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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years ago

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A Holly, Jolly Crisis (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash as part of the Once Upon a Holiday... collaboration with @underthejoon , @fantasybangtan , @lamourche , @hobidreams , @suga-kookiemonster , @junghelioseok

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight made this ridiculously gorgeous moodboard TT

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader (female)

Genre: Ex-Best Friends to Lovers / Rom-Com / Angst (?) / Holiday

Word Count: 36,243

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, Hoseok has a dirty mouth, Y/N semi-jokingly offers to slap him & he’s into it, condom-less sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, rough sex. Multiple friends/family members mention the reader has lost weight, but the reader’s exact weight isn’t specified. Seokjin uses a spatula as a microphone.

Summary: At this time last year, you thought you had it all. A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast-forward to now and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren’t coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll be forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man – and your ex-best friend, Hoseok.

Dear Y/N Y/L/N,

Thank you for taking the time to send our team your screenplay for One for the Money. It was a pleasure learning about your characters and ideas.

Unfortunately, we did not select your spec script at this time for further consideration.

Not wanting to read the rest of the rejection email, you returned to your inbox and moved the message to trash. Releasing a sigh, you slumped in the hard, plastic airport chair underneath you. This had to be your fifteenth rejection email this month, which didn’t bode well for your screenplay’s future.

The screenplay in question was your self-written TV series – One for the Money. You’d been working on it for years and had just begun sending it out to studios. When a screenplay was written outside a studio and shopped around after, it was often called a spec script. This stood for speculative screenplay and you supposed that right now, this was the best descriptor.

A screenplay without a studio was practically nothing. Speculative, indeed.

Glancing up from your phone, you saw the flight’s status on the board had moved from green to red – delayed. Stifling another sigh, you switched apps on the screen and checked the weather. Winter storms were sweeping through the Midwest, resulting in a delay of holiday travel. This was precisely the reason you hadn’t wanted to go home this year.

Well, it wasn’t the only reason you dreaded your return to Josen Falls. You hadn’t seen your family in over a year but had still planned to stay in LA over Christmas. A wrench had been thrown in these plans when your sister, Sara, became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi.

Yoongi had only had one request when it came to wedding planning – for them to be married in the same church his parents had been, a beautiful venue north of the city. Of course, the only available date within a three-year time frame was June 30th. Seven months was practically nothing to plan a wedding, but Sara was determined to make it happen; hence the need to have you at home.

Don’t get you wrong – of course, you were excited about Sara and Yoongi. You’d been the one who introduced them, after all, through your former best friend. They were perfect together and you were nothing but ecstatic to see your little sister so happy. The only unfortunate part about her life coming together was it happened to come at the same time as yours falling apart.

A year ago, you would’ve said you were on the right path. Things had been going well in nearly every part of your life. Your TV show was on its second season, you’d been dating Darren for nine months and had found a reasonably priced one-bedroom apartment in a coveted neighborhood. Everything had been looking up, considering your previous year in LA, where paychecks had been scarce, and you’d been dangerously close to asking your parents for money.

Now, you found yourself in the same situation. Uncertain where your next paycheck was coming from, recently single and unsure how you were going to make rent next month.

Your coveted Hollywood job had been as a screenwriter for The Drop, a critically acclaimed show which ended abruptly this year after a dispute with the main actor. The third – and final – season was set to air in the new year on Netflix, but after that you’d be out of a job.

Hence the desperate pitch of your spec script to every mainstream television producer with an open inbox. Suffice to say, things were not going well.

This was evidenced by the uncomfortable chair you’d squeezed yourself into, having been forced to give up your pass to Admirals Club. The cost couldn’t be justified right now. Forlornly, you stared at the ticket sticking out of your purse.

It had been nearly a year since you’d last visited home. At first, this hadn’t been a purposeful decision. You’d been swamped with work, preparing for the Golden Globes and seasons one and two of The Drop. Your ex-boyfriend, Darren, had been nominated for an Oscar last year, resulting in a lot of holiday parties to attend.

Last year, you’d been too busy to come, but all that had changed in a matter of months. It began back in March, when contract negotiations stalled with your leading actor, Tory River. Tory fancied himself a method actor, so when you refused to pay him the GDP of a small country, he decided to walk. Without him, the studio had to scrap the show. Better to leave things at three solid seasons than add a lukewarm fourth without the main star.

You were told in May the third season would be its last and were highly encouraged to seek out other shows. Nothing had panned out since and then, at the end of the summer, you were dealt another blow.

You should’ve known things were bad when Darren, your ex-boyfriend, called you himself instead of Molly, his assistant.

When you first met Darren Carmichael in LA, he was a struggling actor from Des Moines, Iowa. The Darren of September 2020 was no longer the Darren of early 2019, though – he’d long ditched the Midwest accent in favor of designer shades and loafers. High off his Oscar nomination and with job offers to spare, you should’ve suspected something was wrong from his genuine contriteness of tone.

The first thing he said to you was, “Did you pass a newsstand today?”

At first, you’d been baffled because no one walked past newsstands anymore. Logging into Twitter, you immediately saw why your boyfriend had been worried.

DARREN CARMICHAEL AND CO-STAR, JESSICA AVEC, CAUGHT CANOODLING ON SET OF RECENT MOVIE!

Frozen, you’d barely listened while he pleaded his case. Instead, you scanned the article and felt your insides tighten with each word. Darren and Jessica had been caught making out when no cameras were rolling. You were only mentioned as a footnote, and not even by name.

Darren was previously dating a screenwriter in LA, although this seems to have ended several weeks prior.

You had wanted to scream, wanted to call up the author and berate them for proper sources, but you didn’t do any of that. Instead, you sat dejectedly while Darren yammered on and on about why he’d done what he’d done.

That had been the worst part. He hadn’t apologized to you – not really. Instead, he’d gone on about how hard it had been for him to be away, surrounded and worshiped by more available people. You had your career, he’d argued. You had other things, you didn’t need him and what he felt for Jessica seemed like the real thing.

Darren thought you should break up so he could begin dating her.

Numbly, you’d hung up the phone and immediately blocked his number. That had been nearly three months ago, but the sting of the breakup remained.

It wasn’t as though Darren had changed overnight. When you first met, he’d been the super-cute barista at your favorite coffee shop. You two bonded over being unable to find appropriately caffeinated beverages in LA and the rest, as they say, was history.

Then Darren landed a role as a recurring character on a popular Netflix show. What seemed like overnight, he became America’s heartthrob. Still, Darren didn’t change right away. He went to work every morning, came home in the evenings and continued to attend the same parties, run in the same circles.

Soon though, Darren was invited to more exclusive gatherings and slowly, his invitations transitioned from “Darren plus date” to “just Darren.” You hadn’t protested at the time, not overly interested in canapés and pretentious conversation. The time you did spend together dwindled, going from Facetiming each night on his movie set to a harried phone call every other day.

Maybe you should’ve been more suspicious. In hindsight, all the warning signs had been there, but you’d been too busy and worried about The Drop’s future to do anything about it. Darren had become distant and withdrawn, but you’d been okay because you’d become distant, too.

After you blocked his number, you kicked him out of your apartment. Packing everything he owned in boxes, you set these on the lawn and shut the door. It was unfortunate it rained before he could pick them up, but that couldn’t be helped. You refused to see him again – you even went so far as to have your assistant, Jimin, pick up Darren’s keys.

Jimin had done so gleefully, perhaps too gleefully, but you didn’t care. Darren had tried to contact you a few more times, but eventually he got the hint and the last time you’d checked, he seemed blissfully happy with his vapid co-star.

Gritting your teeth, you exhaled. That wasn’t fair – you had no idea what Darren had told Jessica about you. For all you knew, she could’ve thought you two had been broken up.

Regardless, things had gone steadily downhill for you over the past year. Single, nearly unemployed and running low on your savings, you could easily call this a low point in your life. Worst of all – your family didn’t know the full extent of things.

They knew you’d broken up with Darren, of course – that had been front page news. They also knew your TV series was ending but had no idea you struggled as much as you were. Each time they called, you meant to tell them, but something managed to choke you every time.

Maybe it was how excited your mom was about the upcoming nuptials. Or maybe it was how diligently your dad watched The Drop. Admitting you didn’t have next steps felt like defeat, so you’d purposefully kept things brief until you had something to tell.

The problem was none of your next steps seemed to be panning out. Again, your mind wandered to the rejection email in your trash.

“Excuse me? Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”

Blinking, you looked up and felt your heart sink.

The guy standing before you looked around college-age, dressed in a MORDOR FUN RUN t-shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he looked at you hopefully and you felt your heart sink even further. He had to be a film nerd.

“Um, yeah,” you said, trying to smile. “That’s me.”

This had happened to you several times before. Even if you weren’t an actress, your name appeared at the end of every episode of The Drop. It hadn’t taken long for starry-eyed screenwriting ingénues to find you on Instagram.

Usually, you were patient in your responses, giving them as much advice as you could without being discouraging, but Lord of the Rings here had caught you on a bad night.

“No way!” he gushed. “I’m such a big fan of your writing. I swear, I’ve memorized the entire first season of The Drop.”

“Not the second, though?”

His face fell. “No, well – I, it’s a long series and…”

“I’m kidding,” you said with a smile. “That’s really nice.”

“I want to be a screenwriter myself, someday,” he said, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m in a program at UCLA and am searching for a summer internship. Any advice for someone who’s just starting out?”

Hesitant, you looked him up and down and wondered how honest to be. He seemed nice, looked hopeful and you were one hundred percent sure the industry would crush him.

“You want some advice?” you said as you stood from your seat. The light on the departures board had changed from red to green.

Eagerly, the guy nodded.

“Alright, here it is.” Slinging your bag over your chest, you said, “Don’t be a writer.”

The guy’s expression faltered. “What?”

“Don’t be a writer,” you said. “Screenwriting is one of the most fickle, unforgiving jobs in existence. Job security? None. Creativity? Only as much as shareholders allow. The industry will eat you up, spit you out and no one will give a damn. The glamorous profession you’ve dreamt of doesn’t exist. The best advice I can give is run the other way.”

The guy stared at you, wide-eyed and for a moment, you felt a modicum of pity. Brushing this aside, you steeled your spine – better for him to find out now, while he could still change his major to something stable, like accounting.

“I, uh…” He paused, and then swallowed. “Thanks, I guess?”

“No problem,” you said, brushing past him as group numbers began to be called. At the last second, you hesitated and turned around. “Best of luck in whatever you decide, though. Happy holidays, and all that.”

“Happy holidays,” he mumbled, in a daze.

As you entered the line, you bit down on your lip and began to regret your outburst. Some of your bitterness was based on your own experience; maybe his would be different. The guy had seemed excited and you’d just crushed his dreams.

Narrowing your gaze, you forced yourself to straighten. It would’ve happened to him sooner or later – of that you were certain. Better to warn him now than for him to learn it the hard way. You only wished someone had been kind enough to tell you this years ago.

Actually – a sliver of discomfort entered your thoughts since someone had told you this last year. Someone had warned you about Darren, about your job and LA, but you’d chosen not to listen. Instead, you’d let your friendship crumble and hadn’t spoken to them since.

Just another reason going home for the holidays was going to suck. Going home meant you’d be forced to see Yoongi’s friends, which meant you’d be forced to see Hoseok. Yoongi and Hoseok were close, after all – they’d become friends in college, which was when Yoongi had been introduced to Sara.

It had been nearly a year since you and Hoseok last spoke, despite having once considered him to be your best friend.

So, there it was. Reason six hundred and sixty-six why the holidays would suck. You were single, jobless and facing the imminent prospect of two weeks with people who either had their shit together or were a constant reminder of why you did not.

As you boarded the plane and settled into your seat, you pulled out your headphones and cranked up the volume. If you weren’t feeling particularly Christmas-y, you could at least try to numb the pain with alcohol and music.

Starting now, you decided, as you closed your eyes. Happy holidays, indeed.

Exiting the Terminal at LaGuardia airport, you found yourself shivering in the sudden cold. Despite having worn the warmest jacket you could find, nothing prepared you for the frigid blast of air on your face. Heat lamps were scattered beside the taxi stand, but this seemed to do nothing but attract hopeful crowds of tourists.

Bypassing them all, you dragged your suitcase to the end of Terminal B. This was the agreed-upon meeting place for all family members. Your sister, Sara, was on pick-up duty tonight. She lived and worked in New York City, so the airport had been an easy stop on her way to Josen Falls. Your hometown was only an hour outside the city, but it might as well have been Mars for how much cab drivers charged to get there.

Lugging your bag to the end of the row, you saw Sara’s black Subaru parked at the front. As soon as you were within view, the driver’s side door flung open.

“Y/N!” she yelled, exiting the car. “Y/N!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, half-running the last several paces to crush her in a hug. Your sister squeezed you back, trying – and failing – to lift you from the ground. Once finished, she took a step back and adjusted her glasses.

“You look skinnier,” she said with a frown.

Re-grabbing your bag, you rolled your eyes. “I’m not skinnier.”

“Have you lost weight?”

“I mean, some but –”

“Nope,” said Sara, lifting the trunk of her car. “I’ll call mom on the way home. She can heat up mac and cheese, or something.”

Shoving the handle on your suitcase down, you heaved this from the ground to place in the trunk. As annoying as Sara’s criticism was, you couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of your mom’s mac and cheese.

“Ugh,” you said as you entered the car. Plopping in the passenger seat, you buckled your seatbelt. “Honestly, that sounds amazing. Even the mac and cheese on the west coast is low-carb and no butter.”

Sara looked at you in horror. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Beats me. Masochism?”

“Must be,” she said, shaking her head and putting the car in drive.

Pulling from the curb, Sara eased seamlessly into traffic. She waited until you’d reached the highway to turn on the music, just like dad did.

“Anyways,” she said, drumming her hands on the steering wheel. “Everyone’s super excited to have you home. It’s been what – over a year since last time?”

“Around that, yeah,” you said, shifting uncomfortably.

Slouching lower in your seat, you turned to look out the window. It wasn’t snowing, but it had clearly snowed within the past couple of days. A greyish-blue sludge remained on the highway.

Sara glanced sideways. “Don’t slouch,” she said. “You’ll wrinkle those really cute pants – which, by the way, can I wear tomorrow night?” Beatific, she smiled. “Mom and dad are throwing me a tiny engagement party. Obviously, you’re invited.”

“Oh. Did you say tomorrow, because –”

“Nope!” Sara cut you off. “No excuses, big sis. You’re my maid of honor, so you have to be there. No ifs, ands or buts.”

Sighing loudly, you slumped in your seat. “Has anyone told you how annoyingly single-minded you are?”

“Often. I tell them I get it from my older sister.”

You snorted, but you knew she was right. You were equally stubborn – it was what had led to your current situation. Your family only knew the barest details about your life. If they knew the full extent of your failures, they’d instantly offer to help you out.

For you though, this would be considered the ultimate blow. When you moved to LA, they’d been hesitant about your career as a screenwriter. It had taken everything in you to prove you could do this. If you began to fail now, it would only prove them right.

You’d planned on telling them about Darren last month, but then Sara got engaged and everything was put on hold. Suddenly, your mom was consumed by the wedding; she barely had time for anything else. Everything was lace veils that, and yours forever that. It was hard being reminded of your singlehood in your own apartment, let alone each time you called your family.

As Sara continued to drive, her diamond engagement ring glittered in the lights of the highway.

“It’s even bigger in person,” you said, nodding across the console.

“That’s what she said.”

“Sara!”

“Sorry!” She cracked up. “You just look so tense. But yeah, I love the ring. Yoongi picked it out himself. Well, that’s not entirely true. He had some help from – uh, from no one,” she said, abruptly changing her tone.

“Oh, really?” you said, amused. “He had help from no one?”

“Yep.” Sara nodded.

You sensed bullshit on this but let it slide, reaching out to turn up the heat. If Sara didn’t want to say who, there was probably a reason. The reason you suspected made your heart twinge, but you didn’t want to think about him right now.

It wasn’t long before Sara pulled from the highway, street signs and buildings becoming familiar. You hadn’t flown much before college, so the trip from the airport to Josen Falls was still new. Just another way your life had changed since high school.

“So, where’s this engagement party happening?” you asked, glancing sideways.

“Where else?”

“Raffi’s,” you both said at the same time.

Sara grinned and nodded. “Where else? It’s our celebration restaurant. Mom and dad had to uphold tradition.”

“Obviously. Who all’s invited?”

Barely noticeable, her hands tensed on the wheel. “Oh, the usual. Mom and dad, a bunch of the neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. Min, of course,” she said, naming Yoongi’s parents. “Some friends from high school. My bridesmaids. And uh, Yoongi’s groomsmen.”

“Oh.” You paused. “So, is –”

“Hoseok coming? Yeah.”

“Right,” you said, turning to look out the window.

Sara sighed softly. “That’s not going to be weird, is it?”

“Weird? Of course, not. Why would it be weird?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of the whole ‘Hoseok thing?’” She made air quotes around the last two words.

“You mean how we once were best friends and now, I don’t even know what color his hair is?”

“That’s the one!”

“Hey, listen.” Reaching out, you touched her arm. “I promise things will be okay. Hoseok and I are adults – just because we’re not friends anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be in the same room together.”

“Promise?” she said, giving you a glance.

“Promise. It’s my baby sister’s wedding, after all. I have a contractual obligation to ensure nothing goes wrong.”

“We-ll,” said Sara. “You can’t be held responsible for everything that goes wrong. Like, what if cousin Sybil decides to wear white to the wedding? That wouldn’t be your fault.”

“It would be if I didn’t bring a spare dress for her to change into.”

Sara cracked a smile. “Okay, but what if the florist mixes my bouquet up with a prom one? That wouldn’t be your problem to solve.”

“That’s what cars are for! I’d drive to the florist and make them switch it back.”

“Well, what if Yoongi suddenly gets cold feet and decides I’m not the woman he wants to marry? That definitely wouldn’t be your fault.”

“You’re right,” you said, examining your hand. “It’d be his fault, and then it’d be his problem because I’d murder him. Cold blooded. He can run, but I’d hunt him down, tear off his testicles and make you a potpourri bag.”

“Oh my god.” Sara cackled. “That’s so violent. You’re the best.”

“And as the best maid of honor!” you declared. “I promise your engagement party will go off without a hitch. Hoseok, or no Hoseok.”

“Alright, alright.” She grinned. “Thanks, sis.”

“Anytime.”

As you passed through the downtown of Josen Falls, familiar butterflies began to fill your stomach. Not ones of excitement though, but ones of dread.

Sinking lower, you hoped none of your neighbors were feeling particularly nosy. So little happened in Josen Falls, you were certain your breakup with Darren was still front-page gossip. You could already hear the neighborhood busybodies.

What a shame they cancelled that show of yours, dear. What’s the next project? Nothing? Well, what about that actor you were dating? What’s his name – Darren! He was wonderful in that one movie. He seems like such a nice boy. Oh, you’re no longer together? Well, are you dating anyone new? No? Well…

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the seat. Everything would be okay. All you needed to do was get through two weeks and you’d be back in LA. Your façade could last that long. Who knew – maybe if it held, you could apply to a few acting jobs when you returned.

Opening your eyes, you saw Sara drive past Whalen Court. Your home was two streets over, but Whalen Court was where the Jungs lived. Craning your neck, you watched their street disappear in the rearview mirror. You thought you saw lights were at his home but couldn’t be sure.

Before you knew it, you were entering your garage and Sara had placed the car in park.

“Home, sweet, home,” she sang, opening the door.

It took you a moment to convince your legs to work. Home, sweet, home was one way to put it.

The moment you stepped across the threshold you knew this had been a mistake.

“We’re home!” Sara yelled, shutting the door.

It wasn’t long before your mom rushed around the corner, beaming when she saw who had arrived.

“There she is!” she cried, crushing you in a hug. “Our star daughter, come home to visit us mere mortals for the holidays!”

Instantly, your heart sank. You should’ve known the first words out of your mom’s mouth would be a reference to your supposedly successful career.

“Hey!” Sara cried, dropping your bag. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“No,” said your mom, squeezing you tightly. “But we just saw you last week, dear. You and Yoongi came over for dinner.”

“Well… fine, that’s true.”

Your mom laughed, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Giving you a critical sweep head to foot, she frowned.

“Sara was right. You’re too skinny.”

Jaw dropping, you turned. “When did you have time to text mom?”

“At the stoplight,” Sara said, breezing past.

Your mom stared in alarm. “Well, I certainly didn’t know that. Sara, that was very dangerous. You shouldn’t be texting while driving.”

“There she is!” sang your dad, entering the front hall. “The prodigal daughter returned!”

“Dad,” you groaned, but laughed when he hugged you.

Pulling back, your dad wiped his forehead and realized he still held the spatula. “Right, dinner,” he said, turning around. “Got to stir the sauce every minute or it congeals! Put your bag by the stairs, Lucy and I’ll bring it up later!”

Lucy was your dad’s nickname for you, even though your name wasn’t remotely close to the moniker. When you’d been a child, you’d been an absolute terror, so Lucy was short for Lucifer. Your Grandma Jan nearly had a heart attack when she learned of the name’s origin.

As your dad disappeared into the kitchen, you returned to your mom. “You know I’m going to bring my suitcase up myself, right?”

“Oh, sure.” She nodded. “Leave something for him to carry, though. You know your father likes to feel needed. Like he’s the man of the house, or something.”

Despite yourself, you grinned. Your dad was as far from toxic masculinity as a person could be. He sang only falsetto harmony to songs in the car, did all the cooking, and had a self-proclaimed ‘weakness for soft blankets.’

Your mom gave a shrug. “Sometimes,” she added.

Laughing, you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and pushed it down. Lifting this up, you left your laptop bag in the hall for your dad to carry. You wouldn’t need it for work, anyways.

With this somewhat depressing thought, you began to lug your things up the stairs. Halfway to the second floor, your mom poked her head over the banister.

“Y/N?” she called.

“Yeah?” you said, struggling to balance your things as you turned.

“There’s toothpaste and shampoo in your bathroom, but you’re sharing a hair dryer with Sara. I put it in her bathroom! Just make sure you knock because, you know…” Your mom lowered her voice. “Yoongi may stay over some nights.”

“Mom,” you said, hiding your smile. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Alright!” She disappeared from view. “So happy you’re home!”

You heard her laugh when she entered the kitchen and for a moment, you stood there and exhaled. Darren had never come home with you for the holidays, so you couldn’t be sure how your parents would have reacted, but you doubted he would’ve gotten the same treatment as Yoongi.

Your parents had always liked Darren, but he’d been considered an outsider. Darren had grown up in the Midwest, while Yoongi hailed from the same town. Yoongi was also more down to earth than Darren ever had been. You couldn’t imagine Darren waking up early to help your dad cook pancakes, but Yoongi did that each time he slept over.

Shaking your head, you continued up the stairs. It didn’t really matter how Darren was different from Yoongi, since Darren wasn’t here, and he wasn’t your boyfriend.

As you continued to climb, the sounds of the first floor began to fade. Pictures were hung carefully on the wall, proof of your past your dad refused to take down. Photos of you with little league trophies, Sara in her cheerleading uniform and a terrible grouping of photos from middle school.

Passing the ones on the landing, you paused to trace over familiar faces. These photos were all from your Senior prom. Only one was the obligatory shot with your date, looking prim, proper and perfectly coiffed. The rest were of you and your friends – mainly, you and Hoseok.

Placing your suitcase on the ground, you stepped closer. Hoseok had the same mop of floppy, brown hair he had throughout most of your childhood. Grin wide, his right arm was slung over your shoulder. In one photo, you two were posed back-to-back, Men in Black style. In another, you did the classic 80’s roommates sitcom pose. The final shot had you dragging your smiles wide, eyes crossed and tongues stuck out at the camera.

When you were in elementary school, Johnny Ludowski had said if someone pushed you from behind with your eyes crossed, they would get stuck that way. Hoseok had been terrified of the idea ever since, but you’d managed to convince him to do it on prom night – only for Seokjin to sneak up and push him from behind.

Screaming bloody murder, Hoseok had then proceeded to chase Seokjin around the yard, brandishing his boutonniere pin as a weapon. You couldn’t help but smile at the memory, although this quickly faded. It had been a long time since you and Hoseok were that close.

Despite attending separate colleges, you and Hoseok had remained best friends throughout. You’d seen him each holiday, summer and even during long weekends at home. Except for the drought sophomore year when you began dating Ren What’s-His-Face, of course. Ren hadn’t liked your friendship with Hoseok, which ended up being one of the reasons you eventually broke up.

It was after college when things began to fall apart.

You’d lived on the east coast for a year and a half, staying in New York as a copy assistant for the New York Times. This job left you feeling thoroughly disillusioned by anything to do with the media. Craving creativity and distraction, you began applying for screenwriting jobs on the west coast.

Hoseok had been in grad school at the time, working two jobs and nearly as busy as you were. The little free time you had was spent together; that summer in the city was one of the best of your life, aside from the whole hating-your-job thing.

When you landed a screenwriting job at the start of the next year, the offer took Hoseok fully by surprise. He was on the cusp of graduating to start his PhD for behavioral psychology. You’d thought the timing was perfect – Hoseok would be so busy with school and research, he’d barely have time for you in New York.

Hoseok saw things differently. That was your first big fight – admittedly, you may have waited too long to tell him about the move. It had just been so difficult to figure out timing. You kept putting things off until finally, it was a week before Christmas, and you needed to move in two weeks.

You bit the bullet right before you went home, curled up on your sofa while you watched a movie. During a commercial break, you told him and Hoseok went still, though you saw him trying to hold it together. This was your dream job, and he’d wanted to be supportive.

Well – dream job was a loose term. It had been a crappily paying job writing for a kids television show, but you’d hoped it would lead to bigger things down the road. Hoseok had been remarkably calm until you said when you were leaving. Then he froze, staring at you in shock as you repeated the date.

Even that though wasn’t enough to end your friendship.

You patched up that fight quickly, unable to stay mad at each other for long. Hoseok had even helped you to move, packing up your New York apartment and flying with you across the country. He was the first guest you hosted in your new apartment, although apartment was a loose term for the hovel you lived in.

A four-bedroom apartment with only one bathroom and three other roommates. Hoseok had taken exactly one step inside before he turned around and said, “Absolutely not.”

Grabbing you by the wrist, he’d semi-jokingly tried to drag you to the curb. You’d laughed, managing to convince him that yes, this was your place and no, it wasn’t dirty and yes, you’d look for a new apartment as soon as you could afford to. Hoseok had begrudgingly agreed, making your room look as homey as possible before he had to leave.

That year was one of the hardest for you on record. Living on your own in LA, twenty-four and surrounded by unfamiliar people. Your roommates were nice, but they weren’t your friends, and they had their own problems with crazy jobs to boot. It was rare you saw them outside the house.

When you first met Darren, it had felt like fate. He’d also been lonely, a recent transplant from the Midwest and you’d instantly bonded. This had been March 2019, right after you’d begun writing for The Drop. Your PBS show had ‘released’ you – a fancy term for fired – in July and you’d waffled for a while before The Drop picked you up in November.

The Drop’s success had turned your work life around, but your personal life didn’t pick up until Darren. All throughout this, you were still best friends with Hoseok. Despite being an entire country apart, you continued to text, call and visit when you could.

As luck would have it, Hoseok planned on visiting at the end of the summer, so you were excited for the chance to introduce him to Darren. Darren’s career had begun to take off and he was in the middle of shooting what would be his first Oscar nomination. You found yourself thoroughly smitten and had recently begun saying the l-word to each other.

By the time Hoseok’s visit came, you felt as though you were on top of the world. Finally, your life was going as you’d imagined. Perfect job, perfect boyfriend – everything was beginning to fall into place.

You picked Hoseok up on a Thursday, balmy wind whipping his hair as he exited the terminal. When he saw you, he broke into the biggest smile and you remember feeling your heart twist a little. For the first time, an inharmonious chord sounded and you began to grow nervous about Hoseok meeting Darren.

Even the ride from the airport felt strange, with Hoseok quieter than usual after putting his things in the trunk. He’d rolled down the window when you entered the highway, soaking up the Los Angeles sunshine. As you passed a familiar exit, he’d frowned.

“Hey.” Hoseok had sat up, squinting out the window. “Am I going blind, or did you just pass the exit you usually take?”

Uncertain, your fingers drummed the wheel. “You’re not going blind.”

Hoseok looked at you suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

What was going on was you’d moved in with Darren about a week prior. It was still new and had been impulsive, but one of your roommates had stayed up fighting with her fiancé again and you’d simply snapped. Darren had suggested you move and it had seemed like a reasonable option.

“Okay,” you’d said, grip tightening on the wheel. “Don’t freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?” Hoseok had said, wondering. “I wouldn’t freak out, unless…” Trailing off, he looked at you sharply. “Are you… living with this guy, Y/N?”

“First off, his name is Darren and yes. I’m living with him.”

“Are you serious? You’ve known him for what, five minutes?”

“We’ve been dating for five months, actually –”

“Oh, so much better.”

“Don’t be an ass,” you’d said as you scowled.

Hoseok had rolled his eyes and settled back, but the tension between you lingered. He was quiet when you parked at Darren’s place, warming a little when he first met your boyfriend. Hoseok had always been good at putting on his mask when he needed to.

Later that night, Darren needed to run to the studio, so you and Hoseok had sat on the patio and made homemade margaritas. Begrudgingly, Hoseok agreed Darren’s apartment was nicer than the shithole you’d lived in and given his approval.

It had been tentative, though – you could tell. Deep down, you knew something lingered between you. Resentment, maybe because you hadn’t told him and anger from you, since Hoseok couldn’t just be happy for you and Darren.

The silent truce held until his last night of the trip. That night you went for drinks with Darren and his friends, who were quickly becoming your own. Except for Jimin, who hated Darren because he once saw him litter, and rarely chose to attend the same events.

At some point, you’d gone to the bathroom and when you came back, you found Hoseok with an odd look on his face.

“What’s up?” you’d said, sliding into the booth. Darren had wandered off, grabbing another round of drinks at the bar. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Hoseok had slowly turned to face you.

You’d hesitated, stomach dropping because you knew that expression. Jung Hoseok was usually the nicest, most positive person you knew. When he decided to be serious, it was no laughing matter.

“Y/N…” Hoseok considered his next words carefully. “Are you happy with him?”

“What?”

“With Darren,” he’d clarified. “Do you love him?”

“I… what’s with the third degree all of a sudden?” you’d said, laughing nervously.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Hoseok had paused. “Look. This is super awkward, but I think Darren was texting someone earlier.”

You had frozen, staring at him with blank eyes. The bar around you seemed to blur into nothing.

“I… Darren?” you’d said finally, shaking your head. “That’s impossible. Who was it?”

“I didn’t get a good look at the name,” Hoseok said. “I just saw him type ‘u up?’ to someone. He angled away when he noticed me looking. I asked him who it was, and he said a friend. Then he left for the bar.”

Mind whirling, you’d glanced at the bar. Darren laughed with his friends, chatting as though nothing were the matter. When he’d seen you, he’d grinned and shot you a wink. Your heart flip-flopped in your chest because his actions just didn’t match with what Hoseok said.

Unwittingly, resentment uncurled in your stomach. At one point, you would’ve overanalyzed Hoseok stepping in to be your white knight. Back in high school, you’d fancied yourself to be in love with your best friend, but that had been a long time ago. When years passed and nothing happened between you, you’d forced yourself to move on.

It was never a sign of anything more when Hoseok didn’t like your boyfriends. He was a protective friend and you could live with that, but not when it got in the way of you making life choices.

Defensive, you’d turned back. “Well, maybe it’s not what you thought it was.”

Hoseok’s eyes had widened. “Come on, Y/N. You have to admit that doesn’t look good.”

“Well, no,” you admitted. “But I’m not about to ambush him in a bar, Hobi. Not over something you may or may not have seen on his phone.”

Annoyance clouded his expression. “Are you seriously going to trust him over me?”

“He’s my boyfriend, Hobi. He deserves for me to at least hear him out. I promise I’ll talk to him later.”

Looking away, Hoseok gave a harsh laugh.

“Talk to him. Sure, that’ll work.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Hoseok returned to you, gaze fierce. “I guess I’m just not surprised. You’ve been so distant ever since you started dating Darren – just like you were with Ren. Whenever you date someone, Y/N, you get so caught up in them you forget who you are.”

You had reeled backwards, staring at him in shock. “Are you… serious, Hobi? Have you ever stopped to wonder if maybe I’m not the problem here – maybe you are?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re unreasonably protective!” you’d said. “Every time I date someone, you don’t like them and then you butt in until they break up with me. That’s what happened with Ren, you know. He thought you were in love with me.”

Hoseok’s jaw dropped. “Can I not tell you what I think? I’m supposed to be your best friend! Of course, I want the best for you. And Ren was an ass! If he felt that threatened by you having guy friends, he didn’t deserve you.”

“Sure, but Darren isn’t like that!”

“You’re right,” Hoseok said with a scowl. “He’s worse. I think he’s cheating on you, Y/N.”

Abruptly, you’d stood from the table. “You’ve been weird ever since you got here,” you’d said, fighting back tears.

Hoseok had stood as well. “Yeah, well maybe if you’d told me what I was walking into, I wouldn’t be acting weird. You said Darren was just some guy! Said you barely saw him between all your work on The Drop. How in the hell are you living together?”

Cheeks heating, you’d shrugged aside his words because you didn’t have an answer. Hoseok was right – you’d downplayed your relationship each time you two had spoken and you didn’t know why.

“I think you should go,” you’d said stiffly, folding your arms over your chest. “I’ll talk to Darren, I promise, but I think you should go.”

Hoseok had stared at you a moment, breathing ragged. “Is that… is that really what you want?”

No, it had not been what you wanted. You hadn’t wanted to see Hoseok leave, but you couldn’t fathom a response which didn’t hurt either one of you more.

“Yeah,” you’d said softly.

Hoseok had swallowed. “I… alright, fine.”

Finishing the last of his drink, Hoseok had set his money down and called a cab. You’d mumbled an excuse to Darren later when he asked, saying Hoseok hadn’t been feeling well. By the time you returned home from the bar, Hoseok was asleep. You barely talked the next morning on the drive to the airport.

It wasn’t as though you and Hoseok had never fought before that night. You didn’t make it through nearly two decades of friendship without ups and downs, but this had to be the longest down you’d ever had. One of you usually broke down and called the other, but not this time. This time felt oddly final.

The distance had hurt you at first – really hurt. It felt almost like a break-up, that’s how strange it was to have Hoseok out of your life. Luckily, you’d had Darren to help pick up the pieces. Losing Hoseok had brought you closer to Darren and for a while, you’d thought that was how things were meant to be.

Obviously, you’d begun to rethink things lately.

You never did ask Darren about the text Hoseok saw and now, you realized Hoseok had probably been right. It was painful to imagine Darren cheating on you so early on. The idea of him falling in love with his co-star hurt a lot less than the idea of her being the latest in a long line of flings.

Swallowing hard, you picked up your suitcase and continued down the hall. Entering your old room, you flipped on the light and shut the door. Opening your suitcase, you began to unpack and then released a sigh, flopping down on your bed.

Staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but smile. Glow-in-the-dark constellations speckled the paint, some of them nonsense and others mirroring the real thing. It’d taken you and Hoseok hours to glue them in place. He’d been obsessed with Greek Mythology at the time – talk about a behavioral psych project – and you’d been terrified of the dark.

Familiar constellations stared back at you. Cassiopeia, Orion, and your personal favorite – the little dipper. You loved the idea of Polaris, the North Star, calling you home. There were less conventional constellations there, too. Directly overhead was the outline of a dick.

It had been a joke at the time, intended to be moved, but Hoseok had used the Krazy Stick glue. Your parents had been furious, grounding you for a month in retribution. Still, the sight never failed to make you grin.

Your smile faded though, realizing how long it’d been since you last laughed with Hoseok. Rolling onto your side, you wondered what tomorrow night would bring. Sara had forwarded the party details to your calendar when you got home and you highly her saying it’d be a small affair.

You liked Yoongi a lot and were incredibly happy to have him in the family. He’d gone to your same high school as you but had been a year older and you hadn’t become friends until college. Yoongi and Hoseok attended the same University and had bonded over their shared hometown.

That was how Yoongi had met Sara. You, Hoseok and Yoongi had hung out one night when Sara decided to show up at the bar. The rest, as they say, was history.

It wasn’t a surprise you’d see Hoseok this weekend. You’d known as soon as you agreed to come home it would likely happen. You had hoped though, with weeks to prepare, you would’ve come up with something better to say.

It had been a year since you’d talked and during that time, Hoseok had been proven right about everything. It would be humiliating to face him, more so than anyone else. Nausea prickled your stomach and you sighed, closing your eyes.

You could do this, you told yourself. A week of polite chit-chat, skirting around important topics and pretending to everyone you had your life together.

Then, you could return to LA and fall apart again.

The next morning you found yourself seated around the breakfast table, wondering if you’d been wrong to dread coming home. Honestly, there was nothing better than your dad’s homemade omelets in the morning.

As soon as you began eating though, your mom asked what jobs were on the table and you instantly realized it had been a trap. You brushed her questions aside with vague remarks about choosing the right next step. Once you were finished, you hightailed it upstairs before your mom could pry any further.

Coincidentally, Jimin had sent over a bunch of job postings that morning. None of them were super interesting, but at least they were something. A Disney Channel show about a hidden princess, a reality TV dating show, and a crime-thriller drama. With a sigh, you pulled your laptop closer and sent your resume and examples.

At this point, you just needed something to make rent at the end of this month. You could figure out your career after that, but until then you had bills to pay. A few seasons of a successful show weren’t enough to guarantee success in this business. You couldn’t afford to have any pride.

Sighing again, you finished sending out emails and closed your laptop. Staring out your room’s window, you watched the street below.

Mrs. Haberdash power-walked on the sidewalk, jabbering a mile a minute to Mrs. Mum on her other side. Both were dressed in the latest Target athletic wear line. Seeing them, the corners of your lips lifted. Hoseok had always called them the tweedles – after Tweedledee and Tweedledum. This had been the height of hilarity for twelve-year olds, made even more hilarious by the fact that Mrs. Haberdash’s first name was Dee.

The Tweedles happened to be two of the most annoying creatures on the planet. Mrs. Haberdash was the neighborhood busybody, but Mrs. Mum was the one you really had to watch out for. She usually chose to garden out in her front yard, trimming the same bush while listening to all her neighbors.

You hadn’t missed them much in LA, but it was comforting to know they were up to the same old tricks. Josen Falls felt like this each time you returned. You didn’t realize how much you missed things until you were here, surrounded by people who’d shaped your early life.

Josen Falls never seemed to change in any of the ways that mattered. It was the land time had forgotten; a town where people bought name brand groceries only if they had a coupon. A place where Lou, the milkman, was more known than any Hollywood actor.

Indeed, your initial decision to leave for LA had always been met with confusion. It was bad enough a lot of your friend group currently lived in New York. They were viewed with vague suspicion, including Yoongi and Sara, whom Mrs. Haberdash called ‘hoity-toity’ behind their backs. This was Josen Falls’ version of the b-word.

Speaking of whom – Sara had greatly misled you when she said all you needed to do was show up tonight.

As it so happened, a lot needed to be done before the party started at 7:00 PM. You spent most of the day running errands, going down Sara’s checklist with painstaking precision Jimin would’ve been proud of.

Jimin was your only real friend in LA. You’d happened upon him purely by chance, working the shit PBS job you’d had for less than a year. Jimin had been the assistant for all writers at PBS, so when you began writing for The Drop, you’d managed to finagle him a job as well. Jimin had been your assistant ever since, taking on additional clients as his fame grew.

Currently, he worked for you pro bono, but this couldn’t continue for much longer. Jimin always waved aside your insistence of paying him back. He said you’d made his career, but you hated having this hanging overhead. Once you started working again, Jimin would be the first check you’d cut. Simply put, he was the best in the business, and he deserved to be paid.

Despite this, Sara’s list of demands would’ve made even him flinch. You needed to get floral centerpieces, the cake from the bakery, procure blue and silver streamers and drop baking supplies off at your grandma’s. This was only the front side.

By the time you returned home around six, Sara was in a tizzy. Everyone needed to leave for the restaurant in forty-five minutes, and you still needed to shower. Hurrying upstairs, you yelled that everything was under control. After the fastest shower of your life, you made good on your promise and rushed out the door at 6:40 PM.

Your mom had left earlier to ensure decorations were perfect, so when you got there, Raffi’s was a veritable winter wonderland. Blue and silver streamers hung from above, paired with elegant flowers and vases on the table.

There wasn’t much time to appreciate this, though, since guests began to arrive soon after you did. Yoongi was the first one through the door, following Sara’s detailed instructions down to the T. When he entered, Sara’s anxiety melted as she rushed to greet him. Yoongi let out a muffled grunt when she hugged him, but from the goofy grin on his face, you knew he was faking.

Yoongi was a man of medium-height, slight build, and an intense demeanor. Luckily, your sister was the type of person who instantly saw through that. When she first met Yoongi, he’d barely said two words to her, and she saw it as a personal challenge. She would get Yoongi to speak to her.

Little did she know, he’d been harboring a fat crush on Sara since she walked through the door. Sara tended to have that effect on people. When Yoongi did speak, it was to blurt out in frustration he fucking liked her. Sara had been the one floored at that point.

Pulling back from the hug, Yoongi removed his coat to hang on the rack. As he entered the main room, he spotted you and walked over. Sara stayed by the door to greet Yoongi’s brother.

“Y/N.” Yoongi grinned, coming to a stop. “Long time, no see.”

“The longest,” you agreed with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

You had missed him – that wasn’t a lie. Part of the downside to staying in LA was missing time with your friends from home. Of course, you still had the friend group chat, but it wasn’t the same.

“You don’t have a drink.” Yoongi observed your bare hands.

“Not yet.”

“Sara will fix that soon.”

As though on cue, your sister popped up beside you. “Here you go, Y/N!” she said, handing over a glass of red wine.

Yoongi winked and you laughed, accepting the glass you were handed. Catching this exchange, your sister pouted.

“Were you talking about me?” she said.

“Yes.” Yoongi squeezed her against his side. “Terrible things, all of them.”

“Good.” Sara raised her drink to her lips. “How boring would it be if people complimented you when you left the room?”

Snorting, you tried not to spit wine back in your glass. The other hardest part of living across the country was being away from your sister. Sara loved taking care of people – already, you saw her scanning the room for who else needed a drink. Even though she was the youngest of the family, she loved to play hostess.

As Yoongi sipped his whiskey, neat, you noticed his eyes continually stray towards your sister. It was sweet. His world truly seemed to revolve around her, and you couldn’t help but hope someone would look at you that way one day.

As another of Sara’s bridesmaids arrived, she squealed and darted across the room. Yoongi sighed and followed, taking his whiskey with. He waved goodbye, not seeming unhappy in the slightest as he followed your sister.

You watched them go, glad Sara could enjoy the party despite the small ache in your heart. As happy as you were for them, you couldn’t help but look at Sara and Yoongi and see yourself. Not long ago, you’d had someone to stand beside you at parties. Darren wasn’t that person to you anymore, though. If you were being totally honest – Darren had never been that person to you. Not in the same way Yoongi was to Sara.

Sighing quietly, you took a large sip of your wine and looked up as the door opened.

A gust of snow blew in, along with a familiar face, and all the blood instantly drained from your expression.

Whirling around, you chugged the rest of your wine as you made for the bar. The taste made you wince – no wine was meant to be chugged – but it couldn’t be helped. There was absolutely no way you’d be in direct line of sight when Jung Hoseok entered the party.

Setting your now-empty glass on the bar, you gave the bartender a weak smile as you ordered another. While he was busy with this, you tapped your fingernails against the counter. Quickly, you glanced over your shoulder.

Hoseok remained in the entrance, not looking in your direction – thank the lord. He was paused in removing his coat, nodding at someone who stood before him. Based on the back of their head, it seemed Hoseok was talking to Mr. Min, Yoongi’s dad.

His jacket was unfamiliar, a plaid pea coat thrown over a white button-down. As he bent, your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. Hoseok had dyed his hair black, which was something he’d always wanted to do – and was that an undercut? Shit.

When Hoseok laughed, his eyes crinkled, and you felt your heart tighten. As he fully removed his coat, you saw the outfit underneath. He’d paired the crisp, white shirt with navy pants and those dumb Balenciaga sneakers he loved to wear. When you saw them, you nearly groaned but caught yourself just in time.

Hoseok’s gaze flicked up.

Instantly, you turned and saw your wine before you. “Thanks,” you said, sliding a dollar across the bar as a tip.

Grabbing the glass, you immediately moved as far as you could from the entrance. All you needed was a group of people to disappear into. You picked the first one you could find, wedging yourself between two older women who moved aside easily.

As soon as you looked up, you realized you’d chosen wrong.

The Tweedles stared back, along with a few other neighborhood busybodies. Mrs. Haberdash seemed thrilled, while Mrs. Mum looked – well, she looked how she always looked. Barely awake.

Weakly, you smiled. “Hi,” you said with a wave.

“Y/N!” Mrs. Haberdash clapped her hands. “Home for the holidays, I see. What a surprise!”

Although it wasn’t a question, you found yourself nodding as though it was. “Yes,” you agreed, taking a sip of your wine. “Had to be home for all the celebrations.”

“Oh, of course, of course. But how awkward,” she said, lowering her voice a pitch. “Why, we all saw the tabloids. Your mother told us not to say anything, but you’ve been through such an ordeal. That actor boyfriend of yours… what’s his name again? Derek?”

“Darren,” you said with a tight smile. “We broke up over the summer. I don’t see how that’s related to Sara and Yoongi, though.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Mrs. Haberdash assured. “It’s just so brave of you to show up here, all alone and –”

“She’s not alone,” said a familiar voice, stepping into the circle. “She has me.”

Kim Seokjin slung an arm around your neck, pulling you close in a semi-chokehold. It was less a romantic gesture than a modified wrestling move, but that was Seokjin. One of your closest friends growing up, he now lived in Seattle, so you were pleasantly surprised to find him home for the holidays.

“Oh!” Mrs. Haberdash looked between you. “I apologize. I didn’t know the two of you were, um, well…”

“Lovers?” Seokjin supplied helpfully.

Mrs. Haberdash nearly spit out her drink.

Turning around, you plucked a mini quiche from a passing tray. “Here, sweetums,” you said, lifting this to Seokjin’s lips. “Open wide!”

Before he could oblige, Mrs. Mum cleared her throat. “I’m out of wine,” she said, much to your relief. “Dee, why don’t we…?”

“Ah, yes,” said Mrs. Haberdash. Shaking her head, she seemed to compose herself. She’d been staring, a bit dazed, at Seokjin’s open mouth. “Well, it was lovely to see you, Y/N…”

Trailing off, she practically ran from your presence, the rest of her group following within seconds. Once they’d all disappeared, Seokjin snorted.

“Damn,” he said, looking at you. “I really thought you were going to feed me that mini quiche. You know what food play does to me, Y/N.”

“Gross,” you laughed, wrinkling your nose. Stepping out of his chokehold, you gave Seokjin a hug. “It’s good to see you, despite your weird kinks.”

“Same.” Seokjin pulled back to give you the swift onceover. “Yoongi was right. You’ve lost weight.”

“Will everyone stop discussing my appearance?” you wondered out loud. “Guess what – my weight? Off-limits!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Seokjin laughed. “I mean, you look hot whatever weight you are. Yoongi had to issue a group ban to his cousins, telling them the maid of honor was off limits.”

“Really?” you said, glancing around you with interest. “Why’d he do that? Maybe I want a rebound.”

“Take that up with Yoongi,” he said. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s good to see you. It’s been awhile since you came home.”

Exhaling softly, you glanced down at your glass. “Don’t make me give you the same excuses as Mrs. Haberdash,” you said quietly. “I’ve been busy. Out in LA, getting my heart stomped on, you know. The usual.”

Seokjin was silent a moment and when you looked up, his gaze was shrewder than he had any right to be.

“You’re right,” he said at last, plucking the empty drink from your hand. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about what alcohol we want to drink next. I think I saw Namjoon at the bar.”

“Joonie?” you said, perking up as you followed.

Seokjin was right – as you approached the bar, you saw another childhood friend, Kim Namjoon, leaning against the counter. As a rising civil rights lawyer in New York, he was now considered to be something of a Big Deal, but this didn’t stop Seokjin from trying to give him a wedgie.

Namjoon dodged. “Thanks,” he said, only to spot you behind Seokjin. His eyes widened. “Y/N!” Namjoon said, nearly spilling his drink to wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming home tonight!”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning as you pulled away. “Just got in last night.”

“It’s so good to see you.” Namjoon beamed.

“Yeah, yeah.” Seokjin leaned on the counter. “An appletini for me and for the lady, a glass of your cheapest red wine.”

The bartender stared, baffled and you came to his rescue.

“Chianti,” you said, then returned to Namjoon. “Ah, seriously. I’m so glad we’re all together again.”

“Same,” he said, looking you up and down. “Wow, you look –”

“I swear to god. If you say one thing about my weight.”

“… cheerful,” finished Namjoon weakly. “Must be the holidays.”

Seokjin snorted, turning with a green martini in hand. You accepted the glass of red wine he handed you and glanced around. Despite your earlier threats, it was good to see them. Like most things about Josen Falls, you never realized how much you missed them until you were here.

Scanning the room, you realized the restaurant had started to fill. You spotted Sara and Yoongi walking in, stopping to chat with Lana, who owned the local coffee shop. Just behind them stood your mom and to her right – your stomach swooped.

To her right was Hoseok.

He was chatting with one of your aunts, making her laugh in a way she rarely did. Dimly, you hoped they weren’t talking about you.

Forcing your gaze to Seokjin and Namjoon, you took a sip of your wine. “Wow,” you exhaled. “So, how long has it been?”

“Let’s see.” Seokjin swirled his appletini. “I think the last time we were together was for Namjoon’s sister’s wedding. So, what was that – last spring? Damn, that feels like forever ago.”

“It’s been nearly eight months,” Namjoon agreed. “Seems longer. Especially since Y/N was only there for part of the weekend. She left early to be with – uh, to go do something. I don’t… remember what, exactly.”

Shutting up, Namjoon’s cheeks turned pink and you tried not to laugh. He’d been about to say you left to be with Darren on the set of his movie. This, of course, had been before you knew Darren was cheating on you.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Don’t feel like you need to tip-toe around it. It’s just the Mrs. Haberdashes of the world I’d rather avoid.”

“Tweedledee?” Namjoon made a face. “Is that who Seokjin rescued you from?”

“The one and only.”

“She was asking Y/N about that douchebag,” said Seokjin. “Acting like Y/N needed to be pitied when really, this is a good thing! Y/N is free from all that hair gel and we have our Y/N back.”

Blinking, you stared at him for a second. You hadn’t realized how your friends felt about Darren. Sara had alluded to something similar when she was drunk, but you hadn’t realized the true extent. Possibly Hoseok had been right – you did tend to get blinders when you began dating someone.

Glancing around, you began to panic when you realized Hoseok had moved. Covertly scanning the premises of the bar, you failed to spot him anywhere else.

Leaning casually backwards, you glanced at the hall – no Hoseok. This put you on edge, the same way being in the room with a dangerous animal might make one nervous if they couldn’t see it.

“Crick in your neck, Y/N?” Seokjin said pleasantly. “Namjoon went to school for a long time. He probably knows how to fix that.”

“I went to law school, Seokjin, not med school.”

“Are the two different?”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced before Namjoon’s eyes could bug out any further. Placing your glass on the counter, you turned and patted his arm. “Catch up with you later, okay?”

Both of them nodded, Seokjin taking a long sip of his drink before frowning. As you left, you heard him say, “But seriously, Namjoon. What do you do for a living?”

Namjoon sounded vaguely insulted in his response, so you slipped to the hall. Continuing to scan the restaurant, you found yourself distracted by the sheer amount of people around you. Hoseok was nowhere to be seen, which only served to increase your nervousness.

You were so busy looking for him, you failed to notice where you were going. As you turned the corner, you tripped on a rug and stumbled – straight into Hoseok, who exited the next room.

Both of you reeled, trying and failing to right yourselves.

“Shit!” you blurted, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt not to fall.

Hoseok’s right hand encircled your waist as you fell against him. His back hit the wall, your chest flush to his while you stared at him, wide-eyed.

Meeting your gaze, Hoseok froze underneath you. His hand remained on your waist; your body curved against his in a way which felt strangely intimate. Heat radiated between you for a moment, and then you came to your senses, remembering who you were and what you were doing.

“I – I’m sorry,” you said, scrambling backwards. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“Me neither,” said Hoseok, sounding hoarse.

Hearing his voice, you forgot what to say. You thought you’d been prepared to see him again, but now you realized how woefully wrong you’d been. Nothing could prepare you for standing before him, with Hoseok holding himself like that – as though you were a stranger.

Swallowing away your discomfort, you met his gaze. You could do this, you told yourself. You could smile, thank him for coming and then move past.

“You look good,” you blurted out.

Or – you could do that. Inwardly, you cursed.

Hoseok blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

You waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, you began to feel foolish. Wishing the earth would swallow you whole, you glanced past Hoseok and stared at the door.

You hadn’t been lying, though – Hoseok did look good. Had you been through a breakup, you would’ve said he was the winner. You two hadn’t been dating, though. You’d only been best friends; he’d only been the most important guy in your life before your friendship had ended.

The pain of this burned, stinging the back of your throat.

Hoseok slowly exhaled. “So. Yoongi said you’re Sara’s maid of honor?”

Surprised, you glanced back. You’d nearly forgotten. “Yeah,” you said. “You’re going to be Yoongi’s best man, right?’

“Yep.”

“… Cool.”

Silence fell between again and, somewhat miserable, you looked away. Hoseok clearly had nothing to say and you couldn’t think of anything better to say than cool. He seemed so unmoved, so unruffled by your presence and you could barely hold it together.

You couldn’t help wondering what Hoseok had heard about you. You wondered if he knew you’d broken up with Darren, if he knew The Drop was ending after this season. You wondered if he knew you thought about him way too much to be considered normal.

While you were wallowing in self-pity, Hoseok cleared his throat. This time when you looked, he seemed vaguely uncomfortable.

“Look,” Hoseok exhaled, but you never found out what he was going to say, since Jungkook came barreling around the corner.

“Y/N!” he yelled, rushing forward.

You let out an oof, laughing as he hugged you. Jungkook was one of your sister’s best friends from high school and had since become one of yours by default.

Pulling back, Jungkook glanced between you and Hoseok. “Oh, hey Hobi,” he said, as though nothing was wrong. “Yoongi was looking for you a minute ago. Said something about cufflinks in your car?”

“Oh, shit.” Hoseok winced. “Which room is he in?”

Jungkook pointed and Hoseok, after a glance in your direction, nodded and left. He didn’t say goodbye before he disappeared and you stood there for a moment, staring at his back.

Deep down, you’d known this was how things would go. Nothing had changed since you stopped being friends except, you’d broken up with Darren. While that may have started the fight between you and Hoseok, it had been over a year since. Lots of hurt and confusion had come between you. It was foolish to imagine something might have changed.

“Want another drink?” Jungkook interrupted your thoughts. “Namjoon and Seokjin are inside at the bar.”

Nodding gratefully, you followed Jungkook into the restaurant, realizing belatedly you hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Not that you’d needed to go. That had only been an excuse to escape Hoseok, which had majorly backfired.

As you rejoined the group at the bar, you ordered another drink and tried to forget. It was strange to be in the same room as Hoseok and not stand beside him. Some basic, molecular part of yourself refused to accept the fact you were no longer friends. This part of yourself longed to cross the room and tell Hoseok about your run in with the Tweedles, but you couldn’t.

Still, you forced yourself to keep smiling. This was Sara and Yoongi’s night, after all. Pushing Hoseok from mind, you drank and attempted to forget the mortification you felt each time you caught sight of him in your peripheral.

It was in this way the night passed. By the end, you were relieved to make it through without major incident. Your friends were the last to go, Seokjin shrugging on a bomber jacket you deemed completely inappropriate for the temperature outside. He kissed you on the cheek, loudly calling you his lover again for Mrs. Haberdash’s sake (who had left an hour prior) until Namjoon physically pulled him out the door.

You helped your mom clean until she shooed you away and told you to leave. Your dad, who’d been labeled designated driver, grandly bowed before leaving to heat up the car.

It was your job to wrangle Sara, who had her arms wrapped around Yoongi’s neck and was refusing to go. Yoongi, whose cheeks were pink with alcohol, didn’t seem to mind, but he flushed a darker shade once he realized your dad was waiting.

“C’mon babe,” he said, handing Sara over to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Promise.”

Sara sighed, but allowed herself to be extricated and led out the door. Hoseok had left around the same time as Seokjin and Namjoon, so he wasn’t there when you entered the parking lot. It had begun to snow again, so you walked as fast as you could towards your dad’s car.

Placing Sara in the backseat, you entered the passenger side and turned on the radio. It was tuned to the Christmas station, which made you think about holidays when you were children. The night felt largely the same, with Sara singing in the backseat while your dad harmonized in falsetto.

You laughed and joined in but couldn’t seem to shake the heavy weight from your chest. If this were really like your childhood, Hoseok would have texted at least twice by now.

As it was, your phone remained empty the rest of the way home and you fell asleep that night wondering what he’d been about to say.

The next day passed uneventfully, with Fridays being low-key around the house. Both your parents were working, only taking off the next week for Christmas, so you and Sara lounged until your dad’s conference calls became too distracting.

Heading up to your room, you opened your laptop and sat at your desk. Staring at the screenplay pulled up on the page, you sighed. One for the Money was your pet project, something you’d worked on the past few years whenever you had spare time. It had been on hold for a while due to The Drop, but you’d had more time to work on it lately.

The spec script was finished, but each time you sent it out, you received negative responses. It would’ve been helpful had the studios given you critique, but nothing so far surmounted to anything more than a corporate template.

You had re-read the script many times, hoping to spot whatever it was everyone hated. Unfortunately, you seemed to be having about as much luck with this in your bedroom as you had in LA – aka, no luck.

Maybe this had something to do with your surroundings. Each time you glanced up you spotted another reminder of Hoseok. Beneath your desk was a stain from the night you’d dared Hoseok to fit as many marshmallows in his mouth as he could. He’d gotten to fifteen before he nearly choked and spat the glob on the carpet. As it turned out, marshmallow goo was surprisingly hard to clean.

That had been the only time your mom had gotten mad at Hoseok. Normally, he walked on water at your household, but your mom had gone so far as to gently admonish him that day. Hoseok had been extremely apologetic, scrubbing on both hands and knees, but the stain refused to come out.

Glancing away, you tried to think of something else, but your gaze found your bed and you were gone once again. You recalled the night your Grandma died; you’d refused to answer Hoseok’s texts. He’d been so worried he’d climbed up the trellis beneath your window and knocked until you let him in.

Hoseok had stayed the entire night, holding you and letting you cry into his grey hoodie.

Shutting your laptop, you let out a sigh. This room was too distracting – every other room in the house would be distracting, as well. Shoving your things in your bag, you slung this over your shoulder and stood from your desk. What you needed was a fresh change of pace.

Hurrying downstairs, you paused at the landing to yell you needed the car. Your dad yelled back, “Sure, Lucy!” and you grabbed the keys from the hook. Throwing on a coat, you got in his sedan and – shivering violently – drove the several blocks over to your favorite coffee shop.

As you entered Lana’s Corner, holiday bells jingled overhead. The woman behind the counter looked up, breaking into a smile when she saw it was you.

“Y/N!” Lana gushed, rushing forward. Wrapping you in a warm hug, she squeezed and took a step back. “You’re home! I heard you went to LA and made something of yourself. Way to go!”

Shaking your head, you attempted a smile. “Well, tried to, anyways.”

“No, no – none of that,” she said, shaking her finger as she returned behind the counter. “You’ve done wonderful things and there’s more to come. I can feel it. The usual?” she asked, stopping at the register. “Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows?”

You paused, since this had been your favorite drink in high school, but you rarely drank hot chocolate these days. As much as you hated to say LA had rubbed off on you, it was a lot of sugar for mid-afternoon.

Deciding, fuck it, you shrugged. “Sure,” you said, heading to your old table by the windows. “Thanks, Lana!”

Shrugging from your coat, you draped this over your chair and sat down. Lana was odd in that she insisted people eat and drink before paying a dime. Said she didn’t want to charge people if they didn’t enjoy her food – you’d fought this for a while but had eventually given up. Lana was even more stubborn than you.

Pulling out your laptop, you opened your email and saw Jimin had sent more jobs. Releasing a sigh, you opened the first one.

Lana brought your hot chocolate within minutes, placing it beside your laptop to cool. You continued to work while you sipped the confection. There was something about your screenplay you clearly weren’t seeing, but you had no idea how to take a step back and be more objective.

Midway through editing, you felt your phone ring in your pocket. Digging around in your bag, you pulled it out to answer.

“Hello?” you said.

“Hello!” a bright voice chirped. “Y/N?”

“Yes, this is she. With whom am I speaking?”

“Oh, you’re too much!” the other person said with a laugh. “No need to be so formal, darling. This is Daisy from MTV. You applied to our screenwriter position yesterday?”

Frantically, you racked your brain for which TV show this was.

“Uh, right,” you said, scrolling through your inbox. “Thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly!”

“Of course, of course. I have to say, we were surprised to see your resume! Someone who used to write for The Drop isn’t exactly our usual suspect.”

“Oh, well… I have a varied interest across all forms of media.”

“Mm, is that so?”

There was rustling on the other end, as though Daisy were sifting through papers. Biting down on your lip, you scanned more of Jimin’s emails while she paused.

“I assume your assistant told you about Roulette?”

Immediately, you stopped looking and felt your heart sink.

Roulette was a terrible reality dating show Jimin had sent your way. Its premise was the following – someone went on three dates and was asked to choose one person at the end. The catch was one date was someone they’d passed over on a dating app, one was someone who’d passed over them on a dating app and the third was the ex of someone in their real life.

You hated the premise for multiple reasons, but mostly because you couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t recognize any of these people. Especially the supposed ex of someone they knew.

Teeth gritted, you said, “Right, of course. Jimin told me about the concept and I found it so interesting. Lots of room for conflict.”

“Bingo!” Daisy laughed. “Conflict is reality TV’s bread and butter. I like to think of it as the new recipe for storytelling. Rather than the classic rising action, climax and falling action – it’s all rise. You know Shakespeare was considered uncultured in his time, right? He wrote plays which appealed to the masses and now, our kids study him in lit class. Maybe one day people will study the Kardashians.”

Lips parted, you struggled to keep up with her dizzying rhetoric. Honestly, someone probably should study the Kardashians if they hadn’t already. Say what you wanted about their culturally appropriating asses; they knew how to make money.

“That would be… something,” you said, realizing she wanted an answer. “Anyways, what questions did you have for me?”

“Oh, nothing so formal as that.” Daisy laughed. “Why don’t you just pitch me a few ideas for the show? Where would you suggest for a first date?”

Networks sometimes did this, asking writers during the interview if they had ideas. Normally though, you at least were given a heads-up this was coming. Staring into your hot chocolate, you scrambled for concepts.

“Um, let’s see,” you said, stalling for time. “They could go to an arcade?”

“Hm.” Daisy tsk-ed. “That kind of thing has been done to death. Anything else?”

“Sure, uh… there are bars where you can go axe-throwing. It’s supposed to be oddly therapeutic.”

“Interesting, interesting… any other ideas? Something a bit more… original?”

Vaguely annoyed by her tone, you straightened in your seat.

“Okay, well,” you said. “If it’s a dating show, there’s no time for pining. I say you throw them into situations where emotions are heightened. Make them fall for each other faster. Maybe something with a shark cage, or skydiving, or cliff-jumping.”

“Adrenaline is always good!”

“Yeah,” you said, relaxing a little. “My ex-boyfriend and I repelled down a waterfall on vacation and it was terrifying, but super romantic after. You feel closer to someone after escaping a near-death experience.”

“Love that!” Daisy sounded interested for the very first time. “Was this with your ex-boyfriend, Darren Carmichael?”

Blinking, you weren’t sure how she knew that about you. It seemed the screenwriting world was smaller than you’d thought.

“I – uh, no,” you said, lying through your teeth. “Someone else.”

“Oh.” Her voice fell flat. “Well, these are all great suggestions, Y/N. I like your style. What do you say we end things here, and someone will call you in a few days with the offer?”

“I – so soon?” you said, eyebrows shooting up.

“We like to work fast around here. I hire based on gut feeling.”

Wincing a little, you stopped yourself from telling her this was a poor hiring practice. Research had shown hiring from ‘gut feeling’ led to discriminatory practices, since it almost always led to hiring people who looked and thought like you did.

“That’s… great,” you said, however weakly.

“So, we start shooting the second week of January. We’ll need you onsite the first week though, make sure everything is lined up and ready to go.”

“Oh. That’s so soon!”

“Is that a problem?”

“Ah – no, not at all,” you hastened, trying to remember when your plane flight back to LA was. “Just excited to get started.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Alright, tell your assistant to keep an eye on his email and we’ll be in touch. Any questions for me before I go?”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. “None here. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“Listen to you.” Daisy chuckled. “So cute. Talk to you soon, darling! Happy holidays, and all that.”

She hung up, leaving only a dial tone as you stared at the wall. Slowly lowering your phone, you let out a sigh.

You didn’t want this job. The show sounded terrible, but there was nothing you could do. You needed to work to pay rent and put food on the table. You could afford to be picky once you’d managed to save a bit more.

Rubbing your temples, you brought your now-empty cup of hot chocolate over to the counter. Setting this down in the bin, you glanced around the café. Lana sometimes disappeared to make the baked goods herself.

Craning your neck, you glanced towards the back room as the door behind you opened.

“Y/N?”

You whirled, elbow hitting the cup and nearly knocking it from the counter. Catching this just in time, you exhaled in relief and looked up to see Hoseok.

He hovered just inside the door, unwrapping his scarf. Snowflakes were scattered across both hair and coat, quickly melting in the warmth of the room.

“Careful with that.” Hoseok glanced at your cup. “You’ll take someone’s eye out.”

Against all better judgement, you grinned. “A Christmas Story?” you said, naming the movie he misquoted. “Really?”

Hoseok simply smiled. A Christmas Story was his dad’s favorite holiday movie – as a result, Hoseok knew every line and could quote it by heart, even though he hated the movie. Forced osmosis, he liked to say.

“What can I say?” he said, glancing over your shoulder. “Tis the season. Hey, Lana!”

“Hoseok!” Lana bustled out of the back room. “It’s been too long since I last saw you. I hear you’ve been up to impressive things yourself.”

Hoseok looked vaguely embarrassed.

“Nah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just the usual, you know.”

“Your mom says you’re working on your dissertation? And that there’s talk of you working at the University once you’re done?”

Surprised, you glanced at Hoseok. You hadn’t heard that, but then again, you wouldn’t have. Of course, Hoseok wouldn’t have told you he was after his dream job.

Indeed, his cheeks were faintly pink while facing Lana. “Ah, yeah.” Hoseok gave a little laugh. “We’ll see what happens. I still have a little while before I get my doctorate.”

“Always knew you’d save the world,” Lana said. “You and Y/N, the unstoppable couple.”

Instantly, your cheeks began to heat. “Oh, we weren’t –”

“Not a couple, we –”

Both of you stopped and looked at each other.

Eyebrows raised, Lana began to back away. “I left some dishes soaking in the other room – just came out because I heard the door chime. Y/N, I’ll ring you up when I’m back!”

She disappeared, leaving you and Hoseok alone. Resting your hip on the counter, you glanced again at Hoseok. He seemed a bit flustered, but didn’t say anything more, looking instead at the specials overhead.

Releasing a sigh, you turned around to wait.

Hoseok cleared his throat behind you. “So, listen,” he said, surprising you into looking. “I wanted to talk to you last night about something.”

“What about?” you said, turning fully to face him.

Hoseok pushed a hand through his hair. Cut black strands fell about his face, making you stare. Quickly, you snapped yourself out of this.

“I can’t believe you got an undercut,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Hoseok froze. “Huh?”

“Your hair,” you said, gesturing loosely. Great – another awkward remark about Hoseok’s appearance. “You always said you wanted to do that. I guess I’m just surprised you did it.”

Hoseok paused, then gave you an odd look. “Yeah, well. There’s been a lot of things I wanted to do but didn’t. Figured an undercut shouldn’t be one of them.”

Feeling oddly thrown by this statement, you nodded and turned back around. Leaning over the counter, you searched for Lana and saw no one. With a sigh, you drew back and pondered whether to just place money on the counter and leave.

Lana calling you a couple hadn’t been a coincidence. Ever since you were little, most people in town had assumed you were dating – at first, it had been funny, but now it was something of a sore spot for you. Especially because you’d liked Hoseok back in high school and nothing had happened.

“Right,” you said tightly. “Okay.”

Hoseok hesitated. “Anyways, I wanted to apologize about last night. I know I was abrupt in the hall. I just… Yoongi hadn’t warned me you’d be there. I thought you were still in LA.”

“Ah.”

“Not that that’s an excuse,” he continued. “I was rude to you, and that’s not okay.”

“No, Hobi, I – I mean, Hoseok,” you corrected, cheeks heating when you said his nickname. “It’s understandable. It’s been… a long time since we’ve talked.”

Hoseok was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The silence between you few and this time, you were the one who looked away first. If Lana didn’t return soon, you were going to leave a ten on the counter and call it a day.

“That’s not all I wanted to say,” Hoseok said, surprising you.

Brows raised, you turned back. “It wasn’t?”

He slowly shook his head.

Some people might have been unnerved by this version of Hoseok. Usually, Hoseok was the loudest person in the room. Always laughing, smiling, or telling someone a joke. He was the life of the party, but this side of him existed, too. The quieter, more serious version of Hoseok. The version who laid on your bed and made-up random stories about the time Orion fought your giant dick constellation.

Lips twitching, you smothered this thought. Hoseok wasn’t your friend anymore and you weren’t reminiscing together.

“Look.” He paused. “This is awkward.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Hoseok gave you a look.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, trying hard not to smile. “Please continue.”

He rolled his eyes, and the gesture was so normal, you felt the slightest of tension drain from the air.

“Anyways,” he said. “I know we’re not friends anymore, but we’re going to be in this wedding together. You’re Sara’s maid of honor and I’m Yoongi’s best man. We’re probably going to cross paths at some point.”

“Maybe literally, if we’re forced to walk down the aisle together.”

Hoseok’s lips twitched. “This is serious, Y/N.”

“I know,” you said, smile disappearing. “You’re right, this is weird. But you’re also right – this isn’t about us. This is about Sara and Yoongi.”

“Exactly.” Hoseok nodded. “Which is why I think we should try and get along. You know, for the sake of the wedding.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you said. “Bloodshed never looks good in wedding photos.”

“It’d clash horribly with their color scheme.”

A snort escaped you. “No one wants that.”

“Okay, cool.” Hoseok paused. “So, it’s settled? We call a truce for the wedding.”

“For the wedding,” you agreed. “And then… after?”

“What about after?”

Hoseok seemed genuinely baffled, which made you want to sink through the floor. It was just having him here, bantering with him like you used to – you couldn’t help wondering why you were fighting. It didn’t make sense for Hoseok to ignore you like this.

It wasn’t as though you were still mad at him about last year. You weren’t holding a grudge about the way Hoseok had cut you out of his life, treating you as though two decades of friendship could be easily tossed aside.

Okay, maybe you were a little mad.

“I… don’t know,” you said at last. “Never mind.”

“Alright.” Hoseok hesitated. “Well … that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Okay.”

By this time, all the snow had melted in his hair. It made the strands look a bit damp, mussed by his scarf and you fought the sudden urge to smooth them down. His appearance annoyed you. Hoseok never took proper care of himself, yet he continually butted into your life and tried to fix all your problems.

Not wanting to stay any longer, you reached into your purse and pulled out a ten. Placing this on the counter, you turned away.

“Well. See you around,” you told Hoseok.

“I heard The Drop got cancelled.”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned back to see him. “What did you say?”

Hoseok had the nerve to look sympathetic, which you found to be maddening.

“I heard the show was cancelled,” he said, sliding his hands in his pockets. “It’s a shame, really. I liked it. Second season was even stronger than the first.”

Blinking, you found yourself taken aback. Hoseok had been your friend when the first season aired – he’d had nothing but good words to say about it at the time, but you didn’t know he’d watched the second. Obviously, the two of you had never discussed it.

“You did?” you said, tentative.

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. I… could tell which parts you wrote, you know? It was cool. You always had the best lines.”

Warmth blossomed within you, even as you did your best to stamp it out. Of course, Hoseok could say a few words and thaw all your ice. He knew exactly which compliments meant the most to you and knew how to wield them. The direction with The Drop had always bothered you – some of the twists had felt stale – but Hoseok knew which lines you’d written. He’d liked the lines you wrote.

“Thanks,” you said, a tingle spreading down your spine.

Hoseok smiled. “So, what are you doing now?”

Equally fast, the warmth within you fizzled. Glancing at the board, you scrambled for something to tell him which wasn’t Roulette. Hoseok would hate the idea of you doing a reality TV show – he knew you; he knew your ambitions and he’d know this to be a step backwards.

“Well, I…”

“It’s also cool if you don’t have something lined up,” Hoseok said, far more astute than he had any right to be. “Life doesn’t always work out that way.”

“I know.”

“Of course.” His smile disappeared. “Well, I hope you like whatever you do next, then.”

You highly doubted this but forced yourself to smile. It didn’t make sense to burden Hoseok with your problems – it wasn’t as though you were friends anymore.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I hope you get that teaching job.”

“Thanks.”

Hoseok didn’t expand further and you shifted your weight, sensing you had nothing more to say. You’d exchanged pleasantries, set the stage for wedding interactions and somehow managed not to tear each other's heads off. That was a start, at least.

“Well,” you said, turning around again. It seemed Lana wasn’t coming back out. “I have to get going, but I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Same.” Hoseok nodded. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said before leaving.

Returning to your table, you began packing your things. Sliding your laptop into your bag, you buttoned your coat and grabbed your gloves. Too much had happened in the past hour for you to even consider continuing your screenplay.

Faltering in your movement, you wondered why you hadn’t mentioned that to Hoseok. He’d always used to read your scripts before you went to LA. Even when you worked for PBS, Hoseok was your first sounding board before you hired an editor. Tentatively, you wondered if he’d do that again for you.

There had been many nights in New York when he’d lounge on your couch, listening to you make up stories over copious glasses of wine. Silly stories, where Hoseok was a superhero with the ability to turn water into wine – and only that. Thinking about ways for lame, wine-drinking superhero Hoseok to save the day had been one of your favorite pastimes – one of his, too.

Shaking your head, you put on your hat. It would be weird to ask him to read. The two of you hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Things would need to be warmer to ask him for a favor and in order for that to happen, you’d need to talk to Hoseok about what had happened.

As you left the shop, you glanced over your shoulder and saw Hoseok scrolling through his phone at the counter. He didn’t seem affected by your conversation, and you wondered if you were the only sentimental one between you.

Sighing lightly, you pulled your bag higher and walked out the door. You didn’t look back, so you didn’t see Hoseok glance up when you left, his gaze lingering.

Outside, you tugged your hat lower as you walked to your car. It had begun snowing while you were inside, forcing you to scrape newly formed ice on your windshield. As you entered the driver’s side, the car came to life and you remembered Hoseok’s comment about bloodshed not matching the wedding colors.

Stifling a snort, you backed out of your spot. It was hard not to slip into the same repertoire you once had. Just being around him made you feel more like yourself, made you remember times when you knew who you were and what you wanted from life. Lately, you’d been feeling so lost.

You could do this, though. You could navigate the holiday season intact and return to LA where you could work on pulling yourself together. You didn’t need to see Hoseok much more before leaving.

There was the neighborhood holiday party, and a few more outings related to Sara’s wedding. Heart sinking, you realized you were forgetting the most important event. Tomorrow was the holiday cookie baking championship – quite possibly the most anticipated event of the season.

Kim Namjoon and his family hosted every year, and things usually got competitive. You would obviously see Hoseok then, since he’d been one of the inaugural participants. This realization made your heart instantly sink.

The neighborhood holiday party was one thing – that party was for grown-ups, kids, and everyone in between. The holiday cookie baking championship was for you and your friend group. Attending with Hoseok would feel like old times, which could only serve to worsen the hurt.

With a sigh, you pulled out of the lot. It wouldn’t do to worry about that now. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Still, you stopped at a grocery store on the way home to pick up some goods. Like hell were you going to be shown up by Hoseok on your own turf.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Seokjin paused, frosting-covered spatula held before him like a microphone. “Friends and family, children of all ages – except that’s a lie. No children should be participating in today’s adults-only activities. They should all be in the basement watching Elf with Namjoon’s grandma. Anyways, NOW!” he said, lifting the spoon overhead. “Now, is the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

“Is the moment the one where you stop talking?” said Taehyung, lounged by the fireplace.

Jungkook snorted. “Burn.”

“Wrong.” Seokjin leveled the spoon at them both. “Just for that, Taehyung, you only get the brown sprinkles from Halloween. Namjoon!” he cried. “Take note.”

Namjoon looked up, alarmed. “Take note of what?”

“Henceforth, Taehyung only gets the poop-colored sprinkles.”

Jungkook leaned over to Taehyung. “I’ll give you some of mine, bro.”

“Tight,” he said.

They fist-bumped.

Seokjin looked at the ceiling. “Anyways, where was I?”

“You were telling us the moment we’re waiting for,” said Hoseok, hip leaned against the counter. “We’re all waiting with bated breath.”

Namjoon snorted and you laughed, as Seokjin glowered in frustration.

“I expect this from the rest of these hooligans,” he said, shooting you a disappointed look. “But not you, Y/N.”

Weakly, you shrugged.

The annual holiday cookie competition was a longstanding tradition, hosted by the Kim house each year the weekend before Christmas. It had begun when your high school hosted a holiday bake sale and required each student to bring one kind of cookie to sell.

You’d all gathered at Namjoon’s to bake and somehow, this had turned into an annual tradition. Seokjin – who was competitive about the most mundane things – assigned ratings the second year, which led to Hoseok declaring revenge in year three. For two months, he’d practiced making madeleines, but Seokjin stubbornly declared him only second place.

Ever since then, the cookie making had become an out-and-out war. More people joined as word of the event spread. Jungkook and Taehyung became contestants during college, along with Sara. This added unforeseen stress to the proceedings, since neither one of them could bake. Taehyung set his cookies on fire his second year, leading to a famed three-year ban he constantly sought to erase.

Yoongi was the last person from your group to join, but this was just as well, since Yoongi was an actual chef. It was usually down to him and Seokjin to win the grand prize. You’d been the one absent most recently, choosing to stay in LA over the holidays the last year.

Despite this, it was nice to gather in Namjoon’s home again. His mom greeted you with the warmest of hugs, making you feel guilty you hadn’t been around sooner. For two years, you’d been so concentrated on work and your life in LA, you’d barely thought about what you were missing.

Last year when you hadn’t come home for Christmas, you’d made sure to visit at a different point in January. It meant you missed all the holiday traditions though, which were usually when you saw everyone else.

Seeing all your friends in one place sent a surge of warmth through you.

“The moment,” said Seokjin, pausing for emphasis.

“Will you just get on with it?” Yoongi groaned, seated beside Sara at the kitchen table.

“The annual holiday cookie baking championship has begun!” Seokjin cried. “Namjoon, ring the gong.”

Again, Namjoon looked baffled. “What gong?”

A tinny gong noise rang through the room, courtesy of Jungkook holding up his phone.

“Begin!” Seokjin said, brandishing his spoon like a sword.

Everyone began moving, standing from their chairs to fall into line. Namjoon and his mom had carefully pre-packaged cookie-making kits the night prior, although many contestants chose to bring their own tools.

You’d only bought decorative touches, so you joined the line, ending up at the back behind Namjoon’s sister. Pulling out your phone, you checked your email and frowned. Daisy had said she’d send over an offer, but nothing had come through. There still was time, but you’d imagined her to be one of those people who worked at lightning speed.

“Bored already?” said Hoseok, interrupting.

Startled, you glanced up. “What – no!” you said, returning your phone to your pocket. “Just checking my email. Nothing important.”

Hoseok arched a brow, clearly not believing you, but wisely choosing to remain silent as you moved up in line. Seokjin pressed play on his holiday music playlist, filling the kitchen with Mariah Carey’s holiday vocal runs.

“Got anything special planned this year?” Hoseok said, spotting your empty hands.

“Not really,” you said with a frown. “I stopped at the grocery store to get some decorations, but nothing as show-stopping as years past, I’m afraid.”

Hoseok made a tsk-ing noise with his teeth. “Hope you’re ready to lose, then.”

“Hey!” Despite yourself, you laughed. “I’ll have you know my cookies are based on substance, not flash.”

Hoseok shook his head sadly. “Flash is literally a category, though. Remember? Seokjin added it five years ago.”

“Oh, shit. He did, didn’t he?” You paused. “Damn, I guess it’s been a while.”

“I guess so.”

Hoseok fell silent as you took another step forward. Glancing around, you saw people already staking out their claims for baking. Seokjin had snagged the table by the stairs, Taehyung and Jungkook were in the kitchen and Yoongi rolled out utensils under the window. Yoongi never used the pre-made kits, choosing instead to bake from scratch every year.

Collecting your bag, you wound through the kitchen and came to a stop. There were only a few tables left, and only three chairs remaining. While you scanned the room, you saw Jungkook pull out a bag of cookie cutters shaped oddly like –

“Are those penises?” you said as Hoseok came to a stop alongside you.

Hoseok squinted at him with interest. “Huh, yeah. Guess so! Can’t imagine Mrs. Kim will rate those highly for style. Definite risk.”

Namjoon’s mom was one of the judges every year, having been roped in after Seokjin continually declared himself in the top three.

Shaking your head, you entered the living room and realized only one table was left. Hoseok followed suit, seeming to realize this at the same time. Awkwardly, he hovered while you set down your things.

“You can work here if you want,” you said, nodding at the open space.

Hoseok glanced at you in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure. I think we can be civil for an hour of baking cookies, don’t you?”

Hoseok’s lips twitched, setting down his things. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I seem to remember the year you threw a knife at Namjoon when he burnt your cookies.”

“Okay, I didn’t throw the knife. I accidentally dropped it.”

“While?”

“… While I was threatening to castrate him.”

Hoseok cracked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Even you couldn’t help but smile, arranging your supplies in the order you’d need them. In the corner of your eye, you saw Hoseok doing the same and for the first time, took in what he was wearing.

Hoseok was dressed in an emerald sweater and black jeans, along with those same Balenciaga sneakers. A few strands of dark hair hung over his forehead; brow furrowed while he worked on his layout. The sight made your stomach swoop.

Like always, you banished the feelings immediately. Hoseok was good-lucking and the sky was blue – neither one had anything to do with you. Back in high school, there’d been a period when Hoseok’s good looks would have been crippling to you. Hoseok had gone through puberty seemingly overnight. One day, he’d been your nerdy best friend and the next day, girls whispered about him whenever he walked past in the halls.

Jung Hoseok, with the infectious laugh. Jung Hoseok, with the devastatingly sharp profile. Jung Hoseok, who could effortlessly make someone feel special. Freshman year of high school, you’d had glasses, braces, and terrible acne while Hoseok had been the golden boy. It had been unthinkable for him to look at you like that, so in self-preservation, you’d learned to tune the emotion out.

Once you began dating Ren, you got over your crush on Hoseok. That was when you realized falling for someone else was only antidote in existence for your best friend. Hoseok was too charming for his own good – he caught people in his web without having to try. He could never know you’d once been in love with him. Honestly, you would never live such a thing down.

You’d tried distancing yourself from Hoseok even before Ren, but it hadn’t really worked – not even when Hoseok began dating Fiona. Fiona had been nice, or so you thought before she became jealous of your and Hoseok’s friendship and demanded he stop hanging out with you. Hoseok didn’t follow her instructions exactly, but your friendship definitely took a blow.

When you went to college and met Ren, you only drifted further until Hoseok broke up with Fiona due to long distance.

When you began to date Darren, things had felt safe but now you were single and all those same, unwanted feelings came rushing back. Hating how easily Hoseok did this to you, you fixed your gaze on the table and tried to trap the emotions.

It was hard not to notice how good Hoseok looked. He’d changed since you’d last seen him. Jaw sharper, shoulders broader, he filled out the sweater better than before. The slope of his nose remained unchanged, though – this had always been your favorite thing about him. Hoseok’s profile could bring people to their knees.

Of course, the idea of Hoseok on his knees made your face heat, so you hastily began measuring out the ingredients. Carefully reading the instructions, you dutifully followed the steps Mrs. Kim had laid out. You knew Mrs. Kim had been the one to write them, since Namjoon also couldn’t bake for shit.

“So,” you said, scooping flour into a bowl. “How’s the research going?”

Hoseok glanced your way. “I – uh, really good. I like it.”

“Always knew you’d save the world,” you said, echoing Lana’s statement.

Hoseok gave a small laugh. “Nice of you to have such faith. The world’s a pretty fucked up place.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Hoseok fell silent, measuring and mixing ingredients before him. Silence fell between you – a more comfortable kind than before and for a moment, it felt like old times again. Hoseok beside you, your friends laughing in the next room and Christmas cookies on the table.

After a few minutes, he looked up.

“Y/N,” Hoseok said. “Can I ask what really happened with –”

“Y/N,” Sara gasped, appearing at your elbow. “You have to come quick. Seokjin stole Jungkook’s penis cookie cutters and it’s about to be world war three in the kitchen!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, but laughed, nonetheless.

Glancing apologetically at Hoseok, you brushed off your hands and hurried after Sara. Inside the kitchen, Seokjin held Jungkook’s penis-shaped cookie cutters above his head in the air. Jungkook didn’t seem pleased in the slightest, rolling up his sleeves in a menacing matter. You’d seen them play-fight enough times to know the situation would end with something probably broken.

“Whoa – hey,” you blurted, stepping between them. “What’s going on?”

“Seokjin stole my things.” Jungkook pouted, crossing his arms.

Your head swiveled to Seokjin. “Care to comment?”

Seokjin sighed. “This is a holiday cookie baking competition,” he said. “Penises aren’t holiday inspired.”

“Not true!” Jungkook cried. “I was going to decorate them in red and white stripes, like candy canes. Holiday dick is a thing.”

“He’s right,” agreed Sara. “It’s a thing.”

Despite yourself, your lips twitched. Seokjin seemed like he was seconds away from losing his shit though, so you shot Sara a look which said be quiet. Yoongi was laughing his head off somewhere in the back, utterly unhelpful.

“Since this is Namjoon’s house,” you said. “We should let him decide. Namjoon?”

Namjoon pretended to think. Shoving glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, he left a streak of flour behind.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “As much as I’m inclined to agree with Jungkook – holiday dick is, indeed, a thing – my mom’s one of the judges. It’s a no-go.”

Jungkook groaned as Seokjin fist-pumped the air.

“Fine, fine.” Jungkook snatched the bag of cookie cutters from Seokjin. “I’ll make them normal – and boring. Far be it from me to ruin the holiday spirit!”

One crisis down, you relaxed and glanced at Sara’s cookies. They looked like unappetizing blobs, but Sara had a knack for making them taste good. Yoongi’s would be both, of course – beautiful in appearance and delicious to eat.

As you surveyed the kitchen, you felt that same sense of rightness within you. It had been too long since you’d last seen your friends. The aching loneliness you got in LA didn’t exist here. Dimly, you thought it’d be nice to somehow combine the two.

It was mostly your fault things were this way. Once you fought with Hoseok, your friend group had been forced to make separate group chats. People always forgot to give updates in both, so it usually ended up being a mishmash of miscommunication.

Without meaning to, you’d slowly drifted from your favorite people in the world. Out of sight, out of mind, as they said. Being home made you realize how much you’d missed them. It was easier to convince yourself you were fine when you lived in LA, surrounded by LA people, places and things.

The sound of your phone interrupted your train of thought. Pulling it from your pocket, you recognized an LA number and started.

“Excuse me,” you said, squeezing past Sara. “I have to take this.”

Heading out the side door and onto Namjoon’s patio, you exited the kitchen. It was cold outside and you shivered, but you didn’t expect to be out here for long. Breath frosting before you, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Darling!”

Daisy spoke in the same, too-bright falsetto which made you wince. “Hi – Daisy!” you said, attempting to smile. “So good to hear from you again.”

“Yes, of course – listen, Y/N, I’ll get right down to it.” Someone laughed in the background, and you wondered where Daisy was. “I wanted to tell you we’ve decided to go in a different direction.”

The air seemed to constrict and the holiday music, which had once seemed so cheerful, felt suddenly mocking. Staring straight ahead, you felt your grip tighten on your phone.

“I – what?” you breathed.

“Your interview was great, and we loved you, but we’ve decided to hire someone else.”

“I…” Trailing off, you shook your head. “You said I had the job, though?”

“Things change, darling. You know the industry.”

“But… we only spoke yesterday!”

“Yes, and things have changed since then. We had the most unbelievable interview this morning – you won’t believe their date ideas. So creative. Shocking!”

Something sallow and bitter curdled in your stomach. “Shocking, for a dating show?” you heard yourself say. “What could possibly be creative about that?”

“Ouch.” Daisy laughed. “Don’t be bitter because someone else’s ideas were better than yours. Well, I must get going. Wrap party, you know! Just wanted to call, so you knew not to wait for the email. Toodles!”

She hung up, leaving you alone on the patio.

Numbly, you lowered your arm to your side. It was still cold, and you knew you should head in but somehow couldn’t bring yourself to move. Staring at the darkness of Namjoon’s backyard, you fought back the rising tide of panic.

This had to be it – a new lowest of the low. A job you hadn’t even wanted but had decided to take because you needed money was reneging their offer.

Fingers trembling, you shoved both hands in your pockets and tried not to cry. Already, you felt the tears threatening to spill on your cheeks.

Everything had been so shitty lately. You’d barely been able to mourn your dream job before Darren had cheated. Just like that, your entire support system in LA had crumbled and you’d been left alone.

Eyes closed, you forced yourself to exhale. Maybe if you’d listened to Hoseok you wouldn’t be in this situation. He’d tried to warn you about Darren, and you’d pushed him aside. You hadn’t wanted to believe him – hadn’t wanted to bring that lie crashing down yet.

Darren had fit in with the life you’d envisioned for yourself. He’d fit with the new version of you, the version who wasn’t in love with her best friend and who hadn’t fled halfway across the country because she was escaping said feelings.

If you were being honest, your crush on Hoseok hadn’t ended in high school.

It returned after college, reemerging with a vengeance during the time you lived in New York. Hoseok and you were both single, the first time this had happened since high school. You’d fallen for him all over again – feelings he didn’t reciprocate, which partially led to your decision to move.

It wasn’t as though Darren had been the perfect boyfriend. You weren’t mourning him as the love of your life, or anything like that.

There had been times during your year and a half together when you weren’t happy at all. Darren had drunk a lot, oftentimes to excess and had often collapsed on the couch rather than make it to your bed. He was sweet when he wanted to be, but cruelly honest at other times.

In fact, when you first discovered he’d cheated, your immediate response had been shock, rather than hurt. The public manner of his split had been the worst part, not the actual cheating itself. You’d barely thought about Darren since you two had ended things, which seemed to beg the question of whether you’d loved him at all.

Shaken by the thought, you hugged yourself tighter and felt your lip start to tremble. Everyone inside seemed to have their shit together. They had friends, families and jobs they enjoyed. You’d given up the first two in order to have the last and now, you had nothing.

Without meaning to, a tear fell to your cheek.

At that moment, someone pulled open the sliding door to the patio. Frantically wiping the tear, you turned your head and saw Hoseok.

Hoseok froze, uncertain, the holiday music louder behind him.

“Hey,” you said, swallowing thickly. “I – what’s up?”

His gaze roamed your face. “Nothing,” he said at last. “I just hadn’t seen you in a while. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He was being nice, you thought, stomach plummeting. Nicer than you deserved, so you turned around and resumed looking at the forest. It was pitch black beyond the tree line, which seemed fitting for your current mentality.

“Oh,” you said dully. “That’s nice of you.”

Hoseok paused. “You’re not okay, are you?”

Weakly, you snorted. “What gave you that idea?”

Not choosing to respond to this, Hoseok stepped outside and shut the door. The glass muffled the music, making it seem as though you were in your own world. As Hoseok walked closer, the crunch of snow beneath his sneakers grew louder.

Hoseok came to a stop. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.”

He released a low laugh. “Come on, Y/N. I’ve known you since we were five. I think I know when you’re pretending not to cry.”

“Don’t do that,” you muttered, still facing the yard.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t pretend we’re friends again, all of a sudden.”

Hoseok was quiet for a moment. “I’m not,” he said. “I just… I can’t pretend not to know you, okay? I know we fought and haven’t talked in a while, but I can’t let you cry out here alone. I’m not an asshole, Y/N, no matter how much you want me to be.”

Of course, he wasn’t. You’d never thought he was but weren’t sure Hoseok would believe you if you said that. Hoseok was the most caring, selfless person you knew. He’d be standing out here even if you were his most bitter enemy, let alone someone he cared about.

Slowly, you turned. “Things aren’t… going as well as I let on.”

“No?”

“No. You know Darren broke up with me, right?”

Hoseok’s lips thinned in the darkness. “I saw the headlines, yeah.”

Closing your eyes, you sighed. “Did you hear what I said, though? Darren broke up with me. I didn’t even notice he… well.” You paused. “You warned me about him, I guess. And I did nothing about it. Who knows how much longer I would’ve stayed if he hadn’t done what he did.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing it happened, then.”

You opened your eyes to stare at the woods. “I think I loved him, at some point. I guess it didn’t matter in the end.”

“It mattered,” Hoseok said.

“Did it, though? I loved him, and he broke up with me. I gave up so much for him,” you said, gaze narrowing. “Coming here has made me realize how much, I guess. I tried so hard to fit in with his idea of the perfect girlfriend and now, I just feel… kind of stupid.”

“You’re definitely not stupid, Y/N.”

“No?” You glanced at him blankly. “You saw through him right away. Must’ve been nice to find out you were right, after all.”

Hoseok’s face tightened. “I would never be happy to hear that,” he said quietly. “I hoped I was wrong, Y/N. Of course, I did. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“Then why’d you hurt me?” you said, turning to face him fully.

Hoseok’s eyes widened, wind whipping his hair.

“Why’d you hurt me?” you said, still holding back tears. “Why’d you cut me out of your life? Do you have any idea how much that hurt, Hobi?”

“I…” Hoseok faltered. “I didn’t… realize you felt that way.”

“Didn’t realize?” you whispered. “Hoseok, you were my best friend.”

Something unreadable crossed his expression, gone before it could fully be formed. Hoseok turned to look at the forest.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, breath frosting again. “Well.”

Hoseok was silent for a moment, staring at the tree line and then he glanced sideways. “Who was the phone call?”

Surprised, you looked over. “What?”

“The phone call,” he said, glancing at your hand. “Who called and upset you? You seemed fine inside, making cookies.”

You knew he was changing the subject, but you let him. Talking about the past seemed too real to face right now.

“Oh,” you said. “Well. The job hunt isn’t going as well as I said. I wrote a screenplay, but no one is interested. I also applied to a bunch of random shows, but nothing’s panned out. Oh – except,” you said bitterly. “Yesterday, I got an offer to write for this reality dating TV show.”

“You?” Hoseok arched a brow. “The professed self-hater of reality TV?”

“I guess that came out in my interview, since they retracted the offer. That was them calling to tell me.”

“Well, they’re idiots, then.”

“Or maybe they realized I’m a sinking ship and they should probably jump before my bad luck spreads to them.”

“Y/N,” he chastised.

“I know,” you sighed, some of the fight draining from you. “I guess it’s a good thing. I didn’t want that job anyways. But it’s just… it was my last option, you know? That was it, that was the bottom of the barrel and I couldn’t even get that. How pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he insisted.

“No? Because I feel pretty pathetic right now.”

Hoseok was quiet a moment. He shifted his weight and then, out of nowhere he said, “I puked on my first day of student teaching.”

Your head whipped to him in surprise. “You – what?”

“I puked.” Hoseok nodded. “I was so nervous I’d say the wrong thing, I ran to the bathroom and hurled my guts out. I’ve never gotten stage fright, but something about teaching brought that out in me. I don’t know if that’s what I want to do with my doctorate.”

“I…” You stared at him wonderingly. “Why are you telling me this?”

Hoseok half-smiled. “You can want something a long time, and not have it end up being what you thought. It’s not a bad thing to change direction, Y/N.”

“That’s… true.”

“I’m not saying to stop applying,” he warned. “I think you should because you’re ridiculously talented and those west coast assholes are lucky to have you. Just… maybe apply to something different.”

“What do you think I should do, then?”

You waited, truly wanting to know his opinion. Hoseok had always been the one person who could make sense of your spirals. Something about him made you automatically respond.

Hoseok shrugged, the light from inside playing over his features.

“You said you wrote a screenplay?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He paused. “You should send it to me.”

Both your eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, a hint of a smile to his lips. “I mean, I used to read your stuff before, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Then it’s settled.” Hoseok nodded. “You’ll send me your screenplay and I’ll let you know what I think. Okay?”

“Alright,” you said slowly. “Maybe I will.”

Before he could respond, the sliding door opened again.

“There you are! They’re out here, guys!” Jungkook yelled, turning over his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?” he said, returning to you. “It’s cold as balls out.”

Leaving the screen door wide open, he retreated to the kitchen. The holiday music was louder now, but slightly less mocking than before. When Hoseok met your gaze, you could tell he was fighting a smile.

“Want to head back in?” he said.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing him as you breezed past. “I heard it’s cold as balls out.”

Hoseok laughed as he followed, and you felt the smallest weight lift from your chest. You still didn’t feel like you had all the answers, but at least Hoseok didn’t seem like he hated you anymore. That was a step forward if nothing else.

As you entered the kitchen, some of your earlier despair seemed to lessen. Hoseok crossed the kitchen to Yoongi, grinning at something he said, and you felt another strange wave of sadness.

Just being with him made you feel better. Even with hard conversations, even with Hoseok telling honest truths, you never got the feeling he wanted to hurt you. It made you long for how things were before and not for the first time, you knew you’d made the wrong decision last year.

Choosing Daren over Hoseok had been the worst mistake of your life. Not because Darren had cheated or because things between you had ended, but because Hoseok meant more to you than anyone ever had in your life.

Maybe ever would.

The next morning you were awakened by a pillow thrown at your face.

“Get up loser,” Sara said from above. “We’re going shopping.”

Groaning at the bad Mean Girls reference, you rolled over. Sara laughed, throwing another pillow which lamely hit your back.

“Seriously,” she whined. “It’s ten in the morning and the cake tasting is at eleven. Unless you don’t want to come anymore…?”

Remembering today’s plans, you bolted upright in bed. Today was the one wedding planning event you really did want to attend – today, Sara was going to taste the cakes.

“No!” you blurted, throwing your covers aside. “I’m in! Just give me ten minutes!”

Sara laughed, retreating and closing the door to your room. Hurrying into your bathroom, you brushed your teeth, washed your face and made yourself presentable. As you entered the kitchen for breakfast, you found everyone seated around the table.

“Y/N!” Your dad grinned at the stove. “I’m making omelets again. Do you want one?”

Warily, you glanced at Sara, who nodded.

“Yep,” you said, heading for the coffee pot. “Sounds like a plan.”

Pouring yourself coffee, you inhaled the steam. Your dad’s omelets were always a risk because he tended to throw whatever he’d made for dinner the night before into the eggs. Sometimes this resulted in momentary brilliance – his crab cake and blue cheese omelet was a thing of legend. Sometimes though, things fell flat. The spaghetti omelet came to mind.

Once you were seated, your mom began to go over the plans for today. She wouldn’t be able to join the cake tasting but would meet you later at the invitation store.

Before long, you were being shoved out the door since Sara was suddenly concerned about Sunday morning traffic. You didn’t bother to point out Josen Falls didn’t have Sunday morning traffic. By now, you recognized signs of your sister’s stress enough to know when to be quiet.

As you entered the cake shop, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Ignoring this, you hurried inside and began to unwarp your scarf. Chimes jingled above the entrance, causing Paul to pop out of the back room.

Paul had owned the shop for what seemed like forever, ever since his dad had passed and he’d taken it over. His cakes were a thing of legend up and down the east coast.

“Sara!” He beamed. “And Y/N! What a surprise! Are you two ready for cake?”

“Hell yes,” Sara said, undoing her coat. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, Paul. Honestly, this is the main reason I’m getting married.”

Paul laughed, retreating behind the counter. “I won’t waste your time with pleasantries, then,” he said. “Let’s get right into it.”

Sara settled on a stool, patting the one beside her for you to follow suit. As you did, you remembered the buzz in your pocket and pulled out your phone. There was a notification on Instagram, which made you frown. Maybe Lord of the Rings airport guy had found you.

Opening the app, you saw the username and froze.

DarrenToLive had sent you a message. Reading his name, you felt the world tilt. It had been months since you’d last seen Darren in your inbox. You’d tentatively unblocked him on Twitter at the start of November and then, when nothing happened, unblocked him on everything else. It seemed Darren had realized this now.

As though your hand had a mind of its own, you clicked read.

DarrenToLive: hey, y/n… I saw on your story you went home for the holidays. How are things going?

Immediately, your gaze narrowed. The message blurred, a million thoughts racing through your mind. Darren had some nerve to reach out to you over Christmas – and while he had a girlfriend, no less. Because when you went to his profile and clicked on the first photo, it had been taken by Jessica Avec. Your jaw clenched.

Fingers hovering over the message, you debated whether to delete, block or cuss him out, but then Paul emerged from the back room holding a tray of cake.

“Alright!” Paul set the tray down. “We’ve got a lot to taste here.”

Slowly, you slid your phone back in your pocket. You could deal with Darren later, you decided. He was unworthy of your attention at the moment. Folding both hands on the table, you tried not to salivate at the treats before you.

“I went through your list, Sara,” he said with a nod. “And I think we’ve got some good options here. First up is almond cake, vanilla bean frosting and fresh raspberries. Second is chocolate fudge cake, chocolate crème brulee and salted caramel sauce. Next is pink berry cake, dark chocolate mousse and berry preserves. Last, a hazelnut cake with milk chocolate mousse and bittersweet ganache.”

“Oh,” said you and Sara in unison.

Paul laughed at your faces. “And of course, champagne,” he said, placing two glasses before you. “I won’t hover and make things weird, so feel free to taste and I’ll be back in a half hour. Keep in mind we have plenty of other cakes, too! This is your day!”

Sara stared at the tray, her eyes shining as Paul left.

“It’s just so beautiful,” she said, sounding a little choked up.

You laughed, placing a fork in her empty hand. “What are you waiting for? Dig in!”

Sara obeyed, pulling the plate towards her, and taking a large bite.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “This is heaven.”

“It really is,” she happily agreed, hazelnut crumbs on her lips.

Reaching out, Sara took a sip of champagne and dug feverishly into the pink berry cake. You continued this way for a while, switching between cake and champagne until there were only crumbs left.

Leaning back, you surveyed the wreckage. “So?” you said, turning to Sara. “Which one is it?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “They’re all delicious. If I pick one, the rest will feel left out.”

“They’re cakes, Sara. They don’t have feelings.”

“Spoken like an emotionless rock.”

“Hey!” you said, swatting her forearm. “I have emotions, I’ll have you know. I was devastated I didn’t win the holiday cookie competition yesterday.”

Sara laughed. “Oh, please. You weren’t even listening by then. No one was except for Seokjin and Yoongi.”

“Well, that’s because they’re the only two real competitors every year.”

“Not true! There was that year Hoseok decided to take things seriously,” Sara said. “He almost won.”

“Wasn’t that the year Yoongi made pizzelles?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so Hobi had no chance.”

Sara laughed again. “Alright, fair. Yoongi can’t help being blessed with so many skills.”

You mimed retching.

“Honestly! He’s good-looking, smart, clean, knows his way around the kitchen. Knows his way around other things, too.”

“Sara!” you yelped, shoving her shoulder. “I don’t want to hear about my little sister’s sex life, thanks.”

Giving you a devious grin, Sara returned to the cake. Taking another bite, she chewed thoughtfully around a mouthful of frosting.

“Did I see correctly last night, though?” she said, sounding curious. “Were you actually talking to Hoseok again?”

“I… not really, no.”

Sara gave you a look. “So, your mouth was just moving, and nothing was coming out?”

“We’ve decided to be cordial.” Blithely, you took a sip of champagne. “You know, for the sake of your wedding.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“It’s true!” you said. “I’m your maid of honor and Hoseok’s Yoongi’s best man. It would be weird if we just refused to talk.”

“I guess,” Sara said slowly. She sighed. “What happened there, anyways?”

“It’s… a long story.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it is,” you said, staring at your plate. “I don’t know. It was a lot of things, I guess. We’d started growing apart when I moved to LA. And then I began dating Darren… you know none of my boyfriends have ever liked how close I am to Hobi.”

“Well, that’s because all your past boyfriends were trash, Y/N.”

“They haven’t been – alright, fine,” you admitted. “They were trash. Anyways, Hoseok came to LA when I had just moved in with Darren and I, um… I hadn’t exactly told Hobi yet.”

Sara’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

“It had just happened!” you protested. “My roommates were shit, Hoseok knew that. When Darren suggested I move in with him, it just made sense.”

“So, why didn’t you tell Hobi?”

Falling silent, you stared into your glass of champagne. In all honesty, you had no answer to that. It’d always been hard to talk about your relationships with Hoseok. Maybe some messed up part of yourself still hoped he had feelings for you. Maybe the same, messed up part didn’t like the idea of Hoseok knowing you were really taken.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Every time I thought about telling him, I just couldn’t. I knew Hoseok wouldn’t like it.”

Sara nodded, picking at the crumbs on her plate. She so clearly wanted to say something, it almost made you laugh. Say what you wanted about your sister – she wasn’t subtle.

“What?” you said, arching a brow. “What is it you want to say?”

Sara hid a smile. “You know me too well. All I was thinking was…” Trailing off, she shook her head. “Maybe there’s a reason Hoseok’s never liked any of your exes.”

“Because they were assholes?”

“No – well, yeah,” Sara conceded. “But also, I don’t know. We always kind of thought you two would end up together.”

You froze.

“We?” you managed to squeak out. “Who’s we?”

“You know.” Sara waved a hand. “Me, Yoongi, Namjoon. A bunch of us actually. We always thought you were perfect together.”

“Me and… Hoseok.”

“Don’t play dumb,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You spent so much time together growing up! You were always holed up in your room, always inseparable at parties. It just seemed natural you’d start dating.”

“We were just friends, Sara.”

“Yeah. I guess I see that now.”

Returning to your plate, you pushed the cake around. Other people thinking you’d end up with Hoseok was news to you. You wondered if they saw something you didn’t. Even if they did though, they’d been proven wrong time and time again.

Hoseok had never felt that way about you, despite your on and off feelings for him over the years.

“Hoseok thought Darren was cheating on me,” you said quietly.

Sara looked up. “Oh, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, pushing your plate away. “That’s what led to our big fight. Things already weren’t great between us and when Hoseok visited, he suspected Darren of cheating. I took Darren’s side and Hoseok left the next day.”

“Y/N,” Sara said softly.

“I just… Hoseok was right, in the end.” Looking down, you swallowed. “Maybe he was back then, too. I should’ve listened to him, but I didn’t. And now I don’t know how to apologize. It’s been so long.”

“It has been a long time.”

“Too long,” you said, looking up. “How can I even start?”

Sara hesitated. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t apologize to him, Y/N – but isn’t there blame on his end, too? Sure, you fought, but he could’ve reached out as easily as you.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe,” said Sara, scooping up the last bite of cake. “Definitely. Look, you don’t need to be friends with Hoseok again. That’s not what I’m trying to say. It just… it was nice seeing you together again. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“But look at me.” Sara straightened. “Going on about Hoseok when we have much more important things to discuss. Namely, are there any other cakes to try?”

“Paul did say he had more flavors in the back.”

“I feel like it would be a disservice to this establishment and to ourselves if we didn’t take full advantage of that offer. Paul!” she called, leaning over the counter. “You said something about other cakes?”

Paul laughed, disappearing to grab the next tray. Although you appreciated the change of subject, Sara’s words continued to run through your mind.

The idea of all your friends thinking you and Hoseok would be together was more shocking than it probably should’ve been. You couldn’t help but mull over this for the rest of the day, in the car ride home and throughout dinner that night.

Later, when you sat at your computer and stared at the screen, you made a sudden decision. Opening your email, you typed Hoseok’s name and sent him your screenplay. Pressing send, you shut the laptop and slid into bed.

It took you a while to fall asleep, staring at the little dipper above you.

Wedding planning was put on hold the next day, everyone’s attention shifting towards the holidays. With only two days left until Christmas Eve, it was time for the annual neighborhood holiday party.

The neighborhood holiday party had been a tradition ever since you were little – even before the holiday cookie competition caught on. It was formal attire, hosted by a different family in the neighborhood every year. This year the Jeons were the hosts, which was a good thing because they only lived a few blocks away.

On the drive over, you stared out the window and tried to silence the butterflies in your stomach. Seated in the middle seat, you felt like a high schooler again. It certainly didn’t help that, once again, you found your thoughts entirely consumed by Hoseok. Just like in high school.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what Sara had said, how everyone in your friend group thought you’d get together. Truthfully, you’d thought the same many times prior, but nothing had ever come to fruition. Sometimes it had been because of him – and sometimes because of you.

The last time had been because of you.

Before you left New York for LA, there had been a moment between you and Hoseok you’d done your best to forget. You’d been close at the time, always at one or the other’s apartments in between classes or work. Your job back then had been terrible, even worse than the PBS one after.

When you texted Hoseok on Friday you needed to work Sunday, he’d showed up at your door holding red wine and take-out. You spent yet another evening watching dumb movies and drinking, but this one had ended differently than the rest.

As the credits rolled on the movie and you finished your last glass of wine, you’d sighed and rolled over on top of the couch. Hoseok had been seated on the floor, legs splayed and leaning against the cushions.

When he turned to face you, he was mere inches away. You remember the muted light from the TV playing over his features, making your heart skip for a second.

The movie had been tense, which had caused Hoseok to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. As a result, the strands stuck up every which way, making you smile.

Hoseok had smiled in return. “What?” he’d said, a bit lower than usual.

“Nothing,” you’d laughed, making his smile widen.

“Seriously, what?”

“Nothing!”

Reaching out, you’d tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Hoseok went still, staring at your hand resting near his cheek. You’d moved to retract this, but Hoseok had reached up and caught your hand in his.

You could still remember that feeling. That dizzy, pulse-pounding feeling of his hand in yours. You’d felt it at various points in your friendship, but never so clearly as lying on the couch, inches away from his lips with your hand in his.

Hoseok’s thumb lazily brushed your wrist, causing a warm jolt of pleasure to shoot to your core. His lips parted, as though to speak – and your phone had rung in your pocket.

Scrambling upright, the moment broke when you answered the call. Hoseok fell back, looking stunned and he made an excuse to leave after that. You hadn’t discussed it the next day and it wasn’t long after you announced your move to LA.

The two events weren’t necessarily connected – or maybe they were.

Now, even you were beginning to have doubts. After that night, you’d realized you were developing feelings for Hoseok again. Maybe a tiny part of you thought that by moving away you’d force yourself to move on.

As you approached the Jeon’s, you found those same butterflies emerging. You and Hoseok had never talked about that night. Maybe there had been something there, something he’d felt, and your act of self-preservation had simply been running away.

“Y/N,” your mom said, returning you to the present.

Startled, you looked up. “Yeah?”

She smiled in the rearview mirror. “We were just saying your Aunt called the other day to say she’d started watching The Drop. She loves it! Can’t wait for season three.”

“Oh,” you said, sinking lower. “That’s great.”

“I’ll admit,” your dad laughed. “We were kind of nervous when you said you were quitting your job to move to LA and start writing, but you’ve really made a name for yourself, Lucy. We couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“Oh… good. Thanks, dad.”

“It’s nothing short of incredible!” added your mom.

You nodded, unable to respond as you looked out the window. Saying they’d been nervous was a bit of an understatement. Your parents had tried their best to dissuade you from moving to LA. They had meant well, but to your parents, the best career path was a stable one. Dreams were nice, but they mostly belonged between the pillow and sheets.

Just once, you wished your parents would say they were proud of you without needing an accomplishment attached. Of course, it was great to be successful and make money, but it was hard when it often felt like those were the only things valued by your family.

As your parents parked, you exhaled and unbuckled your seatbelt. Narrowly avoiding stepping in a snowbank, you followed your parents up the sidewalk and into the Jeon house. Their front door was open, holiday music spilling into the night.

Steeping inside, you unbuttoned your coat and glanced around. Jungkook’s parents were well-off, which showed in his mom’s Christmas decorations. Garland twined up every bannister, and you spotted no less than three Christmas trees from your place near the front door.

Hanging your coat up in their closet, you fought back a shiver as you turned around. You may have gone a bit overboard on the dress code, but it had been a long time since you’d wanted to look nice. For the two months following your break-up, you’d mostly wallowed and slept in your sweatpants.

In November, you’d started dating again, but it had only ended in disaster. One guy, after you had successfully dodged a goodbye kiss in his car, had the audacity to text you saying you’d left something. After you’d searched your things in a panic, thinking you’d dropped something in his car, he finally texted back ‘a kiss from me.’

You stopped going on blind dates after that. All this to say tonight was your first night dressing up in a while and you were determined to make it count. And if a certain someone happened to eat their heart? That would only be a benefit.

Smoothing the red velvet of your dress down, you glanced up and spotted Hoseok.

He stood in the kitchen, back to you, but you’d know his profile anywhere. He wore a purple suit which on anyone else would look tacky, but on him looked effortless. Trust Hoseok to show up in a jewel-toned suit and completely steal the night. When he turned, you saw his hair had been styled so that only a few pieces fell over his forehead.

When he saw you, he froze. The bowl of limes in his hands went forgotten as Hoseok’s gaze slowly traveled your frame. Each place he lingered caught fire, leaving embers in his wake when he finally met your gaze.

Before you could speak, the door opened again, and a cold breeze blew in. You shivered, jumping forward and the moment was broken.

Namjoon looked up while undoing his scarf. His jaw dropped. “Y/N!” he said with a whistle. “You look ridiculously good tonight.”

“Just tonight?” you joked, squeezing Namjoon around the waist when he hugged you.

By the time you turned around to face Hoseok, he was already gone.

“And all other nights,” said Namjoon, wrestling free from his coat. “But especially this one. You look like you’re here to break hearts, which doesn’t seem like the best use of Christmas spirit.”

“No?” you said, linking arms to travel into the kitchen. “Pity.”

As you entered, you realized with some disappointment Hoseok had left for the next room. The look on his face had reminded you of senior Prom, when you’d exited the limo and Hoseok had stammered something about how you looked like an angel. You’d brushed it aside but secretly, had daydreamed about it for months.

Jungkook’s mom stood near the stove, removing a tray of appetizers. She waved with her oven mitt, which you returned with a smile. Namjoon didn’t allow you to linger though, pulling you into the family room.

“We’re here!” he called.

This seemed to be the room people your age had claimed. Your parents disappeared into the dining room, all kids went to the basement and you landed in the family room with other quasi-adults.

“Y/N!” Sara called, already perched on Yoongi’s lap.

“How did you get there so fast?” you wondered aloud – only to choke, realizing Yoongi had worn a red suit and Santa hat.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Seokjin, appearing alongside you. “Since only one person is allowed to sit on Santa’s lap.”

Laughing, you shook your head as you turned. “It’s something I would’ve expected from you, honestly,” you said.

“It crossed my mind,” Seokjin admitted. “But then Yoongi and I did rock, paper scissors and I lost.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Seokjin walked with you across the room to stand before Jungkook’s makeshift bar. Jungkook wore a holiday sweater which consisted of a t-rex chasing two gingerbread men across the front.

Only one other person stood before you in line. When Seokjin saw Mrs. Haberdash, he grinned and pulled you into his side.

“Stop trying to sext me!” he said loudly, ensuring she heard. “I don’t need this right now!”

Mrs. Haberdash turned around and froze, then mumbled something about being needed in the next room before she scurried off. Rolling your eyes, you took a step forward.

“I don’t think that was necessary,” you said to Seokjin, although you were laughing. “She hasn’t said anything since the party about my being single.”

“Oh, well.” He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Drink order?” said Jungkook, shaking a cocktail shaker in each hand. “We’ve got everything! Gingerbread mules, candy cane cosmos, rum punch... you name it, I’ll make it.”

“I didn’t know you could bartend,” you commented, spotting the bowl of limes Hoseok had carried behind the table.

“I can’t.” Jungkook shrugged. “My motto is – the drunker you are, the less you’ll care about how the drink tastes.”

You stared at him a moment. “Yeah, I’ll have wine.”

Namjoon laughed, waiting while Jungkook poured you a glass. It didn’t take long for the rest of your friend group to arrive. Taking a seat on the couch beside Seokjin, you entertained a conversation about whether The Witcher TV series was great cinematography or merely a guilty pleasure.

Around your second glass of wine, Taehyung bounded in from the kitchen to announce a holiday drinking game. Turning on the Hallmark Channel, he taped a large poster board to the wall – “When did you make that?” said Hoseok, appalled – and began to explain the rules.

“Rule number one!” Taehyung tapped the board. “If a character’s name is related to Christmas, you drink. I’m talking Noelle, I’m talking Holly, I’m talking Kris, Tinsel – yes, there was once a character named Tinsel. If any of those names appear, you drink. Rule number two! You spot mistletoe, you drink.”

Jungkook groaned, settling cross-legged on the floor. “We’re all going to be wasted.”

“Yes,” Taehyung agreed.

“Hopefully, it makes your drinks taste better,” said Seokjin from the couch.

Jungkook held up his middle finger.

“Jungkook!” scolded his mom, walking past the door.

Embarrassed, Jungkook put his finger back down. His ears turned bright red, much to the laughter of everyone else in the room.

“Right, anyways,” Taehyung said. “Here’s a new rule that I just made up on the spot – whoever isn’t paying attention to the movie and is the last person to drink has to take two sips.”

Laughter ensued, but once the movie began, you realized Taehyung had been serious. He and Jungkook dubbed themselves the Christmas Patrol and traveled around the room to ensure the rules were being followed.

This resulted in Seokjin tackling Jungkook midway through the movie, insisting he had not been the last person to drink when a magical deal was struck with an angel. They nearly knocked over your glass of wine and so, extricating yourself from the sofa, you told Namjoon you needed to use the bathroom.

Hoseok had stayed away ever since your arrival. He’d barely said anything besides a brief wave and hello. You wanted to ask him if he’d gotten your screenplay but didn’t want to pry. If Hoseok had read it, he would’ve told you already. Likely, he was busy with other holiday things.

As you entered the kitchen, you paused at the window. Thinking about your screenplay made you think of the other night, when Hoseok had checked on you at Namjoon’s and you’d completely broken down. He had just been trying to be nice and you’d completely embarrassed yourself, going on about Darren and how difficult work was.

You needed to remind yourself you weren’t friends anymore. Hoseok couldn’t be there for you the same way he used to be, and you shouldn’t expect that. Releasing a breath, you set your wine glass on the counter.

“Y/N?”

Whirling, you found Hoseok on the threshold. He’d wandered into the kitchen, a stack of dirty plates in one hand.

“Oh – hey, Hoseok,” you said.

He nodded, walking past to set the dishes down in the sink. Turning around, Hoseok wiped his hands on a tea towel. He glanced at the wine glass you’d set on the counter.

“Didn’t want to chance one of Jeon’s holiday drinks?”

You managed a smile. “Didn’t want to risk it.”

Hoseok nodded, silence falling between you, but he still didn’t leave. Glancing past him, you wondered if you’d ever get over this terrible awkwardness. There were so many things you wanted to say but didn’t think were appropriate.

You needed to be careful because it would be too easy to fall back in love with him. Once those floodgates were opened, you weren’t sure how to close them. It was easier to linger in this half-state, where you weren’t really friends, but Hoseok didn’t hate you, either.

“I read your screenplay,” Hoseok said.

Startled, your gaze moved to his. “All of it?”

“Well, you only sent me the first episode,” Hoseok said with a smile. “But yeah, all of it.”

“And? What did you think?”

Hoseok paused.

“Oh, no,” you groaned, leaning against the counter.

You’d known Hoseok long enough to know his pauses were never good. Hoseok was a careful speaker when he gave criticism – excruciatingly honest, but he took the time to say what he meant; no more and no less.

Hoseok laughed. “You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”

“No, but I know you,” you said with a shake of your head. “When you don’t love something, you pause before deciding how best to crush my spirit. Go on, then. Get on with it.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “I don’t purposefully crush your spirit.”

“Just an unintended side effect, then.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say, or no?”

You mimed zipping your lips. “Yes, please. Continue.”

Hoseok paused again, and you hid your smile. For a few seconds, it had felt like you were friends again. This used to be your routine whenever Hoseok read something of yours – his hesitation before he critiqued, your endless moaning and Hoseok asking if you wanted him to stop.

“I liked it a lot.”

“Liar.”

“Let me finish!” Hoseok laughed.

“Alright, alright,” you said, holding up both hands.

“I did like it,” Hoseok said, fixing you with a glare. “It was bright, smart and full of hilarious one-liners. The friend group was relatable and fun. It’s just… the main character.”

“Jaimie? What about her?”

“She’s…” Hoseok hesitated. “She’s just unlikable.”

“What!” you blurted. “What’s unlikeable about her?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She’s too perfect. It’s too hard to relate. She’s got everything under control, you know? Who wants to watch a show about a person so perfect they make you feel like an idiot in comparison?”

You closed your mouth, realizing it had fallen open. “That’s not… she has flaws!”

“Name one.” Hoseok arched a brow. “And overly clumsy, or having unruly hair aren’t flaws.”

Your lips twitched. “Damn.”

“I meant everything else, though,” said Hoseok. “I really do like the premise. And the friend group is hilarious but real, you know? They’re not trying too hard. I just think the lead could be more realistic. People like that, you know. They like it when a person has flaws.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a sigh. “People always say that, but they’re so quick to turn on a character the second they do something wrong.”

“I still think it’s better to show someone relatable,” Hoseok argued. “Someone who’s real. Someone who keeps trying, even when they’ve messed up.”

He’d moved closer during the course of his speech, close enough for you to smell his shampoo. It wasn’t the same one he’d used back in high school. It was odd, the things you remembered about the past. You could recall the smell of Hoseok’s high school shampoo with vivid clarity but didn’t remember the last time Darren had made you smile.

“Someone who keeps trying,” you said, tracing over his features. “Is that really what you think, Hobi?”

A shadow crossed over his face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because.” Looking away, you set your jaw. If you didn’t ask him now, you never would. “Why… didn’t you call me back, then?”

“What?”

“I called you,” you whispered, barely audible. “So many times after you left. I kept calling you and trying to talk, but you just ignored me. Why, Hobi?”

He swallowed at the nickname. “I… Y/N…”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, finally looking at him.

All your frustration finally rose to the surface. Sara’s words came back to you with sudden clarity – yes, there was blame on your end, but there was also on his. You hadn’t told anyone this, but you’d called him so many times after he’d left for New York. You’d tried to patch things up and Hoseok hadn’t let you.

“We’ve had fights before, but nothing like this,” you accused. “A year, Hobi. It’s been a year since I’ve seen you. That’s not a fight! That’s you deciding we shouldn’t be friends and that hurt, Hoseok. It fucking hurt.”

“I decided not to be friends with you?” he demanded, eyes flashing.

Gone was the sunny, cool Hoseok of earlier and in his place stood a stranger. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Hoseok this mad. Maybe the day you’d fought in the bar.

“Yeah,” you said.

“That’s rich,” Hoseok said, stepping closer. “Considering you’d stopped confiding in me long before I visited you in LA. I didn’t even know where you lived! I didn’t know you’d moved in with your boyfriend. You refusing to listen about Darren was just… the last straw.”

“The last straw?” You laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “You’re acting like I was a difficult child, or something. You were my friend, Hoseok. My best friend! And the second things got difficult between us, you ran.”

“It wasn’t only that night,” Hoseok snapped.

He was inches away now, the air between you so thick with tension, hurt and something unknown. He looked so good and you were so angry – it all swirled in your chest, becoming the perfect storm.

“Then, what was it?” you demanded.

His gaze darted towards your lips. “I – I had to put distance between us, Y/N. It was better that way. Healthier.”

“Healthier?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what are you saying? I was toxic to you, or something?”

“No,” Hoseok groaned, shoving a hand through his hair. “God, Y/N, no. What I’m saying is I –”

“Y/N?”

Both your gazes shot towards the door, finding Sara hovering over the threshold. She glanced between you and Hoseok, and you realized belatedly how little space there was between you. Hoseok’s chest practically touched yours, his lips inches away from your own.

Dizzily, you exhaled and willed your heartbeat to slow.

“Yeah?” you said, trying to clear your head. “What is it?”

Exhaling slowly, Hoseok took a step backwards.

Looking as though she wished she were anywhere else, Sara glanced at her phone. “Um,” she said, lifting it up. “I just wanted to tell you Darren is calling…”

Confused, you stared at her a moment until it sunk in.

Darren – your ex-boyfriend – was calling your little sister. Brow furrowed, you attempted to make heads or tails of this news. It made about as much sense as her barging in to say yellow snow had been declared a health supplement by the FDA.

“I – Darren?” you said, puzzled.

“Yeah.” Sara shrugged. “I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered and that’s what he said. He said you never responded to his last text and he got worried. Honestly, I didn’t even know he had my number.”

Slowly, you closed your eyes.

You’d decided not to respond to the Instagram message the other day, re-blocking him from all your social media. This was a gross invasion of privacy to reach out to Sara like this. Dimly, you recalled giving him Sara’s number the time you lost your phone in case of an emergency.

Before you could speak, Hoseok let out a soft laugh. “Of course,” he said quietly. “You’re texting him still?”

Your eyes flew open. “Hoseok, no, I –”

“Yeah, okay,” he said roughly, brushing past you to walk down the hall.

You stared at his back, too stunned to move. Everything Hoseok said about needing distance came back to you. He said your break-up wasn’t just about the last fight you’d had. Questions began to burn in your mind, but aside from that you felt angry.

After everything you’d told him, after everything you’d confessed about Darren, Hoseok still thought you’d gone crawling back.

Suddenly livid, you pushed yourself off the counter. As you passed Sara, you paused. “Block him,” you said. “I didn’t answer him earlier, so I definitely don’t want to answer him now.”

The corner of her lip quirked up. “You got it, sis.”

You walked past, catching Hoseok at the door as he pulled on his coat. Grabbing him by the elbow, you turned him sideways to face you.

“Hey,” you said. “What the fuck?”

Hoseok stared at you, bewildered. “What?”

“Why did you leave?” you demanded, gesturing at the kitchen. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Hoseok glanced in the direction you pointed. “I think the conversation was over.”

“It was not over.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N.” Hoseok rubbed his temples. “We always do this. We’re best friends until you date someone and then – poof! You’re gone. That’s why I didn’t call,” he said, teeth gritted. “It was easier not to be friends with you while you were dating.”

“Okay, but I’m not with Darren anymore!”

“Who was just calling you, then?”

“That’s not – that was a coincidence!”

“Right.” Jaw tight, Hoseok looked away. “Look, Y/N. You can date whoever you want, but you deserve better than that guy. You deserve someone who looks at you and sees someone real, not just whatever they can get from your career.”

“What’s that… that’s not what I had with Darren,” you said, reeling a little.

Hoseok returned to you. “Maybe not. Maybe he really did love you, but he never deserved you, Y/N. None of them have ever deserved you.”

“What do you even care, anyways?” you said hotly.

Hoseok went still. In the background, you could hear distant laughter and holiday music but, in that moment, all you could hear was the beating of your own heart.

Eventually, he shook his head. “If you don’t know that by now,” Hoseok murmured. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Finishing buttoning his coat, Hoseok opened the door. He paused for a moment, snowflakes drifting past as he glanced back to see you.

His expression softened a little. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” he said, and then he was gone.

You were left staring at a closed door, a chill in your veins which had nothing to do with outside.

Wandering inside, you poured a glass of wine some might call ‘obscenely full.’ What you really wanted to do was leave, but your parents had been the ones who’d driven and were, unfortunately, your only way home.

Besides, it would only hurt more to go home alone and cry in your bed. Instead, you forced yourself to stay and seated yourself on the couch beside Seokjin. He shot you a concerned look, but you shrugged it aside and took a deep sip of your drink.

Ignoring your phone, you tried to focus on the drinking game you were playing. Hoseok’s words continued to occupy your thoughts though, making you wonder what he had meant.

If you don’t know that by now, then I guess it doesn’t matter.

That’s all he’d said, as maddeningly unclear as he usually was. You wanted to find him and shake him, to clarify what he meant. Of course, it mattered. It mattered what Hoseok thought because he was the only person you ever thought about.

That was twice now you’d asked why he’d cut you out, only to receive a vague answer. It had hurt you – you hadn’t been lying about that. Compared to your break-up with Darren, losing Hoseok had been far worse.

It had hurt so bad in the months after, you’d briefly lost your mind and last October, you’d flown out to New York to see him.

You had never told Hoseok that, but you did. It had been two months since he’d left in LA and you were growing desperate, trying and failing to get him to return your calls. At the last minute, you’d booked a plane flight, hopped in a cab from LaGuardia and shown up at his apartment – just in time to catch Hoseok coming home from a date.

You had stood there on the sidewalk, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while he laughed at something his date said. Vision blurring, you could still recall the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had remained long after they went inside, then hailed a cab to the airport and flew home that night.

On your way, you’d realized Hoseok had been right. Possibly, your time as friends had come to an end because you were acting insane. It was insane to fly across the country on a moment’s notice. It was insane to feel this wicked, burning jealousy each time you saw him with someone else.

Deep down, you knew something was wrong. It was wrong to have feelings for Hoseok while you were dating Darren and so, you hadn’t contacted Hoseok again after that. You’d cut him out of your life the same way he did to you – only yours hadn’t worked out, because here you were.

Eyes shut, you leaned back on the sofa. Even now, you heard Hoseok’s critique in your mind. He’d called your main character too perfect, not flawed enough. Hoseok had always been the one who said your flaws were okay. Growing up, he’d been the one who encouraged you to be messy, to make mistakes and fail if you wanted.

Opening your eyes, you felt the raw pain of missing him hit you again. It was even worse now because last time, you’d assumed Hoseok had left because of Darren. Now, you knew he’d left because of you. Hoseok didn’t want you anymore.

As the night came to an end, your emotions hovered close to a breaking point. You stood in the foyer, smiling bleakly while you thanked the Jeons. They disappeared inside, leaving you and your family to pull on your coats.

Gently, Sara leaned over to touch your arm. “Is everything okay?” she murmured.

Dimly, you realized you hadn’t touched base after Darren called her.

“Yeah,” you said, then paused. “And no.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “I saw you talking with Hobi. What happened? It looked as though you’d been fighting.”

“A little,” you said, giving a weak smile. “Long overdue, I guess. He made some good points. I’ve been… caught up in things lately.”

“Yeah, but –”

“Y/N!” your mom interrupted, pulling on gloves. “You know who I spoke to tonight? The Donoghue’s! Their son is thinking of moving to LA, so I told them you’d reach out. I thought it might be nice, since you’ve done so well for yourself out there.”

Any other night, you would have smiled and nodded. The Donoghue son was probably nice, but right then, you found yourself at a breaking point. Everything for the past year had been piling on and suddenly, the frayed knot in you snapped.

“That’s not a good idea,” you snapped.

Your mom stopped, looking at you in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not doing well,” you blurted out. “I’m barely hanging on, and LA is terrible. My boyfriend cheated on me, I’m about to be jobless and every major studio keeps rejecting my spec script. Everything is falling apart, and I can barely keep it together anymore!”

Eyes wide, your dad stared with his fingers stilled on his zipper. Sara froze as well, one arm in her pea coat.

“Y/N?” your dad asked, sounding tentative. “What’s going on?”

“I was about to say the same thing,” said your mom, a bit stiff. “Why don’t we have this conversation in the car?”

“Oh, sure,” you said, giving a bitter laugh. “Because it’s embarrassing to talk about my problems in public, right? It would be terrible if the neighbors heard I’m struggling. Well, I’m done pretending everything is okay.”

“Now, Y/N,” your dad started, but you cut in.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come home for the holidays,” you huffed. “I didn’t want to pretend I was fine for two weeks. Didn’t want to pretend to be perfect. Because that’s the only daughter you want, right?”

Both of your parents stared as, tears brimming, you pushed open the door.

“I’ll be in the car,” you muttered and walked outside.

Sara was the first one to move, pulling on her coat and hurrying after. Your parents soon followed, keeping a wary distance between you while entering the car.

Most of the way home, you stared out the window. At some point, Sara reached out to squeeze your knee. Sara had always been the oddball of the family. The only one for whom emotions came easy, the only one well-equipped enough to have the tough conversations. Everyone else pushed things aside, shoving them down until they blew up in their face.

It seemed your problems were large enough now to blow up.

When you parked, you made to exit the car, but your mom cleared her throat. She looked over the front seat and, to your surprise, you saw tears in her eyes.

“Y/N.” She exhaled. “We never… we never wanted you to feel like you had to be perfect. Or like you couldn’t tell us things. Of course, we’ll always have our opinions, and they might not be what you want to hear – wait, let me finish,” she said, seeing your face. “We want what’s best for you and we don’t want you to struggle. Like you’re doing now. That doesn’t mean if you are struggling though, we won’t love and support you. I’m so, so sorry you thought that.”

Now, you were the one who had tears in their eyes.

“She’s right,” said your dad. “Of course, we’re proud of what you’ve done. But we’re also proud of you for taking risks, for not being afraid and going after what you want. We’re just as proud of you now as we were before. Maybe more so.”

“Oh no,” you mumbled, wiping your cheek.

“Yeah, oh no,” said Sara, also tearing up.

Snorting, you turned to laugh at her through your tears.

“You and your sister,” said your dad with a meaningful glance at Sara.

“You know I can’t handle emotional speeches!” said Sara, blowing her nose on her sleeve.

“We love you both,” said your mom with a faint smile. “I’m sorry if we don’t say that enough.”

Opening your door, you got out and hugged your mom tightly. Walking into the house, you began to relax for the first time in ages. Telling your parents was such a massive weight lifted from your chest.

You hugged your dad as well, burying your face in his coat. Your parents loved to tell the story of the first time you saw fireworks. You had been a toddler, mad at your dad for some reason when the first rocket had launched. Terrified, you’d immediately forgotten your anger and scrambled into his arms. There, you’d hidden until the fireworks had subsided.

You were no longer a child, but you couldn’t help wanting that shelter sometimes. People always said when you grew up, you’d need your parents less and maybe this was true, but it didn’t mean you stopped needing them entirely.

When you finally went upstairs, you found you couldn’t sleep. Lying on your back, you stared at the constellations and both your words and Hoseok’s continued to run through your mind.

Sitting up, you turned on the light and pulled out your laptop. Frowning at your screenplay, you opened a new document and slowly exhaled.

Leaning forward, you began to write.

For the next day and a half, you were lost in your work. Despite it being the day before Christmas Eve, there really wasn’t anywhere for you to be. Once you told your parents you were writing, they left you alone, making themselves scarce on the main floor of the house.

Locked in your bedroom, you made mug after mug of hot chocolate and slowly tore down the block in your mind. Something Hoseok had said set a fire beneath you. Your main character was unlikeable and unflawed. You could change that – you could write someone inherently flawed and still somehow likeable.

As you began the new script, a familiar world bloomed in your mind. At the top of the screenplay, you wrote Untitled: An Unlikely Superhero Story. The main character’s name was changed from Hoseok to Carlos, but you kept most of the story the same.

Carlos was a college student in his senior year. He came from a long line of famed superheroes but somehow, the genes seemed to have skipped over him. The only power Carlos had inherited was the power to turn water to wine. Very biblical, and a fun party trick, but not exactly the crème of the crop.

That is, until disaster strikes the country, and Carlos is the only available superhero to stop a new super-villain.

Head bent to your keyboard, you lost yourself in the new story. You added yourself without thinking, as Carlos’ best friend, Raya. Ray is hopelessly in love with Carlos and everyone around them knows except him.

Unlike with your prior screenplay, the words seemed to flow from somewhere deep within. While you were writing, you no longer found yourself concerned about whether people would like Carlos and Raya. Instead, you simply focused on the story you had to tell.

You were so busy writing you almost didn’t hear the soft knock at your door. Continuing to type, you wrote several more lines before someone said your name.

“Y/N?”

Glancing up, you realized Yoongi stood at your threshold. Surprised to see him without Sara, you dropped your hands from the keys and sat back.

“Yoongi!” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Yoongi nodded and glanced about your room. It had been a while since he’d last been here. He and Hoseok became friends during college and by then, you’d mostly moved out of your parents’ house. Still, Yoongi and Hoseok had hung out with you on breaks, so the room wasn’t unfamiliar.

“Sure.” Yoongi glanced at your laptop. “You seemed pretty invested in what you were doing.”

“Writing my screenplay,” you said, and then paused. “I thought of something I wanted to change, and things kind of spiraled.”

“That’s good.” He nodded. “I hope your writing goes well.”

You waited, but he said nothing more and after a moment, you glanced at the screen. You didn’t want to be rude, but you were kind of on a roll. If Yoongi wanted to talk about wedding plans, Sara was right downstairs.

“Is that… all?” you asked. It wasn’t like Yoongi to interrupt you for nothing.

After a moment, he sighed and glanced down the hall. Downstairs, you could hear a Christmas movie playing. He was probably in the middle of watching it with Sara. Somewhat uneasily, Yoongi looked back.

“That’s not all,” he admitted.

“Is it… do you want to come in, or something?”

Yoongi considered. “I saw you talking to Hoseok in the kitchen last night.”

Uncertain, you froze. It seemed your argument with Hoseok had been less private than you’d thought.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat. “Oh? I’m sorry if we were being loud… I didn’t mean to interrupt the movie, or anything.”

His upper lip twitched. “You didn’t. I went to the bathroom and heard you two arguing.”

“Oh. Right.”

Yoongi sighed. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking to you about any of this.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you said. “I have no idea what ‘any of this’ is, so it’s almost like we’re not talking at all.”

“What did you and Hobi fight about?”

You paused. “I… that’s kind of personal, Yoongi.”

Folding his arms, Yoongi leaned a shoulder against your door. He didn’t look away, which made you feel oddly on display.

“What’d you say to him?” he asked.

Immediately, you bristled. “Why does everyone assume I said something?”

“Because you tend to be the more clueless one.”

“I am not clueless,” you sputtered.

Yoongi gave you a look. “Well, what’d you fight about then?”

“I – I don’t know. A lot of things,” you said, falling back in your chair. “I got mad at him for cutting me out last year and he kept saying things were better this way.”

“What way?”

“I don’t know,” you said, frustrated. “A way where we’re not friends, I guess.”

“Well. Were you ever really friends to begin with?”

Startled, your eyes widened. “Of course, we were!”

“Y/N.” Yoongi stepped forward. “Think back. Really think. Why did all of your past boyfriends hate Hoseok so much?”

“I… I don’t know. Toxic masculinity? Guys always are threatened by male-female friendships.”

“It’s because Hobi was in love with you,” Yoongi said bluntly. “Always has been. He’s been in love with you for so fucking long and all your boyfriends knew it. Hell, everyone’s known it but you.”

Although you opened and closed your mouth, no noise came out.

Staring at Yoongi, the room started to spin. What he said made no sense. Hoseok couldn’t be in love with you. He couldn’t be in love with you because you would’ve known. Somehow, you would’ve known. He had been your best friend for nearly two decades. There was no way you would’ve missed something important like that.

“Hobi…” you managed to say. “Hoseok is in love with me?”

Seeing your expression, Yoongi softened. “I don’t know about love, present tense,” he corrected. “I know it destroyed him when you left New York. When you first told him about Darren, I think it finally scared Hoseok into doing something. He was coming to confess to you that weekend, you know.”

“He was what?”

“He was coming to confess,” Yoongi repeated. “He wanted to tell you he loved you, but you picked him up from the airport and said you’d moved in with Darren.”

“I – no,” you said, horrified.

Something like pity entered his gaze. “Yeah. He’d kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but you’ve both been idiots for so long. You’re not even speaking to each other, which is just stupid.”

“But…” Dizzily, you shook your head. “Why are you saying this, then? You don’t even know if Hoseok feels the same way.”

“Please.” Yoongi scoffed. “Hoseok might be your best friend, but he’s also mine. I saw the way he looked at you at my engagement party. Hell, I saw the way you looked at him.”

“How… did I look at him?”

Yoongi paused. “Like you’d come home.”

Swallowing hard, you looked away. You had no words left to say because Yoongi was right – Hoseok was home. He meant more to you than anyone ever had in your life, more than anyone ever would, and you were a fool for thinking this could be friendship.

There was a reason you’d wanted to skip an entire season rather than see Hoseok again. Why losing Hoseok had hurt worse than losing Darren; why seeing Hoseok last week had instantly crumbled your defenses, and a phone call from Darren could easily be dismissed.

You loved Hoseok. You always had.

“If you don’t love him,” Yoongi continued. “I honestly have no idea what’s going on. Haven’t you ever wondered why neither one of your relationships last?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “We keep picking crappy people?”

“True.” He raised a brow. “But maybe the reason you keep picking crappy people is because you both know you’re right for each other but are too cowardly to say anything. It’s easier to say nothing and keep being friends than risk losing each other completely.”

You stared at Yoongi over your laptop. “Let’s say that’s true. Let’s say Hoseok used to love me. Why are you telling me this now?”

Yoongi hesitated. “You’re both clinging to the past so desperately, I don’t think either of you see what’s in front of your noses. Hoseok went after you last time. I think it’s about time you knew and decided what to do next.”

“And what if you’re right?” you said softly. “What if the idea of losing him is too much to bear?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Yoongi gave a sad smile. “You don’t really have him right now, do you?”

With that, he turned to leave your room. Halfway into the hall, he paused. “Hope the rewrite goes well,” Yoongi said, then disappeared.

You stared at the empty door frame for a long time after that.

Letting the influx of emotions you felt after Yoongi’s visit fuel you, you finished writing around 3:00 AM Christmas Eve. Falling asleep in the light of your laptop, you awoke groggily around 4:00 AM and moved to your bed to continue.

Your alarm went off early and for a moment, you thought you were under attack and nearly fell out of bed. Then you remembered that, in a moment of stupidity, you’d done this to yourself. Wearily rolling from bed, you padded into the bathroom and washed your face.

Around 8:00 AM, you pulled on your coat and rushed out the door, yelling to your dad you needed to borrow the car. Luckily, he was fine with this and soon you were seated in the car on your way to Kinko’s. It was the only copy place open on Christmas Eve, which you sorely needed since your dad’s printer was broken.

After printing out your screenplay, you drove all the way to Hoseok’s and parked at the curb. Here, you took several deep breaths and stared at his house.

It was as familiar to you as your own. There had been a point back in high school when you may have spent more time here than at your own house. You’d even had sleepovers because, to quote your mom, ‘it was only Hoseok.’

This thought made your cheeks heat because he had been anything but ‘only Hoseok.’ You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him that way in high school. You had often thought about Hoseok naked, and then immediately felt guilty because he was supposed to be your best friend.

If what Yoongi said was true though, you were the biggest pair of idiots because you’d liked Hoseok at the same time Hoseok had liked you. You’d both wasted so much time, love and energy on other people.

Removing the key from your ignition, you pushed open the door and promptly stepped in a snowdrift. Groaning out loud, you glanced down. Shaking your shoe free of snow, you limped awkwardly up Hoseok’s driveway. Shoe squelching, you muttered some choice words about snow and where it could shove its puffy, white ass.

“… Y/N?”

Startled, you whirled and saw Hoseok emerging from his garage, snow shovel in hand. He stared at you in confusion, having seemingly overheard everything you just said. When he realized you were limping, his gaze dropped to your foot.

“Oh.” Hoseok paused. “Sorry. I hadn’t shoved yet.”

“Hi. It’s okay,” you said, air frosting before you.

Hoseok nodded but didn’t add on and you felt suddenly nervous. This was Hoseok standing before you. It was Hoseok and yet, it wasn’t, because your Hoseok was completely untouchable. Your Hoseok was your ex-best friend, your childhood crush, and the man you were desperately, unrequitedly in love with.

This Hoseok – the one who maybe loved you back – was a stranger.

Remembering why you’d come, you tucked the papers under one arm and hurried forward. Hoseok was wearing a red puffer jacket which matched his cold cheeks. Coming to a stop, you fought the sudden nausea within you.

“Hey,” you repeated.

Hoseok stared at you, a little bewildered. He seemed like he didn’t understand why you were here, and you wilted a little, remembering how you’d left things at the holiday party.

“Why are you here?” Hoseok asked, echoing your thoughts.

“I wanted to give you this.”

Awkward, you thrust out both hands with the papers. Hoseok stared blankly at the pages, then looked at you.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s my screenplay,” you said. “Well, my new screenplay. I came up with a different idea after we talked.”

Despite himself, a glimmer of curiosity entered his gaze. Hoseok glanced once more at the pages. “And why are you giving it to me?”

“Because I want you to read it,” you said.

Hoseok’s gaze flicked to yours. “I don’t think you really want my opinion, Y/N.”

“I do, though.”

Something uncertain seemed to enter his gaze the longer he looked at you. “Y/N…” Hoseok said lowly. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends.”

“Hoseok… please,” you said quietly. “Please read it. Just this once?”

Hoseok looked at you another moment, then nodded and took the papers. Your hands touched for the briefest of moments and you felt your heart skip, but then he pulled back and the cold settled in.

No matter how much you wanted to blurt what Yoongi had said, you stopped yourself. This was what you’d decided sometime around midnight. It would be cheating to simply relay to Hoseok how Yoongi had said he felt. You needed to show him in your own way what he meant to you.

Hence, the screenplay and ungodly hour.

Hoseok looked at the papers, then back at you. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll try to read this sometimes this week, okay?”

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Okay.”

That was all you could hope for, really. One thing was for certain – your friendship couldn’t continue the way it currently was. Something needed to change, one way or the other.

After another look, you nodded and turned towards your car. Sliding into the seat, you cranked up the heat and pulled from the curb. You tried not to look in the rearview mirror but failed as soon as you reached the stop sign. Glancing up, you saw Hoseok turn the papers over in hand.

Then you turned the corner and he disappeared.

Christmas Eve was fairly typical in your house.

Christmas Day was the main event; you usually spent this at your grandma’s house. All your aunts, uncles and cousins would gather, and you’d spend the day drinking mimosas and unwrapping gifts by the fireplace.

There was tons of cooking to do, so your mom usually went over the night before to help. Usually you, your dad and Sara watched Christmas movies at home but this year, Sara was spending Christmas Eve at Yoongi’s. Your dad had volunteered to help your mom cook, which left you alone in the house for the evening.

You’d been invited to your grandma’s place, of course, but it was a halfhearted invitation, and you knew it. Your grandma was nothing if not a perfectionist and had zero patience for your brand of burnt toast. Besides, someone needed to make sure the Christmas lights were turned on.

In this way, you found yourself alone on Christmas Eve. Weirdly, this didn’t upset you at all. Wrapping yourself in your fuzziest blanket, you made yourself a cup of hot chocolate and settled in to watch the Grinch. Everyone else in your family refused to watch with you because you could quote every line by heart – and often did.

You tried not to think about Hoseok but kept coming up short. Every few minutes, a memory would drift to the surface and you’d wonder if he’d read your screenplay yet, if he’d understood what you’d meant and if he had any thoughts.

Frown deepening, you turned up the volume and tried to drown out your thoughts. It was Christmas Eve, and you had the entire place to yourself. You’d be damned if you let Hoseok –

A knock sounded at your front door.

Pressing pause, you sat up and listened. Someone knocked again and, setting down your mug, you stood to pad down the hall. It was around 7:30 PM, but you weren’t expecting either your parents or Sara back until 11:00 PM, which meant it had to be someone else.

Maybe a neighbor. It wouldn’t be the first time a strand of lights had come loose from your roof and landed on someone’s lawn. Halfway to the door, the person knocked a third time, and you noticed a shadow on your doorstep.

“Coming!” you yelled. In your haste, you’d nearly forgotten about the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “Hang on!”

Undoing the lock, you opened the front door to find Hoseok before you. He stood on your porch, clutching your papers and looking indignant.

“What is this?” he demanded, thrusting them forward.

You stared at him in alarm. “Um. My new screenplay?”

“Right.” Hoseok paused. “Let’s start there. This person – Carlos. Is he based on me?”

“I…” Suddenly hesitant, you tugged on the blanket. “A little. Maybe.”

“Okay. And his best friend – Raya,” Hoseok said. “Who’s that?”

Awkward, you shifted your weight to your other foot.

This was what you’d intended by giving him the screenplay. You’d wanted Hoseok to understand how deeply you felt about him, how much you’d missed having him in your life. Hoseok had always been a superhero to you, even if he didn’t know it.

“She’s…” Helpless, you looked at Hoseok. “She’s Carlos’ best friend.”

Hoseok stared at you a moment. “Alright.” Looking down, he flipped through pages until he found the one he sought. A page scrawled with your handwriting. “And what about this?” Hoseok demanded, turning it around. “What’s this?”

Slightly cross-eyed, you read your own writing.

To the only person who’s ever seen the real me. Here’s how I see you.

Swallowing hard, you looked up. “It’s dedicated to you,” you said, a bit hoarse.

Slowly, Hoseok lowered the page.

Something uncertain entered his gaze, as though he didn’t dare to believe what you said. The idea of this made you want to laugh – the idea of Hoseok not understanding how you felt for him. He was so indescribably out of your league and somehow, he thought you didn’t want him.

“Alright.” Hoseok spoke quietly, taking a step forward. “I’m going to ask this again, at the risk of sounding like an absolute idiot. Who’s Raya, Y/N?”

He was inside now, across your threshold and still, you fought back a shiver. Mistaking this for cold, Hoseok turned and shut the door. In the warm glow of your hallway, he turned back, his cheeks red with cold.

“Me,” you whispered, gathering all your courage. “She’s me, Hobi.”

Hoseok seemed to stop breathing.

“I didn’t know how else to explain,” you said in a rush. “I just… Hobi, do you know why I didn’t want to come home for Christmas?”

Mutely, he shook his head.

“I didn’t want to see you,” you confessed. “I could barely hold things together in LA, where I had my own life which didn’t involve you. Coming home and seeing you, knowing you weren’t mine and not being able to do anything about it? I couldn’t stand the idea,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t.”

Hoseok paused, and then said, “You were with Darren, though. You loved him.”

“Maybe,” you said softly. “Or maybe he was someone I could keep at arms-length. Someone who couldn’t really hurt me. Do you know how I felt after he cheated?”

“I – I don’t.”

Roughly, you exhaled. “I was hurt. But more than that, I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed I’d stayed with him for as long as I had. What does that say about how fucked up that relationship was? When you love someone, you care about what they do. You care if they love you back, or not. You… you want to cross entire countries just to say how you feel,” you said, all in one breath.

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “I – how did you…? Yoongi,” he breathed as he realized.

For a second Hoseok looked so livid, you nearly smiled.

“Don’t hurt him,” you said, stepping closer. “He’s the only reason I’m telling you any of this. I had no idea… I mean, you were certainly no help.”

“I was no help?” Hoseok’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have any idea how many times I tried to tell you?”

“I’m guessing zero,” you scoffed. “Seeing as I never realized what you were trying to say.”

Hoseok looked at you a moment, still wearing that giant, red puffer jacket. It reminded you of one he had in high school, one he saved up all winter to buy. He lost it that spring at a party – the same one you had your first kiss at. That night was also known as the first time Hoseok got drunk.

“The first time I tried to tell you I loved you, I was eleven,” Hoseok said softly. “It was the first time you slept over at my house and you fell asleep playing mario kart. You looked so pretty, even though you drooled on my pillow. I whispered I love you.”

“You… you told me you loved me when I was asleep?” you said, stunned.

Hoseok’s upper lip twitched. “The next time, we were fourteen. You got food poisoning at Wild Fun Land and I spent that night holding your hair over the toilet. After a really gross bout, you looked up and mumbled, ‘Hey, Hobi. Can you call Sara and tell her I won’t be home for dinner? Tell her… something came up.’ Then you looked at the toilet, wiggled your brows and I lost it. I told you I loved you, but I don’t think you understood.”

You realized then your mouth was hanging open, but somehow couldn’t find the strength to close it. You also remembered that day, but Hoseok was right, you’d thought he meant it in a friend way, not in a real I love you way.

“You… you tried to confess after I made a vomit pun?” you squeaked.

“The third time,” Hoseok continued, as though you’d said nothing. “We were both sixteen. It was that time Jungkook convinced everyone to go camping. We were the last ones outside, star-gazing in that field and you told me you loved the little dipper. You said you loved the idea of something guiding you home. I said–”

“You said I was that to you,” you whispered, remembering.

A strange, fluttery feeling began to take flight in your stomach. You remembered that night, too. You’d been deeply in love with Hoseok at the time but lacked the courage to tell him. His words that night had sustained you for weeks, but when you’d returned and nothing happened, you’d slowly lost hope.

“Then there was prom,” Hoseok said, stepping closer. “That was the last time I tried to tell you – for a while, at least. Do you remember? Your asshole date made out with someone else on the floor, and I found you crying in the family restroom. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“You said you hoped his eyebrows fell off.”

“After that.”

“You said,” you whispered, suddenly parched. “You said it didn’t matter what my date thought, since I’d always have someone who thought I was the most beautiful girl in the room.”

“Me,” Hoseok said quietly.

Staring at him, you wondered how you could have ever been so stupid. When he said it like that, it all fell into place, but you remembered being so confused at the time.

“That was the last time?”

Hoseok hesitated. “When you began dating Ren, I tried to keep my distance. I tried to move on, but then we were together in New York… I don’t know. I realized I’d never stopped loving you. I didn’t know how to stop loving you.”

“So, you came to LA,” you murmured.

He nodded. “The night we almost kissed haunted me for months. I wanted to say something so badly, but then you said you were moving… I figured it was a sign. But then you left, and my feelings wouldn’t go away. I needed to tell you, or I’d never move on.”

“But I’d moved in with Darren.”

Hoseok’s jaw tightened. “I… I couldn’t handle being friends with you like that,” he said quietly. “I was in love with you and it was killing me. I needed to try and get over you. The only way I could think to do that was to cut you out of my life.”

“It makes sense,” you whispered, even as your heart lodged in your throat. “Did you know I came to see you?”

Hoseok’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Last October. I missed you so badly, I flew to New York. I don’t even know what I meant to say, but then I got to your place and saw you coming back from a date. I – I realized you were right. We couldn’t be friends.”

He looked at you quizzically and you buried your face in your hands.

Slowly, you shook your head side to side. “It sounds so stupid now that I’m saying it out loud. God, how did I not realize? I loved you, Hobi. I loved you so much and it was all right there! I hated all your girlfriends. Not because they were stupid – although they were – but because I couldn’t stand the idea of you being anyone else.”

“Hey, hey,” Hoseok said, gently taking your hands in his.

He lowered them to your sides, waiting until you looked up. When you met his gaze, you tentatively traced over his face in a way you hadn’t before.

He was so beautiful.

You’d always thought this but hadn’t let yourself linger because it hurt too much to see him. It was dizzying to look at him now, to have him so near and know you were allowed. Hoseok wanted this as much as you did.

“So.” Hoseok still hadn’t let go of your hands. “If I’m Carlos and you’re Raya, does that mean…”

“I love you, Hoseok,” you said without skipping a beat.

Happiness bloomed in his gaze. You’d said it during your rambles, but this time felt different. This time felt real – a moment in the present and not a regret from the past. Hands slipping to your cheeks, Hoseok thumbed your skin before he lowered his head to yours.

His lips were cold at first, warming as they moved against you. His hands slid into your hair, repositioning your mouth to deepen the kiss. Slowly, he walked the two of you backwards, letting your hips hit the wall as the blanket fell from your shoulders. Your head started spinning when you pulled him closer, clutching his waist and opening your mouth.

Grinning into his lips, you reached for his jacket to try and unzip him. The puffiness was getting in the way and you wanted to feel him against you. Hoseok obeyed, refusing to stop kissing as his right hand found yours, tugging down the zipper.

When his coat hit the floor, you realized he was dressed in a dark suit and button-down. His head bent, determined to pick up where you’d left off, but you pushed him back.

“Hang on,” you said, sweeping him with your gaze. “Holy shit.”

Hoseok paused, breathing hard. “What?”

“You’re wearing a suit.”

“Yeah.” He looked at you, bewildered. “I came straight from mass.”

“Hm.” You cocked your head. “I should probably talk to my therapist about why I find that hot.”

Hoseok chuckled and leaned in. Rather than kiss you, he pressed your hips to the wall and rested his hand by your head. Slowly, his gaze trailed your frame.

“I… Hoseok,” you said, heart beating faster. “I’m wearing pajamas.”

You were. They were matching flannel – short sleeves and short-shorts, but still hopelessly Christmas-y and endlessly dorky. Your sister had insisted you wear them on Christmas Eve, so you could wake up in them tomorrow morning.

Hoseok’s gaze glinted. “Mhm. What’s your point?”

“Stop… stop looking at me like that,” you said, a bit breathless.

His gaze flicked to yours. “Like what?”

“Like…” You swallowed. “Like you’re undressing me in your mind, or something.”

Hoseok grinned.

“Stop,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Instead, Hoseok lowered a finger to your clavicle and slowly dragged down. Equally gently, he undid a button. The top of your pajama shirt parted and Hoseok exhaled.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hand curling on the wall. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined seeing you naked.”

His voice made you shiver, pressing closer when his arm slid around your waist. Hoseok swallowed and lowered to kiss you again. His lips were softer, more tentative and you found yourself melting. Arms finding his neck, you pulled him even closer to feel him flush against you.

“So.” Hoseok pulled back, kissing the corner of your lips. “I hate to say something which might break the mood, but…”

“Yeah?”

“Your parents aren’t home, are they?”

Snorting, you buried your face in his neck. Hoseok smelled good, like citrus and linen. After breathing him in for a second, you looked up to see him.

“No,” you told him. “No one will be back for hours.”

“Good.”

Without further preamble, Hoseok resumed kissing you. You lost yourself in the feel of his hands, the touch of his lips and the delicious way Hoseok tasted. Sucking on his lower lip, you nibbled a little before you pulled back. Hoseok groaned, thumb stroking your neck as you opened your mouth.

Your hands slid under his suit jacket, trying to pull him even closer. Hoseok undid another button on your top to leave it half-open.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down.

“Hobi.” You pushed your hips to his. “Take it all the way off.”

Sharply, he looked up and his jaw clenched. “Are you trying to kill me?” he said, sliding a finger down your chest. Hovering over your breastbone, he awaited further instruction.

Watching him, you reached up and undid the final two buttons. Inhaling, Hoseok pushed off your top until it fell to the floor. You were left standing in only your shorts, which had ridden up in a somewhat obscene manner.

Hoseok wet his lips.

“Hobi,” you groaned. He looked up. “Touch me.”

“God.” He slid both hands up your ribcage. “You are, aren’t you? You’re trying to kill me.”

Palms cupping your breasts, Hoseok flicked over each nipple. He stared appreciatively as they hardened, aroused by his touch.

“You had this bikini,” he said suddenly, looking up. “A white string bikini you wore to the pool senior year. Every guy in our grade loved that bikini,” he confessed, dipping his head. “We all used to pray the AC would be on, because then your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

“Hey!” you blurted, losing all train of thought when Hoseok’s lips closed around a nipple. “Oh,” you said breathlessly, head hitting the wall.

Hoseok continued, merciless as his tongue swept upward. He teasingly brought one to a peak, then the other, flicking the first with his thumb.

God, you were wet – so fucking wet, you were surprised Hoseok couldn’t tell as you ground on his leg. Hoseok had wedged his thigh between yours, giving you the perfect seat while he played with your breasts.

“H-hobi,” you whimpered.

Lifting his head, Hoseok smirked. There was something about seeing him fully clothed while you ground on his leg which set off a needy, primal part of you.

“We should go upstairs,” you said, glancing past him.

Hoseok went still. “Yeah?” he asked, his gaze searching yours.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. “I need you. Now.”

Without another word, Hoseok grabbed your wrist and made for the stairs. You laughed when he pulled you along, remembering to scoop your top from the ground as you went. Slapping his ass, you followed his lead and Hoseok paused on the landing to press you to the wall.

Beneath your terrible middle school photos, he kissed you, unable to keep from smiling.

“No more,” you whined, pulling back. “I want to see you naked.”

Hoseok snorted but followed you down the hall and into your bedroom. You walked inside but he paused, choosing to linger on the threshold instead.

“Fuck.” Hoseok glanced around. “I can’t believe you’re inviting me up to your room. Sixteen-year-old me is reaching through the time continuum to give me a high five.”

Taking a seat on your bed, you threw the shirt to the ground. Leaning back on your elbows, you arched a brow.

“What are you talking about?” you said, baffled. “You’ve been in my room plenty of times.”

His eyes gleamed as he walked closer. “It’s not the same,” Hoseok said, beginning to undo his belt. His jacket, then his pants found their way to the floor. “Do you know how many times I jacked off to the idea of you touching yourself in this room?”

“Oh,” you whispered, a bit breathless.

Without breaking his gaze, you slid the shorts from your waist and pushed them to the ground. Now, you were entirely naked. Spreading yourself on the sheets, you let Hoseok see you. Normally, you weren’t this aggressive in bed. Normally, you went along with whatever your partner wanted, but this was Hoseok. You needed him to know how badly you wanted him.

Eyes widening, Hoseok undid his shirt. As soon as this was gone, you sucked in a breath. Hoseok was gorgeous. You’d known this of course, but his body was all lithe muscles and golden skin. His hips had an indent you loved – you saw this only briefly before he unzipped his pants.

Still looking at you, he lowered them to the floor, and you forgot how to breathe for a minute. You forgot everything but the sight of Hoseok standing naked before you.

Walking towards the bed, he lowered a knee to the mattress and slowly pushed you back. Your lips met as you inhaled, pulling him closer, grabbing a hold of whatever you could. There was so much to see, so much to touch – hands trembling, they slid down the broad panes of his back. Hoseok’s legs nestled between yours, your arousal getting all over his thighs.

Mouth opening, his tongue swept forward as you whimpered his name. Lowering you to your back, Hoseok kissed slowly down your front to close over a breast. Sucking into his mouth, his hips rolled against yours.

Gasping, your pelvis rocked forward, feeling his cock at your thigh. You needed him inside you so badly. Needed his length, his fingers, his mouth – it didn’t matter.

“Please, Hoseok,” you said, pulling up on his shoulders until he kissed you again.

“This isn’t fair,” he protested.

“What isn’t?”

“You.” He pulled back to sit on his heels. With one hand, Hoseok fisted his cock and stared at your dripping cunt. “We’ve been making out for ten minutes and already, my balls feel so tight, I’m going to come the second I get inside you.” His eyes widened. “I mean. If that’s… I don’t want to assume…”

Melting a little, you reached up and pulled him down to your chest. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you nudged his cock with your center. This had to be the wettest you’d ever been in your life.

“You feel that?” you whispered, biting his ear.

Hoseok shuddered, fighting to keep still.

“That’s me saying I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Inhaling sharply, Hoseok reached down and slid a finger into your cunt. You groaned, clenching as you fell back on the bed. Hoseok pulled his finger back out, closing his mouth around the digit to suck it clean. Eyes closed, he exhaled.

“Mm.” He opened his eyes, dark with arousal. “God, I can’t wait to make your legs shake. Lick your whole pussy clean while you ride my face.”

Unwittingly, your eyes widened. “Hobi!”

Grin wicked, he leaned to cage you with his arms. “Yeah?”

“You…” Your face felt like it was on fire. “I’ve just… never heard you talk like that before.”

“Did you like it?” he murmured, brushing your neck with his lips.

“Yeah,” you said, arching upwards. “Tell me what else you want to do to me.”

Reaching down, Hoseok slid his finger back inside you. Sinking in deeper, he made wet, squelching sounds as he slowly fucked you. His thumb began rubbing your clit.

“Well first,” he murmured. “I want to fuck you like this – looking at you. Watching you come.”

You shuddered when he added a second finger, working you open. Hoseok curled his fingers in a forward gesture, brushing a spot deep inside you which made you moan.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” he said, adding a third finger. “I wish we had all the time in the world so I could do everything I have in mind. Eat your pussy like the meal it is. Lie back and let you ride my face. Have you hanging off the bed while I fuck your throat.”

“Shit,” you breathed, eyes slightly glazed.

Glancing down, Hoseok saw your arousal dripping around his hand. He smirked. “You like that, huh?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Want me to fuck your throat, baby?”

“Yes,” you groaned, head thrown back on the bed.

He made a noise partway to a growl, then abruptly pulled out his fingers. You gasped, clenching hard around nothing while you looked at him in dismay.

“I was so close,” you groaned. “Hobi!”

“I know,” he said, returning to rubbing your clit. “I know, but fuck – I can’t wait any longer to be inside you. I need to know what your pussy feels like around me.”

“Oh,” you exhaled. “Okay.”

Hoseok’s lips found yours, moving slowly as he thrust between your legs to get his cock wet. Each time he slid past your pussy, you whimpered and Hoseok grinned, pulling back.

“Hoseok,” you said through gritted teeth. “I swear to god, if you don’t –”

He laughed. “Okay, okay,” he agreed and pushed his tip inside you.

Immediately, he froze.

“What?” you said, searching his face.

“Shit,” Hoseok cursed.

“What?” you whimpered, genuinely distressed at feeling him so close but not inside you. If he didn’t move – and soon – you might cry or come.

“Condom,” he blurted. “I didn’t grab one before coming here. Do you have one?”

Stomach sinking, you shook your head.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Hoseok hung his head. “I’m sorry, baby. We don’t have to–”

“I’m clean,” you said, and he froze. “I got tested after the breakup and I haven’t been with anyone since. I’m on the pill, too. So…”

Slowly, Hoseok looked up. “You want me to fuck you… raw?”

“If you want…”

You said this, uncertain because Hoseok had the oddest look on his face, as though your words physically pained him.

“Fuck, yes I want,” he whispered. “I’m clean, too. I promise. Got tested last month.”

“Okay,” you said, slipping your arms around him. “I trust you, Hobi.”

Gaze melting, Hoseok nodded and bent to kiss you again. With each roll of his hips, he worked his cock deeper. Lips parted, you groaned and enjoyed the feeling of him filling you. Hoseok moved slow, rubbing your clit with his thumb the entire way.

Somewhat dazed, you imagined what it would’ve been like to lose your virginity to Hoseok. It probably would’ve been much more pleasurable than the way it actually happened.

Finally, Hoseok exhaled as he bottomed out. Lowering himself to his elbows, he gave an experimental roll of his hips.

“Oh,” you whispered, clutching him closer.

Hoseok’s eyes shone in the darkness above you. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking… how nice it would’ve been to lose my virginity to you.”

His jaw clenched. “You can’t just… fucking say things like that, Y/N.”

“Why not? You said way dirtier things to me earlier.”

“This is different, though,” he argued. “I actually could’ve been that person. I’ll never forgive the asshole who made you bleed.”

Heat rose to your face. “I should never have told you that.”

Hoseok shifted on top of you, causing his cock to go deeper. “No,” he exhaled, gaze roaming your face. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll just try and erase that experience from memory.”

Before you could ask what that meant, Hoseok thrust his hips forward. Your lips parted as he filled you, gasping a little as your hands found his back. Slower, he pulled out and pushed back inside. Spread out underneath him, Hoseok kept you at his mercy with each roll of his hips.

His cock was – oh my god, you’d never felt anything like this. Each toe-curling thrust of his hips had you biting back moans. You’d had sex, but you didn’t think you’d ever been fucked like this. Like Hoseok knew what he was doing and wanted to make you come – needed to make you come. Already, you felt yourself tightening, unable to withstand the steady thrust of his cock.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok said, trying to see you. “Slower?”

“No. I – I’m gonna come soon.”

“Oh?” He paused. “Already?”

“Stop it,” you groaned. “Who knew you were a fucking god amongst mortals?”

When you looked up, he smirked and slid his palms to your thighs. “Hold these open for me,” he said, thrusting in slow, shallow strokes.

You obliged, holding your thighs open so he could see you fully.

“Fuck.” Hoseok’s breath hitched a little. “About to come and I haven’t even done this.” Dragging his knuckles to either side of your clit, he squeezed and made you gasp. “Or this,” he added, moving to cup your breasts.

Tugging your nipples between fingers, he deftly pulled down and made you moan. Hoseok did this again before letting go, lowering himself to his forearms with a wicked smile.

“But baby already wants to come,” he said, kissing you softly. “This gorgeous pussy just wants to come on my cock. Is that right?”

“I can’t decide if I want to slap you,” you groaned, chest heaving. “Or tell you – fuck yes, it does.”

Hoseok’s gaze narrowed. “Shit. Both sound good to me.”

You moaned again, and this time Hoseok had pity on you. Hand sliding between you, he began to fuck faster and roll your clit with his thumb.

“That’s it,” he grunted, hips slamming against you. “Such a good girl, about to come so hard on my cock. Relax, baby. Let me take care of it,” he said, moving faster.

He began to fuck harder, deeper and everything within you tightened to a breaking point. Everything was too much, so sensitive – whimpering his name, you shuddered apart. A fresh wave of arousal soaked the sheets and Hoseok went still, hips faltering against yours.

Dazed, you managed to open your eyes. You wanted to tell him to keep going. You wanted to tell him to come inside you, but before you could utter a word, you saw Hoseok’s face.

“Oh,” you said, wincing as you looked down. “Sorry. I squirt sometimes – is that weird?”

Hoseok stared at you like he’d won the fucking lottery. “Is it – weird?” he breathed. “Weird? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Y/N.” Gaze glinting, he pushed your thighs upwards and onto your chest. “Wanna see if I can do it again.”

You nodded, trembling – and then gasped when Hoseok let go for real.

Back arching, you moaned as he began to fuck you. Hoseok moved hard and fast, his cock pounding relentlessly into your needy pussy. You could barely catch your breath but somehow, this just made you want it more. Jaw slack, you could only lie there and take it as you tightened around him.

He seemed determined to make good on his promise, giving in to the mind-numbing feeling of fucking you hard. You began to see stars, so whipped for the feeling of his cock pounding into you. Crying out his name, you arched your hips up to his.

He slammed into your g-spot, making you tremble beneath the force of his onslaught. Unyielding, he drove you towards your second orgasm of the night. Everything was overwhelming, making you clutch at him harder. The sensation was nothing but pure lust and pleasure – and then you broke, seeing black as you came for the second time.

You felt yourself clench, arousal gushing from your pussy to soak the sheets again. Hoseok groaned, saying your name when he finally came. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt and when he was finally done, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Eyes fluttering, you let out a shaky laugh. Hoseok exhaled, chest pressed to yours as his expression softened.

You grinned up at him, still breathless. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” He smiled dreamily back. “Wow.”

When he tried to roll but keep himself inside you, you laughed.

“Hobi –”

“Shh. Let this happen.”

“Hobi!” you snorted, smacking his chest.

“What?”

“I need to clean up.”

Although his lips turned downwards, he sighed. “Alright, fine.”

Once he’d pulled out, you rolled from bed and hurried into the bathroom. After cleaning yourself up, you wandered into your bedroom and froze.

Hoseok had pulled all your sheets from the bed and stood helplessly in front of your closet.

“Uh.” You leaned your shoulder to the door. “What’re you doing?”

“I was trying to change your sheets, but your mom must keep them someplace different now.”

Unwittingly, you started to grin. It was just so strange having Hoseok in your room, trying to clean up after giving you the best double orgasm of your life. A good weird, though. The best kind of weird.

Heading into your bathroom, you returned with fresh sheets. “Here,” you said, handing them to Hoseok. Scooping the others from the floor, you stood. “I’ll throw these in the wash and be back.”

“Right back!”

You rolled your eyes at the demand but hurried to the laundry room and back. When you returned, you found Hoseok waiting for you in bed, sheets freshly changed. Slipping under the covers, you snuggled against his side.

Hoseok kissed the top of your head, leisurely stroking your arm with one hand. You stayed there for a while, happy to just be together again.

Then, Hoseok cleared his throat.

“What?” you said, looking up.

“I don’t remember if I said.” He sleepily smiled. “I loved the new script.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“The lead isn’t too perfect?”

Hoseok laughed, a bit sheepish. “I may have been projecting a little.”

“You were right, though. She was terrible.”

His gaze softened, looking at you. “No,” he said quietly. “But also, you can have the best screenplay in the world, Y/N and it’s still a game of chance. You’re talented and one day, everyone will see that. If not this screenplay, then the next one.”

His words were warm, settling over you like a blanket. Hoseok always believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself. You had more confidence in yourself now but sometimes, it was nice to have someone who supported you unconditionally. Someone without an agenda or anything in it for themselves. Someone who loved you and whom you loved back.

“Hobi?” you said, laying your head to his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Are we dating?

His chest shook as he laughed. “If you want to be.”

“I want to be.”

“Good. Me too.”

You nodded, waiting a little longer and then said, “Hoseok?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warned. “If my parents come home and find you naked in my bed, you won’t live long enough to see the honeymoon phase.”

Hoseok snorted and you laughed, rolling over to kiss him again. Eventually you got out of bed, put on your clothes, and went downstairs to watch the Christmas movie, but nothing seemed to change the ear-splitting grin on your face.

With Hoseok beside you and hot chocolate in hand, you begrudgingly admitted it may have been a good idea to come home for the holidays, after all.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 HAPPY HOBI-DAYS, ALL!

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #hoseok smut #bts smut #hoseok fanfic #bts fanfic #hoseok writing #bts writing #hoseok au #bts au

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witchlyboo · 4 years ago

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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