesn't taste good anymore?" he questions, and you turn to look at him before returning your gaze to the pasta, your appetite suddenly gone. "No, not really. I..."

You hesitate for a moment before smiling. "Thank you for helping me. I-I appreciate it," you manage to say. Jungkook nods and offers a brief smile that quickly fades. He doesn't like smiling in situations like these. "I had to help anyway," he states, making you pause.

Is he forcing himself into this, or does he genuinely want to help? "Had to" doesn't sound very sincere. Letting it go, you continue eating, hunger naturally returning to you. "If you need anything, feel free to shout. My room is right here, okay?" "Sure," you reply, rolling your eyes and heading into the room, locking the door behind you. Jungkook scoffs but follows suit, lying on the bed after switching on the night lamp. He gazes up at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts.

He's just a wall away from you. There's nothing wrong with that, but it feels strange. Thinking about who you are... If this isn't weird, then what is? "Damn life," he mutters, turning onto his side to face the window, gazing at the dark sky lit up by city lights and the moon.

He tends to overthink, just like you. You're hugging your plushie, staring out the window too. The bed is comfortable, the atmosphere peaceful with soft lighting, yet your mind is suffocated by the worst scenarios you can imagine regarding your baby.

What if there's no baby? What if the blood meant something serious days ago? What if there's a major complication? What if this is all your fault? What if this was your only chance to be a mom, and it's slipping away... Tears stream down your face once again when you remember hearing the soft heartbeats of your child the other day.

You bury your head in the silk pillow, sobbing loudly, clutching the soft toy tightly to your chest. Both of you had a rough night, struggling to sleep, but eventually, you do because there's simply no other choice...

-

In the morning, both of you prepared for the day ahead. By 7 a.m., Bam's caretaker and the other helpers were already busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast as Jungkook had instructed them the previous night to make enough for two. You both walk down the stairs together, Jungkook insisting that you eat breakfast before leaving the house. You sat at the dining table, a plate in front of you.

Maya, the cook, was visibly surprised to see you up and about at this early hour, something she hadn't witnessed in her three years working for Jungkook. She silently speculated about the reason behind this change. Petting Bam affectionately, you chuckled as he playfully circled around you. "I'll come visit you one day, alright?"

Jungkook glanced at both of you and cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Shall we get going?" You nodded, bidding Bam farewell with a wave before taking the passenger seat in Jungkook's car as he drove you to the hospital. Despite his calm exterior, Jungkook felt the tension building inside him, mirroring your own nervousness. Though he had no personal connection to you or the child, he sensed an unexplainable concern.

The wait for the nurse to call you in was terrifying. Jungkook observed your nervous habits, like knuckle-breaking and lip-biting, as you tried to release your stress. "Ms. Lee Yn?" "Yes." "Come in." Inside, Jungkook checked with you if you preferred privacy or if he could stay. You didn't mind his presence, so he remained by your side.

"Morning, Yn, please take a seat," Dr. Sohee said, glancing at Jungkook with a raised eyebrow. "So, Y/n, how were you last night? Okay, or?" "I was fine. I just had a tough time overthinking," you replied, stealing a glance at Jungkook, who did the same. "So, which was why you had to be with someone? Panicking would've made things worse. Alright,"

Dr. Sohee straightened her back and placed her elbows on the table, adjusting her glasses. "We need to do a pelvic test and a scan, so if you would join me?" You stood from the chair and followed her to the examination area, while Jungkook's eyes remained fixed on the white curtain that conceal his view of you.

The doctor conducted the scan first to check the placenta for any signs of separation or miscarriage. Her eyebrows furrowed as she scrutinized the monitor and moved the ultrasound probe over your abdomen.

You couldn't interpret the black and white images, but the doctor's serious expression made you anxious. "What's wrong, Doctor?" She sighed and wiped off the gel from your abdomen, proceeding to the pelvic test to check for ovarian cysts or infections. She remained silent, heightening your anxiety with each passing moment. "I'll explain," she finally said.

You both returned to your seats, and Jungkook watched your face intently for any signs of distress, finding none. Dr. Sohee removed her glasses and placed them on the table before speaking. "Firstly... best wishes to you; the baby is completely fine."

You let out the biggest exhale of your life, tears welling up in your eyes. You covered your face with your hands, taking a moment to absorb the news you had longed to hear for days, feeling like you had waited years for this moment. Jungkook exhaled too, nodding his head and offering a brief smile.

"Happy for you, really happy." You nodded in agreement, wiping away the tears that had stained your silk top. So hee smiled sympathetically at both you and Jungkook, retrieving a pen to jot down some notes. "Here's my analysis: due to your hormonal imbalance,

drugs and the challenges it presents, your body is adjusting slowly to pregnancy. This imbalance may have weakened you physically, contributing to the stress-induced bleeding. Stress increases these issues, so it's crucial to rest, eat well, and manage your weight loss. You must eat three meals daily, stay hydrated, and avoid stress at all costs. Understood?"

You nodded again, taking in her words as Jungkook accepted the prescription she handed over. You thanked her sincerely, and she responded with a gentle chuckle, which you echoed in relief.

"I don't encourage frequent scans during pregnancy due to the waves that are not very healthy for the unborn baby so i'll meet you for your 5 and 6 month scan then." "of course, Dr. Thank you very much." 'always welcome." Exiting the room, Jungkook suggested you wait in the car while he fetched the medications. Leaning back in your seat, you took deep breaths, gently caressing your growing bump. "Didn't I tell you that you'll be fine? See, you're absolutely okay, baby,"

you whispered reassuringly to the little life inside you, finding comfort in speaking to your unborn child. Jungkook returned with the vitamins after about five minutes, clicking his tongue before speaking. "You don't have to work. Let's get you home—"

"What? No, I will work. You can't stop me," you interjected firmly. 'Here we go again', Jungkook thought, leaning back and closing his eyes. "You were advised to rest, not work." "But how could I just not work? I can't stay at home doing nothing." "I'll take care of your expenses," Jungkook offered, to which you gaped in surprise, questioning his sincerity. "I can pay for them myself, Jungkook. This is—insane. I need to work. You can't just say that—"

Turning fully to face him, you expressed your frustration, pointing accusingly at him while he listened quietly, avoiding confrontation. "I've made my final decision. Either you work from home or not." "Jungkook, I'm fine. I can't stay in my apartment for months. Working at the office gives me peace—" "How are you going to hide the bump? Ever thought about that?" he interrupted, both of you glancing down at your growing belly. Frustration rushed through him, evident in the tension of his neck and the reddening of his ears.

"Now's the time for major changes. You can't be stressing out too—" "What? Afraid that your reputation would be tarnished because of this?" you retorted sharply, catching him off guard. He stared at you, taken aback by your accusation. Lately, he hadn't even considered his reputation, especially while assisting you these past few days. If reputation had mattered, he wouldn't have helped you at all. "Y/n?" His eyes started to redden with anger.

Realizing he needed to calm down before losing control, he forcefully hit his arm against the steering wheel, causing you to flinch. He hated assumptions and false allegations, not driven by his name or reputation at this point but genuinely caring—couldn't you see that? "For heaven's sake, I'm just concerned and helping you out," he insisted, but you responded with a sly smile. "I don't believe what I see most of the time—"

"I'm not doing you a favor, Y/n. I'm genuinely helping you, so let me!" he spoke loudly, unbuttoning his coat and a few shirt buttons, his anger constricting his chest. Knowing exactly how to provoke him, you crossed your arms defiantly. "Fine then!" "I'm taking you to my place!" he declared suddenly, his words catching you off guard. "What?!" You looked at him, stunned.

"Did you not hear the doctor? I'm sure you did." he thought a bit to himself and sighed, decided to ask you calmly. if you say no then it's a no, he won't force you for more. "Do you want to be at my place?" Jungkook asked, making eye contact. Despite his flaring anger, his eyes conveyed genuine concern and a promise to care for you.

After a long moment of silent understanding, you nodded, signaling your acceptance of his offer. It was an unusual situation, filled with unspoken words between you both. He had no obligation to help you, yet he did. Perhaps it was a spark of something in him, driving his actions, even though he seemed conflicted. As you both locked eyes, it was clear, he had as much chaos in his mind as you did, if not more.

"Are you sure about this? I'm not forcing you. I could drop you at your place and—""I'm sure." And with that decision made, neither of you could predict how dramatically things would unfold from here.

next chapter ⇢