#pet food packaging companies

[coldpenguintaco]

Pet Food Packaging Market Company Profiles, Product Specification, Revenue and Forecast| MarketsandMarkets™

Pet food packaging is the type of packaging used to store and protect pet food. It is an important part of the pet food industry, as it helps to ensure the food is safe and fresh while also helping to maintain its quality and appeal. The packaging also helps to extend the shelf life of pet food, ensuring it stays fresh and appealing for longer. Common types of pet food packaging include metal…

[butch-muppet]

.

[footsiepop]

did someone beat the shit out of your fragile package

Oh no I used to load package vans. I am beating the shit out of your fragile package.

[lykaglobal9]

Best PET Sheet Supplier for Food and Beverage Packaging Worldwide: Lyka Global Plast 

When it comes to food and beverage packaging, quality, durability, and safety are paramount. Packaging not only preserves the freshness and taste of the products but also ensures they reach the consumer in perfect condition. In this domain, Lyka Global Plast has emerged as a trusted name, providing premium PET sheets that cater to the diverse needs of the global food and beverage industry. Renowned for its commitment to quality and innovation, Lyka Global Plast stands as the best PET sheet supplier for food and beverage packaging worldwide. 

Why Choose PET Sheets for Food and Beverage Packaging? 

PET (Polyethylene Terephthalate) sheets have become the preferred choice for packaging in the food and beverage industry due to their superior properties. They are lightweight, transparent, and provide excellent barrier protection against moisture, oxygen, and other external contaminants. PET sheets are also highly durable, making them ideal for protecting food and beverages from damage during transportation and storage. Additionally, they are recyclable, making them an environmentally responsible choice for businesses committed to sustainability. 

Lyka Global Plast: A Leader in PET Sheet Supply 

Lyka Global Plast has established itself as a leader in the PET sheet supply industry, offering high-quality PET sheets specifically designed for food and beverage packaging. Here’s why Lyka Global Plast stands out as the best PET sheet supplier: 

1. Uncompromised Quality Standards 

At Lyka Global Plast, quality is the cornerstone of every product. The company uses only the finest raw materials and employs advanced manufacturing processes to ensure that each PET sheet meets the highest standards of quality and safety. Rigorous quality control measures are implemented at every stage of production, from raw material sourcing to final inspection, to guarantee products that are free from defects and contaminants. 

2. Innovative Packaging Solutions 

Lyka Global Plast is at the forefront of innovation, constantly developing new solutions to meet the evolving needs of the food and beverage industry. Their PET sheets are designed to offer superior clarity, ensuring that packaged products look appealing on store shelves. Additionally, their PET sheets are highly customizable, allowing clients to choose from various thicknesses, colors, and finishes to suit their specific packaging requirements. 

3. Global Reach and Reliable Supply Chain 

With a well-established global distribution network, Lyka Global Plast ensures timely delivery of PET sheets to clients worldwide. The company has built strong partnerships with key players in the food and beverage industry, providing them with consistent, high-quality PET sheets for various packaging applications. Their reliable supply chain management ensures that customers receive their orders on time, regardless of their location. 

4. Commitment to Sustainability 

Lyka Global Plast is deeply committed to sustainability and environmentally responsible practices. Their PET sheets are fully recyclable, contributing to reduced plastic waste and promoting a circular economy. By choosing Lyka Global Plast, businesses in the food and beverage industry can align themselves with sustainable packaging practices without compromising on quality or performance. 

5. Exceptional Customer Support 

Customer satisfaction is a top priority at Lyka Global Plast. The company offers exceptional customer support, assisting clients in selecting the right PET sheets for their packaging needs. Their team of experts provides valuable insights and guidance, ensuring that each client receives a tailored packaging solution that enhances product appeal and shelf life. 

Conclusion 

For businesses in the food and beverage industry seeking the best packaging solutions, Lyka Global Plast is the ultimate partner. As a leading PET sheet supplier, Lyka Global Plast combines top-tier quality, innovation, sustainability, and excellent customer support to deliver unmatched packaging solutions worldwide. Choose Lyka Global Plast for your food and beverage packaging needs and experience the difference that quality and expertise make. 

[aerofibreseo]

Superback Carpet Backing manufactures

superback carpet backing

[thebleedingwoodland]

TS3 - Pet Bowl, Pet Food Packaging, Pet Kibbles Replacement Mod

D E F A U L T   R E P L A C E M E N T & F U N C T I O N A L P E T B O W L WITH GeoStates (Full, Half, Empty)

-----------------------------------

Remember those EA tacky pet bowls and purple pixelated pet food packaging....

Not just pixelated... I made these default replacement mods for the sake of realism. It's because in real life there is no such thing as Pet food kibbles made by commercial pet food industry for both Cats & Dogs. Cat food and Dog food are separated due to different ingredients and nutrition formulated for Cats and Dogs.

Food suitable for both Cats and Dogs are raw food, usually made by small business company or handmade.

-----------------------------------

5 styles you can only choose one :

Dog Food

Cat Food

Cat & Dog Raw Food

Dog Biscuit Chinese New Year Edition

Cat Biscuit Balinese Edition

These Mods will replace:

Pet Bowls (Cheap, Moderate, Luxury) & Pet Kibbles

Each Pet Bowl has 3 Presets and recolourable.

‣ Cheap Pet Bowl using EA's Moderate pet bowl mesh, because plastic pet bowl with round shape is much more common in real life rather than rounded square shape.

‣ Moderate Pet Bowl: Removed the EA stencil on Moderate Pet Bowl because of tacky, pixelated and the "For Dog" design (depicted with bones) cannot be changed to "For Cat" version of design.

‣ Luxury Pet Bowl using "My First Pet Bowl" mesh by myself because it much more realistic for expensive pet bowl with shiny aluminum material. EA's Luxury Pet Bowl with carving and feet are too tacky, complicated and does not exist in real life.

Pet Bowls have title name and price same as EA's.

With thumbnail :

Pet Food Packaging (Decoration)

Pet Food Packaging title name is Simina Pet Chow Price: § 75 You can find on Decoration > Miscellaneous Decor. (Same as EA's)

With thumbnail:

Pet Food Packaging (Pouring)

Requirement: Pets Expansion Pack

⚠️ Disclaimer: These Mods are changing appearance of mesh and texture only, no script Mod. Dogs still can eat Cat food and Cats can eat Dog food following EA code in the game.

⚠️ This package will be replacing the default EA, so you have to choose one. Installing more than one default replacement will cause conflict. ⚠️

As usual, install one of these packages on Package folder. You can safely delete the package if you no longer want to use the default replacement.

[ Download Dog Food Default Replacement Pack ]

[ Download Cat Food Default Replacement Pack ]

[ Download Cat & Dog Raw Food Default Replacement Pack ]

[ Download Dog Biscuit Chinese New Year Edition Default Replacement Pack ]

[ Download Cat Biscuit Balinese Default Replacement Pack ]

These Mods are fully tested in the game. The pet bowls are working with GeoStates (Full, Half, Empty) and recolour in Create-A-Style mode.

Click Read More to see

[luvknow]

sanguine satellite | lee minho

Summary: The last time you saw Minho was five years ago when you rejected him to live out the rest of your twenties in the city. The next time you see him is on your birthday with another woman in his arms, and it sparked everything that was good, bad, and ugly. Now, after years of not being in each other’s lives, Minho tries to repair the friendship he broke while you fight your changing feelings. As you struggle navigating your friendship with him, you struggle more to navigate being single in this next stage of your life. Characters: Lee Minho x fem!Reader, feat. other idols Genre: friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, romance, angst, emotional hurt with comfort, happy ending, slice of life Additional warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, food, aged up a bit and in turn age insecurity, a lot of mentions of a best friend with another idol WC: 18.1k

Today was a pivotal day in the office. Quarter two earnings were released to the public and other divisions of the company and, well, let’s just say with the increasing rise in inflation and the impending recession that everyone refuses to acknowledge, no one wants to buy anything. As a result, the earnings reported negative and stocks dipped, morale was low, and to top it off, it was only Monday.

In a way, this was a metaphor for your life; a tumbleweed of all things that could go wrong did go wrong and formed into an amalgamation of nothing to show for. Some people found value in the mundane, but this was supposed to be the peak of your career, your magnum opus, before progress plateaued and you couldn’t stand the idea of not feeling enriched. To wake up, leave, work, and go home was the reason you wanted to leave your home in the first place for something richer in the heart of the city. But you felt defeated after clocking out at 8:30 PM and slumped on the seat in an empty train cart.

The view of the lively apartment high rises and the warm light of slow brick-and-mortars made the late night train rides worth the twenty minutes. Work wasn’t always this draining, but after climbing the corporate ladder, more money meant more responsibilities and it quickly drained the light from your eyes as it did with many of your peers and friends. Youth was fleeting and today you felt like Ponce de Leon searching for the fountain to no avail, but at least the train would take you as close to it as it possibly could.

After packing up your life from home five years ago to move with your friends, the only plans twenty-something-year-olds ever had in place were reservations at 9:00 PM because you called the hottest spot the day-of and drinks at the bar next door after clocking out at 5:00 PM. You were young, excited, and hungry for life, barely sober most days and experiencing what it meant to be young; but what must be given, something must also be taken. Now, rent was rising, salary increases were few and far in between, and instead of deciding what martini you should be ordering, you were stuck wondering if being a worker bee individual contributor was worth the lull schedule or if taking the path to management and telling whiny subordinates what to do was worth the salary bump.

You and your friends once joked that stuff like this was what people in their thirties worry about. Today is your thirtieth birthday.

You didn’t have time for dinner and once again thanked the real estate Gods who put a restaurant so greasy at the corner of your block that you practically slid on a snail trail to the front door of your loft. So, here you were; eating under-salted french fries, chugging a crispy diet cola, with oil stains on your white button-up, ready to spend the rest of your birthday and probably the rest of your life alone on your overpriced and uncomfortable couch watching the latest drama you’d sob your eyes out to. All you needed now was a pet as your companion and you’d be the whole single-in-your-thirties package. Maybe you’d use that as leverage in your dating apps: looking for a partner, a pet, or both.

After fumbling with the keys, you sighed into your dark, cavernous home and dropped your bag at the door. When you turned on the lights, you saw the ghost of your soul leave your mouth in a loud gasp.

“Surprise!!”

You were greeted with streamers, glitter, balloons, and your closest friends wearing little party hats with their beautiful smiles. You never doubted they remembered, and most wished you happy birthday at midnight, but you should have sensed something was wrong when Chaeryoung asked for your door passcode because she ‘forgot her chapstick on your coffee table.’

She was the first to tackle you in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, mi amor!”

“Let the woman take her shoes off first, damn,” Jisung scolded.

“Wow, there’s certainly a lot of you,” you giggled after prying her off. “You guys shouldn’t have. Really! It’s Monday.”

“All the more to celebrate something worthwhile,” Chan grinned, handing you a glass of wine. “Welcome to the club.”

“Ugh, thanks.” Chaeryoung yanked away the oily bag of fries while you were distracted with the happy juice. “Hey, I’m hungry!”

“Don’t fret! We are having a dinner party because that’s what thirty-year-olds do.”

“Except we ate already because we thought you were coming home well before 9:00 PM,” Hyunjin grinned sheepishly.

“No, yeah, I love when my friends watch me stuff my face.”

The dining table was decorated with burgundy candle sticks, red roses, and black bows. It was definitely a step-up from your twenty-first bubblegum pink and pastel confetti birthday, but this almost seemed… meek? Romantic, sure, but a little dark for a birthday. As Chaeryoung scrambled to fill your plate with take-out and prepare the cake, everyone took their place back at the table. The lights dimmed and out came a jet black cake with a toy knife and red frosting that read, ‘Happy Deathday to Your 20s!’

“A bit dark, but accurate,” you mused.

“Make a wish-!” A knock came at the door. “Shit.”

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Chaeryoung, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were present and those were the only people you regularly hung out with. Who could be left?

“Are people still coming?” you asked.

The boys collectively shot a look at a wide-eyed and frozen Chaeryoung, none of them willing to break the news or catch a stray. “Um…”

“What did you do?” you accused. “You didn’t invite that one guy I told you about last month, did you?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Another knock. “Coming!”

“It’s not a coworker, is it?”

“Worse,” Jisung mumbled. “For you, at least.”

“Minho!” Chaeryoung exclaimed happily. “You’re just in time!”

“What -” you hissed at the boys, “- the hell?!”

They all held their hands up in defense. Minho passed the threshold and your twenties flashed before your eyes. The once blondish short and styled middle part now hung loose in soft chocolate strands; eyes that once held the universe were dark and doe-like; and arms that once moved freely in his sleeves now tightened around them. He was a completely different man who you hadn’t seen in five years and here he was at a pivotal moment of your life, about to celebrate you and the life you’ve lived without him for the better half of the last decade. It took all your might to lift your sore legs to walk over to greet your guest and restrain from strangling your best friend. He wore clothes appropriate for a casual dinner party that didn’t spill into the blues of corporate-wear, clearly aware of this occasion, and a small gift bag. His appearance was intentional, not upon happenstance, which made this whole ordeal a lot weirder.

Following him in, hand-in-hand, was a woman. A stranger. Two strangers in your home.

He pulled away from Chaeryoung’s death grip and you locked eyes. It’s awkward, to put it politely; to put it rudely, it was horrifying. Your nervous system certainly felt nervous, firing fight-or-flight responses the way he drank you in like the first sip of a bitter negroni. How someone could evolve and change to the point of being unrecognizable should be studied by Darwin.

He’s the first to break with a small smile to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Happy birthday, _____.”

The bag is small and neatly wrapped with care in your favorite colors. The woman behind him smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have. And thank you…?”

“Oh, right. This is Karina, my girlfriend of two years.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And happy birthday!”

You brain buffered when she bowed. How awkward, because you haven’t heard anything about her other than her existence. You never thought he’d have someone so beautiful. Minho blocked you on social media a long time ago, so you wouldn’t have recognized her. Chaeryoung had to kick you back to life. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you, too! Welcome to my home.”

“There’s wax on the cake!” Jisung warned.

“Oh, hurry in! _____ was about to make a wish!” Chaeryoung pushed the three of you to the dining area.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue watching him dap up the boys and watching her hug them so warmly. You never faulted them for being neutral. They were just as much as his friends as they were yours but having him here created a thick glass wall on your side of the table, like he was icing you out in your own home; that you paid with your own hard-earned money, mind you! This was as close to a defense mechanism you could build.

Nine people were watching you, all of whom were paired with another in the room except Chaeryoung, in your home. There’s a heavy shroud of dread that’s draped over your makeshift invisible box you struggled to keep upright. This was supposed to feel like a celebration of you, but it quickly turned rotten when you realized you were the only single person on your own side of the table, being made a spectacle as the couples moved closer and watched more intently. It was like they were watching a ghost of singles-past, feeling more appreciative of the life they procured together as you watched their hold on each other tighten ever so slightly.

“Make a wish,” Jisung sang.

You stared blankly at the three sparkling candles. What was there to wish for? You had a good career, a warm home, food on the table, and loved ones who kept you up on your feet. You supposed a better work-life balance would be feasible, but that was something within reach and in your control. To wish is to pray and to pray is to beg, and you weren’t one to beg for anything except for the pickles Chaeryoung picked out of her sandwiches. What was something that even you couldn’t control, something you had to ask some spirit dwelling in the ether for?

A flash of Minho’s eyes boring into yours made your face hot. Maybe you’d just let this wish go to waste instead.

You blew out the candles and applause erupted with Chan eager to cut into the cake. It was your favorite flavor from your favorite local baker whom you trusted every birthday and holiday to deliver the finest treats. At least this part of your birthday was perfect.

“So, what does thirty feel like?” Hyunjin asked. “Do you want the number of the senior home down the street from me?”

“Ha ha,” you drawled. “Aren’t you next, Hwang?”

“Actually, Minho’s next – ow!”

Chaeryong didn’t hide how she elbowed his ribs. She then gave a wide smile and her fingers danced. “Do you feel more mature?”

“As mature as a dry-age steak.”

“Well, you pair well with red wine, at least.” Chan raised his glass. “Here’s to you and to all of us, our priceless friendship!”

Most of us, you wanted to correct, but decided against being uncouth. “Cheers!”

When you were all in the younger halves of the twenties, conversations were about memes, pop culture, and the new hottest bar that just opened. Now, as you were ranting about quarter one earnings and the Windows 11 update, the others doubled down on the corporate jargon. Even Karina, who revealed she was a consultant in tech, participated in the conversations. Minho was the only one who remained quiet, but he was simply enjoying the company, leaning back in the chair with his arm around his woman. For someone who had never visited or even wished well on past birthdays, he was making himself quite at home.

Your birthday dinner lasted long enough to finish off three bottles of wine between everyone and for all the food to disappear, making clean-up much easier. As everyone scrambled around your home clouded in buzzed-up nonsense, Jisung was the one to tour your apartment with Minho and Karina, telling the tale of every picture you hung on a wall or framed on a credenza.

“This was when we went to London one summer after my graduation,” he said. “I’m the youngest, so I was the last one and we decided to make it a big celebration. I think this was the day Minho and _____ got lost and almost hopped on a train to Edinburgh by accident. This one was from Chaeryoung’s twenty-fourth birthday. I think Minho took this picture, actually.”

“Where are you in these pictures, Minho?” Karina wondered innocently.

There’s a breath of silence in the loft aside from you who didn’t pay any mind to his girlfriend’s ignorance. Not like you expect your fallout to be a topic of conversation over a candle-lit dinner date, anyway. You also didn’t expect that look on Minho’s face when he realized that to be true.

“He’s usually the one behind the camera!” Jisung answered, not exactly lying. “You’ve seen his Instagram and how he composes his cat pictures.”

Minho didn’t try to correct him, and they quickly moved on.

As it was the first day of the working week, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were the first to leave. For whatever reason, Minho and Karina decided to stay back. Karina’s motive was unclear; either she was really bad at reading the room or the effort to be friends was genuine, but even when Minho asked if she wanted to leave with everyone, she decided against it.

“Let me help you take the garbage out,” she offered Chaeryoung.

“I can do it,” you and Minho said in unison.

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday and this one had a little too much to drink before coming here and when we got here.”

Chaeryoung gave you a sympathetic look as they carried several bags out to the ground floor. What a convenient day for the chute to be broken! They’d take the five-to-ten minutes of traveling to the ground floor out to the back where the bins were.

And then there were two, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, unable to look each other in the eyes after five years of abandonment.

“Hi,” he greeted again, lips flat-lined and unsure of how to move this conversation forward.

You beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His tongue poked his cheek. “I ran into Chaeryoung last weekend at the bar I work at and asked what she was doing for your birthday.”

“Why would you ask that?” you asked coldly.

“I… just knew she'd be doing something for you. Maybe she took it as me asking to get invited, but that wasn’t my intention. I think she panicked, invited me anyway, and here I am.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that asked, ‘but why would I?’

You looked away. “Isn’t this a far drive for you?”

“I live here now. Well, not here; on the other side, closer to downtown and near that bar.”

“Oh. How long have you been a city dweller?”

“About two years now.”

That lined up with his relationship status. It was a fact that it was easier to find partners in the metropolitan, yet somehow you were the only one to remain alone after being one of the first to move here. How was it that Minho managed that in under a month? And if he’s been here for two years, how have you not realized that?

You swallowed the rest of the wine in your glass. “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” He ran a hand through his tired head of hair, creating a split down the middle. The redness on his face had spread from his nose to his cheeks, as it always did when alcohol invaded his bloodstream. “I see why you wanted to move here.”

He, too, must have seen how time was of the essence, and with what little time you have in your young lives, the highest quality of life would be to live where your peers were thriving. If only he understood this years ago.

You nodded sourly, feeling the loneliness resurface after having to repress it for so long. “I’m happy for you.”

“Your mother once told us, ‘mean what you say and say what you mean.’ You don’t have to lie.”

“Don’t tell me what my mother says.”

Tension as thick as jell-o separated you from him. There’s a brief stare down after your threat, or what sounded like a threat, and you swear there’s hurt behind those big eyes of his, but he wouldn’t be the victim here; not when he was the one who left your life and blocked you out of his. He didn’t have the right to be offended by your unwelcoming attitude when he was never welcome to begin with. On your birthday, at that.

Chaeryoung saved the evening and rushed back inside, afraid of the damage you’d tell her later.

“Ready?” Karina asked, squeezing Minho’s bicep.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, being the first to break contact. You didn’t help him see his way out, but he said over his shoulder once more, “Happy birthday, _____.”

“Thank you for coming,” you called out sharply.

“It was nice meeting you!” Karina said cheerfully.

“You, too.”

Chaeryoung, the kind woman and hostess as she is, hugged them both and hastened to lock the door. She rushed back, clinging to you and holding your arms inside, likely afraid that you’d break something or chug the rest of the fourth bottle.

“I’m so~o sorry!”

“He told me how it happened. Tell me why I’m not surprised?”

“It was at the bar near your work that I told you about. You didn’t come because you had some reports to submit before midnight. And who do I see behind the bar? Minho, of all people! He was running that shit like the navy! It was hard to talk long over the music, but we said our hellos and he quickly brought up the fact you were turning thirty and asked what I was doing because he knows how much I love you and I’m the bestest friend ever – Anyway, I told him about the surprise, and he looked so damn sad! Jesus Christ, so you know me, an empath, I had to at least offer him an invite. I didn’t think he’d take it, nor did I think he’d ask to bring a plus one, like, yesterday!”

In the midst of her ramblings, you squirmed free from her grip and pulled the poor pouty girl into a tight hug. “I will not let him ruin what you’ve done for me. I love you and appreciate you.”

“It was so hard!” she whined. “The boys are so unreliable! I ask them to buy something for decorations, they don’t answer, and when I ask a few days later they’re like, ‘I got it a while ago,’ and I’m like, ‘why didn’t you say something?!’ and they’re like, ‘I didn’t think I’d need to as long as I brought it the day-of.’ Can you believe that?!”

“After over ten years of friendship, yes, yes I can.”

After cleaning up the remaining crumbs and dishes, Chaeryoung found the gift that Minho and Karina left on one of the chairs. “Did you open it?”

“No. What if it’s a bomb? Can you do it?”

She tossed out the tissue paper and peered inside fearlessly. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“A gift card and a perfume bottle; a pricey one. Ooh, it smells good!”

The gift card was to a new bar that was opening on the same block as your office. Your boss was excited to finally have a happy hour location so close that you haven’t gone a day without hearing about it since its announcement. The name on the card said ‘DAHLIA’ and the amount it held was five hundred dollars.

“Huh,” Chaeryoung mused, “isn’t this address very close to where you work? And you like dahlias. Scary coincidence.”

“Do you think he’s stalking me?”

“Maybe it’s Karina.”

The perfume was in a sleek clear bottle with a white face and gold cap. It smelled of marshmallows, orange blossoms, and neroli. It would be the most expensive thing you’d own, cosmetics wise.

“They open on Friday,” she said giddily. “We should go!”

The projected menu on their social media did look really good… and they had variations of your favorite drink and ones you’ve never heard of.

“Think of it as a ‘celebration’ to the start of a new quarter! Since it’ll be slower now, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, accepting that poor-quality reasoning for a twenty dollar cocktail. “Ok, let’s go!”

Your best friend squealed happily and dug through your closet, plucking out the shortest skirt in your wardrobe.

--

On Thursday, Chaeryoung canceled on you to go on a third date with the guy she’s been seriously interested in. She was hoping to finally become an exclusive dating couple; not exactly boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but they’re not allowed to see other people since they’re exclusive, so it’s a label-without-the-label situation that you struggled too hard to grasp. If the majority of your peers thought that way about dating, maybe it was a good thing you remained single.

When you exited your office’s high-rise that day, on your way to the train, you passed by an alley in between the Italian place and the coffee shop you and your co-workers frequented. There was an inconspicuous red ‘OPEN’ light at the end above a black door that caught your attention. In a small serif font, the letters ‘DAHLIA’ was stamped on the door. Friday was supposed to be the official opening day according to their social media pages, but there was no mistake it was open as indicated by the bouncer standing guard.

You did have the gift card in your wallet, and you were craving that crispy green tea highball they had in one of their posts. It was only 6:00 PM, maybe they’d have some happy hour deals going on and you could report back to Chaeryoung with your findings.

You walked up to the doorman. “Hi, are you open –”

“I.D.”

Well, that answers that. He allowed you to pass into the low-lit glowing bar. It wasn’t busy like a Friday evening, but almost all of the tufted couches and chairs were filled, leaving a semi-vacant bar up for grabs. The aura of the bar is what one might describe as ‘vibey and chill’, as the low hum of the bass from the hip-hop song in the background vibrated your heart. This was as soft as a soft-opening could get.

On the menu, there was a special on the drink you were looking forward to and a snack pairing: rice paper and seaweed chips with a salt and togarashi seasoning. You knew all those words separately but couldn’t comprehend them together.

“I.D., please,” the bartender asked.

You fumbled for your wallet and mumbled, “Why bother carding at the door if you’re just –”

You dropped your wallet when you saw Minho at the other side of the bar in a white button-down that was buttoned barely half-way. His lips curled teasingly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you gasped, popping your head up after picking up your wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that the only way you’ll greet me from now on?”

You felt your face burn even before any alcohol entered your system. “Chaeryoung mentioned you worked at the other bar nearby.”

“I own that one, too. This one I just opened.”

“Oh, well, that makes more sense. Wait, ‘own’?” He nodded sheepishly. “But that bar has been there forever. I thought that old guy owned it?”

“He was looking to retire, so I jumped the gun and bought it. Kept it mostly the same, added some things I thought would pick up a trend, and it did so well that I was able to open ‘DAHLIA’.”

“That’s incredible,” you congratulated. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that the gift card is so expensive.”

He smiled, but it didn’t translate to his eyes. “Do you work nearby?”

“At the tall building down the street.”

He’s just as taken back as you are. Maybe he wasn’t stalking you. “Crazy coincidence. But it’s late already. Long day?”

You sighed. “Most days are this long.”

“Yikes. Can I get you a drink?”

“The green tea highball looks good.”

“Coming right up.”

Minho rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and did his witchcraft. In a highball glass, a ludicrously elongated ice cube was placed. Then, two shots of Japanese whiskey from the mid-shelf (never mind the overpour), an ounce of cold brew jasmine green tea, and what little space was left was topped with club soda. Using a long bar spoon, Minho mixed its contents and offered it to you with a stainless steel straw.

You hummed happily. “Whoa.”

“I agree.”

“Where was this on my twenty-first?”

“I dare you to Google the whiskey I used and see if you think we could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“I see your point.”

There’s a long pause of waiting for the other to say what they mean and to mean what they say. You thought about how coldly you displayed yourself to Minho and it ate up your thoughts the whole week. Even when he was the one who wanted you out of his life, he was the one to find you and it seemed he was here to stay, to be next to where you worked, and to be a part of your everyday life as you’d think about him every time you passed this alley between the office and the train. Was this a gift or a curse?

The wound was still fresh, but he was not the only one to blame.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I –”

“I think –”

You both paused again. After all these years, your wavelengths were still in sync.

“Go ahead,” you offered.

“I think…” …We shouldn’t talk when we see each other? I shouldn’t have given you a gift? We should unpack the trauma we gave each other over coffee some time? “You should try the snack pairing.”

Possibly the best words to leave his lips. “Please.”

“One sec,” he said before running to the kitchen.

Your palms were sweaty, but if anyone asked, you’d feign it was from the condensation on the glass. Your first real conversation with Minho in five years was more stressful than presenting to upper management. Any courage of apologizing had fizzled and the fear of being vulnerable was chilling. You hoped the rest of the drink would give you that push.

Minho came back slightly breathless with a bowl of curly seaweed and rice chips with red seasoning. He stared at the glass that was almost full just a second ago.

“Would you like another one?”

Your vision was already swirly. “No, thank you. But these look delicious.”

The crunch from the fried rice paper was loud enough to make some heads turn. It was salty and the seaweed flavor shined through. The punch from the togarashi made you wish you had taken up the offer on another drink.

You let out another happy hum, and your sinuses cleared. “Wasabi!”

“Really sobers you up, huh?”

“I can smell colors.”

He let out a genuine laugh and you got a glance of his little bunny teeth. You wondered if he’d still have them when he was sixty.

The shy bartender fiddled with the kitchen towel. “You were going to say something?”

“Right. I’m –”

“Excuse me!” a customer approached the bar. “Can I have an espresso martini?”

“Absolutely!” Minho said in his customer service voice.

Espresso martinis were all the craze these days, especially with the ladies. You understood why, they were delicious and reminded everyone of a sweet little treat before the work day. You watched as Minho threw in his Boston shaker ice, vodka, coffee liqueur, and cold brew, and shook with all his might. The muscles you noticed on your birthday shined through, as the veins on his forearms and biceps were put to work. Your eyes traveled shamefully to his open chest, focusing on the groove in between. He poured the creamy drink into a martini glass and added it to her tab.

You drank the complimentary ice-cold water before he returned.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m the one interrupting your work.” Despite drinking a multitude of fluids, your throat was dry and sharp, like the words were scraping skin on their way out. Just say it, dammit! “I’m sorry how I treated you on Monday.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that after so long.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have.”

“For that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for attending.”

“You should have chosen another time to meet.”

“Your thirtieth birthday is important. It’s a huge milestone. I couldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He hung his head in a way that a puppy would when being punished. “I know.”

“You –” you choked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what or how to feel.”

“Maybe we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Hi,” he held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Minho, I’m a bartender and chef, and we met when we were nineteen.”

“Minho –”

“Would you like to get coffee next door some time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

The rush of after-work over timers hit the bar like a thirsty school of fish. Two other bartenders jumped in, but they needed Minho to keep up a good speed. From his navy pants pocket, he pulled out his business card and slid it over.

“My number’s on the card.”

It was different from the one you had saved on your phone and he knew that. “Wait, I need to close out my tab.”

“It’s on me. Let me make up for Monday.”

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before taking the next customer. His mannerisms made every customer smile or blush. ‘Come closer’ he’d gesture with his finger, leaning in to hear their order, and winking after handing off the final product; rinse and repeat.

You left a hefty tip under your glass and slipped away from the crowd. At home, you spent half an hour rubbing your cheeks, unaware of how sore they were after the train ride.

--

The business card hung on your fridge under a London magnet. Every day, you’d wake up, stare at it while filling your water bottle, leave for work, come home, and stare at it some more as you prepared dinner. In the same serif font in black ink, in the center of the card was his full name. Under it said ‘Restauranteur’, followed by ‘DAHLIA’, the Japanese flavors-inspired bar, and ‘RED LIGHT’, the one with American flavors. His phone number and email were in small print, all information embossed on an off-white business card. ‘Classy’ was the most appropriate description of such a card, while yours was so plain in comparison. Technology products didn’t need that kind of pizazz, to be fair.

The next time you saw Chaeryoung was for a girls’ night-in on a Wednesday to gush about her new exclusive not-boyfriend. She noticed the business card while putting the dishes in the sink and plucked it from the fridge, already aware of what transpired on Thursday before.

“‘Restauranteur’,” she scoffed. “Ok, Minho.”

“I know, right? Can you believe he bought out that sleazy old man?”

“I always wondered why the quality went up all of a sudden. I can’t believe he hid that from everyone else, too! We’ve all been meeting around that area for months! Why did he give you this, though?”

“I guess he changed his number.”

“What? He’s had this number for a while now.” You shot her a deadpanned look. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have known whether he changed it or not. Did you hit him up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It feels… too soon.”

“Five years feels too soon?”

“No,” you sighed, unable to form the words in the right sentence. “We’re already on awkward footing after my birthday. And seeing and talking to him made my blood pressure spike to an unhealthy degree.”

“So, you’re nervous?”

Nervous wasn’t right. It felt much deeper than that. “Afraid.”

If anyone knew the degree of pain and confusion you held for Minho, it was Chaeryoung. She always did her best to understand, but there are some things one must experience to understand, and this was one of them. She held you firm by the shoulders and knitted her brows.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

The music streaming on your phone paused as your best friend moved swiftly to the couch, already propping her feet up on the chaise before you could register what happened. The clicking of your phone keyboard over the bluetooth speaker snapped you back and you ran to join her.

“Wait, don’t!” you warned.

“‘Hey, bro’,” she said as she typed, “Too casual?”

“I’m thirty. I don’t say ‘bro’.”

“All right, jeez. ‘Hello, Minho. I hope this text finds you well. Per our last meeting – ’”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“I’m kidding, relax! ‘Hi, it’s _____. It was nice seeing you on Thursday.’”

“I wouldn’t say it was a ‘nice’ meeting.”

“Oh, my God, shut up. ‘Good to see you on Thursday,’ happy? ‘Would you like to get coffee some time?’ And send. This is fun, it’s like when we used to project our dating app DMs on the TV! Oh, wow he’s typing already. Asshole, he never answers any of us in the group chats until the next day.”

Texting a boy and sweating, waiting for his response… Were you thirteen again? The notification ding made your heart jump.

Your brows furrowed, matching Chaeryoung’s. “‘Hey! Of course I would. Just tell me when.’ Um. Tell him sometime next week?”

“‘Tomorrow at 11:00AM?’”

“Chaer!”

“‘See you then.’ You’re welcome!” she cheered, tossing your phone on your lap.

“Now he’ll think I’m excited…”

“Whether you are nervous, excited, or afraid, shouldn’t that mean something? That maybe you still have him in your cold, dead heart somewhere?”

“It took years of therapy to heal what was wounded. I don’t know if this will feel like closure or if I’m opening up my stitches.”

“And I’ll be here to help suture if it comes to it; again and again!” she encouraged, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I just want our friend group back together, you know? This is a start, sort of.”

“I know. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Too late.”

--

The day it happened, the clouds were grey, and they cried and cried, pouring down the heaviest rain of the year. It rattled Minho’s windows like bullets made from hail, drowning the silence and filling the room with nothing but sorrow.

Tonight, you were celebrating your new job and the big move. After the plates were emptied, the music that played over his speakers slowed, and filled with wine and tenderness, you two swayed to the rhythm in each other’s arms. First, he had your hand in his and lightly hovered over your waist, leading the waltz across the living room with ease. As the songs progressed, his hold on you tightened. He laced his fingers with yours, traveled his hand to your lower back, then placed the other there, too, after wrapping your arm around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and nuzzling so sweetly it made your heart soar.

He sighed happily, shoulders relaxing under your arms. “Should we be doing this?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you replied light heartedly, “you are just a friend, after all.”

“Do friends do this? Should we ask Chaeryoung and Jisung?”

“Not if you want to hear them gagging all night.”

His breathy laughs hit your lips and his eyes fluttered closed. “I want to kiss you.”

You’ve wanted to kiss him for five years. “Then kiss me.”

“And I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” You took a step back, hating the cold air that replaced his space. “What do you mean ‘stay’?”

“Don’t leave,” he begged.

“Minho –”

“Stay here with me.”

“No,” you said firmly. “This is the biggest thing to happen to my career, and I’m not throwing away this grand opportunity. Won’t you come with me instead?”

“You know I can’t leave my family right now.”

“Then,” you sighed, “do I wait for you?”

“Wait? We have options; what about long distance?”

“You know how vigorous my career is. I work long days and long nights. I can’t call you or text you the way that other people do.”

“So what?” he argued, throwing his hands up in frustration.

This was the first time you were having this talk. Never before had either of you revealed the feelings that mingled in the air whenever you were in the same room together. For years, you repressed them, too scared to cross the thin line that separated friendship from lovers and unwilling to feel vulnerable and reveal the true feelings of your heart. Because truthfully, you wouldn’t have time. You wouldn’t have time to drain and pour your heart into something – someone – that wasn’t the projects that laid out on your office desk, and how was that fair to someone you loved so dearly? As much as you wanted to love and to give, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you repeated. “That’s not fair to either of us. We deserve one hundred percent of each other, not fifty, or even ninety.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” he mumbled.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “How could you spring this on me the weekend before I leave?”

“This was my only chance –”

“No, it wasn’t. You had five years. Five years! And you know how important my career is to me!”

“What about me? Aren’t I important to you, too?”

“Don’t,” you stuttered.

“No, it’s not that I’m not important, it’s that your career is more important. Is that it?” When you couldn’t answer, he nodded his head, accepting the poor answer. “All I wanted was for us to try.”

“I can’t give you one hundred percent of me.”

“Then I’ll give more! One hundred ten percent; one hundred fifty!”

“How long can you last like that when you don’t know when we’ll be together again?”

“I won’t know unless we try.”

“I don’t want to try. Trying means uncertainty. For five years, I have been certain about you. But I’m certain it won’t work when we are not present.”

“We’re going in circles.” Minho turned and ran a hand through his fluffy, light bronze hair. This color on him, you remembered, made him look so young.

“I can wait,” you whispered. “We can be friends still, and –”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You couldn’t decide if your mouth should hang open or sew it shut forever. Still, you managed to slip out, “What?”

“It’s all or nothing for me, _____.” His eyes mirrored your glossy ones and the tip of his nose that was just on yours a second ago was reddening. “I don’t want friendship with you. I want love and passion, and I want you to tell me you want it, too. We aren’t friends; we never were really just friends, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

He closed the gap and his hands found yours, squeezing so tightly it was almost painful. “Then show me that you know! Tell me you want this! Tell me you don’t want to be just friends! Tell me you want me, desire me, that you can’t go a day without having me, the way I would for you!”

You shook your head. Long distance relationships never worked. You witnessed it through your coworkers, through friends, and bosses, and even old classmates who had deleted every existence of their past love and left no digital footprint on their timeline. Every relationship you ever knew to be long distance had never worked out, and you knew this one wouldn’t be any different.

He let go and stepped away. “I wish you a fulfilling life in the city –”

“Don’t do this.”

“– and I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you –”

“Minho, please…”

“– I can’t be just friends with someone who has my heart and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Instead of rescinding, instead of apologizing and taking the leap of faith, taking the risk that came with being vulnerable and open and raw so you could see what it meant to be loved and cherished by someone who wanted to love and cherish, you decided to lock your heart away and to never reveal it to anyone ever again.

That was the last time you saw Minho. On your thirtieth birthday, he broke every layer you built to protect yourself in a matter of seconds.

--

“Earth to _____!”

In between ‘DAHLIA’ and your office, there was a coffee shop with outside seating. As you waited at one of the tables, the record player in your head had recalled that night, and once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it finished. Just as you finished, Minho arrived and waved a hand in front of your face and you wondered how long it took for you to notice.

“Sorry! Daydreaming.”

“About work?”

Did he truly think your mind was entirely consumed about work? “Yeah. Work.”

“Well, you keep daydreaming, and I’ll get us coffee. What would you like?”

“No, it’s my turn to get you something!”

“Nonsense! You also tipped me way too much. You still order the usual?”

If you were one thing, you were consistent. “The usual.”

Minho would do this finger-gun thing when he was feeling awkward, and he did so as he walked to the counter. His outfit wasn’t as formal as the night you saw him at the bar. His jeans were black and his sweater a bright cobalt; a color that allowed him to be the center of attention when he wasn’t asking for it.

You were the one to ask him to meet - or rather Chaeryoung was - but you didn’t consider what you’d talk about.

He came back with your usual and his usual, which was an iced americano. At least he, too, was consistent, and that hadn’t changed.

“Busy at work?” he asked, clearly not sure what to talk about, either.

“Yeah. Always busy, sadly.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hours would be long.”

“No,” you confirmed, “I wasn’t. What about you? What’s your work day like as the city’s coolest restaurateur?”

“You flatter me. I work at ‘RED LIGHT’ during the day, and head to ‘DAHLIA’ at night.”

You tried to estimate his work hours in your head. “Back-to-back?”

“Yup.”

“Everyday?”

“Kind of. If it’s slow on like, a Monday or Tuesday, I’ll head out early and let the closers handle it. Otherwise, my day off is whenever I feel like it, but it’s not a real day-off. I use those days to answer emails and organize the budget or the inventory. Takes every waking moment to run a restaurant or bar, you know?”

“I don’t know. How do you balance everything?”

“Well, I love my job. It’s hard, but I don’t find it draining. I guess that helps. I don’t mind waking up at five in the morning, working, and going to sleep, at least not yet. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall someday, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.”

You’re afraid to ask the next question. “How do you balance your relationship with Karina when you’re so busy?”

“Phone calls, Facetime, designated nights for dates, surprise visits, little gifts and flowers here and there,” he nodded, looking at the table. “It’s hard, but we’re trying. That’s what’s important.”

Your coffee’s bitter and you didn’t want to bother with it after a couple of sips, but you keep at it to keep your lips occupied and to hide the way your teeth grit at the underlying accusation. “That takes a lot of patience. Some people struggle with that.”

He caught your drift and it appeared he realized he deserved that. “And you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even casually?”

“No. Some dates here and there, but they never stick.”

“Why is that?”

“Either they’re boring, too intimidated by a strong female corporate supplicant, or I’m the problem.”

“Isn’t it -” he began but stopped himself. “Never mind.”

“Say what you mean,” you pushed light heartedly.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

It’s true that it seemed like Cupid made his way around your friend group and you were the last to get hit. When your friends came home at night, they’d be welcomed into open arms and warm bodies. You came home to snacks and warmth was in the form of a fuzzy blanket you kept on the couch. At the height of your career, you once believed that love could wait, that it would find you at the right time and you’d know right then you were ready. As Minho sat across from you picking your brain about the emptiness that came with climbing the corporate ladder, the fear of feeling incomplete was imminent.

You wouldn’t let him see that part of you.

“I like my alone time.”

“But you have so much love in your heart.” He cleared his throat, regretting the arrangement of those words when he saw how your face twisted. What would he know about what’s in your heart? “Who do you give your affections to?”

“Must it be romantic?” you retorted. “My love is given to those you saw on my birthday.”

“I guess not. You’ve always been a romantic, though.”

“Five years is more than enough time to change who I was the last time you saw me.”

“Is that change good?” he asked nervously.

‘Is the result of feeling loveless from rejection and isolation a good change? Are you an idiot?’ you wanted to ask. But that would put the blame on him and blaming him meant acknowledging how much he affected you after all these years.

“Is that change good,” you repeated thoughtfully. “Neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“I think the decision we made five years ago put us where we are today; we’re both successful young adults thriving in a beautiful city. But I lost you as a result. So, the good must come with some bad. That’s neutral, no?”

His lips formed a smile, but again, it did not travel to his eyes. “You know, I was scared to come here today.”

“I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“At first I thought, ‘wow, Chaeryoung did not try hard to pretend to be you at all.’”

You giggled. “No; no, she didn’t.”

“And then I thought, ‘we’ll be in public. She won’t kill me in front of people, right?’”

“Kill you!”

“But I know that wouldn’t have stopped you either way,” he grinned. “You haven’t killed me yet. Is it crazy of me to think of this as a good sign?”

“A sign! Is there something you’re looking to gain out of this meeting?” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, “a friend.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, but your face twisted in a way that mimicked your thoughts. “A friend?”

“I know you and I have said and done some unkind things back then that we may not be able to forgive each other for, but after seeing you on your birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. You may not believe me, but I miss you.”

Your head and your heart were in conflict. You had spent all this time trying not to miss him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unwilling to say the truth. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you all of a sudden. But… do you think it’s possible? That we could be friends again?”

How quickly would you lose him a second time? “I think we shouldn’t force it.”

“Friendships bloom naturally, of course.”

A flash of pink blurred your peripherals before it became the center of your attention. Karina held a finger to her lips as she approached Minho from behind, covering his eyes with her slender fingers. He took her hand and kissed it, leaning back to look at his glittering diamond with hearts in his eyes. They were a beautiful couple and it was as clear as day how much they adored each other. Witnessing love was supposed to be like looking at a garden of roses, but as you sat across in a front-row seat, you thought to yourself how much you disliked the smell of roses, anyway.

“Hi!” she greeted happily. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have lunch plans.”

You shook your head, dismissing the tightness in your gut. “No, please interrupt. I’m sorry for keeping him.”

“Would you like to join?”

You would rather jump off the roof of your fifty-floor office building. “Thank you, but I made plans with my co-workers already.”

“Then, we’ll have to get dinner some time!”

It pained you how much you disliked her. She didn’t deserve it. “Dinner some time sounds great.”

As Minho got up to leave, he leaned over the table and in a hushed tone said, “I just want you to know that you still cannot hide your feelings on your face.”

“My boss thinks it’s my killing charm.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Minho’s wink was like a button that set off every alarm in your body. As he walked away, hand-in-hand with the love of his life, you tortured yourself watching them recede until they rounded the corner.

–

Unfortunately, it was common workplace etiquette to have drinks with your coworkers after hours now that your schedules had slowed down. How convenient it was that ‘DAHLIA’ was open and even more so that your coworkers were eager to go. Initially, you tried to wiggle out of going, but your close comrade Choi San wouldn’t allow it.

He slammed his veiny hand on your desk, and you jumped. “Jesus -”

“_____ _____,” he boomed, loudly announcing your government name.

“No.”

“Come on! You haven’t joined us in, like, forever!”

“Forever will continue.”

“And if I bribe you with free drinks?”

You paused typing. “I’m listening.”

“You, me, and the forty-fifth floor at ‘DAHLIA’ in ten minutes.”

“‘DAHLIA’?” you repeated. “Does it have to be that bar?”

“Mingi already called the place to reserve. Why, is it not good?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Then make haste, my lady!”

The whole way across the street, San had his arm around your shoulder in a tight grip, too afraid to let you slip at the slightest chance of hesitancy. The smooth skin of his forearms touched your neck and it was close enough to smell the cologne he dabbed just minutes before leaving the building, which you now realized to be on purpose.

Inside, a bunch of young corporate acolytes gathered all throughout the bar, all of whom you worked and were familiar with. Minho, though busy taking their orders, saw you and San come in. He did a double take, eyebrow twitching upwards at the arm suffocating your neck. Your lips formed the words, ‘kill me’, as San guided you forward to the line to order.

Small talk with San was never small when he easily filled you in on his latest interests and hobbies. The other women in the office who were nearby engaged with him enthusiastically. Admittedly, there were a multitude of reasons why San was popular around the office. He was intelligent, always willing to lend a helping hand, had a positive attitude even when days were long and tough, and most importantly, he was so hot that your boss had to jokingly warn him several times to tone it down. His argument was it wasn’t his fault that button-downs were tight on his back and arms.

Minho was the one to usher you forward with his index and middle fingers. 

San wrapped his arm around your shoulder again for no apparent reason. “Hello!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Hi. _____,” he addressed to you informally.

“‘Sup, Minho,” you sighed.

“You two know each other?” San inquired. “Is that why you didn’t want to come?”

San’s only flaw was that he talked too much. Your jaw ticked. “Old friends. And no, that’s not why.”

“Oh!”

“What can I get you two?” You thought you heard ice in Minho’s voice, but you must be mistaken.

You needed something strong. “A negroni, please.”

“Double that,” San said.

Minho neither confirmed nor denied hearing the order before starting on it. Finally, you’re able to breathe easier when the weight of San’s muscly arm lets you go, confident that you wouldn’t book it out the bar. He instead turned his body to you, creating a wall and making you feel like you were under a microscope.

“Your presentation to the team yesterday was, um, amazing,” he stuttered.

Calling a weekly work presentation amazing was odd; he’s heard you lead them probably a hundred times by now. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“And the way you were able to answer all of the questions Boss Man fired at you? It’s no wonder you’re his favorite.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite.”

“Well, you’re my favorite.” As soon as those words left his lips, he pursed them together and shut his eyes. “I-I mean the team’s favorite.”

You nearly snorted, though your smile was hard to hide. “That’s… certainly an honor -”

“Two negronis,” Minho interrupted as he pushed the glasses forward.

“I got it,” San reiterated.

“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you over in a bit; gonna talk to my good ol’ friend here,” you forced a grin. Like an obedient dog, San joined the others at the reserved tables.

“Wow, he’s…” Minho trailed off. “A lot.”

“Mother always said not to say mean things.”

“That was me being nice. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

“Minho! That would be highly inappropriate workplace behavior,” you teased, though he didn’t seem amused. “Besides, what do you know about my type?”

He smirked. “I think I would know better than anyone.”

The twinge in your chest was crushing. Had Cupid returned with sturdier arrows? “Remember, things can change.”

“Did they, though?”

Why did that matter? “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The whole night, San hovered over you like a shadow, more than he ever had before. Maybe he saw Minho as competition after your coworkers prodded for the story behind you and the hot bartender. He wouldn’t have to worry, though, as he was highly mistaken about both Minho and having interest in someone you worked with.

You would thank San in the morning for dragging you out that night because he reminded you the importance of camaraderie. It was nice to be surrounded by people who shared the same professional struggles as you and it was freeing for everyone to let their walls down. Many of your co-workers were also single and struggling, filling the bar with chatter about failed dates and competing to see who had the worst one as of late. This was the first night in a long while that you had fun, and even though the man that haunted your thoughts was less than twenty feet away, you wouldn’t let him ruin this one night out of many.

But you felt it; that burn in the back of your head like twin cigarettes had bore themselves into your skull; the piercing eyes of an onlooker who couldn’t look away from you and the buff man next to you all night. Each time you tried to catch him in the act, he had anticipated it, busying himself with a customer or peeling orange twists, and when you looked away, you’d feel it again.

Like a worm eating its way through an apple, the fire in Minho’s eyes consumed you.

–

‘Wya?’

On a random weeknight, Minho texted you this just as you were leaving the office. You looked around outside looking for a sniper or an inconspicuous spy but did not see anything suspicious or sensed any danger. To that, you replied with, ‘Leaving the office. Why?’

‘Don’t move.’

If you weren’t panicking before, you were now. Then, from around the alley where ‘DAHLIA’ was, Minho popped up with a tote bag on his arm and an apron slung over his shoulder. He waved and flashed his feline smile, unaware of how cryptic his texts were.

“You didn’t literally have to not move,” he teased.

“Maybe you should normalize giving context.”

“Context is: do you have dinner plans tonight?”

Your plan was to pick up grocery store sushi and binge watch TV, if you’d call that a plan. “Not really. Why?”

He gestured to his tote bag. “I was going to my test kitchen. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”

You considered saying no, but free food was involved. Plus, this is what friends would do, right? “Where’s this test kitchen of yours?”

“In my townhome. ‘Test kitchen’ just sounds cooler.”

The train ride to Minho’s place was the same distance as yours, just in the opposite direction. There wasn’t a ‘nice’ or a ‘bad’ side of the city, but you definitely wouldn’t classify this as the ‘bad’ side. Rows and rows of townhomes occupied endless streets in this neighborhood and each one had its own charm. Minho’s was right in the middle and the reddest, brickiest one on the block while the others had conformed to a more modern grey stucco-style.

The inside was anything but traditional though, with touches of modern style and technology. The first floor was similar to your loft, with an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room meant for a true host and entertainer. The kitchen, of course, was the most updated, with a fancy six-burner stove, a magnetic display of different knives, and a giant white-granite island.

Soonie, Doongie, and Dori greeted Minho first by rubbing up against his calves and then greeted you second, unaware of the time that passed and recognizing your scent like you were only gone on a short trip.

You gasped happily, scratching their little heads and ears. “My fat ‘n furry step-children!”

“Looks like they missed you,” Minho chuckled.

“Oh, I missed you, too!” you cooed. “Can I help with any prep?”

“Can you help wash the produce?”

“Yes, chef.”

You tried not to stare too long at Minho while he tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. There were vegetables in his tote bag you’ve never seen before, like the bulbous onion-like thing that smelled of licorice and a variation of a mushroom that looked like it would turn you into a zombie.

“Everything’s a vegetable or a fruit,” you noted.

“I’m attempting some vegetarian and vegan options outside of a salad and some dessert. If it doesn’t work out, the Thai place down the street is really good.”

Minho instructed you to cut vegetables in ways that you didn’t even know had a name to the technique. You had to tell him to talk to you like a five-year-old because you were not someone who knew what it meant to julienne a carrot or prepare the mise en place.

The first dish was a seared cabbage wedge. Cut the head into wedges; sear on the pan; make a soy-sugar-rice-vinegar saucy thing; shave a potato and toast it like a breadcrumb; retrieve the soy-and-smoke-cured egg yolk and… shave it?

“What do you mean ‘shave it’?” you muttered, holding the hardened yellow orb of congealed something in one hand and a sharp sword-like thingamabob in the other. “Isn’t it going to burst?”

Minho, bless his heart, stood behind you and guided your hands together. His hands, despite going through hundreds of washes and touching all things hot and cold, were soft and warm on top of yours. He had you shave one quarter of the solid egg yolk over the dressed cabbage wedge.

“The yolk is cured, so it’s solid all the way through,” he said.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and it turned hot. Was the oven set to a thousand degrees? “O-Oh! Wow, that’s cool. Is it done?”

It was only then that Minho released his hold. “Yup. Try it.”

Cooking was a hidden form of sorcery. It was one of the most complex and delicious dishes you’ve ever eaten. Salty from the potato breadcrumb, savory from the egg yolk, and sweet from the soy sauce, feeling different textures and flavors so good you had to stop yourself from moaning.

“Good?” he asked. All you could do was nod vigorously with eyes wide and glittering. He smiled genuinely and his eyes sparkled, too. He opened his mouth and said, “Ah~”

That was your cue to feed him a bite. You gathered the perfect amount of everything onto a fork for him. As he chewed, his brows knitted together thoughtfully and you’re unsure of what that expression meant. From his pocket, he took out a small field notes book and scribbled something quickly.

“You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I like it a lot.”

“Why is your face like that?”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look so angry.”

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Next was a vegetarian bone marrow. Nothing about bones or marrows sounded remotely vegetarian, but Minho handed you two fat king oyster mushrooms to halve and remove the centers while he sautéed a medley of other mushrooms in salted butter, garlic, and thyme. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as you both worked. Nothing felt awkward, or forced, or as bitter as your last meetings were.

As you waited for Minho’s further instructions, you toured the living space and observed all the pictures. You were in about half of them. Most were of your entire friend group, but many were significant moments in your lives, like graduation, birthdays, talent shows, or candid solo pictures. After all these years, when you kept any evidence of him hidden in a shoe box in your closet, he displayed you loud and proud. You glossed over the number of pictures of Karina for your own sake but seeing her face that many times made you stop looking.

When you turned back, Minho was staring at you so intently, he forgot to pretend he wasn’t watching.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Um, the next step is ready.”

Under an immersive blender (“Immersion blender, silly.”) was the sautéed medley and the guts of the king oyster mushroom, softened cream cheese, and olive oil. The paste was bagged and piped back into the charred and seasoned center of the cut-out king oyster mushroom. With a flame torch, Minho darkened the paste, creating a bruleed outer layer, and topped it off with pink peppercorns, pecorino, and chives. Triangles of buttered toast were the vehicle.

Minho took a spoon and scooped out the center. “A little bit of ‘marrow’ and voila. And the ‘bone’ is edible, too, obviously.”

Your eyes teared up at the fireworks of umami. “Will you cater for my next birthday?”

“For you, I will.”

After course upon course of seared and leafy bites of savory and salty goodness, you greenlit practically all of them to Minho’s dismay (“Guinea pig means to critique, not suck up to.”). Dessert was the final leg of courses. From preserved lemon sorbets to chocolatey bites of flourless cake, you would fall into a deep sleep tonight on a cloud of spun sugar.

“I’m drunk on life,” you sighed happily.

“I like you best that way.”

“Seriously, Minho, you have something really good here. I’m no expert, but I think –”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Chocolate on your lip.”

“Huh? Here?” you licked once.

“Not even close.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Where’s a napkin?”

“Hold still, will you?”

Minho held your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted up. Like a surgeon, he meticulously wiped away all evidence of your inner chocolate-devouring goblin with his other thumb. For a moment, he lowered his hand to wipe it on his apron, but he caught you looking at his lips.

“Th-Thanks,” you whispered.

He took the chocolate-covered thumb and sucked it clean, maintaining his gaze before it lowered. “My pleasure.”

The kitchen felt hot and it was hard to breathe. The alarms in your head went off again; the longer you stayed, the faster you’d fall. “I-I should go.”

“Wait –”

“This was great by the way!” you called as you backed up towards the door. “S-So good! And thank you, I will pay you back for any groceries!”

“That’s not necessary, I invited you here.”

“Let me know what you decide to add to the menu, and I’ll-I’ll stop by some time, yeah?”

You didn’t give him the opportunity to answer before running out the door.

–

The following weeks after your inappropriately intimate tasting, you avoided Minho as long as you could. It hadn’t even been a month since you saw him for the first time and you already crossed the thin line that was never meant to be crossed. You couldn’t even be strong for that long before you fell back into the routine of desiring the one man you weren’t allowed to have.

This was the curse of Cupid. He had successfully shot and landed an arrow into every friend you loved, pairing them up with their person and the match-up was so right it was scary. Somehow, at the perfect time under the correct circumstances, your friends found the ones that completed their other half, or so they said, and you witnessed love in full bloom every time it happened and everyday since. When it was shoved in your face like that, how could you not think about what you were missing out on every single day of your life?

You used to think considering a couple as two halves was a disservice to humanity. Halves implied that part of you was missing; it suggested that one could never be whole alone, that they spend their whole lives finding someone who fit the two-piece puzzle. A two piece puzzle was supposed to be the easiest puzzle in the world, but in a box filled with over eight billion pieces, it would take forever for Cupid to pair the pieces. At twenty-five, after that stormy night, you once believed that you could survive as one single piece among the eight billion for the rest of your life at the bottom of the pieces pile, if it came to it; but now that you’re the last of the friend group to yet find your match - at thirty, at that - maybe Cupid had a point to the whole two halves make a whole argument.

Because admittedly, as much as you tried to convince yourself on your thirtieth birthday, you didn’t feel whole. Hell, you barely felt like half; and every time you saw Minho, bits of you were being chipped off to the point that you were scared of losing your half of the puzzle.

To distract yourself from thinking about Minho licking chocolate from your lips, you finally jumped the gun and downloaded dating apps for the first time. Well, Chaeryoung and Jisung did.

“Put on your bathing suit,” she ordered.

“Excuse you.”

“What? All your selfies are so normal!”

“Normal is a good thing, Chaer.”

“But it’s not,” Jisung piped in. “Dating is not what it used to be. Before, it was as simple as looking pretty, saying your favorite song or movie, and naming the restaurant you want your first date to be at. Now, you have to get personal. Name a niche hobby, what character from a TV show represents you the most, what childhood trauma affected your frontal lobe development -”

“Ok, I get it.”

Jisung and Chaeryoung sandwiched you tightly on the couch even though the view of the tablet was easily seen. Chaeryoung filled in all the prompts for you a little too enthusiastically while Jisung was there to judge through the lens of the male gaze and snacks.

The woman beside you cackled evilly. “This is so much fun! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

“Seriously. What man made you do this?” Jisung teased.

You yanked the tablet back. “No one.”

“Liar.”

“Who do you think, Han?” Chaeryoung stated bluntly. “Who else could have brought this blessing upon us?”

“Oh,” he mused, “duh.”

“Shut up, both of you! No one made me do this. Am I not worthy of finding love?”

“Of course you are. Just not this way.”

“Why not this way?”

“Just watch.”

The second someone completes their profile, it’s like the app forces it at the top of everyone’s algorithm. You received a lot of interest and private messages in the first five minutes, many of which were… bold…

“Men are so uncouth,” you groaned. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shrugged, pointing to his head and then his groin. “Two heads, two brains.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Chaeryoung swiped left at lightning speed. “Too young, too old, too short, too tall, too smart –”

“I like smart,” you pouted.

“The key to a healthy relationship is to be smarter than them.” Jisung didn’t argue, as he was happily committed to his intelligent partner (a mystery to all, as no one knew how he bagged a research fellow).

There’s a knock on your door. The three of you look at each other in confusion.

“You two need to stop secretly inviting strange men to my home,” you accused before getting up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jisung defended, “did you?” Chaeryoung denied.

When you opened the door, a disheveled Minho stood there with an oily bag in his hands. He raised a brow. “Am I that strange?”

Just as you were trying to trust in the dating app algorithm, the Gods and Cupid said, ‘let there be chaos!’ “You, specifically? A little bit.”

“Ha ha,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah!” Jisung called from the couch. “This is girl time, Min!”

“Shut up!” Chaeryoung pulled Jisung up from the couch and they both patted your head before rushing out the door. “We’ll see you later, _____!”

“Y-You don’t have to leave!” you practically begged.

“Honey, it’s past-nine on a weekday, yes we do!”

“I didn’t realize the time,” Minho frowned, looking at his watch. “I was nearby with Hyunjin and thought I’d stop by with some fries to make up for Chaeryoung tossing them out on your birthday.”

You don’t even remember that happening. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I can come back another time.”

“No!” you said an octave too high. “No, please come in!”

Minho’s outfit was more casual than ‘DAHLIA’s typical button down and tight slacks and you deduced he was working at ‘RED LIGHT’ today. There were multiple oil and/or beer stains on his shirt and his hair was parted and pointing in different directions, evidence of his hand having to go through it several dozen times out of stress.

“You look…”

“I know,” he sighed, plopping the bag on the table. “There was a work-lunch event today that turned into dinner for some corporate slugs. Then, Hyunjin was looking at a location for his coffee excursion and asked for my help. Four hours later, I’m starving and thought of you.”

He was thinking of you a lot lately, it seemed, and it was hard to deny that you reciprocated. “This is wonderful, thank you. I owe you two dinners now.”

“You don’t ‘owe’ me anything. Friends don’t owe; they treat.”

“My treat next time, then.”

“And the next,” he reminded with a smirk. “What were you girlies doing just now?”

“Um,” you hesitated, cheeks stuffed with potato. “Making me a dating profile.”

He raised a brow in the same way when he saw you walking in with San: questioning and dissatisfied. “You never had one before?”

“I was on-and-off when I first moved here, but I couldn’t stand to open the apps after a couple days of usage.”

He does the thing with his fingers when he gestures to come close. You noticed his hands were veinier now than when you were younger.

“Let me see.”

“Let you see my dating profile?” He nodded. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you an opinion through the male gaze.”

“Why do you think Jisung was here?”

“Certainly not that.”

Defeated, you handed him your phone with the app open. There’s a twinkle of curiosity wondering how he’d react, but you wanted to tame that fire quickly. He scrolled and swiped, then scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.

His face was stern when he said, “You already have a lot of admirers.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer and continued to scroll. “What about that guy you work with?”

“San? What about him?”

“Nothing came of it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that would be inappropriate?”

“Is that the only reason stopping you?”

You squint your eyes at your all too curious friend who hadn’t looked up from your phone since taking it. He popped fries in his mouth rhythmically like a metronome until he caught the heat from your gaze. He looked up and did a double take.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Why are you so curious?”

“So, there’s another reason stopping you?”

“And if there is?”

“And if there is…” he repeated, fiddling with your phone charm. “Would you tell me?”

The inkling of assumption tickled annoyingly at the corners of your mind. Was he asking to let you know that he knew he was the reason for your desires? Or was he asking to tease you, to prove to you that if you had made the right decision all those years ago, you could have been in Karina’s position? That all this time you spent away from him, your journey for companionship started too late. And sure, your bank account was as filled as your stomach, but was it worth it when you had no one to share it with?

He waited patiently for your answer, but you heard his foot tapping rapidly on the wood. Your mouth opened, then closed, and you finally shook your head in shame, because your lips were cursed to speak the truth or nothing at all and you would rather deny than to admit.

He licked his lips, and that gesture alone sparked something in your core. Then he nodded in a way that expressed sourness, as if this confirmation was exactly what he expected but not what he was hoping in both the nonverbal response and the underlying tone that trailed behind it.

You broke the silence. “How’s Karina?”

“Good.” He was quick to shake his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch a month ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve… been too busy.”

Shameful and embarrassed, was what you gathered from his response. As he should; to criticize your decision only to repeat the cycle when he found fulfillment in his career was so… Hypocritical was not a strong enough word. Betrayal, perhaps, was the most correct, but that didn’t satisfy you, either.

You wouldn’t get satisfaction from any angle, though. No matter how you viewed it, it was selfish to consider yourself relevant here. Minho was hurting; everything you feared about relationships had flowered before him and crushed the idea that perfection could be achieved as long as both people tried. But it seemed that although he tried, it wasn’t enough, and maybe his ideals were more out of the ordinary than he anticipated.

“It’s put a bit of a strain on our relationship. She wants to settle down and I… I thought I did, too, but… you know, my places have been growing so much, and…”

As he trailed off and off through a list of excuses, it took you all the way back to the night that it rained. You also spat excuses from your pockets and got nowhere. Now, Minho was on your side, but it didn’t feel great, either.

“What’s more important to you?” you asked.

That was the age-old dilemma, wasn’t it? What was most important to someone as an adult who spent most of their life getting educated and preparing for the professional world to milk money from consumers; the career they adored and earned or the love they found along the way? One could argue they could live without love, but could one live with themselves if they gave up their dream? How many rom-coms have you and Minho laughed at where the world that movie was set in was in a vacuum and the couple always chose each other? Though the plot was fake, the dilemma was real, and the choices they made in the movies were just not realistic.

“Important,” he chuckled, understanding what you were getting at. “Why can’t both be important to me?”

“They can, but it’s clear your efforts are imbalanced in one direction. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”

The fries were long gone. Minho stood up and tossed the bag in the trash before grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine leftover from your birthday and two glasses. You supposed tonight would be the most appropriate night to finish it off. Plus, Minho needed it, apparently.

“I tried, you know,” he sighed, “I really did. I text every night; I send her flowers to her office; I cook for her, shower her with gifts, and tell her regularly that I-I…”

Minho didn’t complete his thought, but you knew what he meant to say. Why would he not, for your sake? “That you love her?”

“Yeah. That I loved her.” Your glasses raised in sync. “I get it. I’m not as present, and I get her love language is quality time, but when did the thought stop counting?”

“Have you considered you two aren’t compatible?”

“Anyone can be compatible, no? Where’s the effort?”

Now you were feeling annoyed. Were these digs subconsciously at you? “Effort can only go so far. You said her love language is quality time. You could do everything in between, but you’re not there to hold her, to kiss her, to tangle under the bed sheets as much as she wants, then guess what? She’s never going to feel the love that she wants and deserves.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

“I don’t know what you want. Does she? Do you?”

Minho chugged the rest of the cabernet in his glass, nose wrinkling, before pouring in more with a heavy hand. You ignored how cute his nose looked. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Ok, so you can’t complain is what I’m hearing.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose, annoyed that someone who he confided in didn’t feed into his fantasy that his ideology was gospel.

“Ahh!” he groaned loudly to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. I thought this was supposed to get easier when we were older?”

“What? Love?” you scoffed. “Look at us; I’m stuck on the apps and you’re stuck in your ways. You think this gets easier just because we have more ‘life experience’?” Your air quotes were overly exaggerated. “No, dude. People are dumb at every age.”

“I’m not dumb,” he pouted.

“You’re a little dumb.”

He giggled a bit and it traveled down his belly to a full laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, too, which grew into your own fit of laughs, and the condo was filled with ugly laughs and tears of joy, pain, and all that was locked inside your’s and Minho’s souls since inception. These nights were the ones you once looked forward to.

When the giggles died down, he stared blankly at the swirling wine in the glass and asked, “Do you think we could have worked out?”

You felt your cheeks and nose flare brightly. “Worked out? Like if we tried?”

In some other tangential timeline, Minho moved to the city. Maybe he still bought out ‘RED LIGHT’, and you would visit him everyday after work and bring your coworkers in to show off your hot bartender boyfriend. Then, you’d take the train home together. You’d wind down on the couch watching a couple episodes of something light and crawl into bed in each other’s arms. Your lips would never leave his unless it was to come up for air, arms wrapped around his naked torso as he crawled on top, and mumbling praises and poems of how much you adored him.

Like an asteroid that orbits a planet, you revolve your life around him and his happiness. If you tried long distance or if you gave up your career, it would be a difficult feat, and happiness would not be found in that desert. Leaving for the city was for the best. He eventually found his oasis, and you were still on the long journey of finding yours in between the infinite dunes.

Before you realized, your nose burned some more and your vision blurred. “I think it still would have been really hard.”

“Would it have been worth it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but the wine in your veins was overtaking, “it would only have been worth it if it was with you.”

“Then, why?” he begged. “What happened to ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’?”

“After all this time, you still can’t see what I see. I never want to risk something where I would lose you. So, I didn’t think I’d lose you if I said no.”

“This is… so stupid…”

“Don’t insult me in my home.”

“No, I… I…” he stuttered, and it’s just now you see his eyes were glossy, too. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s so fucking stupid.”

It was stupid; you moved out to move on, and here he was at your door bringing you french fries and opening bars across from where you work, invading your life like a decade-old infectious disease with no ailment known to man-kind. It was stupid; he was taken, spitting out confessions of his failing love story to the one he ended, telling you he still thinks of you before he sleeps. It was very stupid, and it pained you not to fall for it.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“______ -”

“You can’t think of me.”

He reached out across the table to take your hands. You allowed it, because you were a weak, weak woman, starving for touch and hungry for him. His skin was rough and tired from the dehydrating soaps of the service industry, but they felt so right.

“Tell me you don’t think of me,” he demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What does it mean for you to leave? You will leave my home, and then what? Will you try to be better for her? You’ll stay in my life and we can be friends? Or will you leave permanently and change the dynamic of our friend group forever for the second time?” By now, the tears were falling and words choked as they came out, but your grip on him betrayed you and you held on like he was hanging off a cliff.

“I… The… The former…”

“Then, no. No, I don’t think of you. I’m not tormented by you, I’m not in ruins when I see you, I don’t smell you on my clothes, I don’t see you when I close my eyes, or in stranger’s faces when they pass, I don’t dream of you, and I definitely don’t think of you every second of everyday!”

“You can’t even convince yourself anymore. Why won’t you be vulnerable with me?”

“Vulnerability is weakness, Minho! I have been strong for so long; without you, at that!” your voice was shrill and loud and you couldn't be bothered to sit. You were up from your chair, leaning over the table, and he winced as you kept going. “You come here, turn my life upside down, and ask me to be vulnerable? To lower my guard around you? After you abandoned me all because the circumstances weren’t right at that moment? Fuck you.”

He got up from the table to get to you and towered over you, torso much wider than you remembered. He was too close, and you could feel him feel you. Your body hadn’t turned to face him, too scared to face your biggest fear, so he forced it upon you by holding your shoulders. His eyes, so big and brown that it was easy to drown in them, dug deep into yours and pleaded with everything he had in his heart.

“Fine, don’t be vulnerable, but show yourself some mercy, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mercy? I want someone I can’t have. How does that merit mercy?”

He faltered a bit and you regretted the moment you invited him in. His eyebrows furrowed in what you thought was pity. Your head dropped in shame; that was the last thing you needed. His hands moved to hold your face as if he never wanted you to drop something so precious to him ever again.

“Don’t,” you repeated.

His forehead connected with yours and suddenly, you felt young again. It’s what you needed, what you wanted, but…

“I want to kiss you.”

The rush from five years ago hit you like a truck. “I want to kiss you, too.”

Every emotion, every desire, collided into the kiss. His hands swiftly moved to your waist and pulled you in until every millimeter of you touched some part of him and soon your hands were lost in his hair. His lips were soft, and you always imagined them to feel like petals of a tulip, but he was earnest and there was some pain in the amount of pressure he pressed into you. The pain felt good, the feeling of being wanted made your heart soar, and you two exchanged gasps and moans as your lips moved fervently, hungry for indulgence after being teased with temptation. But his tongue tasted sour, and bitter, and nothing like the coffee and chocolate you once dreamed of, because this circumstance was yet again not right. He tasted like rotting fruit because stolen fruit was never sweet.

You broke away, gasping and sniffling and it was so hard to breathe. “You’re not mine,” you cried.

“But you have always been mine,” he whispered, with his breath ghosting your lips.

You shook your head, over and over until you freed yourself from his grip, wishing you’d be free of him forever. You turned your back to him, unable to show your face as you said, “I think you should leave.”

Back then, you wished he fought for you as much as he wished you to do the same. You wished he’d followed you, or waited for you until the time was right, but of course time didn’t wait for anyone. Deep down, as you broke into pieces in your dining room, you hoped he’d fight for you then, too, and proclaim that his heart belonged to only you. You were fooled twice, and as the saying goes, shame on you.

The failure of reciprocity would weigh you down just as much. You never fought for him the way you wished he would for you for the simple fact that you weren’t allowed to. He was a taken man, a man who said not too long ago how he told her he loved her every single night, and it would destroy you how he’d go home later and still say those words.

You believed everyone was worthy of love, including you. The love you wanted wasn’t supposed to feel tainted or spoiled. No matter how much you wanted him, how much he claimed he wanted you from the very start, you wouldn’t be that kind of woman who stole someone’s man, and therefore you would not confess to anything else that lay hidden away in your heart.

Minho left quietly. The battle was over, and you broke down on the floor.

Heavy and loud sobs escaped your quivering lips in a poor attempt to dissipate the pain that expanded in your chest. Your cries echoed into the open loft until you couldn’t stand the sound of your voice and wasting tissues, but your body wouldn’t let up. So, you transferred yourself to the bathroom, running a hot shower and curling up on the tile until the water ran cold. Here, your cries were muffled by the artificial rain, just as you had cried into the storm that ugly night long ago.

You called in sick the following day.

–

For the next quarter, you were happy you were swamped with work, for once. That meant waking up early, taking the train when the sun had barely risen, and leaving when it had long gone to sleep. It was the same for most people in the office and you were blessed with not having to conjure up a lie to get away from San’s advances to get you to happy hour.

In sum, you hoped it meant you’d be too busy to think of him, but when you had only a single moment, a single second of freedom, he invaded every bit of you. He was a virus, a parasite, sucking the life out of you like he was reminding you what you desired that once was within arms reach was now lost forever. Like Icarus, you fell from the ether into despair, surrounded by darkness from the absence of the sun in your only moments outside of the office. On days when you were off, you had begged your boss to let you come in, to distract you with some enrichment of any stupid task even if it meant gluing together inadvertently shredded proprietary documents for sixteen hours, but HR would catch on too quickly, was what he said.

You hoped to fall hopelessly in this troposphere of purgatory forever, operating through the days on autopilot, but your heart had sunk to your gut and it ached to land on the earth to end the pain. Just as you were getting the hang of flowing with the wind, Minho called once. Then, he called twice. On the third, you almost answered, but when your eyes welled and you struggled to breathe, you figured it was your body’s reaction to falling faster and further beneath the clouds. You spent those nights he called curled up in some corner of your home under a multitude of blankets waiting for the headache and heartache to subside, but by then the night turned to dawn and time was limited.

Chaeryoung would call, too; she’d text; she’d send you food, coffee, and chocolates, and much of it went cold because any sight of food made you nauseous. Lately, you moved so slow that sustenance wasn’t a necessity anymore, nor was it a pleasure. She was always quite the worrywart, so you tried to answer as much and as vaguely as you could, but at one point it was too exhausting to keep up the lie and you gave up, leaving her with one-worded answers that didn’t satisfy either party.

And so you continued to fall; continued to cry, rot, and falter when all you had done was taste forbidden fruit.

His birthday approached faster than you could get over him.

For a while, no one seemed to mind your absence besides Chaeryoung and Minho, who had called to see if you were attending any of the last-minute get-togethers or planned reservations in the recent month. The one big one you regretted missing was Chan’s birthday, who was rightfully miffed, but you hoped the gift you shipped would make up for it. You kept up with social media, though, and liked all the pictures that came from those nights. 

Each post, you’d look for him. You’d admire what he was wearing; you’d wonder what cologne he was wearing; you’d imagine the way his eyes lit up when Karina walked in the room. But she wasn’t in any of the photos.

You didn’t tell anyone what transpired the second time with Minho. It was too embarrassing to have fallen for him twice, which sent feminism back at least a decade. You were going to conjure up some work-related lie to get out of his birthday celebration, but Chaeryoung wouldn’t allow it and even went as far as messaging San for confirmation about your work schedule.

In a huff, she busted through to your home before you could reject her kindness. Normally, your girl was all smiles and full of expressions, but tonight she was strict and stern, which meant she was mad. Very mad.

“I need you to not message my coworkers, please,” you said as she filtered through your closet. “I don’t want a meeting with HR on Monday.”

She didn’t turn to face you when she snapped, “It felt like you were lying, so I had to double check.”

“I wasn’t lying. It was busy, but we just lightened up after the deadline yesterday.”

“So, why couldn’t you tell me that?”

“I needed an excuse to not go tonight.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated with how insufferable you were being. She turned to you with glossy eyes and you regretted avoiding her lately. “Aren’t I your friend?”

Her having to ask really stung. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then can’t you tell me why you disappeared for three months?”

“I… it’s hard, Chaer…”

“For God’s sake, _____, you’re thirty. Act like it, and use your words!”

“I can’t,” your voice cracked, “I can’t see Minho.”

Her face softened, realizing maybe that night when she left you with someone you saw as a stranger was not what a best friend did. You watched her scan through your slumped posture and sunken eyes before she lunged and hugged you tightly. Tears burned, the feeling of gentle humanity fulfilling your highest hierarchy of needs overflowing all your emotions.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We kissed,” you whispered back.

“And?”

“I kissed back.”

“But?”

“He’s not mine.”

She pushed you to arms length, eyes knitting sternly. “I think you should go tonight.”

“Chaer -”

“Trust me. You might regret it. It’s his thirtieth, after all.” She pushed away the hairs that cling to your forehead before running to grab some make up. “Let me do your make-up! It’ll be like your twenty-first all over again.”

She sat you down on your bed and began to dab away at the color-correcting pallet. A box of tissues lay next to her so she could catch the tears before they fell. She created a large pile in the end.

“Do you want him to be yours?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

You wanted to smell him on your clothes, adore him in your dreams, and wake up next to him. You want him to be yours, only yours, and to not have to share him with someone who he also chose. Under this sanguine circumstance, still, you smiled at this very thought, because of course the answer was, “Yes.”

And she, too smiled, her own tears forming while she dabbed yours with another fist full of tissues. “Then, go to him.”

“But -”

“_____,” she breathed sternly, sniffling a bit. “You stupid, stupid people-pleaser. Fight for yourself, for once.”

When you thought the battle was long over, little did you know you were still fighting all this time.

Despite trying not to think of him, as his birthday approached, the calendar terrorized you to get him a gift. Just in case, you know? It was a fancy Nakiri knife whose steel was decorated in waves. The Internet told you that a chef’s knife was similar to that of a samurai’s sword, so only the highest quality of Damascus steel was preferred. As you held the box in your hand at his front steps, your mind and heart kept battling with each other and debated whether or not getting a personal gift was too intimate versus a gift card to some generic restaurant to establish a boundary.

But wasn’t the boundary already too blurry, anyways?

Chaeryoung pushed you inside the already-unlocked door. All the boys and their partners and Chaeryoung’s now-official real man were already there surrounding the island. Minho, who just had a grin on, dropped it quickly upon seeing you come in and straightened his back. It’s like deja vu from your birthday.

Karina wasn't present.

Your body’s instinct was to turn and run out the door, but Chaeryoung anticipated your every move and was quick to block you. She squeezed your hand and tugged you further inside. You greeted the boys and their partners first, who all said a variation of, ‘long time, no see,’ before reaching Minho. His expression was still starstruck and confused. He didn’t appear angry. Perhaps it was a feeling worse than that, which could not be translated through his face.

With sweaty hands, you handed him the small rectangular box. “Happy birthday.”

He was hesitant to take it, as if to question the possibility of diffusion of poison through the skin. His hesitancy allowed you to get a whiff of his bourbon vanilla cologne. “Thank you.”

“Oh, so you’ll come for Minho’s birthday, but not mine?” Chan pouted.

“Some things are worth coming out for,” you retorted.

The night went on and you played your role as an onlooker in the background, hoping to blend in with the walls and remain unnoticed so as to not ruin the night. You watched him and the boys shove each other playfully and inhale any and all food Minho made. Who’s to say that thirty was old when the epitome of youth was in the souls of a group of hungry boys? Conversations and debates picked up from when they last saw each other. Some of them filled you in and others forced you to answer without knowing the majority opinion. Laughs and giggles filled the kitchen and even when it seemed that Minho didn’t want to whenever you answered, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at your ridiculous answers, though he stopped when he’d catch you watching him.

As the clock ticked forward, your anticipation for Karina to pop in at any moment dwindled. Maybe she was also having a rough quarter three and taking a late night at the office, but to miss her boyfriend’s thirtieth was… a choice, even if they were fighting or some other strange reason. But then four hours turned to six hours and then it was, ‘damn, it’s already 2:00 AM?’ and she never came.

“Are you ready to go?” Chaeryoung asked at the front door.

Minho was now alone in the kitchen and there were a lot of dishes left to wash. You should help him.

“No,” you said. “I’ll call you later.”

She had a hard time hiding her grin as she left.

You approached him slowly like how you’d approach an angry cat because he was scrubbing the dishes a little too furiously. He didn’t look up despite knowing what you were up to.

“Can I help?” you asked.

Still, he refused to look at you, but he handed you the sponge. Well, that was progress, right?

Dishes and clean up were completed in silence. No chit-chat, no music, just the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the cupboards. The task was finished in good time, and just before you decided that your stay was long overdue, he pulled another deja vu card.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled to the floor.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. Chaeryoung told me to come.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve.”

A salty laugh - or perhaps a scoff - was uttered. He was tired, you were tired, and the air was cold and stale. The topics orbited like a satellite, coming ‘round for another turn for a different thirtieth celebration, if either of you would even call it that.

Minho let out a big sigh. “Only you can disappear for three months and come back into open arms.”

The words arranged sounded like a compliment, but it was clearly the opposite. “I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“Texting. E-mailing. Fuck, even snail mailing!”

“I know…”

He threw his hands in the air, as he did whenever he was frustrated, and turned to take a breather from your nonchalance. You were supposed to be fighting for him, not letting him slip away like this, but why was this so hard when loving him came easily?

“I shouldn’t have come over that night,” he said after returning. “I was trying too hard to be friends again and I crossed a point where I couldn’t return from.”

“Isn’t that the story of our friendship?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“We were never really just friends, were we?” you teased.

“No,” he admitted softly, “we never were.”

Your eyes met for the first time that night. His were red and puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in three months.

You swallowed the rock in your throat. “Where’s Karina?”

“I don’t know. I broke up with her a while ago.”

Your chest felt tight and your voice bubbled out a garbled, “Why?”

And his mirrored, to the point where he had to clear his throat. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“So, is it true? Is it better to have loved and lost?”

“I wouldn’t exchange my days with her for anything.”

It didn’t make sense; it just didn’t. When someone loved that deeply, how could they throw that person away so easily?

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I loved her and she loved me. It was fulfilling, and now it’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“If it means I get to feel like I’m flying, I think I can handle it.”

The concept, the idea of that, was just too hard to grasp. It took your wax wings melting to realize that the journey upwards was worth the descent.

“Enough about my failures,” he said hoarsely, “What about you? How… how are you doing?”

How were you supposed to admit that tonight was the first night you had a proper meal? That sleep only came under the influence of some generic-brand silver liquor? That you plucked a fist full of grey hairs the day before? Would admitting to vulnerability prove that you were fighting for this? For him? Or would it make you look pathetic?

“I’ve been doing fine.”

The centers of his brows scrunched together and his lips pursed. He inhaled heavily, his sniffles echoing through his quiet home.

“Are you?” he stuttered, voice distorted and desperate. “Really?”

No, of course not, and that much was clear when you started to cry.

“Because,” he continued, “if you can’t tell, I’m… dying on the inside.”

“Because of me?” you whispered, feeling the weight of your actions collapsing.

“Because of you. It’s always because of you. Everyday for the past ten years. It’s always been you.”

“Why couldn’t you forget me? Why? When you were the one to throw me away?”

“How!” he cried out. “How could I forget about you, when all I wanted was you?”

“You wanted to change me! You wanted me to abandon my career.” “I wanted you to try!”

“And you were right!” Sobs choked in your chest. “You were right. If I loved you, I should have fought for you. I should have tried harder. And I really shouldn’t have admitted those feelings to you when you were not mine. For everything that I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You should be. You are so mean,” he hissed, pointing harshly. “You torture me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I named my fucking bar after your favorite flower! And now you stand here in my home asking me to forget about you? How am I supposed to even begin doing that, hm? How, when everything around me reminds me of you?”

Your sobs were visceral and messy, and you buried your face in your hands. Maybe tears held the youth Ponce de Leon searched his whole life for the way yours could fill the fountain in minutes and how wiping them took away two decades of your life.

“I’m going to ask you once more,” he whispered. “One last time, and I’ll leave it be forever because I’m fucking tired. Do you think of me as often as I think of you?”

You caved in when all else went wrong and there was nothing else to hide. “Everyday.”

“Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“No,” you replied, “Because I need you. Now, let me ask you: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His lips quivered before he laughed and you do, too, because that was the cringiest thing you’ve ever said. He held your face, that precious face of yours that he adored so much, dabbing away your tears. His eyes fluttered to your lips, a habit he couldn’t shake off after all these years.

“I need you to kiss me,” he demanded.

He tasted like honey and his lips fit yours like the second half of a two-piece puzzle. This was slow and deliberate, no longer going at the crushing speed of fervent passion because you had all the time in the world together now, and Minho was always the type of man to take his time. You couldn’t stand to leave his lips even for air and they ghosted his only for a few seconds before you tip-toed and pressed yourself deeper against him. Your hands were occupied with gripping his shirt at his waist to keep him in place. When you felt his smile on your lips, you grinned back and held him by his beautiful face.

“I need you to stay,” he formed on your lips.

“All I need is you,” you answered.

Even while traveling to his bedroom, both of you refused to separate as you bumped into furniture.

“We should take this slow,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Get acquainted with each other, or whatever,” you concurred after removing his belt.

“Maybe get coffee some time?” he asked into the crook of your neck.

“Or a drink? I know this really cute bar called ‘DAHLIA’.”

He threw you onto his bed. After removing his shirt, he crawled on top. “I think I’ve heard it.”

“Oh yeah?” You undid his pants zipper. “I know the bartender. A little narcissistic, though; he thinks he’s so hot.”

He trailed kisses down your lips, to your neck, to your sternum, to your stomach, until the top of your panties where his fingers hooked. “I know he is.”

You called Chaeryoung the next afternoon. At first, she scolded you for not texting her when you got home, but when she checked your location during the call, she screamed so loud that Minho dropped the spatula while making your breakfast.

The sanguine satellite would continue to orbit her world and revolve her life around his happiness; and he would continue to do the same.

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Happy to Help

Xu Minghao x GN!Reader

Genre: sickfic, fluff.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: adult language. food mentions. mentions of death/funerals (no one even comes close to dying though). a very bad case of the common cold.

[Series: Serenity Street 17] The heating in your apartment is broken and the landlord is not in a rush to fix it. By the time you gather the courage to ask your neighbour for help, you’re sick and now he’s stuck nursing you for a week.

note: Serenity Street is back, y'all!

For four whole days, you had gritted your teeth and smiled when Jihoon promised to get your heating fixed. For four whole days, you tried ridiculous Tiktok hacks to warm up even just your bedroom, and when that failed, wrapped yourself in three blankets and drank all the tea you could afford.

But everyone has a limit, and you finally met yours.

“Listen, I am only one man,” Jihoon told you – and frankly, he seemed to be on the verge of crying as well – when you practically broke into his apartment in search of justice, “and I do not know anything about heating systems or why yours specifically has broken.”

“Then tell someone else to fix it,” you complained, completely sick and tired of this treatment. “There has to be, like, a million people out there who could fix my heating.”

He sighed. “My parents have a contract with one specific company. Unless you want to pay for a breach of contract, you’ll have to wait until they get here.”

“It’s been four days already,” you spoke through gritted teeth, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “My apartment is colder than the basement right now. It’s February – do you know how freaking cold it is outside? Are you going to pay my funeral fees?”

Jihoon raised a brow – half in concern and half in annoyance. “I don’t.. I don’t think it’s that bad…” 

You countered with an eyebrow raise of your own. 

That seemed to do the trick: he sighed and sat up straighter, reaching for his phone. “Fine, I’ll give them another call. Maybe they’ll come quicker if I offer an extra fee or something, I don’t know. Just… hang on until then.” 

Scoffing, you stared at him. “And what? I’m just supposed to go back to the Arctic and pray that your handymen will come before I freeze to death?”

He frowned at that. “You’re not going to die. It’s only been four days.”

“You try turning your heating off for four days in winter and tell me how you feel after that,” you practically growled, challenging him.

Jihoon rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Just go stay with someone on your floor. Minghao has a spare bedroom. I’m sure he’ll share if you asked nicely.”

You wanted to physically fight him at the mention; not because he was wrong (god knows Minghao wouldn’t hesitate to let you take over his spare bedroom if you, or anyone, just asked nicely), but because he knew what you felt for Minghao.

As one of your very few friends in the building, Jihoon was more than aware that you had been harbouring a crush on your quiet artistic neighbour. You had had your eye on Minghao ever since he brought you a package – the mailman had mistakenly delivered it to his apartment and Minghao brought it to you with a heart-melting smile. 

A whole year later, your knees still felt like jelly every time Minghao smiled at you in the hallway and you had to refrain from squealing out loud every time he spoke to you. You were, as the youths would say, ‘down bad’ for your neighbour. 

And that’s why you couldn’t bear the thought of asking him for help in this situation.

When you didn’t reply to his suggestion, Jihoon sighed. “I’ll give him a call–”

“Don’t you dare!” you threatened. “If you as much as tell him my heating’s broken, I will kidnap Peaches.”

“Peaches?” he wondered, blinking at you in confusion before glancing back at where he last saw his fluffy cat. Once he was satisfied to find his pet snoring away in the armchair, he turned to glare at you. “I’m just trying to be a good friend and you’re threatening my child?”

You gave up then and there, turning on your heel and marching back to your apartment.

The next morning it appeared that Jihoon, as magnificent and powerful as he was, unfortunately had no power over the heating company. They rejected his attempts at bribes and offered him what they called ‘a tentative date’. 

The problem? It was a whole week away.

[i asked my parents if they’d let you stay in 5a until then, but apparently they rented it out just a few days ago. the new guy’s coming tomorrow. nothing i can do. srry.]

You sniffled as you read the messages on your phone, hidden under three blankets and two sweaters. Groaning at your bad luck, you got off the bed and stumbled towards the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The hot drink was the closest thing you had to heating at the moment, besides a tiny and barely useful (and frankly one step from being a fire hazard) space heater Jeonghan and Sunny had left behind your door the evening before.

As you walked, you concluded you were a little dizzy and your nose wasn’t letting in as much air as it should have. While the water boiled, you also realised your throat was strangely scratchy. It didn’t take much to figure out the lack of heating had finally defeated your immune system.

Frustrated at the realisation, you pulled out your phone again and sent a text back to Jihoon.

[u owe me cold medicine]

The reply arrived just as you began pouring hot water into your mug. The soothing smell of tea filled the kitchen and you couldn’t help but lean a little closer to the heat of both the kettle and the mug as you read his message.

[you’re sick???!]

You chose to not entertain his much-too-late worry spree. After all, had he worried a little sooner, you’d probably have a warm apartment by now – or so you bitterly chose to believe as you shuffled back towards the bedroom.

But before you could even make it out of the kitchen, a knock sounded on your door. 

Burdened by the onslaught of what appeared to be the common cold, your brain failed to realise opening the door usually meant a whole new set of problems.

You put your mug down on the counter and went to open the front door, revealing the one person you wanted to see the least in your condition.

Minghao couldn’t even muster a smile when he saw you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Why?”

“Jihoon texted. He said your heating’s broken.” (You made a mental vow to find and kidnap Peaches the Orange Cat – full government name and all.) “How bad is it?”

“I’m fine,” you lied through your teeth. In retrospect, this was not one of your brightest moments. “It’s just a little chilly. I manage.”

He gave you a once-over, growing more confused and concerned by the second. “How many blankets is that?”

“Three.”

His eyebrows rose. “... You manage, huh?”

“One hundred percent. You don’t need to worry about me,” you confirmed with a smile and tried to shoo him away. “I’m sure they’ll fix the heating soon.”

“Well,” he took a deep breath, as if hesitating, “if you get too cold, you can always come over to my place. My apartment’s warm.”

You shook your head even as your freezing body screamed at you. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t be–”

“My tea’s ready, so I should go,” you interrupted him and waved him goodbye before closing the door. 

Once you were no longer confronted by his worried eyes, you sighed in relief, before cursing yourself for damning your body to another week of frost.

Your bad luck just never seemed to end.

What you thought would be just temporary discomfort was quickly turning out to be the worst cold you had suffered in years: sniffles quickly began to look like needing to go to the store to buy a few more boxes of tissues, your scratchy throat turned into a near-complete lack of voice, and you didn’t need a thermometer to know you were too feverish to really leave your bed.

You sent a mostly typo-free text to Jihoon to inform him that this was all his fault and burrowed back into your blanket cave. All you wanted to do was sleep – and sleep you would.

In your feverish and sleepy daze, you failed to register that someone was knocking on your door until you heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, are you home? (Y/n)?” 

You contemplated if opening the door was a good idea in your state. After all, one can only imagine the kinds of things you could accidentally confess while in a paracetamol-induced daze. So, you told yourself, Minghao could wait another day.

Except – as you’d soon realise – your body refused to acknowledge that decision. Like a drunken sailor following the call of a cursed siren, you stumbled out of bed and just about dragged yourself to the front door. You had half a mind to wipe away your snot before unlocking the door, revealing a distraught Minghao.

He had his phone pressed to his ear, a muffled voice sounding from the speaker. His eyes lit up at the sight of you. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got it.” He rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other side of the call was saying. “Yes, they opened the door. I’m going now. Bye.”

Finally, he turned his attention to you. “What were you doing? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Why?” you wondered all the while trying to force your eyes to focus enough to admire his pretty eyes. And his hair. Had he dyed his hair? You were sure it was blonde yesterday, so how was it brown now?

“Because Jihoon thought you were dead,” he deadpanned, reaching to place his hand on your forehead. He sighed at the touch, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

You snorted out a laugh – and quickly came to regret it when you almost choked on it – before croaking out, “Of course I know that. I’ve been trying to sleep it off.”

“I don’t know if just sleeping will���”

“It’ll be fine,” you chuckled and reached over to pat his hair, silently marvelling at how soft it was to your touch. Reality called you back soon enough and you reiterated yourself under his disbelieving gaze, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep, drink a lot of tea, and take some more medicine and then I’ll be good as new.”

He was still struggling to take your reply seriously. But finally, under your unrelenting smile full of content, he agreed. “Right, take good care of yourself. Sleep is good. Do you–” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you need anything from the store? I can get it for you.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” you told him and waved before closing the door. “I’ll see you once I’m better.”

And with that, you made your way back to your tiny somewhat warm base in the bedroom. A nap would soon claim you once again, your dreams filled with Minghao’s smiles and soft voice.

You sat up suddenly just as you were about to fall deep in slumber, eyes widening: you could’ve asked him to buy you more tissues. You groaned and fell back into your nest – snotty noses are a curse.

Hoping some fresh air would clear up your nose and the headache your condition had brought along, you went to check your mail in the morning. ‘Went’ might be a bit of a strong word, you’d soon realise, as you nearly blacked out just crossing the doorstep. ‘Attempted’ – that might be a better word.

As you gave up on your mission – after all, how would you go down a whole floor if you couldn’t even get out of your apartment without nearly fainting? – you noticed a bag on your welcome mat.

Suspiciously squinting, you picked up the bag. The squint quickly melted into a grateful smile when you recognised Minghao’s name signed on a note on the very top of the goodies. 

Suddenly filled with a much-needed extra ounce of energy, you took the bag to your kitchen and began unpacking it. You found various cold medicines, a large pack of undoubtedly expensive tea, and some snacks, tissues, topped off with a bright-yellow post-it note from your neighbour. 

Please take good care of yourself and get better soon. You can always come to my place if you need anything at all. – Minghao, 2B.

A giddy smile appeared on your face as you hugged the note to your chest. You rushed to find your one heart-shaped magnet before using it to stick the note onto your fridge, right in the centre. You’d cherish this note for as long as your crush would last – you knew this even in your feverish state.

But before long your joy was replaced with annoyance and despair as a cough fit paired with cold shivers up your spine shook your body. Your rational brain came back online soon after. Perhaps it was the words on the note, or perhaps you were finally just defeated – either way, you reached for your phone.

[hey, this is weird to ask but… can i come stay over for a while until my heating gets fixed?]

“Are you awake?” you heard Minghao ask as the door of his room creaked open. Too exhausted and relaxed to move or even speak, you only let out a throaty hum. His face – albeit a little blurry – appeared in your line of vision. “How are you feeling?”

Your reply was not legible to Minghao.

“What?”

You sighed and cleared your throat the best you could before repeating, “I feel as awful as yesterday…”

“But?”

“But way warmer,” you mumbled and burrowed back under the blankets he had wrapped you in the night before when you arrived at his door. “I missed heating.”

He chuckled sympathetically at that and placed his hand on your forehead like he had the day before (the touch made you feel just as giddy as it did back then too). “Heating’s nice, isn’t it? I hope yours gets fixed soon too.”

“Me too,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you basked in the warmth.

“Your fever’s still pretty bad. I guess the medicine’s worn off.”

He sighed and gently brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. (You couldn’t help but imagine the touch as that of a caring boyfriend rather than just a concerned neighbour.) Feeding your fever-induced delusions, he kept stroking your cheek as he stayed in front of you, contemplating his options.

“Do you want some tea?” he offered after a long minute of thinking. “I think someone said lemons and honey in tea help.”

“I’ve had so much tea though,” you croaked.

“Clearly not enough,” he joked. “Stay here, I’ll go make you some. Maybe some food too? I made waffles earlier, if you want any.”

You smiled at the thought, sighing dreamily, “Waffles and tea...”

“Right?” he chuckled and gave your cheek one last affectionate pat before walking out of the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a tray. He carefully placed it on the bedside table before handing you a steaming mug, a plate of waffles and a handful of cold medicine pills. 

“I don’t know how sweet you like your tea, but it has a lot of honey,” he warned gently, smiling proudly when you took a sip and hummed happily. “Is it good?”

“It’s better than what I’ve been drinking so far,” you told him with a raspy chuckle. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he did feel a slight concern over your tea preferences. Wordlessly, he reached for the second mug on the tray and took a sip. His confusion only grew: this wasn’t his best attempt at making tea at all. In fact, he’d argue he hadn’t made tea this bad in years – maybe he was just so worried that it was affecting his performance.

“Drink your tea, eat the waffles, take your medicine,” he sternly told you instead of thinking about it any longer, “and then you can go back to sleep if you want.”

“I do love sleep,” you mumbled before taking the medicine, barely aware of what you were saying in your feverish state. You took a bite of a waffle to wash away the bitter aftertaste. “I love you, Minghao.”

He snorted and took another sip. “Sure.”

“I mean it!” you decided to declare, glaring at him for not trusting you. “I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

Dumbfounded by your confession, he blinked. “How about you just get better quickly, hm?”

You hummed. “Will you love me back then?”

He chose not to answer that.

Jihoon had more important things to do than nurse a sick neighbour back to health, but he felt he had no choice when Minghao practically dragged him to the apartment by his sleeve. 

“Why me?” he wondered groggily, barely awake enough to even take care of himself. “Why can’t you take care of them yourself?”

“Because I have an actual job,” Minghao pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Just make sure they don’t leave and that they take their medicine. Remember, they have to take these pills every four hours.”

Jihoon’s eyes twitched as he tried to blink. “Why me?”

Minghao was tempted to just lock him in the apartment and not share a word of explanation. But he supposed he owed him that much. He sighed. “Because you’re their friend and they’re completely out of it – I can’t leave them alone.”

“They’re a grown adult.”

“Poor (Y/n)’s very sick,” he said with a worried look in his eyes. “They must be hallucinating or something too, because they said they loved me? Can you imagine?”

At that, Jihoon’s jaw dropped. Then, he began laughing – not just giggling or chuckling, no: fully cackling. 

“Don’t be too entertained by my misery. They’re your problem now,” Minghao deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as Jihoon all but folded over the sofa’s backrest in his fit of laughter. As the man finally calmed down, gasping for air but laughing no more, Minghao sighed and asked, “So, will you watch them for me?”

“Can I bring my cat?”

“Hi, Peaches!” you cooed a few hours later, the cat snuggled in your arms. She purred loudly in reply, kneading at the blankets you had piled over yourself. It was a welcome sensation, you decided.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jihoon leaning against the doorframe, smiling in a way that seemed just a bit too smug to be well-meaning. Your eyes narrowed at the sight.

“You’re not Minghao,” you deadpanned.

His smirk widened. “Yeah? Too bad you can’t confess your undying love for me then.”

You groaned. “Fuck off, Jihoon.”

He let out a hissing noise. “Can’t do that. Minghao asked me to look after you for a bit.”

“So no Minghao?”

“Only your best friend and a cat.”

You snorted. “For a cat, you sure are talkative.”

Jihoon only sighed at that. “I think that means it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

“I feel fine though.”

“But you’re talking nonsense.”

You chuckled and hummed in agreement. “You brought Peaches. You never bring her to my place. I’m a little offended.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” he joked and handed you the pills and a glass of water. “I just brought her over so she wouldn’t be bored.”

“I bet you were worried about me,” you teased and took the medicine, groaning at the stupid bitter aftertaste. “Those pills are so gross. Why can’t medicine taste more like candy?”

“How would I know?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You silently sighed at the realisation that it didn’t feel half as nice as when Minghao did it.

Jihoon pulled his hand away to glare at you. “You don’t get to diss me just because you’re sick and I’m not Minghao.”

Your eyes widened. “I didn’t– Did I think out loud?”

He stared at you for a moment before blinking and looking away. “I’m starting to think that medicine is not very effective.”

“It’s kept me alive this far,” you shrugged.

“Alive and loopy,” he concluded with a defeated nod before smirking again – god, you hated it when he did that. “I heard you confessed to Minghao.”

“I did wHAT?!”

Peaches startled at your sudden rise of volume before settling back into her oddly cat-shaped hole in the middle of the bed, but you did not care. You had more urgent matters to worry about than the comfort of a spoiled orange cat. 

Confessed to Minghao? You? There was no way. Surely Jihoon was lying – right, he did that sometimes, after all.

Jihoon only laughed though. “What? You didn’t even know?”

“I didn’t– There’s no way I could have, right? I’m not that out of it?” you reasoned.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged nonchalantly as if you weren’t going through an actual crisis right in front of him, “he seemed kind of distraught when he told me this morning. Thought you were hallucinating or something.”

You could only pray the mattress would swallow you whole before Minghao’s return. Either that, or maybe the universe could send a sign that Jihoon was indeed lying. You were half-sure he was anyways – he probably thought it would be funny to see your reaction. Right. That had to be it.

But, as always, your prayers were met with disdain and spite, and the front door opened. Wordlessly, you begged Jihoon for mercy as Minghao’s voice echoed from the hallway. 

“Are they awake yet?” 

You shook your head and clasped your hands together and tugged at Jihoon’s sleeve, but he seemed to be dead set on causing you more misery. “They’re awake! Just took the medicine.”

Minghao appeared in the doorway, a relieved smile on his face. “Oh, good. You look a lot better today than yesterday– Not that you ever look very bad, but–” he seemed to panic and it was an odd sight because this was, after all, the ever-so-calm Minghao. He cleared his throat and smiled again. “You look healthier!”

“I… feel… healthier,” you slowly said, trying to take all of it in. 

“You’re home early,” Jihoon noted, already gathering the orange loaf of a cat in his arms.

Minghao’s ears seemed to go a little more red at the mention. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I– I left work early. Got worried.”

Jihoon smirked and leaned closer to you to whisper, much like a co-conspirator when he was the villain of your tale, “He got worried.”

“Count your days, Lee,” you told him with a deadly glare as he backed away, a carefree smile on his face. 

“I’ll see you guys later then,” Jihoon announced and waved. “Get better soon!”

“Kim Mingyu, I swear to God— No, I know I asked for the recipe— But that doesn’t mean— Mingyu, I asked for a soup recipe not for your grandmother’s life story!” Minghao argued with his friend on the phone. His attention was soon diverted though, just to glare at you. “You should be in bed! –no, not you, Mingyu– Why are you up?”

“I feel better,” you croaked. While your body didn’t feel like it was made of lead-filled balloons anymore, your throat still hurt and the sniffles and coughs weren’t really helping with that. 

Lowering his phone, he rolled his eyes and pointed towards the sofa. “You’d better lay down.”

“I’m fine–”

“I can see you struggling to stand upright from here,” he deadpanned before lifting his phone back to his ear. He sighed right after. “Yes, you did tell me about the time she went to Tokyo already, Gyu. So about that soup–”

When you still didn’t budge, choosing to admire the decor instead of following his directions, Minghao grabbed your hand and led you to the sofa himself. You were practically forced to lay down, a blanket thrown over you with care, the cushion fluffed for your ultimate comfort. With the phone still tucked under his ear, he pointed a warning finger at you and slowly told you, “Stay right here.”

“But I feel fine?” you mumbled but made no attempt to escape your fate. The sofa was nice enough you concurred and melted into the cushions, pulling the blanket further up your chin to hide your fully rubbed-red nose. 

Just as you got comfortable in your new spot, listening to Minghao’s desperate attempts to pry a soup recipe from Mingyu’s mind, he appeared in front of you again. You were handed a mug full of…

“Tea? Again?” you groaned softly, but he silenced you with a warning glare and put on the TV instead of addressing your complaints. It was enough, you decided, as a drama rerun played. 

After what felt like forever, Minghao’s arguments with Mingyu quieted and all you heard was the TV, the simmering of something in a pot, and your temporary roommate’s humming from the kitchen.

“What are you making?” you asked him when he came to check on you.

His hand on your forehead just like many times before, he smiled. “Some soup. It should help your throat. How are you feeling?”

“A little chilly,” you half-joked. Half because it was still a relief from the freezing temperatures in your apartment, but the living room area was still much colder than the bedroom Minghao had set you up in. It wasn’t meant as a complaint, but,  judging by his deepening frown, Minghao seemed to take it as one.

“You’re cold?” he worried and, to your surprise, straightened up and reached over his head to pull his own sweater off. 

Thoroughly confused, you watched as he shook the clothing item a few times before handing it to you expectantly – as if you were supposed to know exactly what to do with it. 

(Newsflash: you had no idea what to do with it. Your brain was running at 20% power and still stuck on the fact that he had taken off his sweater in front of you – and looked so damn attractive doing that.)

When you made no move to grab it from him, Minghao’s frown only deepened even more. He sighed softly and took the matters into his own hand: he shoved the head hole over your head and guided your arms into the sleeves before rolling the hoodie downwards until it covered your torso. 

To top it all off, he adjusted your blanket to make sure not a single gust of cold air could get you. Once he was done, he offered a sweet smile and patted your cheek as if you were a beloved household pet. “Better?”

You could only stare at him in response and dumbly nod.

“Good,” he nodded and smiled wider before glancing at the clock. He hummed in thought. “The soup needs to simmer for another 15 minutes. If you’re still cold…” He hesitated, eyeing you almost shyly and averting his eyes when your gaze met his. He cleared his throat. “If you’re cold, we could cuddle. You know, to share the warmth.”

Embarrassingly enough, it only took you half a second to agree. But thankfully, he didn’t seem put-off by your sudden enthusiasm. Ears reddening as he shuffled closer, he reached over to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you to rest your head against his chest instead of the pillows. 

To this day, you’re half sure you hallucinated the entire thing (and that he definitely didn’t go to check on the soup at the 15-minute mark. You had no memory of having that soup at all).

Your barely blissful sleep was interrupted by a vibration under your pillow. You startled awake and looked around until you found the source of your disturbance – the phone under your pillow, Jihoon’s name flashing on the screen.

“What?” you grunted into the phone after swiping to answer the call. No sooner had you spoken than your head slammed back into the pillow — you had no interest in fighting gravity today.

Jihoon snorted at your response. “Good day to you, dear neighbour. Glad to hear you’re better.”

You had no interest in small talk when dreamland was still at hand’s reach. “What do you want, Ji?”

“The handymen finally came. I just wanted to ask for your permission to enter your apartment.”

“Handymen?”

“To fix your heating,” he reminded you softly. “This cold really took you down hard, huh?”

“Oh, the heating!” you perked up, sitting up again. “Of course you can go inside. Should I come too?”

Jihoon hummed in thought before concluding that “Minghao probably won’t let you leave his apartment yet.”

“I’m an adult!” you argued. “He can’t keep me here against my will.”

“I think you’ll be surprised at how convincing he can be,” he laughed, “but I guess you can try. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

But when you went to tell Minghao about your plan, he proved Jihoon’s point a little too perfectly.

“No,” he told you sternly before you could even put on your shoes. “You’re still sick.”

“I’ll just be next door,” you argued.

He was having none of it. “Two days ago you almost collapsed on your way to the bathroom – that was even fewer steps away! You’re not going.”

“Why not?” you whined, frowning at him. “I’m fine! I’m standing up, see?”

His stare was one of disappointed disbelief. “You’re leaning against the wall, (Y/n).”

“There’s walls in my apartment.”

He sighed. “Please just go back to bed. I’ll go myself.”

“But I wanted to get some things–”

“Send me a list and I’ll bring them to you,” he solved your problem easily and you had no room to argue.

Minghao had never actually been in your apartment – not since you actually moved in and packed your things anyway.

He knocked softly on the door before walking in to see Jihoon and a pair of handymen chatting away. The former offered him a polite smile and a nod before returning to the discussion.

Minghao took that as a sign to look around. He took a deep breath and found himself shivering, his breath fogging up in front of his very eyes. How you had survived in this apartment so long without getting frostbite was beyond his comprehension so he decided to not think about it anymore – the idea of you shivering in your bed, desperate for warmth, upset him anyway.

He shuffled into the kitchen where he quickly found the phone charger you had told him to get. He also found a familiar bright-yellow post-it note on the fridge, his hand-writing proudly on display under a heart-shaped magnet. 

He scoffed before smiling at the sight; why would you keep that? It’s just a note? He hadn’t even spent a full minute on scribbling it.

Did you actually like him? He shook his head – there was no way. You were too good for him anyway.

Without another thought, he opened the list you had texted him and began gathering the belongings you so dearly missed: some sweaters, shirts… 

A single small plant stood in the middle of your bedroom, somehow still green (if not a little droopy) and not frozen over like its compatriots on the window sills. He picked it up – perhaps having even this tiny plant survive would cheer you up, he reasoned. 

As he looked at the other, less fortunate plants, Jihoon wandered into the room.“That thing is still alive?”

Minghao hummed in agreement. “It seems a little frostbitten, but it’s still alive, I think.”

“I think they’ve had this thing for ages,” Jihoon told him with a chuckle, leaning forward to inspect the plant. “Who knows? Maybe you can bring it back to life.”

“I sure hope so,” Minghao whispered in response before offering him a smile. “So, what’s the latest on the heating?”

Jihoon grimaced. “They said the system is entirely screwed. They’ll have to replace most of it – might take a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” 

“At best.”

Minghao was already mentally drafting the best way to deliver the news to you – he didn’t see it going very well either way. “I guess I will have a roommate until spring then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jihoon sighed. “I know they’re a lot to deal with – especially when they’re sick.”

He felt insulted on your behalf. “They’re a delight!”

“You’re lying,” Jihoon laughed. “Mingyu told me how you had to scold them to lay down yesterday.”

“They're just a little stubborn,” Minghao defended you to his best ability, trying to limit his lying.

“If you say so.” Jihoon nodded at the bags at his feet. “Do you need help getting all that to your apartment?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Minghao told him with a reassuring smile before picking everything up. Sure, he struggled, but he’d struggle even more if he hurt his pride by asking for help with something this easy.

Even if getting back to his apartment took him a little longer than he’d like to admit, he still made it all on his own. And he was decently proud of that.

“Minghao?” you called out his name the moment he opened the door. 

Oh, what he’d give to hear this every time he returned home. He froze at the thought – he was starting to become delusional and that was not his brand. No, he had to get himself together – you were just a friend staying in his spare bedroom because of an emergency. Yes. So it was.

But he couldn’t help but feel a little deluded when he spotted you sitting on the sofa, his white hoodie around your frame, smiling at him hopefully. His heart was about to fail him.

He didn’t even have to try hard to smile – it came naturally at the sight. “I got everything you said.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out in relief before sneezing. “No offence, but I miss wearing my own clothes.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

Your smile faded a little as another thought came to your mind. “Did they say how long the repairs will take? It shouldn’t be too long, right?”

“Jihoon said they have to replace the whole heating unit,” he regretfully told you. “It’ll take a few weeks.”

The remnants of your smile disappeared. You threw yourself backwards on the sofa, pulling a cushion over your face to scream into it in frustration. After a beat of silence, you removed the cushion and stared at the ceiling. “Where will I go?”

“You can just stay here,” he suggested, a little too enthusiastically perhaps. “You’re already settled in.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you–”

“Nonsense,” he reassured you with a laugh and held something out for you to take. “You and this little guy can have the spare room.”

“Little guy?” You sat up to look at the item in his hand – the small flower pot he had brought along. Your eyes just about started watering at the sight. “It’s still alive?”

“I think so.” Minghao shrugged and gently handed the pot to you. “It looks like it could use a few days in a warm spot in the sunlight, but the other plants looked a whole lot worse.”

You sniffled – from tears or from your health conditions, you weren’t sure. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave your head a gentle pat. “I’m just happy to help.”

To say you were growing a little annoyed with your health would be an understatement. A whole week of sniffling, coughing and sneezing had passed, but you felt only marginally better. 

“I’ve never been sick for this long before,” you complained to Minghao as he handed you a cup of tea and placed a bowl full of snacks between the two of you on the sofa. There was a drama playing in the background – you both agreed to watch it but, to tell the truth, neither of you was particularly invested in the plot. 

You took a sip of the hot beverage, hummed in appreciation, and continued your rant, “It makes no sense. I should be feeling better by now.”

Minghao chuckled. “Well, you were pretty sick when you came here, all feverish and snotty. I think you’ve gotten a lot better since.”

“My doctor still won’t let me return to work though,” you groaned. “How am I supposed to pay rent if I can’t work? It’s not living in this building is cheap.”

“Can’t Jihoon lower your rent until the heating gets fixed? It would seem fair.”

You froze. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “Wait, you’re right! Why am I paying full rent when I can’t even live there because of the temperatures? And it’s not even my fault?!”

Before you could get more fired up about it and start harassing your landlord, Minghao changed the topic. “Do you need anything else? Are you warm?”

Snapping out of your rage, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little chilly actually.”

He sighed and reached over to once again place his hand on your forehead, as he often did. It was almost a routine at this point – not that your heart could ever stop fluttering at the simplest of physical contact with him. 

“You’re not running hot today though,” he worried but picked up a blanket anyway and threw it over your lap. Then, uncharacteristically, he hesitated for a moment. “Do… Do you mind if I–?” 

He lifted the corner of the blanket and shuffled under it as well, pulling his feet under the blanket for extra warmth. 

“You’re cold too?” you wondered.

He offered you a funny look – as if you had asked him if unicorns exist. “Do you think you’re the only one who feels cold sometimes?”

You blinked. “Well, no, but–”

“Then stop asking dumb questions and watch the drama,” he told you and forced himself to do just that. But if it hadn’t been for the sudden red-ish tint of his ears, you wouldn’t have questioned him to begin with.

Instead of asking any further questions, you decided to settle further into your (by now designated) spot on the sofa, engulfed in the warmth of the blanket and Minghao. 

You fully planned on blaming your illness for the way you leaned further and further into his space as you slowly began dozing off to sleep – even if it was fully intentional. Who could really blame you? You were sick, tired, and sitting next to your crush of god-knows-how-many months. 

And so, inch by inch, your head lowered not in the direction of the head- or armrest but towards his shoulder. Finally, your eyes closed as your cheek pressed against the fabric of his cardigan. 

It was a little rough from the wash, no longer as soft as it had once been, and you’d be lying if you said it felt comfortable against your cheek, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for just five minutes of something akin to affection from the man of your dreams.

You fully intended it to only be five minutes – just a short moment to bask in your delusions. But then you felt his arm shift under your body, lifting to rest around your shoulders. He pulled you closer and rested his cheek against your head and before the fourth minute passed, you were more than halfway into Dreamland. 

“I wish this happened more often. I really like you, Minghao.”

(And maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve noticed the way his breath hitched and his smart watch vibrated to warn him of a sudden spike in his heart rate. 

Maybe you would’ve noticed the way his embrace tightened just the slightest bit and he pressed his lips against your forehead in a careful gesture of reciprocation. And that his world got a whole lot brighter at the idea that perhaps this time you knew what you were saying and that maybe, just maybe, your feelings were mutual.)

You couldn’t believe you almost squealed with joy at the prospect of going back to work. You loved Minghao – really, you did, in many ways – but being stuck in an apartment with him for almost two weeks turned out to be your shortcut to insanity.

So, of course, you took the very first chance to return to work. And of course you hated every second of it – reality really is much less rosy than daydreams.

“Minghao, I’m back,” you called out as you returned to the apartment exactly 20 minutes after the end of your workday. Frankly, you weren’t expecting any kind of answer – you had just spent the past two weeks fantasising about calling out that specific phrase to feed your delusions. 

You just had to try it out once, or maybe twice. Who knows what tomorrow brings.

But, just as you started to accept that it was dumb and not as much fun as they make it seem in those sitcoms, you heard a cough and a raspy, “I’m here” from his room.

You froze at the sound. A glance at the clock said that Minghao should still be at work. The art museum didn’t close until late at night so… 

“Minghao?” you called out again just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Perhaps you had already come down with a new fever and weren’t even aware of it.

Another cough. Now you were sure you weren’t imagining it.

You headed to his room, finding the door ajar and a Minghao-sized lump curled up under a pile of blankets. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you heard a muffled croak and you wondered exactly how high his fever must have been for him to think it sounded even remotely convincing. “Just had a rough day.”

You pursed your lips in thought before approaching the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress near him to gently peel the covers off his face. His eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare at the sight of you and the light flooding his room. 

“Yeah?” You laughed at the sight of his reddening nose. “You sure it’s not the sniffles?`”

“Who even says ‘the sniffles’ anymore?” he mocked and buried his face in the pillows. Like a sulking child, he sharply pulled the blankets from your grasp and pulled them over his head. His voice once again came out muffled, “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. Can you turn up the heating while you’re here?”

You went to do as he said but were taken by surprise by the thermostat. “It’s already maxed.”

“Is it?” he wondered, one eye peeking out from under the covers. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I think you’re not that fine,” you realised and went back to him to check his temperature as he had done to you just some days ago. “Hao, you’re burning up. Have you taken any medicine yet?”

“I don’t need medicine,” he whined. “I need a nap and more blankets… and to get rid of this stupid cough.”

“So,” you concluded, amused all of a sudden – is this what he had been dealing with all this time with you? – , “some cold medicine?”

“... I don’t want to bother you.”

You let out a scoff. “Dude, I practically moved into your apartment when I got sick and you’re worried taking care of you will bother me? If anything, I have to do this to pay back the favour.”

“Can’t you just do it because you love me?” he wondered, drowsy and barely lucid.

You froze. “Because I— What?” 

“Because you love me,” he reiterated, turning his head to pout at you. “You said you loved me and if you loved me, you’d take care of me because of that and not because you’re paying back a favour.”

“When did I–” Your breath got caught in your throat – so Jihoon hadn’t lied after all. “Did I really say that?”

“You did – twice,” he declared, “I heard it myself.”

As you prepared to apologise, he added, “But it’s okay because I love you too. So, now you have to take care of me, right? You’re, like, legally obligated.”

A part of you was screaming on the inside, kicking and jumping and squealing and dying all at once. The other part was wondering how he had gone from “I’m fine, stop worrying about me” to “you’re legally obligated to care for me” in two minutes. You weren’t entirely sure which part of the situation worried you more.

Eventually, you decided that the second part was far more worrying. 

“Let’s get you some medicine and we can discuss the legal aspect once you’re better, okay?” you told him, gently stroking his hair off his (admittedly gross) sweaty forehead.

He hummed in agreement.

But when you went to leave his room to get some comfier clothes and medicine, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. You looked back to find his eyes squinted open, an accusatory sparkle shining in them. “Where are you going?”

“To get you some medicine–”

“Stay.”

“Hao, I have to–”

“Stay,” he told you a little more assertively. The gentle pulling at your wrist contrasted the force of his demand. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Begrudgingly, you sat back down. You could use a few minutes to process the information anyways, you decided, and reached up to play with his hair. Before long, his soft snores filled the room, yours joining not too soon after.

Days passed by and Minghao was recovering way faster than you – probably because he had half a mind to not stubbornly spend the first couple of days of his ailment in a freezer-temperature apartment. That’s what he told you anyways when you went to bring him tea and check his temperature one morning.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you argued under your breath as you tilted and rotated the slowly-dying thermometer to see what numbers it was displaying. “Your fever’s gone at least.”

He sneezed and groaned right after your comment. “I wish everything else went away too.”

“At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet and bossing me around by tomorrow,” you joked to placate him (because realistically he would spend another three days feeling like death itself, as per your own experience) and fully sat on his bed. “Any plans for when you get better?”

“So many,” he admitted with a slow grin which dropped soon after in a near-comical manner, “first of which is to go to the tea shop because I’m pretty sure you’ve cost me most of my supply.”

“Fair,” you sighed and leaned against the headboard. “I’d bring you some tea myself but–”

“Please don’t,” he all but begged. At least you both agreed that your tea tastes and knowledge did not align. He then sighed dreamily, “And when I’m done with that, I’m going to work on my paintings, and maybe redecorate, and take you on a proper date, and–”

Your jaw dropped. “You what?!”

He blinked. “Do you… not want to…?”

You could only blink back – baffled, befuddled, bewildered, dumbfounded, stunned.

Like a normal person, he took your lack of agreement as rejection. Clearing his throat and twiddling his thumbs, he avoided your eyes as he admitted, “I just thought that since you confessed, and I confessed, and– Actually, nevermind, maybe the thermometer’s wrong and I still have a fever–”

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Hao,” you whispered just as he began his downward spiral.

“–maybe I do need to go to that doctor Junhui suggested and get my head checked and– Are you serious?” His apologetic wide eyes widened some more as they snapped to meet yours. “You– You want to go?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, ears and cheeks burning and, damnit, were those butterflies in your stomach jumbo-sized? 

His lips spread into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh thank god. I almost had a whole breakdown.” 

Too busy trying to take in the situation and calming the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach, you found yourself jumping in surprise when his fingers wrapped around your own. 

And suddenly it hit you – this was your reality. Daydreams full of his smiles, long nights wishing he held your hand, sick days spent longing for the tender care of a lover – it was all real now and you no longer had to wish. 

All because of broken heating and long weeks of recovering from a cold from hell.

[jymwahuwu]

Jing Yuan is the kind who likes to customize you and him in the game world, and arranges you to marry him… 🫣💕

CW: yandere, non-con (in game), harassment, customizing your avatar without your consent and doing lewd things, forced marriage

Every era has some retro trends. The so-called trend is the waves on the beach, changing but repeating.

General Jing Yuan needs to pay attention to the business trends in Xianzhou, and found that many adults in Xianzhou have bought a game console. It was an electronic pet game console that was popular in various galaxies hundreds of years ago, and it has been packaged by capital and sold in a new form now. The game company uses new technology and beautiful pixel art compared to previous consoles, and targets adults. Virtual pets are fully customizable, and players can feed, care for, and even talk to them (of course, no voice, just text and options, but pets respond based on player-customizable personalities and stats). The selling point of this console is porn, with the ability to choose the level of sexual encounters and orgasms of pets in the simulated universe (lots of free and randomized sex events).

Jing Yuan immediately ordered his assistant to buy one. It was an exquisite game console with the cartoon designs of fluffy kittens and birds that the general wanted. He couldn't wait to customize… you, using technology to customize a virtual pet in the game that is exactly like you in reality. You stand on the grass in pixel art style, looking at him with a pout. He customizes your character and stats, and starts the game. He's obsessed with your little pixel figure sleeping and being fed by him in the game world. You are really adorable when you sleep in the clouds. Your little pixel avatar eating your favorite food at the restaurant. It's just that he can't accept you being groped by tentacles and other mysterious alien species in the virtual universe.

So, he customized a small avatar of Jing Yuan and lived in your home. The General watches with satisfaction as your virtual pixel avatar gets fucked by tiny Jing Yuan, rocking your waist back and forth and sobbing, with white seeds all over your face and private parts. You look exhausted and have a lot of orgasms… <3 Begging little Jing Yuan to stop doing this. In the restaurant, your avatar also can't enjoy the food because his avatar keeps groping you under the table. You even had a little wedding in the game! Your avatar keeps pleading with text messages not to get married, but gets rejected. How can you be so cute… <3

One night, you received a mysterious game video from a general who harassed you. You click and watch in bewilderment to see a tiny avatar very similar to you being fingered and nipple stimulated, and the one doing it is an avatar similar to Jing Yuan!! They are doing lewd things with the cutest art. You are flustered and crying, how can that person do such a thing in the game world without your consent. Jing Yuan even sent this for you to watch…?

"hey baby, they work so hard. let's get married as early as possible just like them<3"

[devilishchaos]

you are on your period and Dominik takes care of you | Dominik Szoboszlai

Rating / genre: pure fluff

Pairings: Reader x Dominik Szoboszlai

Summary: You get your period and Dominik takes care of you.

Warnings: use of pet names "babe", "baby"; nothing graphic I think but if .. let me know

AN: it's my first time writing for Dom x p.s. I love him so much in his national kit enjoy <3

Word Count: 755 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

It was the first time that you couldn’t go to Anfield to watch Dominik play, because you happened to get your period on the same day as his match. Dominik insisted on you staying home because he knew how bad your cramps can get so he tucked you in bed and left. You probably fell asleep because one minute you were watching your comfort show, and the next there’s a cold hand against your forehead, slowly stroking it. You groan out, delirious from sleep, opening up one eye you spy Dominik leaning over you, a lazy smile placed on his face. 

“Hey baby, how’re you feeling?” 

You groan again, this time a tad bit more dramatic. Small giggles leave his lips before he climbs into bed with you, then wrapping his arms around your body lightly. Snuggling into his side, a loud yawn leaves your lips. 

“Come on love, let’s go to the living room to eat.” 

Dominik gets up, rolling you around a little to wrap you up in the fluffy blankets. You laugh at this, loving the feeling of being in a blanket burrito while he lets out loud laughs himself. Your head hurts a little bit, but having his company again is helping, making you feel better already. 

His arms reach underneath you and he brings you up to his chest, lifting you from the bed slowly so as to not shove you around too much. You smile a bit, happy that your strong, extremely loving, sexy boyfriend is so willing to tote you around and take care of you when you’re feeling so shitty. 

Dominik strides through the hall and out to the living room. Leaning over a bit, he places you on your favorite side of the sofa. He appears in front of you, a bowl of soup in one hand and your filled up with water Stanley in the other. He sets them on the table in front of you as you unravel yourself from the blanket cocoon. He goes to the kitchen and comes back again, this time holding the package of medicine in his hand. You take it gratefully, ripping it open and swallowing a tablet before picking up the food as Dominik settles next to you. It smells so good, and you dig in quickly, you mumble out that it’s amazing, nearly scarfing down the whole bowl. He laughs at your antics, one hand rubbing at your back soothingly, his other hand goes for the remote, grabbing it and turning on your guyses favorite show before setting back against you. 

After finishing your food you set the bowl onto the table and you take a few gulps of water. You hadn’t realized how hungry and thirsty you were before your nap. Scooting back, Dominik opens his arms up fully and pulls you in closer. You snort lightly before leaning into him. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” he leans over a little and kisses your forehead, a soft peck of his lips against your flushed skin. It’s impossible not to be in love with him, he has such an unbelievably sweet soul. 

“It hurts.” 

“I know, baby. It’s going to get better.” Dominik moved his hand underneath your his hoodie and began caressing your bare stomach, knowing you loved it because the heat from his hand helped to soothe the pain a little bit. 

“Ughh..” you groaned in pain after feeling another painful cramp. 

“I know, love. I wish I could take away the pain. The medication will hit soon.” Dominik said, continuing to rub gentle circles on your stomach. 

You just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep again, in hopes that when you wake up you will feel better. Dominik hates to see you in pain and wishes he could take the pain for himself instead of having you go through it. He saw how tired you became and continued to massage your stomach, after you fell asleep. He didn’t stop caressing it as he was worried the pain was still there and is still making you feel uncomfortable. 

*

After a while of just relaxing, Dominik felt you shifting in his arms and when he looked at you, you were already looking at him. 

“Hey, sleepyhead. Are you feeling better?” he said softly. 

“Yeah. All thanks to you, babe.” you smiled at him and kissed his cheek. 

“Anything for you, baby.” Dominik snuggled into your neck, leaving small kisses as you wrapped your arms around him and ran your fingers through his fluffy hair.

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOUR (see full series list here)

1992

You awake on a regular Wednesday morning a few days before the return to school, groaning and stretching as you sit up in your queen-sized bed. The sun is streaming in through your windows, and you can hear birds singing their first few melodies of the morning.

You hear a very croaky meow from beside you and you look over to spot Dubh awakening from her slumber, seeming very angry about it being awoken. Dubh's actual bed is resting in the corner of the room, but it has long since been forgotten and she much prefers to sneak up onto your bed covers during the night. This little habit of hers means you've had to deliver a quick cleaning spell to her every night before bed, but you enjoy her company anyways. You reach out and pet her lovingly, scratching under her fluffy chin.

"Yes, yes, good morning, Dubh," you say. You yawn, trying to muster up the will to properly get out of bed, before eventually you manage to swing your legs over the edge of your bed and step onto the soft rug beneath you.

You throw on your favourite pair of jeans and a sweater to accompany it, taking a quick minute to wash your face before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. Dubh follows you the whole time, complaining as she waits for you to get her breakfast.

This is the home you've lived in for the past 13 years. The home yourself and Sirius had bought after you got married. It's small and cosy: exactly how you had wanted. The walls are covered with photo frames and beautiful oil paintings that look straight out of a dream.

The kitchen is charming, especially as it's lit up by the August sun. You push open a window to let some air in, waving your wand to pour out some cat food for Dubh. You click the kettle on and drum your fingers on the countertop as you wait.

At that moment you hear a small hoot and a light thud outside your back door. You leave the kitchen, unlocking the door to open it and spot a small folded package on the front step. It's the newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

You toss the paper on the kitchen table, humming as you prepare breakfast for yourself. Finally, when you've finished, you take your plate in one hand and your ready cup of tea in the other, sitting down at the kitchen table. You pull open the twine wrapped around the paper, unfolding it out.

You nearly spit out your tea when you read the headline of the front page and spot a familiar face.

Sirius.

Sirius Black.

Sirius Black has escaped.

Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

What the fuck?

You swallow hard, looking at the article again. Your heart is thumping. Your hands are trembling. You feel like you're about to be sick.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'

You scoff. Fat fucking chance!

Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?'

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

You feel like you're dreaming. How the hell did he break out?

This article makes you feel so sick. The things they're saying — the things they've always said about him — they're not true. They can't possibly be true.

Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius who kissed you on the Astronomy Tower.

Your Sirius who proposed to you in your first tiny London flat, lit only by candlelight.

Your Sirius who waited patiently for you at the altar.

Your Sirius who spoke in detail of his undying love for you during his vows.

Your Sirius who gave you the most perfect first dance you could ever ask for.

Your Sirius who spent your wedding night reminding you how much he loved you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, making sure there wasn't a single patch of skin on your body that went unkissed.

Your Sirius who bought you flowers every week, so the ones on your dining table were always fresh.

Your Sirius.

For twelve years you've maintained the belief that Sirius is innocent. There has got to be another explanation because the Sirius you know would never sell out his friends like that. He would never support Voldemort like that. He would never murder thirteen people like that! It's bullshit.

The Sirius you know would sooner die than rat James and Lily out like that.

Sirius isn't mad, like the way they say in that article.

Or maybe he is.

You wouldn't be surprised if 12 whole years in fucking Azkaban turned him loony.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at your front door and you startle, dropping the paper.

What if that's him?

You slowly, apprehensively get up out of your chair, carefully walking to the door. You take a deep breath, and place your hand on the handle.

You turn it agonisingly slow and open the door a crack, peering out.

It's not him.

You don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Well, you're definitely not happy anyway, as you're met with Cornelius Fudge and three other Ministry officials.

You gulp.

"Good morning, ma'am," Fudge says. "Can we come in?"

You sigh, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

You open the door wide to let them in, wrapping your arms around your torso nervously. They walk into your kitchen, looking around and you gesture to the kitchen table with a nervous smile. "You can sit down there..."

The four of them sit. You notice how Fudge's eyes immediately land on the paper, and he looks quickly back up at you as you lean against the counter, anxiously fiddling with your fingers. Dubh's head lifts from her food bowl, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"Tea, coffee?" You ask, forcing a smile.

The officials glance at each other, as if deciding whether or not it's safe to accept a drink from you.

"Um...no thanks," one squeaks, looking up at you fearfully.

You sigh.

"Ah, so you've evidently heard the news..." Fudge starts, tapping the paper with one of his large, pudgy fingers.

You nod wordlessly.

"Is it a...surprise?" he asks.

You blink at him. "Yes, Minister, of course it's a surprise. I hardly expected him to break out of bloody Azkaban."

"Yes, yes, it is a shock to all of us," Fudge replies, eyes glancing over at the wedding photo on your countertop. "Have you...heard from him? At all?"

"No."

"It's just that you are his wife, you would be the first person he'd run to."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Oh? I would've thought you'd expect him to run to Voldemort?"

They all wince at the name.

Fudge sighs, trying to keep his composure. "Look, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, Black is a criminal and — "

"You have no proof — "

"He is a convict!" Fudge snaps. "Regardless of whether you believe it to be wrongful or not, he is a convict! If you see him, you must contact the Ministry. The magical community is in shambles with him on the loose. People are afraid."

You scoff. "The magical community has been in shambles for centuries."

Fudge ignores your statement, standing up from his chair unsteadily. "We will have to monitor your home, in case he decides to...visit."

"Shocker."

"We — uh, we'll be going now," Fudge says semi-certainly, motioning for the others to follow. They all stand, narrowly avoiding you as they exit the kitchen. You see one woman flinch when you move. You feel a hand on your shoulder, looking up to see Fudge's red, fudgy face looking at you pitifully. "I am truly sorry, dear. Remember what I said."

You watch as the party leaves and you shut the door behind them. You groan, running your hand through your hair as you slide down the door and sink to the ground.

Dubh appears around the corner, plodding over to you. You smile weakly at her, petting her softly. You feel your eyes starting to water and you sniffle, lip trembling.

You shake your head in disbelief.

"What am I gonna do?"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wave your wand, levitating your heavy trunk up onto the overhead carriage of your train compartment. Most teachers don't take the Hogwarts Express — they just apparate to Hogsmeade instead — but you find that apparition tends to distress Dubh immensely and don't do it. You don't mind it really, the train ride gives you that little bit of extra time to look over lesson material.

Lucky for you, you have the compartment to yourself and freely let Dubh out of her carrier. She stretches with a long meowl, moving to settle on your lap, and you spend the ride reading a book and looking over lesson material, though your mind keeps drifting from what you're doing, choosing instead to fixate on Sirius.

You have a sickening seed of guilt and worry circling your gut ever since you heard of his escape, an overwhelming sense of dread looming over everything you do.

Heavy rain pelts the window harshly, wind battering the sides of the train, rattling it loudly.

You glance out the window pensively, wondering what he must be doing right now. Maybe he's been recaptured and you just haven't found out yet. You hope he's not out in this weather.

If sixteen-year-old Sirius had been caught out in torrential rain, he'd be busy complaining to you about how it completely ruined his hair and you'd just have to listen on and on because truthfully, you liked his hair after the rain.

The train starts to slow and you sigh, starting to pack up your things. Then, your eye catches the window and you squint out into the dark surroundings. You're not in Hogsmeade — you're not even close to it. You've been on this train enough times to know that you have a solid 20 minutes or so left in the journey.

Maybe there's something blocking the track and you'll all just have to continue on foot?

Hardly.

You stand up, gently plucking Dubh from your lap and placing her onto the seat beside you. You slide open the compartment door and stick your head out, looking up and down the hallway. You know well that Professor Flitwick is inside along with some of the Prefects so you step out, closing the door behind you and moving to their compartment.

You open the door and look in at Flitwick and three students, shiny silver badges on their chests. "Hey, Filius. What's going on?"

Flitwick shrugs, straining his neck to see up out the window. "I don't know."

You bite your lip, turning around uncertainly. "I'll ask the driver."

Suddenly, the train stops with a jolt and you stumble into the wall beside you, knocking your head against one of the flickering lanterns. You groan, bringing a hand to rub at the sharp stinging in your temple.

You try to make your way up the carriage but before you can the lights extinguish with a small puff and you're plunged into darkness. Rooting around in your pocket, you fish out your wand and mutter, "Lumos." A small bead of white light appears at the tip, illuminating a short distance in front of you.

To your horror, you look up and are met with a dark cloaked figure that towers to the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden beneath its hood. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as the room grows cold, freezing cold, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

A Dementor.

"He's not here," you choke, but it doesn't seem to matter as the dementor draws a long, slow, rattling breath. "He — he's not — "

You feel an immediate sadness overwhelm you. You feel every stitch of joy being sucked from you, your body desperately trying to cling on to whatever it can. You hear Sirius' voice, screaming raw and pleading, and it feels like the pain in your head is magnified a billion times.

Before your last stretch of consciousness can escape from you, you grip your wand tighter and, summoning all your will and happiest memories, you yell, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A bright, blue light bursts forth from your wand, taking on the form of large, scruffy dog and chasing the Dementor as it glides away from you. You stumble back, chest heaving, placing a hand on the wall for support, before remembering about the rest of the students and you turn, sprinting back down the corridor to the other carriages.

You throw open the door, moving quickly as you throw glances in each compartment window, checking that everyone was alright. Was there only one?

As you continue down the corridor, you look in one compartment and see the back of a tall figure blocking your view. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's not a Dementor, and slowly slide open the door to poke your head in, trying to carefully look past the figure in front of you.

"Hey guys, everyone okay? I think — Remus?" You stare in shock at the tired face of Remus Lupin, currently holding a gigantic slab of chocolate in his hands, loudly snapping it into pieces. "What are you doing here?"

Beside him is Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking between the two of you in surprise. Harry is as pale as a ghost, his hair messy and untidy.

"Guess I took your advice," Remus shrugs, handing everyone pieces of chocolate. He hands one to you and you accept it gratefully, biting off a piece with a loud crack. "Taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

You grin. "Remus, that's brilliant!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, tapping your back softly.

You pull back, noticing Harry's shell-shocked face and turn to him in concern. "Harry, are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Dementor," Remus explains and you nod in understanding.

"There was one in my carriage too!" You say. "Bastards."

"Language."

"What? It's true!" You say in defense, looking back at Remus' unapproving face. You glance at the three thirteen-year-olds also present in the compartment with you. "Er — sorry, guys."

"I'm going to go talk to the driver," Remus announces, tossing a small bite of chocolate into his mouth.

You nod. "Alright, I'll go check on everyone else." Remus moves past you, but before he can go in the opposite direction to you up the train, you grab onto his arm. "Next time, tell me if you're coming. Could've saved me a very boring train ride."

Remus chuckles. "I was asleep the whole time, not sure if I'd be great company."

You just give him a knowing smile, heading down to the carriage to check on the other students.

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter five here!

p.s. it's easy to miss grammar/spelling mistakes when im editing it myself, so if you find any please let me know!! 💌

[gyll-yee-haw]

heyyy! missed you a lot omg 😭😭😭💖 do you write for all jake characters? i was thinking of something like, detective loki has a very sensible and sweet girlfriend and she loses a pet and he comforts her while she's going through it. a very sad but also really soft and cute because of how much he takes care of her

Hii, angel!! I missed you too!! 🥺❤

I think the only characters I wouldn't write for would be Jack Twist (cause I only write female readers), like bubble boy lol, and Jeff Bauman (cause he's a real person, I think it would be weird). But except from those, I believe I would write for all! And I ADORED your request because Detective Loki is my absolute favorite character ever, the actual love of my life, think about him all the time <3

Warnings: the absolute cutest thing I ever wrote, hurt/comfort, pet death, sad as heck (my cat was making biscuits on my belly as I wrote it, I almost cried), a few swear words, buuut with tons and tons of fluff <3

Like 2k words

I named the dog Nugget because nothing makes me happier than pets with food names 😭

_____

Knowing that day would come couldn't make it any easier. You just lost your childhood best friend. Someone who has always been there and... the fact he won't be anymore is almost unbelievable.

David had been by your side through the whole process. When Nugget started getting sick, he rushed him to the vet countless times. On his last days, David would always come home with a million treats and pillows, and blankies, everything to make your baby as comfortable and happy as possible. When you and David started dating, Nugget was part of the package. He had never had a dog before, but once you moved in, bringing yours along, he went full dog dad mode.

"No, don't worry, you should get some rest..." he would say, as an excuse to be the one to take Nugget on a walk or play with him.

And it really went both ways, Nugget was absolutely IN LOVE with David. He would wait for David to come home for hours by the door, and never leave his side when he does. You were jealous at first, but it was really adorable... having a dog really helped Dave with his stress.

But now... now the house felt so empty. Even though David was extremely heartbroken, he knew he had to stay strong for you.

He helped you bury Nugget on a special place with all the things he loved, and have a little funeral, where he made sure to say a few words, cause he knew you couldn't.

The day after the funeral, you woke up after noon, and could barely open your eyes from crying all night. You heard noises coming from the kitchen. Weird... David should be at work.

You walked downstairs to check. You found him cursing at something in the oven.

"Dave?" You called softly.

"Love?" He answered, pretending he had everything under control. "Hi, did you... did you get some sleep?"

"I did. Shouldn't you be at work?" You asked confusingly.

"I... yeah, it's just..." He sighed. "I didn't want to leave you here alone, I took the day off."

"You took the day off?" Your eyes widened. "David, you worked on Christmas. And on Thanksgiving. And on your birthday. And..."

"I know." He interrupted. "I'm sorry, baby... I know I work too much. But I thought... you might need some company."

His words seemed to hit both of you at the same time. It was always Nugget who kept you company during David's countless working hours. Now everything would be so much worse... not only you would be without David, you would be completely alone...

Your eyes filled with tears. He rushed to your side.

"Hey hey hey..." he held you tightly. "It's okay, baby, you won't be alone, okay? We'll figure it out."

You allowed him to hold you, closing your eyes and trying to just feel that moment. You needed to cry, you needed to hurt, and he knew that. It's part of the process and he would be right there until you were strong enough to carry on. As he held you, you could feel his warm embrace. His heart beating softly as he breathed slowly. His soft belly and strong arms. The smell of... what was that smell?

"Dave?" You wiped your tears and looked at him. "There's something... burning?"

"Oh, FUCK!" He rushed back to the oven, quickly turning it off.

"What's going on?" You followed him.

"I was... I was trying to bake a cake. Just... to make you feel better, and you weren't eating, I thought that maybe... oh, fuck, I knew I should just buy something, but I didn't want to leave you here and go out, then..."

He stopped his rambling immediately when he looked at you. You were... smiling?

"Dave, you're the best, I swear." You hugged him from behind, giggling.

"Wait, hold on..." he chuckled. "I fucked up."

"You didn't." You explained to him. "I didn't need a cake, I needed someone to care this much about me."

"Y/N..." he turned around to face you, staying inside your embrace. "You have no idea how much I care about you... you are my everything."

"I love you, Dave. I don't know how I would do this without you."

"You won't do this without me, I'll be right here, okay?"

"I don't know..." you shrugged, feeling the pain coming back to your chest. "I feel like it's not gonna go away... ever."

"I know." He sighed, caressing your hair. "I'm gonna miss him too. But I just know he was the luckiest dog who ever lived. To be loved this much by you, to grow up by your side... I just know he lived his best life."

"He did." You allowed yourself to smile again. "He was so happy. Specially after you came along."

David had to fight his emotions. He felt a little sting in his heart. He loved his little family, but he felt so undeserving of all that love. He thought about how Nugget got attached to him so quickly and he couldn't understand why. Just like he couldn't understand why burning a cake was the only thing that made you feel better, after all he tried... maybe love was still a little bit of a foreigner concept for him to understand. But maybe that was the point... as a detective, he was always trying to understand everything, and maybe love wasn't something to be understood... all he knew was that it was all over that kitchen.

-----

Weeks passed and you were still healing. You still cried sometimes, but you were starting to accept it.

David had to go back to work, of course. Lives depended on him and keeping him home made you feel worse. At first, he took it slow. Didn't work as much as he used to. But as he started to go back to his normal rotine, you realized it would be harder than you thought.

After one particularly stressful day, around 1am, he went back to his car, ready to go home.

He started the car. Then paused. He could swear something moved on the backseat. He turned around and inspected it for a moment. There was nothing there, he was probably just exhausted.

He started driving. Something moved again.

"What the fuck..." he murmured, keeping his eyes on the mirror.

That's when a pair of yellow eyes looked back at him.

"Shit!" His eyes widened.

It was a kitten. As black as the seats, which is why he couldn't see it before. He left the car windows open and the kitten must have jumped in...

What the fuck was he gonna do now? He couldn't leave the kitten on the streets. But he couldn't take it home either... he had no idea how you would react, you were still sad about Nugget...

His mind raced until he got home, trying to decide what to do.

He had an idea.

As soon as he parked the car, he grabbed a box, put an old jacket of his inside it and placed it in the garage. He went back to the car and grabbed the kitten. He didn't realize how small it was before, but it fit in his hand. The kitten started purring as soon as David's hand made contact with it.

"Oh my god..." he murmured. He had never held a kitten in his life... he probably didn't even know they... vibrated.

He placed the kitten inside the box.

"Okay... I'll see what I'll do with you in the morning."

As soon as he turned his back, the kitten jumped out of the box, following him. It ran between David's legs, making him trip.

"Fuck!" He tried not to fall, at the same time as he tried not to step on the cat, that was the size of his boot. "Listen... you need to stay here, I'll figure out what to do with you in the morning, okay?"

He picked the cat back up, putting it inside the box again.

It jumped out. Of course.

On the 5th time that happened, David just sat on the floor, absolutely exhausted. He rested his face on his hands, cursing his luck. The kitten climbed up his legs and laid down.

David was starting to wonder if he was gonna have to sleep on the garage that night. That's when the door opened.

He and the cat looked at you with a terrified expression.

"I can explain." He said, with the most desperate look you had ever seen on his face.

"OH.MY.GOD." You gasped and brought your hand to your mouth.

"He followed me... I've been trying to get home for half an hour, I swear, he won't let me, I..."

"David." You looked at him with tears in your eyes. "You've been chosen."

"What do you mean?" He was trying to figure out if you were happy or upset. "I'm gonna take him somewhere tomorrow, I'll just..."

"David!" You kneeled next to the kitten, offering your hand for it to smell, and it immediately headbutted your hand. "Don't you dare say something like that, you're his father now..."

"Y/N..." he got even more desperate after hearing the word 'father'.

"This is the most affectionate kitten I've ever seen in my life..." you continued petting the small kitten, who was now loafing on David's leg. You picked it up to look for any signs that it might be hurt or sick. "It's a girl, by the way..."

"It's a girl..." he repeated, trying to process everything.

"You think...?" You got excited for a second, then calmed down. "Well, nevermind."

"Tell me what's on your mind, baby." David gave you space, as you sat beside him, holding the kitten on your lap.

"I... I was wondering if we could... keep it." You kept petting the kitten, who looked very relaxed. "But I understand if you don't want to... I mean, I know I've been a pain in the ass since Nugget is gone, and you probably won't want to go through that again..."

"Y/N, you haven't been a pain in the ass for a second in your life. I love you." He laughed. "I just... didn't know if you were ready yet."

"Well, I..." you thought about it for a second. "I didn't think I was. But... she chose you, it just... happened. I mean... I know it's hard to lose a pet we love, but... there are others out there who deserve a loving home too, you know? Like Nugget had. And there are so many animals suffering on the streets... specially cats..."

"You know what?" He smiled, really proud of you. "I think this is what Nugget would have wanted."

"DOES THAT MEAN SHE'S OURS?" You spoke excitedly.

"She's ours." He shrugged.

The kitten stood up, stretching and walking from your lap to David's, where she laid down again.

"She LOVES you..." you felt the tears starting to fall. It was so exciting that David would be there since day one for the kitten's life... with Nugget was different, and he deserved this. "She chose you."

"She's... vibrating again..." he raised his eyebrows.

"SHE'S PURRING, DAVID, YOU ARE HER DAD!"

"Jesus Christ..." he sighed, wondering what the fuck he got himself into.

[fictionthorn]

SFW Alphabet: Donquixote Rosinante (Corazon)

CW/TW: None Word Count: 0.9k

Activities - What are their favorite things to do with you? How do you spend your free time?

He enjoys doing just about anything with you but his favorite thing is simply going for late night walks.

Boo! - How do they feel about surprises, giving and receiving?

He’s not a big fan of surprises but he’s also not completely against them. As long as it’s not too often.

Comfort - How do they comfort you when you’re upset? When the tables turn, do they come to you, or do they try to handle it themselves?

Whenever you are upset, he’s quick to pull you into a hug. It’s his way of not only comforting you but also reminding you that he’s there for you to lean on.

When he’s upset he’ll come to you as soon as he gets the chance to. Usually he just needs someone to vent to that is willing to listen and maybe a few kisses.

Dance - Do they like to dance with you? How good of a dancer are they?

He does like to dance with you even though he’s not that good at it. It’s only because he’s clumsy but he always does his best.

Excitement - How do they act when they’re excited? What excites them?

Somehow he manages to get even more clumsy when he’s excited.

Future - What are their plans for the future? Do they see themselves getting married, having kids?

He wants a life with you. A house, marriage, kids, he wants the whole package.

Gifts - What do they give you as presents? How often do they get you gifts?

Cora is a fan of giving simple gifts like flowers. He’ll get you flowers regularly to show how much he appreciates you.

Hold - How do they hold you? Cuddling, sleeping, holding hands…

His touch is always gentle regardless if you’re simply holding hands or cuddling in bed.

Ideal - What’s their ideal date like?

Cora’s ideal date is a classic dinner date. There’s nothing like some good food and even better company.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they handle it?

Cora isn’t really the jealous type, but he can be a bit insecure sometimes. He knows you love him, but there’s a small part of him that worries you’ll find someone better one day.

Kisses - How do they like to kiss you? How frequently do you kiss?

He loves kissing you and he’ll do it whenever you let him.

Love - How do they show you that they love you?

Cora usually wakes up before you so he started leaving little love notes on the nightstand for you to read when you wake up.

Melt - What do you do that absolutely makes them melt?

You take his hat. He thinks you look adorable when you wear it.

Nicknames - What do they call you, and what are their favorite things to be called?

He calls you things like honey and sweetheart.

He always likes when you call him love or darling.

Obvious - How obvious do they make it that they like you?

He doesn’t think he’s being obvious with his feelings but in actuality it is very obvious that he likes you.

Pets - Do they have pets? Do they want them?

Cora would be a cat person.

Quiet - How are the calm, quiet moments with them?

Thanks to Cora’s devil fruit the two of you can have calm, quiet moments whenever you want.

Those moments are always a nice break from the usual day to day chaos.

Romance - How romantic are they? What are their go-to ways of being romantic?

Cora can be fairly romantic, but there are times when he can be a bit awkward in the romance department.

Safe - What makes them feel safe and comfortable around you?

You are always there to pick him when he falls. Literally.

Tend - How do they act when you’re hurt or sick, and vice versa?

He doesn’t like seeing you hurt or sick. He’s always there to take care of you, even when you try to tell him you’re fine.

When he’s hurt or sick you do the same thing for him. He always appreciates the extra attention.

Unique - What’s an unusual thing about them that’s oddly charming?

His clumsiness. There are times when it can get a little annoying but overall, it’s just part of what makes him, him.

Variety - Do they prefer to keep things the same, or spice it up?

Cora is open to spicing things up occasionally but overall, he prefers routine.

Wash - What’s it like taking a bath with them, or helping them wash up after a fight?

Having a bath with him is always fun since it gives the two of you time to relax and enjoy each other's company.

XO - How do they show you affection? How much PDA are they willing to show?

He’s alright with a bit of PDA. Things like holding hands or having an arm around your shoulders.

Yearn - What do they do when they miss you?

He’ll try not to make it obvious when he’s missing you, but there’s always a certain sad look in his eyes when you’re not around.

Zzz - How do they act when they get sleepy? How is it sleeping in the same bed?

He gets a bit clingy when he starts getting tired, but he’s very aware of it. He worries if he’s too clingy it’ll start to bother you despite you telling him you don’t mind it.

When it comes to sharing a bed, Cora likes to be close to you.

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[jovialjuggernaut-draws]

87 Riddler & Harley besties

"Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Eddie looked horrified. "You were not."

"I was!" Harley insisted. "It was still good!"

"It expired in April."

"That was only five months ago! You know companies put the dates way closer than they need to be. It was fine!"

"It fell into your hyenas' kennel."

"He only took one bite out of it!"

"He took a bite out of it!"

Harley rolled her eyes. "Now you're just being unreasonable. My babies don't have anything I don't have."

"They're scavengers! They have an insanely high bacterial count in their mouths-"

"And I let them give me kissies all over my face, Eddie. If I was gonna get killed by mutt breath it woulda happened forever ago."

"Miss Quinn, the only reason your pets aren't currently keeling over from a single lick of what used to be a lint-coated, months-expired unwrapped… whatever that thing originally was-" He gestured at the half-eaten pastry in her overstuffed garbage can. "-Is because they're literally evolved to consume rotting carrion left behind by higher-order predators. If you- squishy, omnivorous, evolved to eat cooked food you- were to try to digest that, you would need a hospital. Urgently."

"You are way too fussy, Eddie. That thing's got enough preservatives packed in it to last an apocalypse, I'm sure of it."

"It was green, Harleen."

"It was matcha-flavored! …Probably." Honestly, it had been out of its packaging so long she couldn't say for certain.

"Miss Quinn… you are one of my best friends-"

"Aww!"

"-And the day natural selection catches up to you, I will mourn for you. Before loudly announcing how right I was, of course."

She punched him in the arm. He flinched, yelping, and she got him twice for flinching.

"Fine, fine! I'll make it up to you! Whatever you want, I'll buy you a little treat. Just stop hitting me!"

She perked up. "Ooh, can we go to that cute little cupcake place that opened up?"

"I'm… pretty sure that's a front for some upstart villain's poorly-conceptualized punny schemes."

Harley flashed him the biggest, wateriest eyes she could muster, forcing out a couple crocodile tears to wet her falsies for good measure.

"...But fine. I've heard good reviews, actually. We'll want to get there quickly if we want to snag a cupcake before they get busted by our beloved batty boor, hm?"

She hooked an arm through his elbow, tugging him out the door eagerly. "Think the 'beloved' part's just you, Eddie."

He rolled his eyes. "It's called sarcasm, Harleen."

"Not the way you say it!" She teased.

With an extra punch for lying, naturally.