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elikajinnie · 7 months ago

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I Let The World Burn For You - N.R | Part 1

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

Wordcount: 27k

a/n: HELLO! TUMBLR!? Since i cant have more then 1k blocks i had to split this in 2 parts! LET ME WRITE LONG FICS! PLS! ugh.. (i kept replaying the apparation by sleeptoken while writing :p) hope yall enjoy another dark romance with obsessed yet super whipped Ni-ki! ( he kinda a red flag)

See request here

You’ve always had a fascination with crime shows. The ones without too many jump scares or unnecessary gore—you could do without that. What hooked you wasn’t the blood or the screams; it was the puzzle. The way the police pieced together scattered fragments of a life, how they followed the tiniest trail of evidence to unravel the truth. Every crime media you could find, you devoured it all.

At school, it wasn’t unusual to find you with your nose buried in a crime or mystery novel. Whether it was during lunch, in the corner of the library, or even in the few precious minutes before class started, the worn pages of your current read were always in your hands. Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, modern thrillers—you read them all.

Your classmates noticed, of course. They’d whisper about it in passing, sometimes teasing you for being "obsessed with murder books." But you didn’t care. If anything, you found their reactions amusing. They didn’t get it, didn’t understand how fascinating it was to try to outsmart the characters or piece together clues before the story revealed its secrets. Even your teachers started catching on. Your literature professor once quipped, “If I ever go missing, I’ll trust you to solve the case,” while glancing at the battered mystery novel lying atop your open notebook.

But it wasn’t just about books or shows anymore. Over time, the skills you picked up seeped into your daily life. You’d notice things—details others overlooked. A friend’s new haircut no one mentioned, the faint smell of smoke lingering on someone’s jacket, or the way people’s stories didn’t quite line up. You’d trained your brain to analyze, to question, to search for answers.

You didn’t really have anyone to share your interest with, but that didn’t bother you much. Most people at school had their own cliques, their own hobbies, and their own little dramas to focus on. You didn’t fit neatly into any of those circles, but you were fine with that.

Besides, there was something satisfying about keeping to yourself. It gave you the freedom to observe without distraction. People-watching became second nature—catching snippets of conversations, noticing who avoided who in the hallways, or piecing together which classmates had paired off in secret. It was like the school was its own crime scene, full of tiny, inconsequential mysteries that no one else even thought to notice.

You had your theories about everyone, from the student council president who always left early on Thursdays to the quiet kid in the back row who seemed to have a different excuse for every missing assignment. None of it was malicious, of course—it was just your way of passing the time.

But every so often, you’d catch someone watching you. A fleeting glance from across the cafeteria or a pair of eyes lingering a little too long in the hallway.

But every time you tried to figure out who it was, the moment would pass too quickly. You’d glance up, scanning the crowd, but no one would be looking your way. It was frustrating in a way that didn’t make sense, like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

And yet, the gaze itself was never uncomfortable. It didn’t feel like the sharp, judgmental stares you were used to when people whispered about your “murder books.” No, this one was different. It was soft, almost curious, like whoever it was didn’t want to disturb you. Instead of making you uneasy, it left a warmth in its wake, a strange flutter in your chest that lingered long after the moment passed.

You started to notice it more often. In the cafeteria, during assemblies, even on the rare occasions when you’d glance up from your book in the library. It was subtle, just a sense that someone was watching, but every time you turned your head to catch them, they were gone.

It became a mystery of its own, one you couldn’t quite let go of. You tried to piece it together the way you would in a show or a novel. Who sat near you at lunch? Who crossed paths with you between classes? Who could have that kind of presence without you noticing until it was too late?

But no matter how much you thought about it, you came up empty. And the strangest part was, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to solve it. Because, in some inexplicable way, that gaze felt… safe. Like someone had taken the time to notice you—not as the “girl with the crime books,” but as you.

Still, the curiosity gnawed at you. One day, as you sat in your usual spot by the library window, lost in a particularly tense chapter of your latest read, you felt it again. That quiet, steady gaze, warm and unhurried.

This time, you didn’t look up right away. Instead, you waited, letting the feeling settle over you like a blanket. You turned the page of your book slowly, pretending to stay engrossed, all while your pulse quickened in anticipation.

And then, with deliberate calm, you lifted your head and scanned the room.

At first, it seemed like every other time. Just a sea of faces, none of them focused on you. But then, in the far corner, you caught it—a pair of eyes meeting yours before quickly looking away.

Your heart stuttered. You knew that face.

You knew that face because it belonged to Nishimura Ni-ki. Quiet, unassuming, always with his head buried in a textbook or his notebook. You hadn’t talked much, only exchanging a few words in the classes you shared or the brief, awkward apologies after he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, scrambling to pick up his scattered books. He wasn’t exactly invisible, but he never drew attention to himself—not in the way others did.

But you also knew him for another reason. Nishimura Ni-ki was the campus prime target for bullying.

You hated seeing it. The way some of the guys would shove him into lockers, muttering cruel things under their breath loud enough for him to hear. The way others would snatch his things, throw them across the hall, or crumple his assignments into balls of paper. Worst of all was the day you saw someone snap his glasses clean in half, right in front of him, leaving him standing there, helpless and humiliated.

Without even thinking, you had stepped in. No hesitation, no second thought—you just swung. Your fist connected with the guy’s face, the sickening crack of his nose breaking echoing in the hallway. Everything had gone silent. People stared as you shook out your knuckles, glaring down at the guy as he clutched his face, blood pouring between his fingers.

Sure, you got suspended for a few days after that, but it had been worth it.

From that day on, you’d kept an eye out—not just for Ni-ki, but for anyone being harassed. You couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the way some people seemed to think they had a right to make others miserable just because they could. But with Ni-ki, it was different. Something about the way he’d looked at you that day—wide-eyed, stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe someone had stood up for him—it stuck with you.

After that, you noticed him more often. Sitting alone in the library, his hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes. Walking to class with his close-knit group of friends, smiling faintly at something one of them said. And now, you realized, he was quietly watching you.

Your stomach flipped as your eyes locked with his for the briefest moment before he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the open book in front of him. You hadn’t even realized he knew who you were, let alone that he’d been the one watching you all this time.

For a moment, you sat frozen, unsure what to do. Then, on impulse, you stood up, tucking your book under your arm as you made your way across the library.

Ni-ki didn’t notice you at first. He was scribbling something in the margins of his notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration. But when you stopped in front of his table, he glanced up, and his eyes widened.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the others. “Got room for one more?”

His gaze darted to the empty chair across from him, then back to you. For a moment, he looked like he might say no. But then he nodded, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “Sure.”

You slid into the seat, setting your book down on the table. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like an unspoken question. But it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable.

You sat there for a while, the silence punctuated only by the faint scratch of Ni-ki’s pencil against his notebook and the soft rustle of turning pages. But your curiosity wouldn’t let you sit still for long. You closed your book, leaning forward slightly.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, keeping your voice low.

Ni-ki looked up from his notes, his pencil pausing mid-word. His expression was cautious, unsure, but he nodded. “Yeah?”

“Why were you looking at me earlier?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

His eyes widened, and a faint flush crept up his neck. “Oh, I—uh…” He trailed off, fumbling for words. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off or deny it entirely. But then he exhaled and gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I’ve seen you reading crime novels. A lot. And… I like them too.”

You blinked, surprised. “You do?”

He nodded, glancing down at his notebook like he was embarrassed to admit it. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t talk about it much, but I’ve always been into them. Mysteries, thrillers, true crime… all of it. I guess I just noticed because you’re always reading them too.”

A grin spread across your face before you could stop it. “Seriously? I didn’t think anyone else here cared about that stuff.”

Ni-ki’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, well… it’s not exactly the kind of thing people talk about, you know? But I’ve always thought it was cool—how detectives figure everything out, all the little clues coming together.”

“Exactly!” you said, leaning forward a little more, your excitement bubbling over. “That’s the best part. Like, the story’s great and all, but the process of solving it? The way everything clicks in the end? It’s so satisfying.”

His smile widened, and for the first time, he looked genuinely at ease. “Right? And when you figure it out before the characters do? That’s the best feeling.”

You nodded eagerly, the conversation flowing effortlessly now. You started swapping favorite books and shows, debating the best fictional detectives and the most clever twists you’d seen. Ni-ki talked about his love for true crime documentaries, how he’d binge-watch them whenever he had a free weekend. You shared your obsession with whodunits, confessing how you’d pause episodes just to try to solve the case before the big reveal.

Time slipped by without you realizing it. The library around you faded into the background as you talked, your usual quiet demeanor replaced by the spark of shared enthusiasm. Ni-ki was surprisingly easy to talk to, his reserved nature melting away as the two of you bonded over your mutual love for crime stories.

At some point, you glanced at the clock and realized lunch was almost over. You sighed, reluctantly closing your book. “Guess we’ll have to pick this up later. I’ve got class.”

Ni-ki nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, maybe? It was subtle, but you caught it.

“Hey,” you said as you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “We should talk more about this sometime. Maybe… tomorrow?”

His gaze snapped up to yours, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were serious. Then he nodded, his smile small but genuine. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You grinned and gave him a quick wave before heading toward the door.

The rest of the day felt oddly brighter. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but something about that conversation with Ni-ki lingered with you. Maybe it was because you’d finally found someone who shared your interest, someone who didn’t just dismiss it as “weird” or “creepy.” Or maybe it was because, for the first time, Ni-ki hadn’t seemed like the quiet, distant figure you’d always known him as. He felt… real.

The next day, you found yourself scanning the library during lunch without even thinking about it. And sure enough, there he was—sitting at the same table, his notebook open in front of him, scribbling something in his neat handwriting.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little nervous. What if he thought yesterday was a one-time thing? What if he wasn’t expecting you to actually show up? But then he looked up, and the moment his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a small but unmistakable smile.

That was all the invitation you needed. You crossed the room and slid into the seat across from him, setting your bag down beside you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” he replied, his tone soft but warm.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to pick up where you’d left off. You talked about the book you were reading, how the protagonist was struggling to crack a seemingly unsolvable case. Ni-ki listened intently, occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts or theories. When it was his turn, he shared about a true crime documentary he’d started the night before.

As the days went by, it became a routine. Every lunch break, you’d find each other in the library, your conversations growing longer and more animated. What started as casual chats about crime novels and documentaries quickly expanded into other topics—favorite genres, books you’d loved as kids, even the little quirks you’d noticed about your classmates.

Ni-ki opened up more than you ever expected. You learned that he loved puzzles, that he had a knack for spotting patterns and solving problems. He admitted, almost shyly, that he wanted to be a forensic scientist someday, to solve real-life mysteries.

You told him about your fascination with detective work, how you’d always loved the idea of uncovering the truth. You joked that maybe you’d end up as a detective yourself one day, solving cases while he analyzed the evidence. He laughed at that, a soft, genuine sound that you realized you wanted to hear more of.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I just… I wanted to say thanks,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “For, you know… sticking up for me. Back then. And now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Ni-ki. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

He nodded, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “I know, but… it meant a lot. And so does this. Talking to you, I mean. It’s… nice.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, the same kind you’d felt every time you caught him watching you. “It’s nice for me too,” you admitted, offering him a small smile.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft and almost… hopeful. Then he nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said, already looking forward to it.

You and Ni-ki walked side by side down the hallway, the buzz of students heading to their next class filling the air. He was carrying a few books in his arms, his notebook precariously balanced on top, while the two of you chatted about your plans for the day.

“I’ve got a project due for history,” you said, groaning. “I’ll probably be stuck in the library all afternoon. What about you?”

“Studying for the calculus test,” Ni-ki replied with a faint smile. “Though, knowing me, I’ll still probably bomb it.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “You just need to stop doubting yourself so much.”

He chuckled softly at that, and the sound was warm—genuine. You had started to notice these little things about him, the way he opened up a bit more when it was just the two of you.

As you reached your classroom door, you slowed to a stop, turning to face him. “Alright, this is me. I’ll see you at lunch later?”

“Yeah, I’ll—”

Before Ni-ki could finish his sentence, someone shoved him hard from behind. He stumbled forward, dropping his books as he fell onto his knees. His notebook skidded across the floor, pages fluttering.

“Oops,” the voice sneered mockingly from behind. “Didn’t see you there, nerd.”

You whipped around, your blood instantly boiling. It was one of the usual suspects—one of the guys who seemed to make it his personal mission to make Ni-ki’s life miserable. His smug smirk widened as he stood there, hands in his pockets, his posture radiating mock innocence.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, your voice echoing in the hallway.

The guy raised an eyebrow, shrugging nonchalantly. “Relax, it was an accident.”

“Accident, my ass,” you shot back, stepping forward. “You’ve got the brainpower of a rock, but even you know how to avoid people in a hallway.”

A few students nearby paused to watch, their conversations trailing off as they sensed the tension.

The guy’s smirk faltered for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “You’ll try to push me too? Let’s see how far you get.”

He opened his mouth, likely to hurl an insult your way, but before he could get the words out, a stern voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?”

A teacher had appeared at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you, Ni-ki, and the bully.

The guy immediately straightened, his smugness replaced with a fake innocence. “No problem, sir. Just a little accident.”

The teacher’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, skeptical but unwilling to escalate without proof. “Then I suggest you keep moving before you’re late to class.”

The bully muttered something under his breath and stalked off, throwing one last glare over his shoulder. You glared right back until he disappeared into the crowd.

With the hallway clearing, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was still on the ground, gathering his books with a quiet, resigned expression. You knelt down beside him, helping him scoop up his notebook and a few loose papers.

“You okay?” you asked softly, handing him the last of his things.

He nodded, though his cheeks were flushed, not from the fall but from the embarrassment of it all. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking it, and you pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t let jerks like that get to you,” you said firmly, your voice softer now. “He’s just miserable with his own life, so he’s trying to make you feel the same way. But he doesn’t get to win.”

Ni-ki’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles as he adjusted the books in his arms. “I’m starting to think you like fighting my battles more than I do.”

You laughed, nudging his arm lightly. “Someone’s gotta have your back.”

The bell rang just as you and Ni-ki made your way to your separate classes.

You sank into your seat, the dull buzz of the classroom settling around you as your mind wandered back to what had just happened. You hated seeing that side of Ni-ki dimmed by people who had nothing better to do than pick on someone who kept to himself.

Your teacher walked in, and the usual routine of class began. You tried to focus, taking notes, participating when necessary, but it was hard to shake off the image of Ni-ki being knocked down again. Even harder, was knowing that no matter how much you tried to defend him, the cycle would probably continue.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the way people like that bully operated—people who picked on others because they could, because it was easier to tear someone else down than deal with their own problems. What pissed you off was that Ni-ki never seemed to ask for help. He didn’t fight back, didn’t make a scene, and kept everything buried under that quiet, almost invisible demeanor of his.

You didn’t know why you cared so much. Maybe it was because he was finally someone who shared your interests, someone who didn’t see you as weird or obsessive for reading crime novels or binge-watching shows about detectives. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, you found someone you didn’t mind looking out for.

The rest of class passed by in a blur, and when the bell rang again, signaling the end of the period, you packed up your things quickly, eager to catch up with Ni-ki.

You hadn’t seen him on your way out, but he wasn’t hard to find. When you stepped out into the hall, you spotted him near his locker, his back slightly hunched as he rifled through his bag. He looked like he was in his own world, eyes focused on something only he could see.

You walked up to him, your footsteps steady.

“You good?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Ni-ki turned slightly, startled for a moment. When he saw it was you, the tension in his shoulders visibly loosened. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice soft but steady. “Thanks again for earlier. You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not a big deal. He’s just a jerk. Besides, if no one stands up for you, who will?”

Ni-ki didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. After a long pause, he gave a small, almost shy smile. “I guess… I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you know,” you said with a grin. “If you ever need backup, I’m around.” You tried to keep your tone light, but there was a quiet sincerity in it.

Ni-ki nodded, his expression softening, as if he were grateful, but unsure how to show it. “Thanks. I… I appreciate it.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, and you both turned to head in opposite directions. You glanced back at him before walking away, feeling that familiar pull of wanting to make sure he was okay.

Over the next few days, you found yourself in more and more situations where people were picking on Ni-ki, or even just others around campus. It wasn’t always the same faces; sometimes it was a random group, sometimes it was a repeat offender. But every time, you couldn’t just walk by.

One afternoon, you were heading toward the library when you spotted a couple of guys standing by the lockers. One of them had his hands shoved into Ni-ki’s chest, laughing as he made some cruel remark about Ni-ki’s glasses being too big for his face. Ni-ki’s eyes were lowered, his shoulders tense, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to back away, but the guys weren’t letting him go.

Without thinking, you rushed forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “Hey!” you called out, your voice cutting through the laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The guys turned to face you, their expressions mocking. “Oh, look, it’s the weird kid who’s always reading those detective books,” one of them sneered. “What, you gonna cry for him too?”

You didn’t flinch. “I’ll cry if it means you get a reality check. You think picking on people makes you cool? It doesn’t.”

The bully smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe you should mind your own business, huh? No one cares what you think.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you snapped, standing your ground. “I do care. And I don’t let people get away with treating others like crap. So if you’ve got a problem with him, you’ve got a problem with me.” You took a step forward, matching his arrogance with a calm confidence. “Go ahead, say something back. I dare you.”

The guy’s face twisted in frustration, but before he could retort, another voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?” A teacher had appeared, walking briskly down the hall with an authoritative presence.

The bully shot one last glance at you, a sneer still hanging on his lips, before muttering, “Whatever, it’s just a joke.”

“Then keep your ‘jokes’ to yourself,” you said, watching as he slinked off with his friend in tow.

As the tension cleared, you turned to Ni-ki, who was standing there, still looking a little shell-shocked. He didn’t speak for a moment, just staring at you like you had just pulled him out of the depths of something he didn’t know how to escape.

“You alright?” you asked quietly, your voice softer now.

Ni-ki nodded slowly, though he still looked like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I—I’m fine. Thanks again. But you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” you said, giving him a smile. “I don’t let people get away with stuff like that. You deserve better than being treated like that, and so does everyone else.”

Ni-ki’s eyes met yours for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind them before he spoke. “Maybe… maybe I don’t know how to stand up for myself the way you do.”

“That’s alright,” you said with a shrug. “Not everyone does. But it’s not too late to start.”

As the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, you both began walking toward your next classes. You could feel his presence beside you, his quiet thanks still lingering in the air, but it didn’t feel awkward. You had his back, and that was what mattered.

You didn’t always receive praise for standing up to people. You didn’t always get the support you might’ve hoped for. Sometimes you’d get the sneers and judgment from those who didn’t understand, those who thought that letting things slide or keeping their heads down was the easier way to go.

But you didn’t care.

You didn’t care about the sideways glances, or the occasional whispered insults behind your back. You couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

And if that meant dealing with the backlash, so be it. You’d rather face that than let someone else feel alone.

A few days later, you woke up feeling off—head throbbing, throat scratchy, and your body aching like you'd been hit by a truck. You groaned, pulling yourself out of bed only to immediately collapse back under the covers. The thought of going to school was unbearable, and you knew you needed rest more than anything else.

The absence of the usual noise from school made everything feel stiller, emptier. It was a strange feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be there to keep an eye out for Ni-ki, to have his back in the way you had grown accustomed to.

That afternoon, the day passed slowly, and you spent most of it in and out of sleep. When you checked your phone again later, you saw that Ni-ki had sent another message: "Is everything okay? Haven't seen you today."

You smiled at his concern, typing back, "Yeah, just sick. I'll be back soon, don’t worry."

The next few days were rougher than you’d expected. What you thought was just a mild bug turned into a fever that left you bedridden. You tried to keep up with school through messages from classmates and the occasional email from teachers, but your energy was practically nonexistent.

Ni-ki checked in on you every day, like clockwork. His texts were short and to the point, but they carried a warmth that made you smile despite your pounding headache.

"Feeling any better today?" "Don’t push yourself, okay?" "I can drop off notes if you need them."

You’d chuckle at the last one, imagining Ni-ki walking up to your door with a stack of papers and books. "Thanks, but I’ll survive. Just focus on yourself," you’d reply, even though you appreciated the thought more than you could express.

Despite his reassurances that everything was fine, you couldn’t help but worry. Ni-ki wasn’t exactly the type to tell you if something was wrong, especially when it came to the bullies. The thought of him being alone, enduring their usual torment without you there to step in, gnawed at the edges of your mind.

By the third day, your fever started to break, and you felt well enough to sit up and respond to messages without immediately passing out. You sent Ni-ki a text: "How’s school been?"

A few minutes passed before his reply came in. "Same as always. Don’t worry about me."

You frowned. That was exactly the kind of response you’d been expecting—and dreading.

"You sure? No one’s bothering you?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing popped up, then disappeared, then reappeared again. Finally, he sent: "I’m fine. Just come back soon, okay?"

You stared at the screen for a long moment, conflicted. On one hand, you knew Ni-ki well enough by now to recognize when he wasn’t telling you the whole truth. On the other hand, pushing him for answers over text wouldn’t get you anywhere.

"I will," you typed back. "Just hang in there."

When you finally returned to school a few days later, you felt a strange mixture of relief and unease. As much as you hated being away, a small part of you worried about what you’d find when you got back.

Walking through the hallways felt like stepping into a space that had shifted slightly in your absence. You noticed the usual groups clustered together, their laughter echoing through the halls. But as your eyes scanned the crowd, you couldn’t find Ni-ki anywhere.

When you reached your locker, you spotted one of his friends—someone you’d occasionally seen him study with. You hesitated before calling out, “Hey, have you seen Ni-ki?”

The guy looked up, his face shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s in the library,” he said after a moment. “He’s been there a lot lately.”

You nodded, thanking him before heading in that direction. The library was quieter than usual, the muffled hum of voices and the faint rustle of pages filling the air. It didn’t take long to spot Ni-ki, sitting at a table in the far corner, his head down as he scribbled something into a notebook.

“Ni-ki,” you called softly as you approached.

He looked up, and for a split second, relief flashed across his face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual reserved expression. “Hey,” he said, closing his notebook and sitting up straighter. “You’re back.”

“I am,” you said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “What’s been going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I know that’s not true.”

Ni-ki hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the corner of his notebook. “It’s… not a big deal,” he finally said, his voice low. “Just the usual stuff.”

Your jaw tightened. You’d expected as much, but hearing it still made your blood boil. “What happened?”

He sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “They’ve just been… pushing things a little more since you weren’t here. It’s fine, though. I’m used to it.”

“Used to it doesn’t make it okay,” you said firmly. “Did anyone step in? Tell a teacher? Anything?”

Ni-ki shook his head. “No one really noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.”

Your fists clenched under the table. It was exactly what you’d feared, and it only made you more determined. “Well, I’m back now,” you said, your voice steady. “And they’re not getting away with it anymore. Not while I’m around.”

Ni-ki looked at you, a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe—crossing his face. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” he said quietly. “Standing up for me all the time. It’s not your responsibility.”

“It’s not about responsibility,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “I want to stand up. And no one deserves to feel like they’re alone in this.”

“Thanks,” Ni-ki said eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

You gave him a small smile. “Anytime.”

It started out subtly—so subtle, in fact, that you almost missed it the first few times. You’d grown so used to being the one to step in, to speak up, to push back when people crossed the line with Ni-ki, that it became instinctive. But recently, before you could even open your mouth or move to intervene, something in Ni-ki’s demeanor had started to change.

The next time someone shoved him in the hallway, you caught it. The twist in his face.

It wasn’t the usual resignation or silent frustration you’d seen before. No, this was different. His jaw tightened, his eyes sharp and focused, his posture just a fraction straighter. He still stumbled when they shoved him, still dropped his books, but there was a flicker of defiance there—a spark you hadn’t noticed before.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” one of the bullies muttered, smirking as they turned to walk off.

But before you could even step in, Ni-ki straightened up, brushing himself off. His voice was quiet but firm as he said, “Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

It wasn’t loud, and it certainly wasn’t a full-on confrontation, but it was enough to make the bully pause for a moment, glancing back over their shoulder with narrowed eyes. Ni-ki didn’t flinch. He just stared at them, steady and unyielding, until they scoffed and walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, caught off guard. This wasn’t like him—not the Ni-ki you’d grown used to protecting, the one who usually avoided confrontation at all costs.

“Ni-ki,” you said, catching up to him as he bent down to pick up his books. “What was that?”

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. “What was what?”

“That,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway where the bullies had just left. “You… you stood up for yourself.”

He shrugged, tucking his books under his arm. “Yeah, well… I figured I might as well try it.”

You blinked, surprised by how nonchalant he sounded. “Try it?”

He paused, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been watching you, you know. How you don’t let people push you—or anyone else—around. It made me think… maybe I could do that too.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You felt a strange mix of pride and worry bubbling in your chest. Pride, because seeing Ni-ki finally stand up for himself felt like a victory. Worry, because you knew how cruel people could be when they were challenged.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice soft, “I’m glad you’re trying. But you know you don’t have to do it alone, right? I’ve got your back.”

He nodded, his smile growing a little. “I know. But… it feels kind of good. Not letting them have all the power.”

From that day on, you started noticing it more often.

The next time someone muttered something cruel under their breath as Ni-ki walked past, he didn’t just look away. He turned, his voice steady as he asked, “What did you just say?” It wasn’t a shout, wasn’t a threat, but the sheer confidence in his tone was enough to catch them off guard.

And the next time someone knocked his books out of his hands, Ni-ki didn’t just bend down to pick them up. He straightened up first, meeting their gaze with an icy calmness that made them hesitate before walking off.

You watched it all unfold with a mixture of admiration and concern.

One afternoon, after class, you found yourself walking with him again, the two of you deep in conversation about one of the crime novels you’d both been reading. As you turned the corner, you saw one of the usual suspects—one of the guys who’d made Ni-ki’s life a nightmare for as long as you could remember.

The guy stepped into Ni-ki’s path, blocking his way. “Hey, got a minute?”

You tensed immediately, ready to step forward, but Ni-ki held up a hand, stopping you.

“What do you want?” Ni-ki asked, his voice calm but firm.

The bully smirked, leaning in closer. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before you crawl back into that little shell of yours. You think you’re tough now? That you’ve got people to back you up?”

Ni-ki didn’t even blink. “I think you’re wasting your time. Find someone else to bother.”

The smirk faltered for just a second, and that was all it took. The bully muttered something under his breath before walking away, clearly annoyed that Ni-ki hadn’t given him the reaction he was hoping for.

As soon as the guy was out of earshot, you turned to Ni-ki, your eyes wide. “Okay, what was that? Who are you, and what have you done with the Ni-ki I know?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told you, I’ve been watching you. Guess I finally got tired of being the guy everyone picks on.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your chest swelling with pride. “Well, I’m glad you’re finding your voice. Just… don’t get yourself in too much trouble, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his smile soft but confident. “I know you’ll be there to save me if I do.”

You chuckled at his confidence, feeling that familiar warmth bubble up inside you. “Of course,” you replied. “But remember, you don’t have to rely on me all the time. You’ve got this, Ni-ki.”

He met your gaze, his eyes bright with something that looked almost like gratitude, but with a touch of pride as well. “Maybe. But it feels good knowing I’ve got someone watching my back.”

You nodded, feeling your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just about protecting him anymore—it was about seeing him stand up for himself, to fight back against the people who tried to bring him down. And even though you still couldn’t shake the worry that the bullies would target him more now, you had a feeling that Ni-ki would be okay.

The days that followed were a mix of small victories. You’d catch glimpses of him, the way his posture had changed, the confidence in the way he carried himself. Even when the bullies tried to get under his skin, he seemed to hold his own. And when they tried to escalate things, Ni-ki would either meet them with sharp words or simply walk away with his head held high, no longer letting their insults stick to him.

The day started like any other—until you got to school.

The usual buzz of the morning crowd was replaced with an eerie silence. Police cars lined the front of the building, their lights casting flashes of red and blue against the gray morning sky. Students clustered in small groups near the gate, whispering to each other, their faces pale with unease.

You tightened your grip on your bag as you stepped closer, curiosity gnawing at you. Something had happened—something big.

Spotting Natty near the lockers, you hurried over, catching her arm gently. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”

Natty turned, her expression somber and anxious. “You didn’t hear?”

You shook your head, your stomach twisting. “No. What happened?”

She glanced around nervously before leaning in closer. “Two students have been reported missing,” she said in a low voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Missing? Who?”

Natty hesitated, her voice dropping even lower. “It’s those two guys… you know, the ones who usually mess with people. The ones who—”

“The ones who pick on people” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah. Them. Apparently, they didn’t come home last night. Their parents called the school this morning, and now the police are involved.”

You stood there, processing her words. The two bullies—known for tormenting Ni-ki and plenty of other students—were missing? The news left you unsettled, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest.

“What do you think happened to them?” you asked, your voice cautious.

Natty shrugged, glancing over at the police officers. “I don’t know. Everyone’s talking about it, but no one seems to know anything for sure. Some people are saying they might’ve run away, but…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“But?”

She leaned in closer, her voice barely audible now. “But people are also saying it doesn’t feel like that. They’re saying it’s... suspicious.”

You frowned, your mind racing. Suspicious. The word lingered in your thoughts like a dark cloud. You couldn’t help but think about Ni-ki—the way he’d started standing up for himself, the way the bullies had been pushing back harder in recent weeks. And now, suddenly, they were gone?

“Do they have any leads?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Natty shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard. The police are just starting their investigation.”

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the crowd. Your thoughts immediately went to Ni-ki. Had he heard about this yet? How was he feeling? You knew the bullies had made his life miserable, but even so, this was… extreme.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” you said, already stepping away.

Natty called after you, “Where are you going?”

“To check on someone,” you replied over your shoulder, your mind set on finding Ni-ki.

You searched the usual spots—the bench near the library, the quiet corner by the art room—but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, you spotted him by the vending machines, standing alone with his hands in his pockets.

“Ni-ki,” you called softly as you approached.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Hey.”

“Did you hear?” you asked, lowering your voice.

He nodded, his gaze dropping again. “Yeah. Everyone’s talking about it.”

You studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his emotions. He didn’t look shocked or upset—just… thoughtful.

“How are you feeling about it?” you asked gently.

He shrugged, his voice quiet. “I don’t know. It’s... weird. They were horrible to everyone, but this? It’s… I don’t know.”

You nodded, understanding the conflict in his tone.

“They’ll figure it out,” you said, more to reassure yourself than him. “The police are here, and they’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

You walked side by side with Ni-ki, the buzz of conversations and murmurs about the missing students fading into the background. He didn’t seem as unsettled as you would’ve expected. In fact, he looked… composed. Too composed. There was a calmness about him, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before.

It wasn’t like he didn’t care—at least, you didn’t think so. But he wasn’t fidgeting or avoiding the topic like you might have imagined. Instead, he walked with his head held high, his steps deliberate.

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. “You seem… okay about all this,” you said carefully, not wanting to come off as accusing.

Ni-ki shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head. “It’s just… two people are missing. People who used to make your life hell, and you don’t look… bothered.”

He stopped walking for a moment, turning to face you. His lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should I be?”

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure how to respond. “Well, I mean… it’s weird, right? They’re still people. Even if they were awful, it’s not like they deserved to… you know, vanish.”

Ni-ki held your gaze for a moment longer before looking away, his expression unreadable. “I guess I’ve just learned not to waste my energy on people like them,” he said, his voice steady. “They made their choices. It’s not my job to care.”

You frowned, his words sticking with you as you both continued walking. There was something about the way he spoke—calm, measured, almost detached—that made you uneasy. But you didn’t push him further. Ni-ki had grown a lot lately, standing up for himself in ways you hadn’t expected. Maybe this was just part of that change—his way of not letting the past hold power over him anymore.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice how his posture seemed different now. Straighter, more self-assured. He wasn’t the same Ni-ki who used to avoid eye contact in the hallways or flinch at the sound of the bullies’ voices. This Ni-ki was someone who carried himself with quiet confidence, someone who looked like he had nothing to fear.

And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it. Something he wasn’t saying.

You wanted to ask, to press him for answers, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the way his expression remained calm, as if daring you to question him. Or maybe it was the realization that you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Anyway,” Ni-ki said, breaking the silence, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

The abrupt shift in topic caught you off guard, but you decided to go with it. “Not much,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Probably just try to catch up on homework and maybe watch something later.”

He nodded, his smile softening into something more genuine. “Sounds good. Let me know if you find a good mystery to watch.”

“Will do,” you replied, smiling back.

As you parted ways and headed to your respective classes, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The way he walked, the way he carried himself now—it was almost like he was a completely different person.

And though you didn’t say it out loud, the unease lingered. There was something about Ni-ki that had changed, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And as much as you wanted to believe it was just confidence.. a small, nagging part of you wondered if it was something more.

After school, you found yourself lingering by the gate, waiting for Ni-ki. You weren’t even sure why. Maybe it was just the need to talk to him again, to see if you could get a better read on what he was thinking.

He appeared a few minutes later, his bag slung over one shoulder and his usual calm expression in place. When he spotted you, his lips twitched into a small smile.

“Waiting for me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thought we could walk together.”

“Sure,” he said, falling into step beside you.

The walk home started out quiet, the kind of comfortable silence you’d gotten used to with him. But as you neared the park, you couldn’t hold back your curiosity any longer.

“Ni-ki,” you began carefully, “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “What about it?”

“About not caring. About how it’s not your job to care about... people like them.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “It just feels like... I don’t know, you’ve changed a lot lately. You’re more confident, and that’s great, but... it’s like you’re not bothered by anything anymore.”

Ni-ki didn’t respond right away. He kept walking, his gaze focused straight ahead, his expression calm. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders rising and falling.

“I guess I just realized there’s no point in letting things get to me,” he said, his tone measured. “People like them... they’re not worth my time. They never were.”

You frowned, your unease growing. “But... don’t you think it’s weird? That they just disappeared like that?”

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something behind his calm exterior. Something darker.

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his gaze. “I’m not saying anything,” you said quickly, though your heart was racing. “I’m just... curious. That’s all.”

Ni-ki studied you for a moment longer before his expression softened, the faintest smile returning to his lips. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “People like that... they always have enemies. Maybe someone else decided to deal with them.”

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. He didn’t sound defensive, or even particularly concerned. If anything, he sounded... amused.

You forced a smile, not wanting to push him further. “Yeah, maybe,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ni-ki started walking again, and you followed, your mind racing with questions you didn’t dare ask.

As the two of you walked further down the quiet street, Ni-ki suddenly turned toward his dorm building, stopping just before the steps. He looked at you with a hint of hesitation, but there was also that hopeful glint in his eyes that always managed to make your heart soften.

“Hey,” he said casually, though his tone had a shy edge. “Do you… maybe want to come up? We could study together or something. I know exams are coming up, and it’s easier with company.”

You hesitated, clutching the strap of your bag. “I don’t know… I should probably just head home and get some rest.”

Ni-ki’s face dropped slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was bracing for you to turn him down. But the way he glanced at you—hopeful and a little nervous—made something inside you falter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. “It’ll be quiet. I promise I won’t distract you too much.”

You looked at him, at the way his bangs fell slightly into his eyes and the way he fidgeted with the strap of his own bag. He looked cute, and there was something so innocent about the way he asked, as if he genuinely just wanted to spend more time with you.

“Alright,” you finally said, relenting with a small smile. “I’ll stay for a little while.”

The way his face lit up made it all worth it. A broad smile spread across his lips, and before you could react, he reached out, his hands gently finding their way to your waist as he guided you toward the door. His touch was firm yet careful, his hands warm even through the fabric of your jacket.

“Come on,” he said, his tone suddenly brighter as he led you inside the building. “It’s not too messy, I promise. Well… not that messy.”

You laughed softly, letting him lead you into the lobby and toward the elevator. There was something about the way he was acting—lighthearted and a little goofy—that made your earlier unease fade just a bit.

When the elevator doors opened, Ni-ki stepped aside to let you in first, his hand briefly brushing against your lower back. He pressed the button for his floor, glancing at you with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the first topic we study. Fair deal?”

“Deal,” you said, shaking your head at him.

As the elevator climbed, you realized that, despite your earlier hesitation, you didn’t really mind being here with him. There was something comforting about the way Ni-ki treated you, like you were the only person who really mattered to him in that moment.

The elevator dinged, and the two of you stepped out into the hallway. Ni-ki led the way to his room, opening the door with a flourish before stepping aside to let you in.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, gesturing around with a playful smile.

You stepped inside, taking in the neat but lived-in space. His desk was cluttered with notebooks and textbooks, and there were a few random items scattered around—headphones, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a half-empty mug on the windowsill.

“It’s cozy,” you said, setting your bag down by the door.

Ni-ki grinned. “That’s code for ‘small,’ isn’t it?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I mean it. It feels… nice.”

“Good,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us some water, and then we can get started.”

As he busied himself in the corner of the room, you took a seat at his desk, letting yourself relax.

And as Ni-ki returned with two glasses of water and a bright smile, you couldn’t help but think that maybe this was exactly what you needed.

Ni-ki handed you a glass of water, his smile warm and genuine, and you took it with a grateful nod. As you both sat down at his desk, the atmosphere felt surprisingly comfortable. The earlier tension had all but faded, replaced by a quiet energy between you two that made everything feel easy.

“So,” Ni-ki began, pulling a notebook toward him, “what subject do you want to start with?” His eyes flickered toward you, waiting for your answer.

You considered for a moment. “I guess… let’s tackle history first? That’s the one I’m struggling with the most.”

“History it is,” Ni-ki agreed, and there was a brief moment of silence as he pulled out his own materials, flipping through pages in his textbook. You glanced at the way he studied—focused but relaxed, as if he’d done this a hundred times before. His brow furrowed just a little when he concentrated, and you found yourself studying him without even realizing it.

He noticed after a second, a slight shift in his posture. “What? Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing up from his book.

“No, no, I was just… thinking.” You gave him a small smile, hoping to ease whatever concern he might have had. “You’re a good study buddy. You’re very… focused.”

Ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I try. It’s just easier when you actually care about what you’re learning, you know?”

You nodded in agreement. The two of you dived into your history notes, bouncing ideas back and forth, helping each other fill in the blanks on a few tricky subjects. The more you talked, the more you realized how much you enjoyed this.

As the hours passed, you found that time seemed to slow down in Ni-ki’s presence. Every now and then, he’d glance up from his book and shoot you a little smile, making it hard to focus on anything else.

By the time you looked at the clock, it had already gotten late. You hadn't realized how much time had passed, so engrossed in studying and talking.

“We should probably call it a night,” you said, stretching your arms above your head.

Ni-ki nodded, though his expression was a little reluctant. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Time really flew by.” He stood up, walking over to the desk and gathering his things. He paused for a moment, glancing back at you. “Thanks for hanging out tonight. It was… really nice.”

You smiled at him, your heart warming at his words. “Of course. I’m glad we did this.”

Ni-ki walked you to the door, his hand brushing yours for a brief moment as he reached for the handle. He opened the door, and as you stepped into the hallway, he stopped you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“I just wanted to say…” He paused, as if thinking carefully about his words. “I’m glad you’re… in my life. You know, you’ve really made things a lot easier for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond.

“I’m glad, too,” you managed, your voice a little quieter than intended. “I think we make a good team.”

Ni-ki’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, and something about it made your chest feel lighter. He stepped closer, his hand briefly brushing your arm as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You both stood there for a moment, before Ni-ki spoke again, his tone soft but teasing.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

You nodded, feeling the smile tug at your own lips. “See you tomorrow.”

The music in your ears drowned out most of the world around you as you walked through the dark streets, the beat lightening your steps as you bopped your head and hummed softly. It was one of those evenings when the city felt alive but distant, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows against brick walls and sidewalks.

You didn’t notice the loud voice at first, too lost in the rhythm, but as it grew louder, it cut through the music, making you glance to your left. There, leaning against the wall of an old corner store, was a guy from your school.

You recognized him instantly. He was one of those guys who thrived on making others miserable. A bully. Loud, brash, and unapologetic about it. He was talking on his phone, his voice carrying through the quiet street.

When his gaze flicked toward you, you realized you’d been staring for too long. His face twisted in annoyance, and he barked, “What the hell are you looking at?”

Startled, you quickly shrugged, averting your gaze and picking up your pace. You didn’t have time for his nonsense tonight. The plan was simple: get home, maybe text Ni-ki, and bury yourself under your covers.

But you hadn’t made it more than a few steps when the street suddenly fell silent.

It was strange, almost unnerving. You frowned, pulling out one of your earbuds and glancing back over your shoulder.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The guy was still standing there, but something was wrong. His body was stiff, his shoulders trembling, and his head was tilted downward as if he were staring at his chest. Blood. Dark and glistening, it spilled from his mouth and dripped onto the pavement. His phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to do anything but stay frozen, but your feet refused to move. You could only watch in horror as his wide, terrified eyes met yours.

He tried to say something, his lips moving, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound.

And then you saw it.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and menacing. They wore dark clothes, a hood pulled up to obscure most of their features, but what stood out—what sent chills racing down your spine—was the white mask. A smooth, expressionless face with hollow, soulless eyes staring straight at you.

In their gloved hand, they held a knife, the blade dripping with fresh blood.

Your heart pounded in your chest as panic set in. You were about to scream, about to do anything to snap yourself out of the shock, but the figure stepped forward, their movements deliberate and calm, as if they had all the time in the world.

The bully’s body crumpled to the ground, his lifeless eyes still locked in an expression of pure fear. The blood pooled beneath him, staining the pavement a deep crimson.

The figure didn’t move toward you—not yet. They just stood there, tilting their head slightly as if studying you, waiting to see what you would do.

Every instinct in your body screamed for you to run, but your legs felt like they were made of lead.

This can’t be real, you thought. This can’t be happening.

But it was. And now, the figure took one slow, deliberate step in your direction.

Run. You had to run. Now.

Your body finally responded, adrenaline flooding your veins as you stumbled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet. You turned and bolted down the darkened street, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The earbuds still dangling from your ears blasted music, a sharp contrast to the pounding of your heartbeat and the terror consuming you.

You didn’t dare look back.

Your feet hit the pavement hard, the sound echoing in the empty streets as you raced forward, unsure of where you were going. The only thought in your mind was get away. The quiet of the street felt suffocating, broken only by the occasional flicker of a streetlight.

But then you heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, and eerily calm.

Whoever they were, they weren’t running—they were following you. Like they knew you couldn’t escape.

You risked a glance over your shoulder, and your stomach dropped. The figure was still there, their white mask glowing faintly under the dim streetlights. They weren’t far, and their steady pace somehow made it worse. They didn’t need to run. They knew they had the upper hand.

“No, no, no...” you whispered to yourself, your voice shaky. You turned a sharp corner into a narrower street, your eyes darting around for any sign of help—a lit window, a passerby, anything. But there was no one. Just endless shadows.

You spotted an alley up ahead and ducked into it, pressing yourself against the wall as you tried to steady your breathing. You ripped your earbuds out, desperate to hear every sound around you.

For a moment, there was silence. The footsteps had stopped.

You strained your ears, listening for any hint of movement. The sound of your own breathing felt deafening in the stillness.

And then, softly, the unmistakable scrape of a shoe against the pavement.

Your heart nearly stopped as you realized they were close—too close.

The figure stepped into the mouth of the alley, their tall silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of a distant streetlight. They turned their head slowly, scanning the space.

You pressed yourself harder against the wall, willing yourself to disappear. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

But then they tilted their head, and you knew they’d found you.

A sharp wave of panic crashed over you, and before you could think, your legs moved on their own. You bolted deeper into the alley, praying it would lead somewhere—anywhere—but as you reached the end, your heart sank.

A dead end.

You spun around, your back pressed against the cold brick wall as the figure approached, their movements unhurried, deliberate. The knife in their hand gleamed faintly in the dim light, still slick with blood.

“W-what do you want?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands shook as you clenched them at your sides, trying to mask the terror in your chest.

The figure didn’t answer, their masked face tilting slightly as if amused by your fear. The silence between you was suffocating, the sound of your ragged breathing echoing in the narrow alley. You pressed yourself harder against the wall, your body trembling as their slow, deliberate footsteps brought them closer.

“Please,” you tried again, your voice cracking. “I won’t tell anyone. Just—just let me go.”

Still, no response. They stopped just a few feet away, the knife glinting under the faint light. The blade wasn’t just bloodied—it was still dripping. Fresh.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for a way out. Running wasn’t an option. The alley was too narrow, and they were blocking your only escape.

Then, the figure did something that made your stomach drop. Slowly, they reached up with their free hand and tapped the edge of the mask—right where the mouth would be. A deliberate, mocking gesture.

The message was clear: Don’t scream.

Your body froze as dread sank into your chest.

Your breathing hitched as the figure suddenly surged forward, their free hand grabbing your wrists and slamming them against the cold brick wall. You winced at the force, the impact sending a sharp sting up your arms.

"Let go!" you cried, struggling against their iron grip, but it was no use. Their hands were strong—too strong—and no matter how much you writhed or twisted, you couldn’t break free.

The knife gleamed dangerously close to your side, but it wasn’t moving. Instead, the figure leaned in, their mask mere inches from your face.

“Why are you doing this?” you hissed, your voice shaking but desperate.

They didn’t answer. Instead, they tilted their head, as if observing you up close, and the silent scrutiny sent a shiver down your spine. Their breathing was steady, calm—eerily so, given the situation.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet their hollow gaze, but their grip on your wrists tightened, forcing you to look back at them.

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

They leaned in even closer, the blank mask filling your vision. The faint scent of something metallic—blood—wafted into your nose, and you froze completely, your body trembling under their hold.

You could feel the faint pressure of their breath through the mask, warm and unnervingly slow.

Then, they did something that made your stomach twist. They tilted their head down slightly, as if inspecting you more closely, and the knife in their other hand gently traced along the brick wall beside your face, the sound sharp and deliberate.

“Why are you so scared?” they finally murmured, their voice low, distorted, and almost playful. The modulated tone sent a chill through your entire body. Your eyes widened at the sound. “Who are you?” you managed to croak, but they ignored your question.

They leaned even closer, their voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve been watching people. Reading their actions. Studying them.”

Your heart stopped. How could they possibly know that?

The knife stopped moving, the tip resting against the wall now as they tilted their head again, as if amused by your reaction.

“You’re just like me,” they murmured, their voice soft but laced with something dangerous. “Aren’t you curious about what happens next?”

The words struck you like a blow, and you felt the air leave your lungs. “I’m nothing like you,” you spat, trying to summon any ounce of courage left in you.

The figure chuckled softly—a sound that was more unsettling than anything else—and finally stepped back, releasing your wrists. You crumpled slightly against the wall, your hands trembling as you pulled them to your chest.

They stood there for a moment, watching you. And then, without a word, they turned and walked away, their figure disappearing into the darkness once more.

You didn’t move, your body frozen in place as your mind raced. Their words echoed in your head.

You’re just like me.

What did they mean?

For a moment, you stood there, too stunned to move, your legs shaking beneath you. The silence in the alley was deafening now, the absence of their presence almost as terrifying as their arrival.

Finally, your body caught up with your mind. You bolted.

You ran down the street, not caring where you were going, your feet pounding against the pavement. Every shadow felt like it was reaching for you, every flicker of light a reminder of that gleaming knife.

When you finally stopped, you realized you were standing in front of your building. Your hands trembled as you fumbled for your keys, barely managing to unlock the door before stumbling inside.

You slammed the door behind you, locking it quickly and leaning against it as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart was still racing, and the image of the masked figure burned into your mind wouldn’t leave.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your back pressed against the door, fighting to steady your breath. The air in the hallway was suffocating, the stillness unnerving. Your pulse thudded in your ears, too loud, too fast, as you struggled to ground yourself in reality.

The sound of your own heartbeat felt like a drum, drowning out every other noise. You closed your eyes for a moment, willing the panic to subside, but the image of the masked figure—those hollow, unfeeling eyes—kept flashing in your mind. You could almost still feel the coldness of their grip on your wrists, the steel of the knife pressed against the air between you.

No, no, you couldn't think about that. You had to focus on something else.

Your hands were shaking so badly that when you tried to take off your shoes, you nearly tripped over them. You steadied yourself against the wall, reaching for your phone in your pocket. Your hands felt clammy as you unlocked it, eyes scanning the screen. You thought about calling someone—anyone—but who could you even call? You had no idea what just happened, who that person was, or why you were targeted.

You tapped your messages, but the familiar names on your screen did little to comfort you. Your fingers hovered over Ni-ki’s name for a moment, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to scare him. What would you even say?

You knew he’d be worried, and maybe that’s exactly what you needed. But not yet.

You let out a long, shaky breath, and after a moment of indecision, you tucked the phone back into your pocket. You needed to calm down. You couldn’t let yourself spiral.

Your eyes flicked to the window, the dim glow from the streetlights casting long shadows into the room. Every movement, every flicker of light outside seemed to twist your nerves tighter. You felt like you were being watched.

Was it paranoia?

You couldn’t stay locked inside forever. But you couldn’t leave either. Not now.

You walked to the window and pulled the blinds slightly aside, peering out. The street below was quiet, eerily so. But there was something off about it now. Something unsettling.

Was this your fault? Was it something you'd done or seen that made you a target?

You flinched as your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat, but when you checked, it was just a message from Yuna—nothing urgent. You let out a breath of relief, your hands still trembling slightly.

You wanted to scream. To make sense of it all. But something told you that doing so would only make things worse.

The next morning, you woke up to a sense of dread still hanging in the air, the events from last night haunting your every thought. You had barely slept, every small noise in the dark sending your heart into a frantic beat. As you stumbled out of bed, you tried to shake the feeling off, but it lingered like a shadow.

You grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrolled through your notifications. And then, your stomach dropped.

The headline was everywhere.

Student Found Murdered in Alley; Police Investigating

You stared at the screen, the words blurring as you read and reread the article, your hands shaking. They had found the body of the guy from last night—the one who had been leaning against the wall when the figure had attacked him. Blood had poured from his mouth just before the figure disappeared into the shadows.

But now he was dead.

The report didn’t offer many details yet, but the police were investigating, and they had a few leads—seeing if they found any potential witnesses. You clenched your fists, a sick feeling bubbling in your stomach as you read the lines again, trying to steady your nerves.

You were a witness.

You were standing right there when it happened, not even ten feet away. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell anyone. The thought of speaking up made your stomach churn. What could you even say? That you’d seen a masked figure with a bloody knife standing over the body, and then you’d just run? That you’d been too scared to do anything but watch?

No, you couldn’t. It felt wrong. Almost like you were too close to the danger.

For a moment, you thought about calling Ni-ki. He’d want to know. He’d be concerned. But even the thought of telling him made you hesitate. You didn’t want to burden him with this. And besides, you didn’t even know what to say to him. How would he react?

Something inside you whispered that it was better to stay quiet. For now, at least. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was guilt. But you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that speaking out would only make things worse.

As you turned off your phone and got ready for school, the weight of the secret pressed down on you like an iron fist. The urge to tell someone gnawed at you, but something—maybe self-preservation, maybe the fear of the unknown—stopped you from speaking.

You didn’t know what kind of person that made you, but at that moment, all you could think about was survival.

And that meant staying silent.

You spotted Ni-ki waiting for you near the school gates, his back leaning casually against the wall. At first, you almost didn’t recognize him. Gone were the oversized hoodies and the unassuming posture. Today, he wore a sharp black jacket, his shirt tucked in, and his usually messy hair was swept back, revealing more of his face. The change was striking, and it caught you off guard.

When he saw you approaching, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets with an easy confidence you’d never seen before. There was a glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Morning,” he greeted smoothly, his tone lighter than usual. His gaze swept over you briefly before he added, “You look cute today.”

The comment hit you like a bolt out of the blue, and you felt your cheeks flush instantly. “W-what?” you stammered, staring at him wide-eyed. Ni-ki wasn’t the type to flirt—or, at least, you didn’t think he was.

He chuckled at your reaction, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Relax. I’m just being honest.”

You ducked your head, pretending to fumble with your bag to hide the warmth spreading across your face. “Well… thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, trying to compose yourself.

The two of you fell into step together, chatting idly as you walked toward the school building. Ni-ki seemed so at ease, more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.

But as the two of you passed through the crowded hallway, you noticed something—every time someone called out to him, a snide remark or a mocking laugh in their tone, Ni-ki’s shoulders would stiffen ever so slightly.

“Hey, Ni-ki, looking sharp today!” someone sneered from behind, the tone far from genuine.

“Trying to impress someone? Not like anyone cares,” another voice added with a laugh.

You glanced over at him, expecting to see some hint of his reaction—annoyance, discomfort, maybe even the faint twist of hurt you used to notice in his expression when he was picked on. But before you could catch anything, Ni-ki turned to you with that same easy smile, his voice light and unaffected.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked as if nothing had happened, steering the conversation effortlessly away from the taunts.

You frowned slightly, feeling like something was off. His smile was convincing, but you knew him well enough to sense that it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded behind that mask of confidence, a wall he didn’t want you—or anyone else—to see behind.

“Are you okay?” you asked carefully, your voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Ni-ki’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—brief, almost imperceptible. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied smoothly, tilting his head at you like the question itself was unnecessary.

You wanted to press further, but the bell rang, cutting off any chance of continuing the conversation.

As you headed to class together, you couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him. Ni-ki had changed—there was no denying that. He seemed stronger, more confident, even… untouchable in a way. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still carrying the weight of what he’d been through.

And as much as you wanted to believe his smile, something in you knew that the Ni-ki you were walking with now wasn’t the same one you’d first met.

The days passed, and Ni-ki’s transformation became even more apparent. He wasn’t just confident now—he was bold, almost playful in the way he interacted with you. And you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you.

“Morning,” he greeted one day, appearing behind you so suddenly that you nearly dropped your books. You turned to glare at him, clutching your chest as your heart raced from the surprise.

“Ni-ki, can you not sneak up on me like that?” you huffed, glaring half-heartedly.

He smirked, leaning down to your eye level, far too close for comfort. “What, can’t handle a little excitement in the morning?” he teased, his voice laced with a softness that made your cheeks burn.

You looked away, muttering under your breath, but it only seemed to amuse him. Without asking, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey! I can carry my own bag,” you protested, grabbing for the strap.

Ni-ki dodged your hand effortlessly, his smirk growing. “I know. But I want to. Let me be a gentleman for once,” he said, winking at you.

You huffed again, but the way your cheeks warmed betrayed how much it flustered you.

It wasn’t just the small gestures like carrying your bag that got to you. Ni-ki always seemed to know just how to toe the line between teasing and sincere, making your heart race in ways you hadn’t expected. Sometimes, he’d lean casually against the locker next to yours, his proximity far too close to be casual.

“Have you ever read this one?” he asked once, holding out a crime novel you hadn’t even heard of. “I thought of you when I saw it.”

You blinked at the book in his hands, touched by the gesture. “You thought of me?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “Well, yeah. It’s about solving crimes. Sound familiar?”

You tried not to blush at his words, but his teasing gaze made it impossible.

The more time you spent with him, the more you noticed the little things he did—bringing you snacks during breaks, texting you links to new crime documentaries, and inviting you over to his dorm room for movie nights.

Those nights were some of your favorite moments, even if they made you nervous. The two of you would sit close together on the small couch, a bowl of popcorn between you as you watched horror movies. Inevitably, you’d end up dozing off halfway through, only to wake up hours later, cuddled up against his chest.

The first time it happened, you’d pulled away so quickly you nearly fell off the couch. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Ni-ki just laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s fine. You looked comfortable,” he said, his tone so gentle it made your heart ache.

Still, the memory of waking up to the sound of his steady heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his arms around you, stayed with you long after.

You couldn’t deny how Ni-ki made you feel. His presence was becoming something you looked forward to—his teasing, his warmth, his surprising thoughtfulness.

He was always there—waiting for you by the gates in the morning, walking you to your classes, and staying by your side during breaks. His confidence had grown, but so had his charm. He seemed to know just what to say to make your heart skip a beat, leaving you flustered and unsure how to respond.

One afternoon, the two of you were walking out of the library. Ni-ki was carrying your books again despite your protests, and the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the campus.

“So,” he began, his voice casual but laced with that teasing edge you’d come to expect, “are you ever going to admit you like spending time with me, or do I have to keep carrying your books until you do?”

You turned to him, startled by his boldness, and saw the playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I—what?!”

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning in slightly as he walked beside you. “You heard me,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “You don’t have to be so shy about it. I mean, I am pretty great company.”

Your face burned, and you looked away, clutching your bag tightly. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

His laugh was soft but warm, and it only made your cheeks grow hotter. “I’m just saying what’s true,” he said, his voice lowering as he added, “You’re cute when you get flustered, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, too busy trying to keep your heart from pounding out of your chest.

Later that evening, you found yourself at his dorm room again, another movie night he’d somehow convinced you to attend. As usual, he’d picked a horror film—one of his favorites, he said.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of the TV the only source of light. You sat next to him on the small couch, your knees almost touching.

Halfway through the movie, a particularly tense scene made you jump, and without thinking, you grabbed onto Ni-ki’s arm.

“Scared?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You quickly let go, crossing your arms over your chest. “No,” you said stubbornly, though the way your heart raced said otherwise.

Ni-ki laughed softly, leaning closer to you. “It’s okay to be scared. You can hold onto me if you want,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch.

You glanced at him, your cheeks burning again, and quickly looked back at the screen. “I’ll be fine,” you muttered, trying to ignore how close he was.

As the movie went on, though, the tension eased, and the warmth of Ni-ki’s presence lulled you into a sense of comfort. Before you knew it, your eyes were growing heavy, and the soft sound of his breathing beside you was the last thing you remembered before you drifted off.

When you woke up, the TV was off, and the room was quiet. You blinked groggily, realizing you were leaning against Ni-ki’s chest again, your head resting just over his heart. His arm was draped lightly over your shoulder, holding you close.

You froze, your face heating up as you tried to process the situation. Slowly, you sat up, careful not to wake him, only to find him already awake, his eyes half-lidded and watching you with a soft smile.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“I—I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you stammered, pulling away completely.

Ni-ki just shrugged, sitting up as well. “It’s fine,” he said, brushing it off like it was nothing. “You looked comfortable.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly. “This is so embarrassing…”

He chuckled, reaching out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Relax. I told you, it’s fine. You can fall asleep on me anytime.”

His words only made your blush deepen, and you quickly got up, mumbling something about needing to leave. Ni-ki walked you to the door, still smiling in that soft, knowing way that made your heart ache.

It was a typical day in the cafeteria, the loud hum of conversation filling the air as you sat with your friends, idly picking at your food. The topic of discussion ranged from schoolwork to weekend plans, and you were halfway through telling a funny story when the sound of a tray nearly crashing to the ground caught your attention.

You looked up to see Ni-ki, standing awkwardly as he tried to steady himself after nearly colliding with a group of girls near the lunch line. His tray wobbled precariously, but he caught it just in time, flashing the girls an apologetic smile before quickly stepping aside.

The girls giggled, whispering to one another as Ni-ki walked off, looking slightly flustered. You could almost see the faint hint of red on his cheeks, though he composed himself quickly and made his way toward his usual spot.

“That’s Ni-ki, right?” one of your friends, Natty, said, nudging you with her elbow.

You blinked, realizing your friends were now watching him. “Yeah,” you said nonchalantly, though your gaze lingered on him as he passed by.

“He’s gotten so handsome lately,” another friend chimed in, resting her chin on her hand as she stared after him. “I mean, look at him! The hair, the way he’s dressing now… I swear, it’s like he had a total glow-up overnight.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly looked down at your plate, hoping no one would notice.

“He’s always been cute,” Natty said, shrugging. “But now? It’s like… he’s confident. And confidence is hot.”

“I heard he’s been helping out in some of his classes too,” another friend added. “Like, tutoring and stuff. Smart and good-looking? Talk about the whole package.”

You tried to focus on your food, but the conversation buzzed around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge in your chest as your friends continued to gush over Ni-ki.

“Hey,” Natty said suddenly, leaning closer to you. “You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, haven’t you? What’s that about?”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. “What? No, we’re just… friends,” you said quickly, waving off her question. “He likes crime novels, and we talk about them sometimes. That’s all.”

“Just friends?” Natty teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because he definitely looks at you like you’re more than just a friend.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and you frowned, shaking your head. “You’re imagining things.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t shake the memory of Ni-ki’s lingering glances, the way he leaned closer when he spoke to you, or how his hand would sometimes brush against yours when he handed you something.

Across the cafeteria, Ni-ki had taken a seat by himself, but before he started eating, his eyes flicked in your direction. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make your stomach flip.

Natty noticed too, smirking as she nudged you again. “See? I told you. He’s totally into you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please change the subject?”

Your friends laughed, but they eventually let it go, moving on to other topics. Still, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Ni-ki again, only to find him smiling softly to himself as he ate.

And for some reason, that little smile made your heart race even more than it already was.

The day had dragged on, the sun was low on the horizon as you started your walk home, the familiar path quiet except for the occasional car passing by. You had just popped in your earbuds when the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the music.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see Ni-ki sprinting toward you, waving one arm while clutching his bag with the other. His glasses were slightly crooked, his hair a little disheveled from the run, but he wore that familiar smile that seemed to make your day just a little brighter.

“Wait up!” he called, slightly breathless as he closed the distance between you.

You stopped, giving him time to catch his breath. “You okay there, track star?” you teased as he bent over, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing.

“Yeah,” he panted, straightening up and flashing you a grin. “Just… didn’t want to lose you before I asked.”

“Asked what?” you said, tilting your head.

He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. “Do you want to come over and study? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything. I thought we could go over some of that exam stuff together, maybe watch something after…”

You raised an eyebrow at him, suppressing a smile. “You ran all the way here to ask me that?”

Ni-ki shrugged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks as he looked away. “Well… yeah. It seemed important.”

You chuckled softly, noticing how his glasses were sitting askew on his face from the sprint. Without thinking, you stepped closer, reaching up to gently adjust them. “There,” you said, your voice softer now. “That’s better.”

Ni-ki blinked at you, clearly startled by the gesture, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place—something warm, something soft, something that made your heart skip.

You cleared your throat, stepping back and turning toward the direction of his dorm building. “Alright, let’s go,” you said, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising to your face.

Ni-ki followed after you, his footsteps light but quick, and you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he walked behind. There was a small, almost shy smile on his face, one he didn’t bother hiding now that you weren’t looking.

By the time you reached the building, the sky had darkened, the streetlights flickering on. Ni-ki held the door open for you, letting you step in first, and as you made your way toward the stairs, you felt his presence behind you—quiet but steady.

“You’ve really got a thing for last-minute plans, huh?” you said, glancing back at him with a teasing smile.

“Only with you,” he replied smoothly, his tone light, but there was a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes that caught you off guard.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if you can actually focus on studying this time.”

Ni-ki just grinned, following you up the stairs, his heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the earlier sprint.

The moment you stepped into Ni-ki’s apartment, you were greeted by the faint scent of laundry detergent and something sweet—probably the remnants of whatever he had for breakfast that morning.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, slipping off his shoes and gesturing toward his room.

You followed him in, setting your bag down on the floor.

“Alright,” Ni-ki said, plopping down onto the floor and pulling out his notebook. “Let’s get this over with before my brain decides to shut off completely.”

You laughed, sitting down across from him and pulling out your own notes. “You’re the one who wanted to study, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, flipping through his book. “Just don’t let me slack off too much.”

For a while, the two of you worked in relative silence, the sound of pages turning and pens scratching against paper filling the room. Every now and then, one of you would ask a question, leading to brief discussions as you helped each other out.

“Wait, is this right?” Ni-ki asked at one point, sliding his notebook over to you.

You leaned over to take a look, your brows furrowing as you scanned his work. “Almost. You forgot to carry this number over here,” you said, pointing it out with the tip of your pen.

Ni-ki groaned, dropping his head onto the desk dramatically. “Why is math like this? What did I ever do to deserve this kind of suffering?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “Come on, it’s not that bad. You’re just overthinking it.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, lifting his head to look at you. “You’re like a human calculator.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you teased, nudging his notebook back toward him.

He gave you a mock pout but picked up his pen again, dutifully fixing his mistake.

A little while later, you were both leaning back against the bed, taking a break as you sipped on the canned drinks Ni-ki had grabbed from his fridge.

“Okay, serious question,” Ni-ki said, turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, wary but intrigued. “What?”

“If you had to choose between being stuck on a deserted island with me or having to solve a murder mystery with me, which one would you pick?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the random question. “Uh… I don’t know. What kind of murder mystery?”

“The really dramatic kind,” he said, leaning closer with an exaggerated serious expression. “Lots of twists, lots of danger. Like, we’d be running for our lives half the time.”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “In that case… definitely the murder mystery. At least then I’d have something to keep me entertained.”

Ni-ki gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just mortally wounded him. “Wow. I see how it is. I’m just boring company on a deserted island, huh?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “That’s not what I said!”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning as he took another sip of his drink. “I’ll remember this the next time you need my help with something.”

The banter continued as you both returned to studying, the playful energy making the work feel less tedious. Ni-ki had a way of turning even the most mundane moments into something fun, and you found yourself smiling more often than not.

At one point, he leaned over to steal a glance at your notebook, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Are you sure this is right?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes, it’s right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You can double-check it if you don’t believe me.”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Nah, I trust you. You’re too smart to get it wrong.”

The compliment, paired with his proximity, made your cheeks heat up, and you quickly looked away, focusing on your notebook to hide your reaction.

Ni-ki noticed, of course. He always noticed. But instead of teasing you further, he simply chuckled and went back to his own work, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

After a while, Ni-ki let out a long sigh, dropping his pen dramatically onto his notebook. “I’m officially done. I can’t stare at numbers and letters any longer without my brain exploding.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re giving up already? I thought you wanted to study.”

“I did,” he said, flopping onto his back like a starfish. “But now I want to do something fun. Come on, let’s play a game.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A game? Like what?”

He sat up quickly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “On my console. I’ve got a few multiplayer games. We’ll do a couple of rounds—you’re not scared to lose, are you?”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes as you stood up to follow him to his console setup. “You’re the one who should be worried.”

He smirked, grabbing two controllers and handing you one. “We’ll see about that.”

As the game loaded, you both got comfortable on the floor, sitting cross-legged with a pile of snacks within reach. The first match started, and immediately, the competitive energy between you two ignited.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you teased as his character fell off the map for the third time in a row. “You’re not even trying, are you?”

His ears turned red as he adjusted his glasses, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “I-I’m just warming up! Wait until the next round; you won’t even stand a chance.”

You grinned, loving the way he stumbled over his words. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

The next match started, and this time Ni-ki was clearly putting in more effort. He managed to take the lead, and when you lost the round, he leaned back with a triumphant smirk.

“Looks like you’re the one who should be worried,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence.

You felt your face heat up as you avoided his gaze, grumbling under your breath. “Lucky shot. I wasn’t even trying.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning a little closer to nudge your shoulder. “Excuses, excuses. Just admit I’m better.”

You turned to glare at him, but the way his eyes sparkled with amusement made it hard to stay mad. Instead, you shoved his arm lightly. “Don’t get too cocky, Ni-ki. I’ll destroy you in the next one.”

The back-and-forth continued as you played match after match, the teasing only escalating as the wins and losses stacked up on both sides. Every time you won, Ni-ki would blush and fidget, either pushing his glasses up his nose or tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Seriously, how are you so good at this?” he muttered after losing another round, his voice a mix of frustration and awe.

“I told you, you should’ve been worried,” you said, grinning as you leaned back, basking in your victory.

But then Ni-ki got his revenge in the next game, and when you lost, he didn’t hold back.

“Aw, what happened?” he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as your cheeks burned. “I just… got distracted, that’s all.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The teasing was relentless, but you couldn’t deny how much fun you were having. Even as you tried to avoid looking at him after his jabs, you could feel his gaze on you, warm and amused.

When the final match ended—Ni-ki winning by a narrow margin—you let out a dramatic groan, flopping onto your back. “Ugh, I can’t believe you beat me.”

He laughed, leaning over you slightly. “See? I told you I’d win eventually.”

You looked up at him, your pout fading as you saw the way his eyes crinkled at the corners from his smile. For a moment, you forgot all about the game, too caught up in the way he looked so happy and carefree.

“Well,” you said finally, sitting up and brushing some imaginary dust off your pants. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m coming for that win.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you busied yourself with tidying up the controllers and snack wrappers.

You glanced out the window and froze for a moment, realizing how dark it had gotten. The streetlights outside cast long, flickering shadows along the quiet road. Your heart dropped when you checked the time on your phone: 9:57 PM.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, hurriedly grabbing your things and stuffing them into your bag. You barely noticed Ni-ki watching you, his head tilted curiously as he leaned back on his hands.

"Leaving already?" he asked, his tone light, though something in his voice felt... reluctant.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving him a quick, apologetic smile. "Yeah, I didn’t realize how late it got. I need to get home before it gets any darker out. I’ll see you Monday, okay?"

Ni-ki opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped himself, giving you a small nod instead. "Alright, be careful."

You waved at him, muttering a quick, "Bye!" before rushing out of his dorm room and into the hallway.

The building was eerily quiet as you made your way outside, the cool night air hitting your face the moment you stepped through the door. You tightened your grip on your bag, glancing around the street. It was unsettling how empty it felt, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

You walked quickly, your footsteps echoing on the pavement. Normally, you’d pop in your earbuds and listen to music to keep yourself company, but tonight, the thought of not hearing what was around you made your stomach twist. Instead, you kept your ears open, alert to every little sound.

The streets were mostly quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint hum of a car in the distance. Still, the shadows seemed to move differently tonight, stretching and shifting in ways that made your pulse quicken.

Your pace quickened as well. The faster you walked, the closer you got to home, where you could lock the door and feel safe.

Your heart leapt at the sound of footsteps echoing behind you. They were uneven, dragging slightly against the pavement. You froze mid-step, your breath catching in your throat, and slowly turned around.

A man stumbled a little ways behind you, his silhouette illuminated by the dim glow of a streetlamp. His gait was unsteady, his head lolling slightly to the side, and in his hand was a beer bottle, half-empty and dangling precariously.

The strong stench of alcohol hit you even from a distance, and your pulse eased slightly. Just a drunk guy, you told yourself.

Still, something about the way he moved unsettled you. His eyes seemed unfocused, yet he kept glancing up in your direction, like he was aware of you but trying not to be obvious about it.

You tightened your grip on your bag and turned back around, walking faster now. The sound of his footsteps didn’t fade; if anything, they seemed to quicken as well.

Your stomach twisted, and you glanced back again. The man was closer this time, his lips curling into a sloppy smirk.

“Hey!” he slurred, his voice loud and grating. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

You ignored him, your heart racing as you picked up your pace.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” he called out again, louder this time. You heard the sound of glass clinking, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him waving the beer bottle at you.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You debated breaking into a sprint, but you didn’t want to show fear—or worse, give him a reason to chase after you.

Instead, you ducked your head and turned sharply down a side street, hoping to lose him.

But the footsteps followed, faster now.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me!” he shouted, his voice taking on an edge of irritation.

Your breathing quickened, your mind racing as you glanced around for an escape. The street was too empty, too quiet. There was no one to call for help, no open stores, no witnesses.

“C’mon, woman!” he slurred, closer than before. “Just talk to me for a second!”

He made your skin crawl, and without thinking, you broke into a run.

“Hey!” you heard him shout behind you, his footsteps pounding against the pavement as he gave chase.

You turned a corner sharply, your chest heaving as you pushed yourself to go faster. Your legs burned, your bag bouncing against your back, but you didn’t dare slow down.

When you glanced back over your shoulder, your stomach dropped. He was still following, his face twisted into a drunken snarl.

Your heart thundered as you looked ahead, desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—to hide. That’s when you saw it: a narrow alleyway, tucked between two buildings.

Without thinking, you darted into it, pressing yourself against the wall and holding your breath. The shadows swallowed you whole, and you prayed he wouldn’t notice where you’d gone.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, then slower, until finally, they stopped.

“Where the hell—” you heard him mutter, his voice slurred and irritated.

You peeked around the corner just in time to see him scratching his head and muttering to himself before walking away.

Relief flooded through you, and you let out a shaky breath, your back sliding against the wall as you sank to the ground.

Your hands trembled as you fumbled through your bag, desperately searching for your phone. After a frantic few moments, you realized with a sinking feeling—you’d left it at Ni-ki’s place.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair. You were too shaken to think straight, but you needed your phone. It wasn’t safe to be out here without it.

With a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself off the wall and started walking back toward Ni-ki’s dorm. The streets felt even quieter now, the darkness pressing in around you. Every step you took echoed loudly in your ears, and your heartbeat hadn’t fully calmed from the earlier chase.

You were halfway there when a sudden shout split through the silence, followed by a loud, sickening thud.

You froze in place, your head snapping toward the source of the sound. It came from an alley just a few steps ahead.

Instinct told you to keep walking, to pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But curiosity—morbid and insistent—had you inching closer to the alleyway. You peered into the darkness, your breath hitching as your eyes struggled to adjust.

At first, there was nothing. Just the oppressive blackness of the alley. You were about to turn away, deciding it wasn’t worth it, when you heard a faint shuffle.

And then he stumbled out.

The drunk man.

Your stomach churned at the sight of him—his steps were unsteady, but it wasn’t alcohol this time. No, it was the knife protruding from his chest, the hilt gleaming faintly under the dim streetlights. Blood poured from the wound, staining his shirt and dripping onto the ground in thick, steady splatters.

Your mind blanked as you stared, your body frozen in place. He staggered a few steps closer before collapsing onto the pavement, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.

You opened your mouth to scream, but the sound died in your throat as your gaze flicked upward.

He was there.

Standing in the shadows of the alley, his white mask almost glowing against the darkness, he tilted his head at you in that familiar, unnerving way, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his eyes locked on you.

"Ah, sweetheart," his voice drawled, smooth and almost teasing. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Your heart nearly stopped. Without thinking, you spun around, ready to run—but you weren’t fast enough.

Before you could take more than a step, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking you back with a terrifying amount of strength. You barely had time to gasp before he twisted you around, pinning you against the cold, rough wall of the alley.

You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he caught both your wrists in one hand, pressing them firmly behind your back. His chest pressed against your back, trapping you in place, and you could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned in close to your ear.

“He deserved it,” he whispered, his voice low and almost intimate. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you? Following you? Touching you with his eyes like you were something he could take?”

You tried to protest, to tell him to let you go, but your voice refused to cooperate.

“You should be thanking me,” he murmured, his tone laced with dark amusement. “If it weren’t for me, who knows what that disgusting piece of trash would’ve done to you?”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but the way he said them—like he truly believed he’d done you a favor—made your stomach twist.

“You should give me a reward, sweetheart,” he purred, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “I’ve been so good to you, haven’t I? Taking care of all the people who hurt you.”

“L-let me go,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, but I’m not done yet,” he said, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. “Not until you say it.”

“S-say what?” you stammered.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice still teasing but with an edge that made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Go on, sweetheart. Say thank you to your savior.”

You writhed in his grip, twisting and struggling to free yourself, but his hold was unyielding. Every movement you made only seemed to amuse him further.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tutted softly, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. “What’s this, sweetheart? Fighting me when I’ve done so much for you? That’s not very nice.”

“Let me go,” you hissed, your voice sharp despite the tremor in it.

Instead of responding, he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours as his free hand moved. You flinched, expecting the worst, but he simply brushed his gloved fingers against your neck, gently pushing your hair aside. The motion was slow, deliberate—almost tender.

“You really don’t know how to behave, do you?” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something darker. “Here I am, protecting you, keeping you safe, and you don’t even say thank you. Instead, you fight me. Struggle against me. Like I’m the bad guy.”

The words sent a chill down your spine, the weight of them sinking into your chest.

“I didn’t ask for this!” you snapped, trying once more to pull your wrists free, but his grip only tightened.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, sweetheart,” he said, his tone almost playful. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to do it. For you.”

His fingers trailed lightly over the nape of your neck, sending a shiver through your body that you couldn’t control.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, leaning in closer until his masked face was right beside yours. “I see you. Every single day. You’re so… perfect. So pure. And they’re not. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

“You’re insane,” you spat, your voice shaking.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a dark chuckle. “But I’m your kind of insane.”

His hand slid down, brushing over your shoulder in a mockery of comfort. “Say it,” he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Say thank you. That’s all I want to hear.”

Your throat tightened, and you bit your lip, refusing to give him what he wanted. You wouldn’t play into whatever twisted game he was orchestrating.

But he sighed, the sound carrying a hint of disappointment. “Still being stubborn, huh?” he mused. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face slightly to the side. Though you couldn’t see his expression behind the mask, you could feel his gaze burning into you, his intensity unnerving.

“You’ll come around,” he said softly, his voice dripping with certainty. “One day, you’ll see that I’m the only one who truly cares about you.”

Before you could respond, he pulled back slightly, his grip on your wrists loosening just enough for you to jerk free. Without looking back, you bolted, your heart pounding as your feet hit the pavement.

But even as you ran, his voice echoed in your mind, smooth and haunting.

“One day, sweetheart. You’ll thank me.”

You didn’t stop running until the bright lights of the police station came into view. Your chest burned, your breath coming in ragged gasps, but the overwhelming need for safety pushed you forward. Bursting through the station doors, you stumbled inside, drawing the attention of a few officers.

“I need help!” you blurted out, your voice trembling. “There’s been a... a murder. And I saw him. I saw the killer!”

The room went silent for a moment as the officers exchanged quick glances before one of them, a tall man with a kind but serious face, approached you.

“Alright, take a deep breath,” he said, guiding you to a chair. “Let’s get this sorted. Where did this happen?”

You described the location of the alleyway, your voice shaky as you recounted the events. The officer nodded, gesturing for another officer to dispatch units to the scene immediately. Within moments, two officers left the station, heading toward the area you described.

“Okay,” the tall officer said, sitting down across from you with a notepad. “We’re going to need a full report from you. Start from the beginning—everything you saw, everything you experienced.”

Your hands shook as you clasped them tightly together, trying to steady yourself. You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing yourself to recount every detail, no matter how horrifying.

You told them about walking home, the drunk man, and the sounds that had drawn you to the alley. You described the killer in as much detail as you could: the mask, the knife, the dark clothes. You hesitated when you got to the part where he cornered you, his words still ringing in your ears.

“He... he grabbed me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Pinned me against the wall. He said he was protecting me. That I should... thank him.”

The officer’s pen paused briefly on the notepad, his brows furrowing.

“He said he killed the man for me,” you continued, your throat tightening as you forced the words out. “That he was doing it because he cared about me.”

The officer leaned back slightly, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “Did you recognize him? Anything distinctive about his voice, his build, his mannerisms?”

You shook your head, feeling a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over you. “No. He wore a mask, and his voice... it was muffled. But he was tall, and he moved... like he was confident. Like he’d done this before.”

The officer nodded, jotting down your words. “You did the right thing coming here. We’ll have officers sweep the area, and we’ll add this information to the ongoing investigation.”

You sat in the station for what felt like an eternity, the hum of conversations and ringing phones fading into the background as your nerves took over. Every second that passed felt like it stretched longer than the last, the events of the night playing on a loop in your head.

Finally, the door swung open, and a pair of officers walked in, their expressions grim. One of them leaned in to speak with the tall officer who had taken your statement. After a brief conversation, he turned back to you and gestured for you to come over.

“They found the body,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with tension. “It was hidden behind some trash cans in the alley. The killer’s gone. But there’s something you need to see.”

Your stomach dropped, but you forced yourself to follow him to a desk where a computer screen was lit with grainy black-and-white footage.

“This is from a nearby CCTV camera,” the officer explained, clicking to play the video.

You leaned forward, your heart pounding as the footage started. There you were, walking down the street, your bag slung over your shoulder. You saw the drunk man trailing behind you, stumbling slightly, clutching the beer bottle. Your pulse quickened as you watched yourself pause and glance back before speeding up, the man still following.

The video cut briefly to another angle. The drunk man was now heading back down the street after you’d run. Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the alleyway. A figure stepped out behind him, silent and deliberate. The killer.

You watched, frozen, as the killer grabbed the man and pulled him into the alley in one swift motion. The man barely had time to react before disappearing into the shadows.

The screen flickered and you appeared, cautiously approaching the alley and stopping as if trying to decide whether to investigate. Then, just as you remembered, you turned and began walking away—only to get dragged in.

The next part made your blood run cold.

The camera caught the moment the killer stepped into view, just as you ran off-screen. He stopped in the middle of the street, standing there like a statue, watching you flee. Then, slowly, his head tilted upward, and he looked directly at the camera.

Even through the grainy footage, the gleaming white mask was unmistakable.

The killer stared into the camera for a long moment, tilting his head like a predator examining prey. Then, without any sense of urgency, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

The officer paused the video, his jaw tight as he glanced at you. “The way he looked at the camera… it’s almost like he wanted us to see him.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat felt dry, and your hands were clammy as you clutched the edge of the desk. The image of the masked figure burned into your mind was now accompanied by that chilling motion—the way he’d looked at the camera, unafraid, almost playful.

“Do you know him?” the officer asked gently, his tone careful.

You shook your head quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “No. I—I don’t know anyone who’d…” You trailed off, your voice faltering.

The officer studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’re going to keep investigating, and we’ll need to keep in contact with you. If anything—anything at all—comes to mind, you let us know.”

You nodded, your mind still racing as the image of the killer’s mask lingered.

The officer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “For now, we’ll have someone escort you home. You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

Home. The thought of being alone right now was terrifying, but staying here with the memory of that footage wasn’t much better.

As an officer prepared to walk you out, you glanced back at the frozen frame on the screen. The mask, the tilted head, the casual way he’d turned and walked away.

He wasn’t just watching.

He was toying with you.

The car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the silence as you stared out the window, your mind racing with everything that had happened. The officer glanced at you occasionally, likely noticing your pale complexion and tense posture.

As you neared your neighborhood, you suddenly remembered your phone. "Wait," you blurted out, sitting up straighter. "Can we stop by my friend's place? I left my phone there earlier."

The officer hesitated but nodded. “Alright, just make it quick. What’s the address?”

You rattled it off, and within minutes, the car pulled up in front of Ni-ki’s building. You quickly unbuckled your seatbelt, mumbling a soft, "I’ll be right back," before stepping out and jogging up to the building. Your stomach churned with unease as you entered and climbed the stairs.

When you reached Ni-ki’s door, you paused, glancing back down the hall. It was quiet, almost too quiet. Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked.

It took a few moments, but the door finally opened.

Ni-ki stood there, his damp hair pushed back messily, droplets of water still clinging to his neck. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower, wearing a loose hoodie and sweatpants that hung lazily on his frame.

“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “I was wondering when you’d come back for this.” He held up your phone, which had been sitting on his desk.

You gave him a sheepish smile, reaching for it. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I got distracted earlier and completely forgot.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as he handed it to you. “No problem. You okay, though? You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, clutching the phone to your chest. “Just—uh, long day. Thanks, Ni-ki.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and started walking back down the hall.

“Wait—” Ni-ki called after you, his voice tinged with concern. “You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

You ignored him, speeding up your pace. “I’m fine! See you Monday!”

“(Y/N)—”

You didn’t stop, practically jogging back to the police car. You climbed in, shutting the door behind you and exhaling deeply as the officer glanced at you in the rearview mirror.

“Got what you needed?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you muttered, not meeting her gaze.

The drive home was just as silent as before, the weight of the night pressing down on your chest. When the officer pulled up outside your apartment, she gave you a small nod. “Stay inside tonight. Lock your doors. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, stepping out and heading to your door.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you, sliding the chain into place for extra security. You leaned against it, exhaling deeply as your heart continued to race.

You glanced at your phone, still clutched tightly in your hand, and felt a pang of guilt. Ni-ki had been nothing but kind to you, and you’d brushed him off so abruptly.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about the killer, about the way he’d spoken to you, about the way he’d looked at you. It was like his presence still lingered, even now, haunting you.

With a sigh, you set your phone down and headed to your room, determined to push the events of the night out of your mind. You needed sleep—desperately.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced down, seeing a message from Ni-ki.

Ni-ki: Hey, you okay? I know you were in a rush earlier… If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you couldn't quite shake off the tension in your chest. You quickly typed back.

You: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… been a weird day, you know?

You stared at the screen for a moment before adding:

You: Would you mind calling me? I could use someone to talk to…

It didn’t take long for him to reply.

Ni-ki: Of course. I’ll call you now.

A few moments later, your phone rang. You swiped to answer, bringing it to your ear.

“Hey,” Ni-ki’s voice came through, calm and warm, despite the underlying concern. “You doing okay now?”

You leaned back against the wall, feeling a sense of relief just hearing his voice.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Just… everything feels a little off tonight. I’m glad you messaged.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could almost picture him thinking.

“I’m glad you reached out,” he said finally. “You don’t have to go through stuff like this alone. I know it might seem like everything’s chaotic, but you’ve got me. You can always talk to me.”

His words had an unexpected comfort to them, and you felt some of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I really appreciate it, Ni-ki.”

“I mean it,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Anytime, seriously. If you need a distraction or just someone to listen, I’ve got you.”

You smiled to yourself, grateful for his kindness.

“Maybe we can talk more tomorrow, huh? I’ll make sure to check in on you again. Don’t want you feeling like this all night.”

You felt a slight pang of guilt but quickly pushed it away.

“I’ll be okay. And… thanks again. I’m just gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds good. Get some rest, and if anything comes up, just text me, alright?”

“I will. Goodnight, Ni-ki.”

“Goodnight,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making you feel a little lighter.

As you ended the call, you leaned back into your pillow, feeling a bit more at ease.

The doorbell rang again the next morning, pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, confused, before walking over to the door and pulling it open. To your surprise, there stood Ni-ki, looking as effortlessly stylish as ever, wearing a relaxed smile.

“I’m taking you to the mall,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes widening. “Wait, what? You’re... what?”

Ni-ki chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “I figured you could use a little break. You’ve been cooped up here long enough.”

You glanced at the clock. It was a bit earlier than you expected. “But I—”

Before you could protest any further, you heard the sound of your own feet hitting the floor as you dashed towards your bedroom. “Give me a second! I need to get dressed!”

Ni-ki didn’t seem to mind. He just chuckled again, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

You quickly pulled your clothes out of your closet, racing against the clock to change, but as you did, you could hear the soft sound of Ni-ki sitting on the couch, the hum of his phone as he likely scrolled through something. Even as you hurried to change, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous—he was waiting for you.

After awhile, you stepped out, having finally gotten dressed in something comfortable but still cute enough for a day out. You were still adjusting your jacket when you caught sight of Ni-ki, his attention fixed on his phone.

“You ready?” he asked, glancing up from his phone when he noticed you stepping into the living room.

You nodded, feeling a little bashful but excited at the same time. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Ni-ki grinned and stood up, tossing his phone onto the couch. “I knew you’d be ready in no time.”

Ni-ki led the way out of the apartment, holding the door open for you. The cool air greeted you as you stepped outside, and for the first time in a while, you felt a sense of calm settle over you

As you both walked to the car, Ni-ki kept his usual easygoing demeanor, flashing you an occasional grin, but his eyes held a warmth that made you feel at ease.

Once you got to the car, Ni-ki opened the door for you with a dramatic bow. “After you, milady,” he teased, his smile playful.

You laughed, stepping into the car. “You’re a dork,” you said, shaking your head.

He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car pulling out of the parking lot as he hummed along to the song on the radio. The drive was smooth, with Ni-ki chatting casually, asking about how you’d been feeling lately, if you were still swamped with schoolwork, and if you had any specific things you wanted to do at the mall.

“I’m just along for the ride, really,” you said, feeling a little more relaxed with each passing moment. “I’m happy to just hang out.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his lips curving upward. “Good, ‘cause I was planning on getting us some snacks, trying on some clothes, and maybe finding something ridiculous to make you laugh.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I’m down for that,” you agreed.

The ride went by quickly, with the two of you talking and joking about random things, from bad fashion choices to the latest crime drama episode you both had watched recently. When the mall came into view, Ni-ki parked the car, giving you a quick glance. “Ready to have some fun?”

You nodded, your smile wide. “Absolutely.”

You and Ni-ki wandered through the mall, hopping from store to store, trying on ridiculous hats and laughing at each other’s choices. He picked out a bright pink beanie with oversized ears, putting it on your head and grinning mischievously. "You should totally rock this look," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes but played along, giving a dramatic twirl. "Do you think it brings out my eyes?" you joked, striking a pose.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and he leaned in slightly, as if seriously considering the question. "Honestly? It definitely makes your eyes pop. Maybe not in the way you think, though."

You burst into laughter, nudging him playfully in the side. "You’re ridiculous," you said between giggles. But you didn’t mind—it felt good to laugh, to feel normal for once.

After some time, you both left the store, each with a few new items in hand, and wandered into the food court. Ni-ki, ever the expert in decision-making, immediately made a beeline for the bubble tea stand. “You want your usual?” he asked, already pulling out his wallet.

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “You know me too well.”

As you waited for your drinks, Ni-ki leaned against the counter casually, his expression relaxed. “This was fun, right? I’m glad you decided to come out with me today.” His tone was light, but there was something behind it—an undercurrent of sincerity that made you pause.

You smiled back at him, grateful for the day. “Yeah. I needed this... more than I thought.”

The bubble tea arrived, and the two of you walked over to a nearby table, settling in with your drinks. Ni-ki took a sip of his, then glanced over at you, his brow furrowing just slightly. "So, how have you been holding up? I know everything’s been... a little crazy lately."

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to drag the mood down, but knowing Ni-ki would probably notice if you didn’t say something. You took a deep breath, sipping your tea as you tried to find the right words.

"I’ve been okay," you said, after a beat. "Some days are better than others, but... it’s easier when I’m with people I trust. Like you."

Ni-ki gave you a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. I’m glad I’m one of those people,” he said, his voice gentle.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks and occasionally exchanging a few words.

Afterwards you were strolling through the aisles of the store, enjoying the soft hum of the background music and the peaceful atmosphere, when something caught your eye—a shelf full of adorable plushies. You couldn’t resist, and you found yourself picking up a cute little bear, smiling at how soft it was. But in that moment of distraction, you didn’t realize that Ni-ki had wandered off somewhere else in the store.

A few moments later, you heard the voices.

At first, they were distant, but slowly they grew louder, the tone dripping with mockery. You turned to see a group of familiar faces from school—some guys and girls who were known for their snide remarks.

“Wow, look at this,” one of the guys sneered. “All grown up, and still playing with toys?”

You felt your stomach tighten, but you didn’t let it show. You had heard this all before. Still, the words felt heavier today.

“You know, you should really grow up,” another girl added, laughing with the rest of them. “It’s kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Normally, you’d brush it off with a sarcastic remark or a clever comeback, but today was different. You just couldn’t summon the energy to fight back. Instead, you gave a quiet, “It’s just a plushie,” and shrugged, turning to walk away.

But that didn’t stop them.

“Really, you’re such a child. It’s honestly pathetic,” the girl said, her voice mocking.

You stopped in your tracks, taking a deep breath. You were about to walk away again when she added something that made your blood run cold.

“You’re just as pathetic as Ni-ki. He probably doesn’t even care about you?”

The words were like a slap to the face. Without thinking, your eyes snapped toward her, your glare icy.

“You don’t know anything about us,” you hissed, your voice low and sharp. “Maybe you should focus on your own life instead of judging others.”

The girl’s expression faltered, but she wasn’t done. With a malicious grin, she raised her hand, ready to slap you across the face.

But before she could, a strong hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a low, dangerous voice.

You looked up in surprise to see Ni-ki, towering over the group. His usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a stance of quiet fury. The others fell silent, their eyes wide.

Ni-ki’s grip on the girl’s wrist tightened, and she yelped, trying to pull away. But Ni-ki didn’t budge.

“They can make fun of me all they want,” he said, his voice cold and low, each word laced with intensity. “But if you ever, ever make fun of her again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The girl blinked up at him, looking stunned, but Ni-ki didn’t release his hold. He was a completely different person now, standing tall that made it clear he wasn’t going to let anyone make fun of you—not now, not ever.

The group shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to seeing him like this. Ni-ki’s gaze never wavered from the girl, who was still trying to wriggle out of his grip. He spoke again, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.

“If I hear you even think about messing with her again, I’ll make sure it’s the last time. Got it?”

The girl’s face went pale, and after a moment, she finally pulled her wrist from his grasp. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t have to. Ni-ki had made his point clear.

As the group scattered, you stood there in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Ni-ki turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though there was still a hint of that protective edge. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You nodded, still processing everything. “Yeah… Thanks. I guess I owe you one,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug, his usual smile returning. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

With that, the two of you continued your walk through the store.

The rain poured down heavily, a soft, constant drumming against the window as you sat at your kitchen table. You were absentmindedly eating your cereal when the sound of the TV caught your attention. The news anchor’s voice was steady but the words were jarring.

“A group of teens, including some local college students, have been reported missing. Authorities are investigating their whereabouts, but no leads have been found as of now.”

You froze, the spoon in your hand slipping from your grip and clattering to the floor. The world around you seemed to freeze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. It took a few seconds for the words to register—teens, a group, missing.

You couldn’t help but feel the creeping dread settle in your chest. You quickly stood up, your movements rushed and frantic.

You put your bowl down with shaking hands, grabbed your phone, keys, and bag, not even bothering to grab a proper breakfast. You yanked on your jacket, grabbed your umbrella, and rushed out the door, the sound of the rain growing louder as you fought against the storm.

When you finally reached the school grounds, the rain hadn’t let up. You were drenched, but it didn’t matter. You immediately zeroed in on Ni-ki’s tall frame, his head down as he rifled through his bag, clearly looking for something.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward him, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

"Ni-ki!" you called out, stepping forward.

He jumped in surprise, his body stiffening as he spun around to look at you. His wide eyes softened when he saw you, though there was an edge of confusion in his expression.

“Hey,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep, probably because it was so early. "You okay? You’re all wet.”

You nodded quickly, shaking your umbrella as you stood in front of him. "Yeah, I’m fine. I just—" You paused, your heart hammering in your chest. "Did you hear about the missing teens?"

Ni-ki’s face went still for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair, as if processing everything in his head. “Yeah. I heard. I don’t know… it’s weird, right? Some of them were people from school.”

You nodded, feeling a pit grow in your stomach. “Yeah. It’s just… strange, with everything that’s been happening lately.” You bit your lip, trying to read his face. He wasn’t showing any obvious signs of worry, but then again, Ni-ki had always been good at hiding his emotions when it suited him.

Ni-ki paused, his expression hardening for a moment. “I know. But we don’t know anything for sure yet. I’m sure the police will figure it out.”

You studied him for a moment, watching how composed he was despite the situation. He was always so calm, but today it was different. You noticed how his shoulders were just a little stiffer than usual, his gaze just a little more distant, though he quickly returned his focus to you.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, his smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s get to class.”

You nodded, following him, but the unease that had settled in your chest refused to leave. Something felt off.

The entire day felt off, like there was an invisible weight pressing on you, pulling your attention in a thousand directions. As you sat in class, your fingers kept scrolling through your phone, searching for any new information about the missing students. Every news site you checked had the same vague updates, all of them repeating the same information—the authorities were still investigating, but there were no leads. The unease grew heavier in your chest with each passing minute.

You didn’t even realize you weren’t paying attention to the lesson until the teacher called on you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. You hastily tried to catch up, your mind racing with thoughts about what might be happening. The missing students. The weird, unsettling feeling that something was wrong.

As the bell rang for the next class, you absentmindedly packed up your things, your mind still elsewhere. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Ni-ki sitting next to you, watching you with a careful, intense gaze.

It wasn’t until he spoke that you realized he’d been looking at you for a while. His voice was low, almost dangerous in its calmness.

“You haven’t been paying attention all day,” he said, his tone not accusatory but focused, like he was analyzing every little thing. “What’s going on?”

You looked up, surprised by the directness in his tone. Ni-ki’s eyes weren’t his usual playful, teasing self—they were sharp, focused, and a little darker than usual. There was something in them that made your heart race, something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to tell him what you were feeling, or if it was just your imagination running wild. The tension in the air seemed to thicken as he waited for you to respond, and despite everything, you felt the need to be honest with him.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “It’s just… something feels wrong, Ni-ki. There’s this whole thing with the missing students, and it doesn’t feel like it’s over. I keep thinking about all of it. I can’t stop.”

Ni-ki’s gaze never left you as you spoke, and he gave a slight nod, as if he understood. The tension in his eyes didn’t fade, though—if anything, it seemed to grow.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” he said quietly. “But you’ve got to be careful. People don’t always show their true faces. And sometimes, the things that feel wrong are just the beginning.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into you. There was something about the way he said it—like he knew more than he was letting on. You wanted to ask him more, to press him for details, but the way he looked at you made you think better of it.

Instead, you gave a small, uneasy nod. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already caught up in something much bigger than you realized.

Ni-ki turned his gaze away after a moment, but not before his eyes flickered down to your hand, which you had been fidgeting with absentmindedly. He seemed to think about something for a second, and then, without warning, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers over yours. The simple touch was enough to send a jolt through your body, but when he met your eyes again, his expression had softened, almost reassuring.

“Don’t let it consume you,” he said, his voice more tender now, as if trying to comfort you in his own way. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what he meant by together.

After school, you had made up your mind not to stay out too late. You just wanted to get home, rest, and focus on the things you needed to catch up on. The bus ride was uneventful, and you felt a small sense of relief as you stepped off and made your way home. The familiar walk up to your building gave you a little comfort, and you entered quickly, glad to be out of the rain.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, tossed your bag onto the couch, and went straight for the bathroom to wash away the stress of the day. The hot water from the shower was soothing, and you stood there for a while, letting it run over your shoulders as you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation of warmth and calm.

When you finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, you dried off and got dressed in something comfortable, and started studying, but a few hours later your stomach growled loudly, a reminder that it had been far too long since you’d eaten.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. It was already late, and you had hardly eaten all day. You stood up from your desk, stretched, and made your way to the kitchen to see what you could scrounge up. As you opened the fridge, you found a few things—a block of cheese, some leftover rice, some random vegetables—but not nearly enough to make a decent meal. Your eyes landed on the empty shelf where you normally kept the essentials like eggs, bread, and a few other things.

You cursed under your breath.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a while, and it was becoming apparent just how low on supplies you were. You’d been putting it off for days, but now you were paying the price. You pulled out your phone to make a quick list of the things you needed to pick up: eggs, bread, some fresh produce, and whatever else would make an easy dinner. You threw on a jacket, grabbed your phone and keys, and headed back out the door.

The chill of the evening air hit you as soon as you stepped outside. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the rain still lightly falling from the sky. The store wasn’t too far, but you’d be walking through puddles, and you could already feel the dampness creeping into your shoes. Still, you needed the food, so you picked up your pace and headed in the direction of the local grocery store.

By the time you reached the entrance, you had that familiar grocery store smell—the faint scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the cool air of refrigeration—and you pushed open the door, ready to get what you needed and get back home.

You grabbed your essentials—some vegetables, some rice, and a few other ingredients to make the dinner you had planned.

You walked out of the store, the cold evening air hitting your face as you carefully balanced your bag of groceries. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, glancing at it absentmindedly as you began to make your way back to your apartment. You swiped through a few messages and notifications, barely paying attention to the route you were taking.

But when you finally looked up, you froze.

The street around you didn’t look familiar at all. You glanced back, realizing you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Your surroundings had shifted from the usual city bustle to an unfamiliar area with dilapidated houses lining the street. The buildings looked old, their windows boarded up, and the paint on the walls was chipped, peeling away from years of neglect. The street was quiet, almost eerily so, and the air felt still in a way that made your skin prickle.

You checked your phone to see your location, but it didn't help much. You could have sworn you’d taken the right path.

You stood for a moment, considering whether to retrace your steps or try to find another route back home. That’s when the sound reached your ears—a sharp, blood-curdling scream. Your heart skipped a beat. It echoed through the quiet, a cry filled with terror and desperation.

Your mind screamed at you to turn around, to keep walking and get back to the familiar streets. But something inside you stirred—a compulsion you couldn’t shake. Another scream, followed by a cry for help, rang out, louder this time. The desperation in the voice pulled at you like an invisible thread.

Without fully realizing it, you started moving toward the sound. You glanced around nervously, double-checking that you weren’t being followed, but all you could see were the looming, abandoned houses. The streetlights flickered sporadically, casting long, haunting shadows over the cracked pavement. The atmosphere felt heavy, suffocating.

You set your groceries down carefully on the ground, the sound of the bag crinkling in the quiet making you pause for a moment. You slowly made your way toward the large house where the screams had come from. It stood at the end of the street, a large, imposing structure with peeling paint and broken windows. It looked almost like a mansion at one point, but now it was barely standing, with decay eating away at its foundation.

You hesitated, but that instinct in you, the one telling you to keep moving, pushed you forward. You approached the front door, cautiously reaching out to try the handle. To your surprise, it turned easily, creaking as the door slowly opened with little resistance.

The inside was just as unsettling as the outside. It was dark, the only light coming from the weak glow of the streetlights outside, filtering through the broken windows. Dust clung to every surface, and the air smelled stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. You hesitated for a moment, then pulled out your phone and turned on the flashlight. The small beam of light illuminated the eerie interior, casting long shadows along the walls.

You walked quietly, each step careful, your heart hammering in your chest. There was an unsettling silence now, the kind that makes every creak of the floorboard seem like an alarm ringing.

As you moved through the rooms, you found only remnants of the house’s former life—old furniture covered in dust, paintings half-faded with age, and broken mirrors hanging crookedly on the walls. It didn’t feel right, like the house itself was hiding something.

You continued forward, your pulse racing, until you saw the stairs. The narrow staircase creaked under your feet as you started to climb, the air thick with tension. You took each step slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The further you climbed, the more oppressive the silence became, making you feel like you were intruding on something dangerous.

At the top you found another hallway, dark and seemingly endless. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you slowly moved forward, the sound of your breath heavy in your ears. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find, but with each step you took, the feeling of dread only deepened.

You were too far in now. Something had drawn you here, and no matter how much you wanted to turn back, you couldn’t.

You continued down the dark hallway at the top of the stairs, your flashlight flicking over the faded wallpaper and old doors that creaked slightly with the movement of the house. The air was thick with dust, and the floorboards groaned beneath your steps as you moved forward, every creak seeming louder in the stillness.

But despite the eerie surroundings, there was nothing—no signs of anyone being here, no more sounds of distress. The rooms you peeked into were abandoned, just like the rest of the house. Some were empty, their floors covered in broken glass or debris; others held old furniture, now falling apart with age.

You moved cautiously, stepping lightly to avoid making noise, but your mind was beginning to feel like it was playing tricks on you. The urgency that had pushed you to come this far was fading, replaced by a strange, unsettling feeling.

Your flashlight beam swept over more rooms—empty, forgotten, silent. You checked the windows of each room, but they were all boarded up or shattered, the light outside barely filtering through the gaps. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. The only sound was the slow rhythm of your own breath and the occasional rustle of your shoes against the old carpet.

The stairs seemed endless, but you couldn’t stop now. Something was pulling you forward, urging you to climb higher, even though you knew deep down it might be a mistake.

You reached the next floor, your heart racing with each step. This floor, just like the others, was coated in layers of dust and neglect. You didn’t dare touch anything; you just scanned each room quickly, hoping for a clue or something to justify your presence. But still, there was nothing.

You stood in the center of the hallway, a small sense of dread growing in your chest. There was no sign of anyone, no one to help. The house was as empty and cold as ever.

You sighed in frustration, about to turn and leave, when you noticed something different. A door at the end of the hall—a door that looked… newer, as though it hadn’t suffered the same wear as the rest of the house. Something about it caught your attention. It wasn’t the same peeling wood or faded paint. It was almost as if the door had been replaced, but not the rest of the house.

You slowly moved toward it, your hand hesitating on the doorknob.

You turned the knob, and the door creaked open.

On the other side was a small, dimly lit room. It was sparsely furnished—just a single chair in the center, facing a tall mirror that seemed too clean, too pristine in this neglected space. The rest of the room was dark, the corners shrouded in shadows.

But in the reflection of the mirror, you saw something that made your blood run cold.

A figure standing behind you.

You spun around, your breath catching in your throat, but the room was empty.

You turned back to the mirror, only to see your own wide-eyed expression, the flashlight still trembling in your hand.

Was it a trick of the light?

You couldn’t tell, but the sense of dread intensified, and every instinct you had screamed at you to leave.

Your heart raced in your chest as you hesitated in the hallway, the silence around you thick with dread, you stood frozen, unsure whether to retreat or continue forward. But the distant cries for help, desperate and pleading, pushed you onward.

You slowly climbed the last set of stairs, careful with every step, your breath shallow as you tried not to make a sound. The air seemed heavier here, colder, as if the building itself was alive with something sinister. Each creak of the floorboards under your feet was unnervingly loud in the silence, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

At the top of the stairs, the floor seemed different—newer, almost cleaner than the rest of the house. You could hear faint whimpers, like someone in pain. Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over you, but you ignored it. You needed to know what was happening, needed to help whoever it was.

You crept down the hall, pausing only when you reached the door at the end. It was barely ajar, just enough to allow a glimpse of what lay beyond. Hesitantly, you peered through the crack, your heart nearly stopping when the scene before you registered.

It was a girl—someone you knew well from school. The same one from the mall, the one who had tried to hit you just days ago. But now, she was in a different state entirely. Bound to a chair, her body covered in blood, her eyes glazed with pain and fear. Her hair matted with sweat, her clothes torn and stained. It was a sight so revolting it made your stomach turn.

You gasped softly, the breath catching in your throat. The scene felt surreal, as if you were watching some horrible nightmare. The blood, both dried and fresh, had stained the chair she was tied to, the dark red splotches contrasting against the pale, almost sickly white of her skin. It was a haunting sight.

A few moments of stunned silence passed as your mind struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. Then, something inside you clicked—instinct, maybe, or the sheer desperation to do something. You couldn’t just leave her like this. Not after everything you had already witnessed.

You quickly opened the door just enough to squeeze through, the sharp creak of the hinges making your heart race even faster. As you stepped inside, your feet almost felt like they were dragging on their own. You moved toward her cautiously, afraid of alerting anyone who might be nearby.

Her breathing was shallow, but she was still alive. She winced, a painful sound escaping her as you approached, her eyes struggling to stay open. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy for her—no matter the past between you two, no one deserved to be in this state.

With trembling hands, you carefully assessed her wounds. The blood was coming from several places, mostly on her legs and arms, but there were deeper gashes across her torso. It was hard to tell how deep they were, but they were certainly serious.

You quickly pressed against the worst of her wounds. She let out a pained groan, weakly trying to shift her body, but she couldn’t move much. The bindings kept her in place, and all you could do was try to stem the flow of blood.

Her body tensed at the pressure, and she let out a strangled cry. You couldn’t bear to think of how long she had been like this, how much time had passed since she’d been brought here.

As you worked, a noise caught your attention—a soft mumbling, almost unintelligible. Your blood ran cold as you turned your head toward the sound, your eyes locking on a partially open door to another room, connected to where you were. The figure of someone moved within, their back to you.

You didn’t need to see their face to know who it was.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. You looked back at the girl, who was still breathing heavily but seemed barely conscious.

You couldn’t leave her. You couldn’t.

But you also knew that the moment the killer came back in, you’d both be in even more danger. You had to act fast.

Carefully, you stood and slowly, almost silently, backed away from the girl, your heart pounding in your ears. You closed the door behind you as quietly as possible, the faintest creak echoing in the silence of the house. You took a breath, holding it as you peered through the crack in the door.

Just as you thought you were safe, you saw the killer reappear in the room, the door creaking open. His cold gaze flicked to the girl, who was still bound to the chair. Without even glancing around, he stepped forward, his hands moving to adjust the knife in his grip.

You sucked in a breath, watching in silence as he leaned down, brushing his fingers over her bloodied face.

The knife glinted under the dim light as he loomed over her, speaking in a low, almost amused tone.

And then, your body tensed—your instincts screamed at you to leave, to run before he noticed you.

The moment you stepped back, the sharp crunch of broken glass beneath your foot was like a thunderclap in the otherwise silent house. Your heart froze in your chest, you lifted your foot, eyes immediately widening.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard a slow, deliberate creak from behind the door. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Without even thinking, your gaze snapped toward the crack between the door and the frame. And there he was.

The killer. His white mask was the only thing visible, but it was enough. You could feel the weight of his gaze through the small sliver, cold, calculating. The mask seemed almost too calm, too collected. He hadn't even flinched at the noise. No, he was waiting. He was waiting for you to realize the mistake you'd just made.

The cruel, teasing voice that followed was enough to freeze you in place.

"Well, well," he purred from behind the door, his tone dripping with amusement. "Looks like we've got a curious little mouse here, don't we?"

Your stomach dropped as the fear, the raw terror, finally gripped you. You felt your pulse thunder in your ears as he slowly, almost deliberately, tilted his head, eyes still hidden behind that mask.

Before you could even think, before your body could process anything else, you screamed. The sound was torn from your throat, pure panic flooding every fiber of your being. You scrambled backward, your feet slipping slightly on the old wooden floor as you scrambled toward the staircase, your heartbeat pounding so loud in your chest that you could hardly hear anything else.

Your mind screamed at you to move faster, but your legs felt like they were made of lead. Every step you took seemed to echo in the vast, empty space, and you could already hear his footsteps behind you—closer, too close.

You shot a desperate glance over your shoulder as you reached the stairs. The killer was still there, stepping into the hallway, his slow, deliberate pace making your heart race even faster. His mask was almost inhuman in its stillness, but there was a look in his posture—predatory, like he was enjoying the chase.

You stumble down the creaking, narrow staircase, your breath coming in ragged gasps as panic claws at your chest. Tears blur your vision, streaking your face as the blood on your trembling hands smears across the banister. You don’t dare look back. You can’t.

Above you, his voice echoes through the decaying walls, low and mocking, sending chills down your spine.

“Run all you want,” he calls, his tone light, almost playful. “You know I’ll catch you.”

Your foot catches on a loose board, nearly sending you sprawling, but you grip the railing and push yourself forward. His words follow you, slithering into your ears like poison.

“You can’t hide from me. You know that, don’t you? I’ll always find you. Always.”

The air is heavy with the smell of dust and mildew, but it does nothing to muffle his voice.

“You and that little curiosity of yours,” he sneers, his footsteps steady and unhurried. “That’s what got you into this mess. You wanted to see what was behind the curtain, didn’t you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your legs screaming in protest as you take the steps two at a time.

“No one else deserves you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something darker, more possessive. “Only me. And if I can’t have you…”

You swallow back a sob as his words twist, their meaning sharp as a blade.

“…then no one can.”

Your foot hits the landing, and you dart into the next corridor, the peeling wallpaper and flickering lights a blur around you. Still, his voice lingers, wrapping around you like a noose.

“You’ll be mine in the end. You know it. Why keep running, darling? Why deny the inevitable?”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape. The hallway stretches endlessly before you, and the sound of his steps—slow, deliberate—echoes closer, as if he’s right behind you.

Your chest burns as you push forward, forcing your legs to move despite the overwhelming ache. The hallway feels endless, the dim, flickering lights above casting warped shadows that seem to close in on you. Each creak of the floorboards behind you makes your heart skip a beat, his taunting voice dripping into your ears like acid.

“You can’t run forever,” he hums, his tone like a lullaby meant to unsettle. “Every step you take just brings you closer to me. Don’t you see? This is fate. You were made for me.”

A sob escapes you before you can stifle it, your body betraying the terror that threatens to consume you whole. You glance frantically over your shoulder, but the staircase behind you is empty. He isn’t there, and yet his voice sounds as if it’s just over your shoulder, like he’s breathing down your neck.

You shove open a door at the end of the hall, the old wood groaning on its hinges as you stumble into what looks like a storage room. Rusted tools hang on the walls, their edges sharp and unforgiving, glinting faintly in the pale light from a single bare bulb swaying overhead. Your breath catches as you scan the room, desperately searching for a way out.

“There you go,” he purrs, his voice impossibly close now, like he’s whispering directly into your ear. “Hide, if it makes you feel safer. I like when you play hard to get. It makes it so much sweeter when I finally catch you.”

You slam the door shut and lock it, your shaking hands fumbling with the rusted bolt. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, heavier now, deliberate in their approach. You back away from the door, your eyes darting around the room. The windows are boarded up, thick planks of wood nailed across the frames, no hope of escape.

Your breathing is shallow, uneven. Your hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into your palms as you try to will yourself to think. Focus. Focus.

Then, silence.

The footsteps stop. His voice is gone.

Your heart pounds in the stillness, the quiet almost worse than his taunts. You strain your ears, listening for anything—any sign of movement, any sound that could tell you where he is. But there’s nothing.

A soft knock on the door shatters the quiet, making you jump back with a gasp.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice calm now, almost tender. “You don’t need to be. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make this quick.”

The doorknob jiggles. Once. Twice. Then, a violent bang as he slams against the door, rattling the frame.

You scramble backward, your hands blindly reaching for anything, and they land on something cold and solid—a wrench, heavy and covered in dust.

Another bang. The bolt starts to bend under the pressure.

“I’m coming in, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a sickening glee. “Let’s end this little game, shall we?”

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole.

But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

Part 2 here

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Taglist: @totallynotj3zz @starfallia @jiryunn @yangjungwonnie

@miainthestarsss @caithefly @hhyvsstuff @kkamismom12

@ilyunjina @xiaoquanquans @heeseungspookie @flwwon

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harrywavycurly · 7 months ago

Text

Worth the Fight Part 2: City of Love

Masterlist: Here

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, language, bit of light arguing, brief details of the hook up in the bathroom, miscommunication and a touch of panic attack symptoms mentioned.

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden

A/N: I know it’s not Thursday but I just wanted to get this up because this week is a busy one for me! Hope yall enjoy it!!✨

Summary: Harry gets the confirmation he needs but wasn’t really expecting while you try to be as nice as possible to him, oh and Harry meets your cat! So enjoy getting a little look at the way your personalities work/clash together✨

“So uh-you’re actually pregnant.” Harry says with a heavy sigh as he watches you dig around in your purse for your car keys. You pause your search so you can look up at him just in time to see him run a hand over his face. “I just really thought maybe your tests were wrong? Like maybe you got a bad batch or something and-”

“A bad batch? Harry I took four different kinds of tests.”

“Well yeah but still I just don’t know how this happened?”

“Did your parents not have the talk with you about how babies are made? Surely you know how this happened.” Harry ignores your snippy remark as you resume your search for your keys as he presses the down button for the elevator.

The two of you just got done visiting with your doctor who confirmed you are in fact pregnant and suggested a well known obstetrician and gynecologist, Dr. Andrews that could take over and do the paternity test once you call and set up an initial appointment with his office and see exactly how far along you are. You weren’t shocked by the news, but Harry on the other hand sat there with his mouth hung open as if he didn’t expect it at all and you aren’t sure why considering you told him how many tests you took and how they all said pregnant in different ways. You know he had to be reminded of how the two of you met, seeing as he meets so many people and all but you just assumed that once he had his moment of clarity and remembered meeting you that the memory of the rest of the evening would also begin to not be as fuzzy for him but he’s proving that theory very wrong with every confused glance and silly question he tosses your way.

“I thought we were careful?” He questions once the elevator doors open up allowing the two of you to step inside, you let out a chuckle as he moves to stand next to you crossing his arms over his chest while he shoots you a glare. “Are you giggling? What’s so funny about this?” You just shake your head as you finally feel your keys on the bottom of your purse.

“Oh you-you’re being serious?” You ask as you look over at him with a raised brow making him nod his head in response. “I wasn’t aware that the pull out method was really even considered a form of being careful?” Harry’s eyes go wide as his arms fall to his sides and that’s how you figure out he really is struggling to put the pieces together of what exactly happened in that bathroom so you decide to give him just one more detail to help him understand how the two of you really ended up in this situation.

“And by the way in order for that method to work you actually have to pull out.” You add casually as you reach over and press the button for the lobby while Harry’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he looks down at the floor in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“So are you going to want to be at all the appointments?” You ask a few minutes later as the two of you enter the lobby of the medical building your doctor’s office is in. Harry looks around and brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck while you adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder as you wait for him to answer.

“I don’t know? I just-this is a lot.” He finally replies a few moments later making you purse your lips and slowly nod your head before you turn and head for the front entrance of the building. Harry doesn’t know what to do but he knows the two of you have things to discuss so he just quickly rushes to catch up to you and when he finds you heading for a small beat up looking car that’s parked in a very obvious no parking zone his eyebrows pinch together while his hand reaches out to grab your elbow causing you to stop walking and look at him over your shoulder.

“Look I’ll tell you how my next appointment goes and when they can do the paternity test-”

“Is this your car?” Harry asks interrupting your little rant, you watch his eyes go from your face to the car directly behind you.

“Yes. She’s very reliable even though she looks a bit rough.” You say in your car’s defense as you take a step away from him making his hand fall from its hold on your elbow as he stares at you in almost disbelief as you take your car key and unlock the passenger side door and toss your purse inside before closing it so you can turn and face Harry with your arms loosely crossed over your chest.

“This can’t be safe for you to be driving around in.” You roll your eyes at his statement as he takes a step to the side so he can give your car a proper once over and when he sees a dent on the front bumper he raises an eyebrow while pointing at it. “You run into things a lot?” He asks as he looks over at you from where he’s now stood near the front of your car.

“Leave Melanie alone okay she’s nice and gets me where I need to go.” You snap at him as you turn and place a hand on top of your car so you can give it a little pat. “I’ve had her since I was seventeen so yeah she’s got a few bumps-”

“Melanie? You named your car? Have you really had this thing since you were seventeen?”

“Yes Melanie just fits her and yeah Harry I’ve had this thing since I was seventeen because most people keep their cars for a while since we can’t all have a driver to take us places or have a fancy collection of cars we don’t use.” Harry doesn’t say anything in response so after a few moments of silence you take that as a sign the conversation is over so you just turn to round the front of the car and get into the driver’s seat.

“You’re in a no parking zone you know that right?” Harry says breaking the silence just as you open your door, you look at the sign that’s posted on the sidewalk right above where you’re parked and just shrug making Harry let out a huff as he rolls his eyes.

“I was in a hurry.”

“You mean you were running late?”

“No I mean I was in a hurry.”

“Are you late to a lot of things? Is that something I should get used to?”

“I don’t know Harry do you want to get used to me?”

“What? That’s not-not what I meant I just want to know if you’re late a lot?”

“I wasn’t late today was I?”

“No but clearly you were worried about it since you were rushing enough to just park in a no parking zone-what if your car would’ve gotten towed? What would you have done?” While he’s speaking you take the time to look him over and that’s when you notice it, his hands are clenching and unclenching fists by his sides and his cheeks are slightly flushed and his eyes are a bit wide, he looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack of some sort and him asking you these pointless questions is his attempt at holding it off.

You ignore his eyes that dart to various parts of your face and upper half of your body as if his mind can’t decide where it wants to focus as you close the driver’s side door with a bit of force making sure it stays closed and round the front of your car so you’re standing in front of him. You wonder for a moment as you stare at him if it’s your hormones already kicking in that makes you feel the need to make him feel better or if it’s just Harry who has this extremely annoying power to drive you to the brink of wanting to smack him a few time with your purse and leave him standing on the sidewalk alone and confused to all of a sudden switching it up to were you’re wanting to make sure he’s okay when he shows you any signs of distress. He watches your hands as they reach out and grab his and when you fill the gaps between his fingers with your own and give his hands a nice solid squeeze you watch his chest fall as he lets out a deep breath and his shoulders slump a bit. You look him in his eyes and give him a small smile while still giving his hands little reassuring squeezes.

“Would you like to come over? Have some tea?” Your question not only shocks Harry but you as well, not sure what came over you to even let the words slip out of your mouth, surely it’s just the hormones. Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment before he looks down at his watch on his right wrist, checking the time before he looks back up at you.

“Uh sure yeah-yeah I can come over for a bit.” He answers with a nod. You just let go of his hands and reach over for the passenger side door handle so you can open it for him. Harry quickly looks at you with worried eyes and begins shaking his head and backing away from you while trying to reach into the front pocket of his jeans for his phone.

“Oh no I’ll just call my-”

“Harry.” You say with a sigh as you continue to hold the door open for him, he stops fumbling for his phone and stares at you making you roll your eyes as you gesture to the passenger seat with a tilt of your head.

“Just get in the car.” With that Harry just lets out a groan as he reluctantly takes a step towards the open door and bends down so he can pick up your purse off the seat. You bite back a laugh as you watch him have to duck down a bit to get into your car and he makes a show of buckling himself in nice and tightly once he’s sat in the seat. You give him a smile as he places your purse in his lap just as you close the door for him so you can go and get into the driver’s seat and take the two of you to your apartment.

“Do you have a cat?” You look at Harry over your shoulder from where you’re making yourself a cup of herbal tea in the kitchen and smile when you see him messing with a random stuffed mouse that somehow ended up on your table.

As if on queue Harry looks down as he feels something rub against his shin and you see a small smile tug at the corners of his lips when he sees your orange cat greeting him with a few purrs but it’s when you see him rub his head against Harry’s ankles that you feel obligated to warn him about something.

“Oh but watch out he might-” your words get cut off by a tiny squeal from Harry as he takes a step towards you with his eyes set in a glare aimed at the orange cat that’s decided to now head into the living room since Harry didn’t allow him to fully chomp down on his ankle like he wanted.

“He just bit me.” Harry states as he watches your cat jump onto your sofa and quickly flop down into a comfortable laying position. “He bit my ankle.” He explains while turning to now give you his full attention making you just shrug as you reach for the honey to add to your mug.

“Yeah well his name is Paris so he kinda has a thing for ankles.” Harry stares at the side of your face as you go about making your tea while explaining why your cat just bit his ankle and he rolls his eyes at how casual you are about it, but that’s something Harry is learning about you, you don’t seem to take a lot of things that seriously.

“What’s the city of love have to do with ankles?” He asks as you give the liquid in your mug a nice stir, he watches the way his question makes your brows pinch together and when you turn to look at him he sees your face looks almost concerned and he can’t imagine why considering the two of you are just talking about your cat.

“He’s named after Paris as in the one who killed Achilles.” When Harry just raises an eyebrow in response to your explanation you let out a long sigh as you pick up your mug. “Have you heard of Troy?”

“The Brad Pitt movie?” You have to fight off the urge to reach over and flick him in the ear at his answer but you just shake your head and walk past him and into your living room.

“No not the Brad Pitt movie I mean the actual story of Troy? With Achilles and Hector? The Trojan horse and all that?” Harry follows you into the living room and makes a mindful choice not to sit on the couch with the orange cat that just tried to make a meal out of his ankle, opting for the loveseat that’s placed across from the couch with a little coffee table in between the two pieces of furniture.

“Hector and the little horse thing are in the Brad Pitt movie though.” Harry explains as you get comfortable on the couch making Paris lift his head and look around to see who has come into the room and disturbed his peace.

“Little horse thing? Are you-you know what it’s not important.” You take a sip of your tea to help calm yourself down before placing it on the coffee table, Harry takes the opportunity to glance down and he quirks an eyebrow when he sees the name of the tea on the little tag hanging out of the mug.

“Paris shot Achilles in the ankle so that’s why I named him Paris…because he attacks the ankles of people he doesn’t like.” You smile as the orange cat stretches out next to you placing a paw on your thigh while Harry just lets out a scoff at the idea of your cat not liking him.

“You drink peppermint tea with honey? That’s criminal. And also there’s no way he doesn’t like me considering he just met me.” You laugh as you reach over and run your hand over Paris’s back making him purr while still keeping his eyes closed.

“Oh and it’s so hard to imagine someone not liking you after just meeting you?”

“Well yeah because he doesn’t know me so how can he not like me?”

“He knows enough to want to bite your ankle the first chance he got.”

“That’s because you’ve probably poisoned him against me.” You laugh and roll your eyes as Harry leans over and grabs your mug of tea off the table and brings it to his lips so he can taste it. “And that’s disgusting by the way.” He states with a face of disgust making you glare at him as you lean over and grab the mug from his hand before he can set it back down on the table.

“And I remember you being taller.” You mumble while Harry just glares at you from his spot on the loveseat. “What? You insulted my tea so I’m allowed to insult your-”

“I can’t really do anything about my height but you can and absolutely should fix the way you make tea because no one should be mixing honey with peppermint.” He argues as he watches you with a narrowed glare as you take a sip of your tea, you watch as he leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands together.

“Is this how you always act when someone invites you into their home as a way of calming you down when you’re on the verge of a panic attack? You just insult them and-”

“I wasn’t having a panic attack.”

“You were maybe two minutes away from one and please stop interrupting me it’s so rude and isn’t your whole thing about treating people with-”

“How are you not panicking? You’re having a baby possibly my baby and you’re just sat there with your nasty tea and-��

“That’s it.” You say with a huff and Harry flinches slightly as you all but slam your mug down onto the table before standing up causing Paris to jolt awake at your sudden outburst. “You’ve insulted my car and my tea today and I was going to let it slide because that’s fine we can have differences in opinions on tea and cars but that’s on top of the fact you don’t even remember what happened between us that night and you think the story of Troy is just a Brad Pitt movie and I just-I think you should leave now.” Harry blinks up at you as your hands fall to your sides in what he almost thinks is a sign of defeat, as if you lost the internal battle you were having with yourself on trying to keep your cool with him and that makes his mouth droop a bit into a small frown.

“I remember plenty about what happened that night.” He counters as he slowly stands up while you grab your mug and turn towards the kitchen. Harry reaches for his phone in his front pocket so he can text his driver your address and a message to please come get him as soon as possible.

“If that were true then today wouldn’t have been such a shock for you.” You explain before you disappear from Harry’s sight, he can’t really put a finger on the exact feeling that comes over him as he stands there in your living room knowing that everything you said is true. He doesn’t remember exactly what went on between the two of you, at least not very clearly.

He knows that the two of you had an intimate moment in the bathroom because the evidence was shown to him this afternoon when the doctor handed him a piece of paper that told him you are truly pregnant and this is all really happening. Since then he hasn’t been able to think straight or focus on much of anything and if he’s being honest he really isn’t good in stressful situations in general, he tends to either overreact or just panic and this by far is one of the most stressful situations he’s ever found himself in and he knows he isn’t handling himself the way he should be. And your calm and relaxed demeanor just seems to make him even more unnerved because he doesn’t get how you’re not in the same panic riddled boat as him.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, giving a tug at his roots as he glances down to your couch, he catches Paris do a lengthy stretch before he sits up briefly just to look at Harry and decide that even he is fed up with him so he jumps off the couch and walks off into the kitchen. Now in that moment Harry knows he should do that as well, follow your cat’s lead and walk into your cramped kitchen so he can at least attempt to apologize for a few things but he doesn’t. Instead he just runs a knuckle under his nose as he sniffles a bit and when he feels his phone vibrate and sees a text letting him know his driver is on his way he lets out a heavy sigh. He takes one last look at your kitchen entryway, hoping that maybe you’ll come back and sit down on the couch and he thinks that he wouldn’t even mind if you didn’t say anything but just sat there not looking at him so that way he would at least be able to tell you goodbye and prove to you that he’s capable of being polite but the sound of the sink being turned on quickly wash away any traces of hope he might’ve had.

“This is so fucked.” He mumbles to himself as he walks towards your front door, he knows better than to leave the two of you like this, with certain things needing to be spoken and unkind words being the last ones said but he doesn’t have much of a choice since you won’t come out of the kitchen. So Harry opens your front door and walks out into the hallway making sure to close it as quietly as possible deciding that maybe this is for the best and at least he’s giving you exactly what you asked for, him leaving.

You watch the last bits of your tea go down the drain as the sound of your front door opening and then closing hits your ears, you take a few steps back from the sink so you can poke your head out into the living room and when you see it’s empty you just let out a sigh and go back to cleaning your mug. You didn’t want to end your afternoon like this, standing alone in your kitchen because your patience was worn too thin for the man who somehow managed to charm you into agreeing to a quickie in a bar bathroom over a month ago.

You almost don’t even know how that man and the one who was sat in your living room not even five minutes ago are the same person. The Harry you met at the bar was fun and flirty and even though he teased you throughout the night it was never with any real intention to hurt your feelings while this Harry can’t help but take every chance he can get to insult you or toss a jab your way about something. You don’t know why the corners of your mouth turn downwards at the idea of the night you two met never really meaning anything to him aside from being the night he got you pregnant. You don’t get to think about it for too much longer as Paris jumps onto the counter and makes his way over to sit next to the sink momentarily taking your mind off the curly haired boy.

“We can do this right? We’ll be fine won’t we?” You ask him while he sits there looking at you with his big green yellow-ish eyes that all of a sudden remind you a bit too much of the man who just left your apartment without even saying goodbye. “Next time bite him a bit harder okay?”

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muntitled · 1 year ago

Text

Clockwork | Park Sunghoon

Vampire!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: “If there’s one thing stronger than your need to feast,” You lift that hand up once again, “-its your need to fuck."

Warnings: Language, Implied Violence, Dark Fic, Morally Ambiguous!Reader, Blackmail, Reader has a crush, Librarian!Reader, Implied age gap, Confrontation, Smut (+18) mdni, Blood Kink, Biting, Sadism, Masochism, Dom!Sunghoon, Sub!Reader, public sex, dub/Con, fingering, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Ownership kink, Pain Kink, Marking, Dumbification, Dacryphilia

Idek yall…

They are such stuff as monsters are made of.

That is the very last thing you are taught about Sunghoon.

That he is something to fear.

Predatory.

Killer.

But all you saw and all you’ll ever see is the boy casted in the shadows of library bookshelves. This is the setting that births your obsession- no- your love for him.

Every Thursday afternoon.

When the library has cleared out.

The only time he’s not with his family. The only time he’s alone.

Like clockwork.

“What do we have here?” A phrase you were obligated to say. Not many townsfolk valued literature and those that did, as per your boss, “needed to find every reason to come back.” Even if that meant mustering a robotic sunshine smile. As if you were a cashier at Starbucks and not a small town librarian.

How you managed to speak so coherently with Sunghoon looming on the other side of the desk remains a complete and utter mystery. If you were driven, otherwise, by the bundle of love knots in your stomach you might have stuttered foolishly and squeaked your way through scanning his books.

“Books.” He answers curtly, brusquely, leaving absolutely no room for further conversation- or interrogation, as it would apparently appear.

Sunghoon is not looking at you. His eyes - those endless golden voids-, are looking down at the mahogany desk you are standing on the opposite side of. You wish for more than anything to feel that otherworldly feeling of having those golden eyes focused completely on you.

What must that feel like?

To have Sunghoon’s sole, undivided attention.

You would soon have the unfortunate pleasure of finding out.

“W-Well I know they’re books,” You continue, stating this with an airy, light chuckle. A chuckle that indicated this conversation should have been over a long time ago and that you’re blatantly aware of that. Why aren’t you keeping your mouth shut?

“I mean- Well I just mean, you know it’s not everyday a 20 year old takes out,” You glance down at the book in your hands before sending it through the system, “Wuthering Heights?” Your brows furrow as you send a second one of his books through the scanner, “Turn of The Screw?” And the final, “Frankenstein-Mary Shelley?"

You quirk a questioning eyebrow up at him- one silently inquiring ‘what the fuck’s up with the archaic books, grandpa?’ But he, of course, is not sparing you a single glance.

Or wait- he does. But for the briefest moment.

"I enjoy literature.” It almost makes you keel over in inexplicable discomfort, the way the words were chewed on before they were forcibly spat out. You can see he is done entertaining your mindless spiel but for some weird, fucking stupid reason, you’re not done with him.

“Well yeah, sure. But I mean, the dust on these books are ageless, you must be the first man to borrow these in like, 40 million years-”

“21.” It is all he says. One little word that cuts your rant short like a heated knife. You glance up at him, hoping those dazzling eyes look down at you.

And they do.

Bloody, fucking, Christ. They do.

“You said 20. I’m 21.” Before you were about to ask how that could be the case- how Sunghoon could be older than you when you distinctly remember finishing high school the same year?

He decides to shock you.

“I got… held back a year. I was already supposed to have graduated.” You are not sure whether it’s the sprinkle of rain that has begun falling. Whether it was the weight of the impenetrable fact that Sunghoon fucking Park has just spoken to you more words than he’s ever said your entire high school career. Or whether-and this may exactly be it-you were affected by those blazing eyes that glided backup to look at you.

Not golden.

Blazing.

For the golden hues have simmered into something darker. They’ve literally bled into a darker shade of the gold-almost yellow hues in his eyes. The breath completely escapes your throat. This time he does not look away.

“R-Right. Of course. Sorry.” You had nothing to be sorry for. How could you ever have known any of Sunghoon’s and his weird friends’ ages when the only people they directly interacted with were the teachers and themselves? You could never have known Sunghoon was 21 and therefore did not need to apologise but… those eyes… they made you sorry.

“It’s just-” why the fuck, after everything, after all of that, is your mouth still moving? It’s like this was your only opportunity of bravery. Your only window letting through a sliver of courage before you would retreat in on yourself for the rest of your waning time in this town. Moving amongst the books like a spectre before you ran off to college.

This was your only opportunity.

“Well they’re all Victorian.” You finally let those words tumble out of your mouth.

You hear the sharp intake of breath.

“Bronte, James, Shelley.” You slide the books to him. “All Victorian… is this pattern the product of some trend I’m missing out on?” You chuckle lightly at the end of that, hoping to wrench one out of him too but you knew that was an impossible feat. Still, the chuckle drains down your throat when you hand him his books. Your fingers, still encircled around the hardbacks, brush over him accidentally.

“Jesus, are you cold?”

He pulls away quickly, evading eye contact like you’d turn him to stone. Evading your touch like your skin scorched his. “It’s raining. I-I could give you a ride-”

Sunghoon gulps visibly. In the span of a single conversation, those dark-golden eyes have stayed firmly on you but now they are prying you apart.

“That won’t be necessary.” He says, swallowing thickly once more.

“Of course.” You wave him off, immediately overcome by the embarrassment of your own presumptuous nature. Sunghoon's gaze drifts down to the books once more.

No. You can’t afford the dismissal. You can’t bear the non-verbal rejection any longer.

The faucet that is your mouth, just continues spewing.

“Vampires aren’t usually the ones being offered a ride, are they?” You turn your head, focusing on the raindrops shooting pellets at the tall library window. Your gaze appears far away but that’s what you want him to think. In your periphery, you see his eyes snap up from the mahogany desk with his head following; enough to make those dark strands bounce in surprise. You know you finally have him.

“I’m the victim,” You continue basking in the attention. Retaining more satisfying heat from his gaze alone than the husky fluorescent buzzing above you both. You are suddenly all too aware that the library is deserted.

“I’m supposed to be coaxed into your car. That’s how it works right? Like Bundy."

You lazily swing your gaze back from the window until you meet his eyes that have bled into an even darker shade of gold. So dark the gold has vanished completely, actually, leaving two soulless depths. His eyes scream, ‘how do you know?’

His jaw is tightened like screws and his fist is clenched so tight it should spout blood.

But there is no blood, is there? Dead things lose all of that.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about-” You lift a hand up. Right there, right in front of his stone face, silencing him immediately.

“That dance gets a little bit tedious, doesn’t it?” You laugh loudly into the hollow air filled with nothing but raindrops and thunder. “A little bit boring?” You give him a smirk. “I know one thing your little family specialises in isn't boredom.”

You make the unforeseen move of stepping back from your computer, slowly making a show of sauntering around the desk. Sunghoon's dark irises track you like a sniper and you revel in it.

You must stop your hands from fisting at your own sides.

You must maintain the little control you have, or it might just cost you your life.

“You're wrong,” he says, “The books. They’re not all Victorian.”

He’s stalling. Deflecting. Trying to distract himself from your nearing frame.

“Frankenstein,” he continues, “Shelley published it in 1818, that’s just short of the start of Victoria’s reign.”

You give him a small, tight-lipped smile.

“Hm. You would know though, wouldn’t you?”

He is pulled into silence.

“But back to your little lie.” Your path is set and your mind is made. “Vampire's daylighting as average university students? That’s a good fucking story.” You nod slowly, “A good fucking story.” You take small, tentative strides closer to him. Not wanting to engage too quickly. Sunghoon was big, tall and looming. Having that kind of frame tense- more tense than he already is, would only result in a blood bath. Your blood bath.

“Everyone at school, everyone in this town thinks you’re all so goddamn close but you wanna know what I think?” You saunter closer and he inhales sharply.

“No.”

You tsk and click your tongue, not stopping your calm gait whatsoever until his scent completely enveloped you. So empty and… dead.

A smell that can’t be masked by the most expensive cologne and yet you enjoyed it. It made your blood race and if what you knew was true, then he could hear the erratics of your heart as well. You wanted him to.

“See, Hoonie-”

“Sunghoon.”

“Hoonie. Why else would you be entertaining this nonsense?” You continue moving closer until his back is pressed against the wooden desk, looking down at you with a near pitch black abyss. You look up at him, feigning innocent doe eyes as you pressed your voluminous chest against him. You dare even let your hand drift over his black, cotton sweater.

“I could-” Sunghoon's eyes flutter closed before he snaps them open again. “I could hurt you. But you know that, don’t you?” A finger slips itself under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

Or so you thought.

He continues to lift your chin until you were looking up at the fluorescent light. Then, and only then, did you understand that he was baring your neck to him.

“Aw, Sunghoon.” You chastise lightly, still letting him do with you as you please. Unbeknownst to him, you were leaning in closer, letting your hand slip onto the desk behind him until you found just what you were looking for.

Letter opener.

“I’m counting on you to hurt me, Silly.”

You finally pull back, before he can lower himself further in-before he could go in for the kill.

You aim the sharp two-edged blade of the letter opener into your left palm and, with all the reserve in the world, you cut a long, shallow gash all the way in.

The very second your palm stains crimson, Sunghoon's entire build begins to shake. His chest begins to heave uncontrollably. His face is perfectly the same but somehow you still hear the hungry tufts of air leaving his nostrils, even over the raging rain outside and you smile.

“Trust me.” You say,

“I’m counting on you hurting me,”

“You’re really goddamn stupid, you know that?“ He says cockily, feigning his control when his pitch black eyes are a dead giveaway. The pupils are trained on the beoken skin along your palm and that alone. The blood has begun dripping aimlessly down your palm and you hold it up to him, showing him his prize. Showing him everything he’s been missing.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I’m crazy and stupid.” You discard the letter opener on the carpet beside you. It clunks to the ground and you let out a little sigh.

“You can go ahead and bite me Sung-” You might not explicitly be on a nickname basis, but you figured now was as good a time as any to familiarise yourself with each other, since-

“You’re gonna turn me."

Sunghoon finally rips his onyx eyes away from the dripping crimson faucet and he stares down at you questioningly.

"Why would I do that?” Some hair has fallen in front of his left eye but he makes no move to brush it away, so naturally, you do it for him… using your bleeding left hand.

“Well… because you’re you. And self restraint isn’t very you, Sunghoon.” You tuck the dark strand, now stained lightly with your blood, behind his ear and you begin to trail your hand slowly down the side of his face. Sunghoon's eyes flutter closed and he leans, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, right into your bleeding grip. He turns his head sideways and inhales sharply.

“I knew it.” You marvel at the boy before you. “Sure it was just a theory but- it all fell serendipitously into place: The absent days when it’s sunny out. The deathly paleness. The untouched lunch trays. The old ass books that probably give away your real age.” His eyes are still closed and he is still moving his cheek against your bleeding hand. He hums unintelligibly.

“The ice cold skin was my final check.”

“How clever.”

He produces the first smile you’ve ever seen and the beauty of it releases a wave of endorphins and butterflies in your gut. “You want a cookie for that?” He has a dangerously gorgeous lopsided grin that, coupled with the gleaming, pointed canines that have emerged, leaves your pulse quickening in more places than your heart.

“What’s to stop me from ripping you open right now? There’s no one here. No one will be here in time to stop me from killing you.” He turns to look at you and you almost gasp at how severely sexy your smeared blood on his cheek looks.

“Give me reasons.” He urges with his voice bouncing off the walls.

“I need reasons or-” his eyes flutter closed “-or I just might do it. I will kill you.”

You needed to maintain control. But in that moment you knew and feared that you and him were beginning to realise that your dominant reserve was slipping right through your fingers. It was your turn in the hot seat. Okay.

You got what you wanted. Find out what you needed to find out. But all that came at a price.

You try to keep your voice steady as you answer him.

“As much as it annoys you and me, Sunghoon, it is a fact that you wanna fit in with everyone else.” Sunghoon's eyes never leave yours as you continue talking. “You probably never really had a home and this town allows you to blend in with the rest of us.” He breathes deeply through his nose. “Killing the bookkeeper would put this little fantasy life you've built for yourself in jeopardy,” Your breathing is irregular and harsh and you look at his lips and oh god you need to taste him.

“But you’re still you, Sunghoon. This town can’t and never will change that fact. You’re not like the rest of us,” You finally say, “You’re not-”

In a blur and manipulation of time, space and all the little things in between, you’ve been transported with a swift dash across the room until you were being held by the throat against a bookshelf. Pain stems from the sudden and rapid movement but the firm and unwavering squeeze on your throat, elicits a wave of lust.

“I’m done playing your little mind games.” He’s seething and he’s angry and he’s right where you want him.

“Oh? But we were having so much fun, Sung-” He squeezes your windpipe, so incredibly close to crushing it.

“What do you want?”

You let the first ever genuine smile slip onto your face.

“For you to turn me, Hoonie."

He pauses. Quite literally.

Sunghoon's rapid breathing goes to a complete stand still and his form goes as still as a statue. You deduce that this is him thinking. He’s mapping out all the possible shit storms this would conjure up for him and his precious family and you hold the will to roll your eyes. After a few stunted seconds, Sunghoon eases back again.

"Once I start-”

“You won’t stop? Sunghoon, we’ve been eye fucking this entire time. I'm not sure what it is about Blackmail that gets you off but it's not difficult to see how bad you need it.” He squeezes your throat again in warning, already telling you all you need to know.

He's not sure why he's attracted to you. He shouldn't be. Whether its the fact that you should already be dead for even knowing his secret- for thinking you can offee him an ultimatimatum- its your sheer fucking guts that has him warming with attraction.

Your words slowly bring him up for air. “If there’s one thing stronger than your need to feast,” You lift that hand up once again, “-its your need to fuck. Vampires are immortal so they draw pleasure from the little things. The pleasurable things. That bulge in your pants can’t go unnoticed, Sunghoon, no matter how long you want it t-”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes before he murmurs: “Just shut up,”

He crashes his lips right onto yours. The kiss is not only electric but it’s magnetic. As if you would not be able to pull away even if you wanted to. And his firm grip on your throat keeps you there. It’s strong and he squeezes as he licks on your bottom lip, coaxing the opening out of you. So naturally, you moan, and the bastard uses the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

You needn’t open your eyes to see he was half-smiling into your kiss. That little nugget of information made you need him even more. During your kiss, you squeeze your legs together. Sunghoon hums disapprovingly in your mouth, sending his other hand down your thigh, urging them apart.

“You can’t do that.” He breaks the kiss and says the words at a perfectly even breathe, meanwhile you were a heaving mess.

“What?” You inquire dumbly, all too focused on his hand on your jeans to rather give a fuck about anything else.

“Pathokinesis.” Is all he says before he ducks down into the crook of your neck, ripping the gasp out of your lungs by force. His large hand around your throat moves up to your cheek, rubbing the skin with his thumb softly.

“Don’t do that.” He says into your neck before venturing to flick his tongue out, licking the skin and driving you all too insane. You almost don’t register his words but the weight of his revelation has you tumbling to your senses momentarily.

“What? So you can like-”

“Sense and manipulate your emotions?” He says, coming up from your neck. “Yeah.” He nods once before he takes your mouth in his once more.

“What you feel,” he mumbles in between the kiss, “I feel too."

Yet another gasp strains your throat when you feel two sharp teeth graze against the skin of your plump bottom lips as Sunghoon pulls away.

Have you really thought any of your movements through?

What if sex with a vampire was fatal?

You’re about to spiral into oblivion before Sunghoon speaks up.

"No.” He says curtly, and you’re all too aware of the hand trying to push past your denim jeans. “You’re not pulling back on me now. Not after everything.” You’re in awe of his words.

“Jesus, so you really can feel everything.”

That life threatening smile again.

“Pretty much.”

He begins to undo the buttons of your pants tentatively, almost meticulously, as if you were fortunate to have all the time in the world. You’re about to urge him to hurry the fuck up but one of the shelves behind your head collapses. Books fall to a sad heap on the floor and the wood is snapped in tiny pieces. Sunghoon's hand was leaning against that particular shelf.

Maybe he’s not as calm as he’d like to convey.

“There is one thing,” the buttons are undone but he’s stopped moving his fingers. They are in fact paused on the lining of your underwear. The material is calmly in between his index and thumb, creating the sickest, most twisted need you’ve ever felt. You almost abandon modesty and grind into him right then and there.

His next words however, have you almost wanting to keel over in grief.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says with a sick smile.

“Why?” It's all you can manage and suddenly, you think the universe must be smiling at the irony of this situation. The encounter had begun with You as the master of this blackmail, yet here you were, grovelling for him.

“I think you’re really good at getting what you want,” he says, leaning forward and slowly, oh so slowly, letting his hand slip into the fabric. The graze of his fingers on you cunt alone making you almost sob out in need.

“And I’m not gonna allow that.” He concludes before pushing his hand all the way in. Sunghoon does nothing but snicker when he feels the pool of wetness.

“This is how this is gonna work,” he uses his free hand to pick up your limp left one. The wound is of considerable size however, the blood is not flowing as much but it’s still there.

“You’re gonna give me this.” He lifts your limp hand up and you comply like a puppet on a string. “And I’m gonna give you this.” His fingers-the index and the middle,- flick over your clit, causing you to let out an aching whimper.

“Got it?” He’s already placing your bloody palm against his plump lips and you’re too enamoured. Too enamoured at the sight of his tongue sticking out and lapping at the blood as if it were a healing potent. You’re too enamoured to respond and he does not like this one bit.

Sunghoon flicks another finger against your clit.

“JESUS!” You scream into the empty library. Sunghoon, who’s eyes were closed, shoots open and he hums disapprovingly.

“No,” he says irritably, “Sunghoon. Say Sunghoon.”

You’re a drunken, sex filled mess. “Fuck-Sunghoon.” He smiles, satisfied, before returning to your palm. You begin to grind into his fingers and his chuckles.

“Sung… Sunghoon please.” There are tears staining your eyes and you’re so completely torn apart. The thrill of it being in a public setting. The rain. The licking on your palm. It’s too much.

Way too fucking much.

“Please? Please let you finish?” Sunghoon asks mockingly and a sob releases from your throat as your hips begin to buck into his hands. “You’d like me to let you cum all over my hand?”

“Please, Hoonie. Please.”

“That’s a shame…” He replies, “I thought we were having so much fun.” You do not even have the strength to act stunned at having your words being flung back at you, you’re too focused on the fingers that have slipped inside of you and the hissing noise escaping Sunghoon's throat.

It’s all so unbelievable. Sunghoon pulls back and hisses loudly. Your heart stops at the sight of his canines elongating even further but that all falls away when he sinks them further into your palm. Biting down.

Hard.

“Hoon..” You're completely out of it. The fingers slide in and out and in and out, searching rapidly for your g-spot, but in the very same breath, there’s a sharp, bright and blinding pain in your left palm, letting the tears fall as they may.

“Fuck, Sunghoon! Oh god! It hurts! It hurts so fucking bad!” You’re sobbing but his fingers inside you are relentless and his sucking, even more so. You feel like nothing but an object of his pleasure as your hand begins to grow numb. Sure he was bringing you to orgasm, the very same time you felt even that was for his own pleasure.

Never had you experienced a pain quite like this. This pain felt otherworldly. Diabolical. As if someone were ripping the nails right out of your fingers. As if you slammed the car door in on your hand repeatedly.

And the pain. God, the pain is white and bright, you fear passing out may be inevitable.

Sunghoon brings his head up, releasing his fangs from your palm but continuing his assault by licking and sucking on the two indents. “I know, my beautiful, beautiful girl,” he says, “I know."

The sobs stop, perhaps because you want to hear his voice. Perhaps because you feed on his praises. "You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he mutters unsoundly in between his licks, “So pretty, so perfect.” You realise he’s as delirious as you, his eyes are wide, gazing down at the madwoman before him with his own madness swirling in his irises. His lips are stained red and somehow that sets you over the edge.

“Hoonie?”

His eyes are red. Blood red. You gasp. “I’m-” You don’t finish the sentence, already feeling your orgasm crest as you carelessly fling yourself over the edge. It hits you and you forget all about the pain. All about the blood.

“That’s it, my pretty, pretty girl.” He encourages and your body is shaking violently against the book rack. Your eyes are screwed shut and you’re rocking uncontrollably into his hand.

In that moment, Sunghoon may have thought that he gained everything, but you gained far more. And when you come out of that high, once the fog cleared and the rain simmered down to a tiny, light pitter patter.

You begin to feel…

New.

“Welcome to immortality, Beautiful.” He whispers in your ear with that recognizable lopsided smirk.

You feel… empty. Drained. You feel nothing at all.

“Population… You”

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #enhypen x black reader #enhypen headcanons #sunghoon x black!reader #park sunghoon x black!reader

799 notes · View notes

scarluna · 2 months ago

Text

KNOCKOUT (002)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 2/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas, emotional eating

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ GUYS PLEASE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO MAKE A TAG LIST, SOMEONE EDUCATE ME T____T Hence why I am unable to add yall there. :C Also, lemme know what you think of this chap. Wink Wink.

Time doesn’t feel real anymore.

I couldn’t tell you if it’s Monday or Thursday. If it rained yesterday or the day before that. I keep the blinds half-shut, the room dim enough that the daylight doesn’t mock me but bright enough that I don’t lose all sense of time.

I haven’t gone back to the park.

I haven’t gone anywhere, really.

Just rotting in my apartment, wrapped in the same blanket, wearing the same hoodie, scrolling through the same three apps on my phone like they’ll eventually give me a reason to feel alive.

They don’t.

Every day starts the same.

Wake up too late. Answer emails too slowly. Fake interest during work calls, mute myself and nod like I’m present. Lie when my mom texts asking if I’ve been “getting out more.”

"Yeah, totally. Been trying to take walks!"

She replies with a heart emoji. Like that’s enough to count as connection.

My dad called once. Drunk, probably. I didn’t answer. Let it ring out and told myself I’d call back later.

I won’t.

Even Vicky’s texts have started slowing down. She knows me well enough to give space when I go quiet like this, but part of me wishes she’d just barge in again. Force me out of my own head.

But I won’t ask.

I never ask.

I just sit here. Work. Eat. Scroll. Sleep.

Repeat.

The only real interactions I have are with food delivery drivers. Strangers I see for five seconds at a time but who, lately, feel like they’re starting to see me too much.

Like they know.

Like they can tell.

That I’ve ordered from the same chicken place four nights in a row. That I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. That my voice is hoarse from not being used. That I look like I haven’t been touched or held or smiled for real in longer than anyone should.

The last one gave me a weird look. Not mean—just… curious. Pitying.

Like he didn’t expect me to be the one behind the door. Like maybe he thought the name on the receipt belonged to someone different. Someone who didn’t open the door in a hoodie with food stains and bare feet and eyes that screamed don’t look at me.

I said “thanks” too quickly and slammed the door before he could say anything back.

And then I stood there.

Back against the door.

Heart pounding like I’d just run a mile.

Why does it feel like every moment lately is some slow-burning humiliation?

Why does existing like this feel so loud?

Even when no one says a word.

I eat half the food, then leave the rest on the counter like some kind of offering to the version of me who should be doing better by now.

I wish I could stop spiraling.

I wish the guilt wasn’t its own kind of meal—chewed on between bites, swallowed down with shame and soda.

But I can’t stop.

I can’t make myself care enough to break the cycle.

And deep down, I know what’s happening.

The same thing that always happens.

I’m fading again.

Not in a dramatic, cry-for-help way.

Just… fading.

Quietly. Slowly.

I didn’t sleep much.

Again.

The apartment smells like old fries and leftover stress. My laptop screen glows too bright in the dim room, and the clock on the bottom corner blinks 9:59 a.m.—one minute before the weekly team meeting.

I throw on a different hoodie. Kind of. Technically it’s the same as yesterday, just a slightly less-wrinkled sibling. Hair’s in a messy bun. Face untouched. My camera’s always off, and I plan to keep it that way.

I log into Zoom and brace myself.

The team meeting starts the same way it always does—bad small talk, muted laughter, awkward pauses while someone forgets they’re on mute.

And then Katherine’s voice cuts through like glitter and caffeine.

“So…” she says, practically bouncing in her chair. Her camera is on, obviously. Background blurred, face glowing. “Can we tell them now?”

Our manager, Greg, chuckles like he’s part of some secret joke. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

My stomach knots.

Greg leans forward. “Okay, team. We’ve got something fun coming up—real fun, not fake-corporate-fun.”

Katherine’s smile stretches even wider.

“We’ve booked out a section of Riot Club downtown this Friday night. Fully paid. Open bar. Food, music, everything.”

Someone lets out a “woo!” like we’re in a movie.

Riot Club.

Of course it’s Riot Club. I’ve heard of it—one of those trendy places where the lighting’s low, the music’s loud, and the people are confident. Beautiful. The kind of place where I’d normally rather light myself on fire than be perceived.

Greg keeps talking. “It’s a team-building thing. You know, for morale. We’ll have a reserved section upstairs, so it’s private, but feel free to bring your dancing shoes.”

Katherine claps. “This is going to be so fun. I’ve already got a dress picked out.”

Everyone’s reacting. Laughing. Making jokes about shots and karaoke and someone inevitably dancing on a table. People are already forming plans in the chat.

I just sit there, stiff.

Invisible.

Until Greg squints at the list of muted names and lands on me.

“Y/N—you in?”

My body freezes.

What?

No. No no no no no. This wasn’t part of the script. I was supposed to just sit through the meeting, nod silently, and then disappear like always.

But everyone is watching now. Katherine leans toward her screen with a curious smile. A few others are glancing sideways like they didn’t even know I existed before this moment.

And my mouth opens.

Before my brain catches up.

“Yeah,” I blurt.

It’s small. Quiet. But clear enough.

“Awesome,” Greg says, giving a thumbs-up. “Glad you’re coming.”

The moment passes.

The conversation moves on.

And I sit there, stunned.

What the fuck did I just do?

I didn’t mean to say yes.

I didn’t want to go.

I didn’t even want to be asked.

My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking slightly under the desk. The rest of the meeting blurs into static. I stare at the little camera icon on my screen, grateful it’s still red and crossed out.

They didn’t see the panic on my face.

Didn’t see the way I just agreed to willingly walk into a nightmare.

A club.

Downtown.

With people.

With Katherine.

With me, in the middle of it.

I log off the second the meeting ends and slam my laptop shut like I can shut reality with it.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and exhale hard.

What the hell am I going to do?

An hour passes.

I haven’t moved from the couch.

My laptop’s still shut, my hands tucked under my thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweatpants. I’ve just been sitting here, replaying that moment over and over again in my head like a horror film on loop.

“Y/N—you in?”

“Yeah.”

God, why did I say that?

My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.

I flinch, already bracing for it.

Katherine (1:19 PM):

Omg I’m SO glad you said yes!!! 🖤 This is going to be so fun. Honestly didn’t think you were the club type but I love a wild card 👀

I swallow hard. The nausea in my stomach doubles.

I stare at the screen for a full minute before typing.

me:

I didn’t really mean to say yes. I panicked.

It sends before I can change my mind. I instantly regret it—but not enough to delete it. I just stare, waiting.

Three dots appear.

Then disappear.

Then return again.

My chest tightens.

Katherine (1:22 PM):

LOL honestly same thing happened to me when I went to my first team party But hey—if you panic-committed, then now you’ve got a reason to go And if it helps… I’ll come pick you up No pressure. No stress. Just a ride with a semi-decent playlist 😎

My throat clenches. That’s... really nice of her. Too nice. Too much.

Why is she being so nice?

me:

You really don’t have to do that

Katherine (1:25 PM):

I know But I want to You’re part of the team. You deserve to be part of the fun too Besides, it’ll be easier walking in with someone than alone, right?

That part hits harder than I expect.

Because she’s not wrong.

Walking in alone would’ve destroyed me. I would’ve hovered by the entrance pretending to check nonexistent texts for twenty minutes, trying to disappear through the floor.

But now the panic shifts.

Because if Katherine picks me up… if I go…

They’ll see me.

Not blurry camera me. Not muted Zoom square me. Not vague voice-on-a-call me.

Me.

My body. My face. My everything I try so hard to keep tucked behind oversized hoodies and safe little rectangles on a screen.

And I won’t have Vicky.

She’s too far away. Hours away. No teleport button. No last-minute rescue.

I glance at the corner of my room where the dress Vicky once made me buy is still hanging—tags on, dusty from months of pretending one day I’d wear it.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

me:

They’re all going to see me for real

I don’t even know if I meant to send that. But I do.

And she replies instantly.

Katherine (1:29 PM):

Yeah And that’s a good thing You’re more than just a voice on Slack. You’re cool. People will love you. And if they don’t? Screw them. I’ve got your back.

I stare at the message until the letters blur a little.

I don’t know what I expected. A brush-off? A vague “you’ll be fine”?

Not this.

Not kindness.

Not support.

And instead of feeling reassured, all I can think is: I’m going to let her down. She doesn’t know how weird I look. How awkward I am in real life. How I fold in on myself when people make eye contact.

My hands shake as I put my phone down.

I feel like a burden.

A walking, talking inconvenience.

But Katherine didn’t make it feel that way. She didn’t hesitate.

And now the clock is ticking.

Two days until the event.

Two days until I have to be seen.

Two days until there’s no hiding.

The next evening

The sky is already dark when my phone buzzes again.

Vicky’s calling.

I almost let it go to voicemail—I’m too wrapped in the knot of dread sitting in my stomach—but then I remember her last text:

"You better answer or I’ll assume you’ve turned into a blanket goblin."

Fair.

I accept the video call and flip the camera. My hoodie’s still on. Hair’s up. Bare face. Blanket wrapped around me like a depressed burrito.

Vicky’s face lights up the screen the second the call connects. She’s got a clay face mask on and a mug the size of a soup bowl in her hands.

“Yooo,” she says, squinting at me. “There’s my favorite gremlin. Look at you. So glowy. So... suspiciously bundled.”

I manage a weak laugh. “Hi.”

She narrows her eyes. “You look like someone who accidentally agreed to something horrifying. Tell me everything.”

I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the couch. “I said yes to going to a company team-building party.”

Her brows shoot up. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… willingly?”

“No. I panicked. They asked me in the Zoom meeting. Out loud. In front of everyone.”

Vicky winces. “Oof.”

“I said yes because my brain short-circuited and I didn’t know how to say no. And now Katherine’s all excited and she’s picking me up and everyone’s going to see me.”

I drop my face into my hands.

There’s a pause.

Then Vicky gently says, “Okay. Breathe. Just… pause the spiral for a second.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “I don’t want to go, Vick.”

“I know, babe. But maybe… hear me out… it’s not the worst thing ever?”

I roll my eyes.

She continues, sitting up straighter. “Look, I get it. Being around people is exhausting. Especially people who’ve only ever seen you from the neck up through a laptop screen with soft lighting and pixel blur. But maybe it’s also—kind of—a big deal that you said yes?”

“I didn’t mean to say yes.”

“But you did. And maybe that’s your soul doing some sneaky internal growth while your anxiety wasn’t looking.”

I snort, despite myself.

She grins. “I’m serious. You’ve been hiding for so long. What if this is your brain’s way of going: hey, what if we just tried for one night? Just one.”

“I don’t think I’d look good in anything…” I mumble. “Everyone’s going to look amazing and I’ll look like someone’s exhausted older cousin who wandered in by accident.”

“You are so dramatic,” Vicky says, sipping her tea. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. And if you want, we can raid your closet together. I can help you pick something. Virtual wardrobe montage, 2000s romcom style. Or maybe you still keep that pretty dress I gifted ya?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Of course I do..” I took a glance at the dress hanging in my wardrobe whose doors were wide open and sighed quietly. Maybe I should just wear it?... “God, remember when we used to actually do that?”

“Yup. And you always looked better than me, so shut up.”

“You’re literally perfect.”

“And you’re literally going to be fine. Put that dress I gave ya and some sexy smoky make up and you’ll get yourself a man immediately once they see how pretty you are.” She joked. Or did she?

I exhaled slowly, chewing on the edge of my blanket.

Vicky’s voice softens. “I know it feels terrifying. But it’s just one night. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to be the life of the party. Just show up. Have a drink. Exist.”

I pause. “That’s already a lot.”

“I know,” she says. “But I also know you. And I think… deep down… some part of you wants this. Wants to be seen. Wants to be out there, even just a little.”

My chest tightens at that. She’s not wrong. That part does exist.

I just don’t know if I can handle it.

She raises an eyebrow. “Also, let’s not forget… there’s always a chance Jungkook shows up.”

I groan. “Oh my God. Vick—”

“I’m just saying! Downtown club? Underground fighter with rich-kid rebellion vibes? Sounds like his kind of scene.”

I bury my face again. “He doesn’t even know my name. I was literally wearing a blanket and panic-wheezing the last time he saw me.”

“Which is iconic,” she says with a smirk. “A mystery girl with a nicotine aura and oversized hoodie chic? He’s probably haunted by you.”

I laugh, this time louder. It feels weird to laugh this much.

It feels good.

I sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” she says simply. “And if it sucks? You leave. You can lie, say you feel sick. Blame a mysterious food allergy. I’ll back your story from four towns away.”

I smile at her through the screen, heart aching in that familiar way. “I wish you were going with me.”

“Me too,” she says. “But you’ve got this. And if nothing else, you’ll get free drinks and something to text me about at 2 a.m.”

My chest still feels tight, but a little less so.

Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.

Maybe.

Friday. 7:45 p.m.

Any minute now.

Katherine said she'd be here at 7:50 sharp, and her texts have been consistently enthusiastic in that exact “I-will-drag-you-out-with-love-if-I-have-to” tone.

The clock on my phone reads 7:45.

I’m standing in front of the mirror.

And I can barely look at myself.

But I do.

Because I have to.

The dress Vicky gifted me hugs my body in places I usually try to erase. It’s soft black fabric—slightly structured but flowy enough to move in. Not tight. Not shapeless. Somewhere in between. It cinches a little under my chest and floats down from there, and yeah—it technically hides the parts I always try to shrink… but it doesn’t make them disappear.

Nothing could.

My arms. My thighs. My belly.

Still there. Still mine.

I shift my weight. My shoulders are hunched, posture defensive like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to take up less space. I force myself to stand straighter, but it feels foreign—like wearing someone else’s confidence.

My hair’s curled, but not polished. Messy on purpose. Loose and imperfect. I let a few strands fall over my face to soften everything, hide a little behind the veil of effort.

My makeup… I surprised myself.

A soft wing of eyeliner that actually looks even. Mascara that didn’t smudge. Clip-on earrings—little silver hoops—because I’ve always hated needles. And the lipstick.

God.

Red.

Bold. Loud. The exact kind of color that draws attention, and I don’t know what possessed me to wear it but here it is. On my mouth. Like a statement I’m too scared to say out loud.

I bite my bottom lip, testing it.

Still there.

Still vibrant.

And then the boots. Chunky, black, reliable. My little leather jacket. A crossbody bag just big enough for my phone, my ID, and my emergency excuses if I decide to flee.

The whole look… it’s not perfect.

But it’s mine.

And it’s been so long since I looked like this. Since I tried.

Since I showered, styled my hair, painted my face with intention instead of hiding behind foundation and prayer.

It’s strange.

I look almost like a version of myself I used to imagine. Not the girl on Zoom. Not the girl curled under blankets avoiding the world. Not the ghost who scrolls through Instagram and feels like she lives on the outside of her own life.

No—this version?

She exists.

And she's going out tonight.

I take one more look.

And then another.

I wish I could say I love what I see. That I feel powerful. Beautiful.

But really—I just feel… real.

And maybe that’s enough.

My phone buzzes.

Katherine (7:47 PM):

Outside! 🚗✨ You ready, queen?

My stomach flips.

This is it.

No turning back now.

I swipe on a final layer of confidence, inhale slow through my nose, and grab my bag.

One shaky step toward the door.

And I whisper to my reflection—so quiet I barely hear it myself:

“Let’s just try.”

The door clicks shut behind me.

The night air hits my skin like a soft warning—cool and sharp against the warmth trapped under my leather jacket. The street glows in soft orange hues from the overhead lamps, casting my shadow long across the pavement.

My boots clink softly with every step.

Each one feels louder than it should. Like they’re announcing me to the world.

I spot it almost immediately.

A red Chevrolet Camaro, sleek and shining like something out of a movie, parked right in front of my building.

Of course it’s Katherine’s.

It fits her—bold, polished, unapologetically attention-grabbing.

She’s already in the driver’s seat, one perfectly manicured hand on the wheel, the other holding her phone, probably cueing up a playlist. The interior lights glow faintly, outlining her profile like she stepped out of a commercial for glam and success.

I pause at the curb, take a breath, and circle around the car.

The closer I get, the more aware I am of everything—how my dress moves, how my hair feels, how exposed my legs are above the boots. I hope the lipstick hasn’t smudged. I hope I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.

I open the passenger door and slide in, the leather seat cold against my thighs.

“Hey!” Katherine beams, bright as ever. “Oh my God, look at you! You look gorgeous!”

I blink. “Me?”

She nods so fast her ponytail bounces. “Yes, you! I mean, I always suspected you were hiding a baddie under those hoodies, but damn.”

I laugh, quietly. “Thanks… you look amazing too.”

And she does.

Her platinum hair is curled and glossy, her skin glowing like a dewy Instagram filter. She’s in this glittery blush-toned mini dress that hugs her like it was tailored just for her. Her lips are glossy pink, heels sparkling like something ripped from a Barbie runway.

She looks like she belongs in a club.

I… look like someone playing dress-up in her big sister’s closet.

The confidence I built in my room wavers just a little. Just enough to notice.

But I breathe past it.

I try.

Katherine pulls away from the curb, music low, windows cracked just enough to let the air drift in.

We make small talk. Work stuff. Light jokes. I let myself laugh, even if it sounds a bit too high-pitched.

“You nervous?” she asks, glancing over at a red light.

I nod. “A little.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You already did the hardest part—you showed up. Everything else is cake.”

I nod again, forcing a small smile. “Cake.”

We were supposed to arrive at 8:20.

But traffic hits just outside downtown. One of those long, inching slogs where brake lights stretch out in front of us like a never-ending warning.

Katherine doesn’t seem fazed. She just leans back, taps her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song playing, and throws occasional commentary about the guy in the next car who keeps checking her out.

I, on the other hand, sit perfectly still—my fingers clenched tight in my lap, counting down the seconds, watching the time slip away like it’s water running through my hands.

8:30.

8:40.

8:50.

Finally—finally—we pull up in front of Riot Club.

The street is already buzzing. Neon lights pulse against the sidewalk. There’s music thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat, and the line to get in snakes down the block.

Even with our name on the list, even with a reserved section upstairs—just seeing the crowd makes my breath hitch.

People everywhere.

Laughing, talking, dressed like they’re made for the spotlight.

My smile falters.

Every instinct in my body screams go home. I could walk back to the car. I could make an excuse. Say I got sick. Say I forgot something. Say anything.

But Katherine’s already opening her door.

She climbs out in one graceful move, standing tall in her heels, dress glittering like it’s alive.

She walks around to my side and opens the door before I can stop her.

Her hand extends toward me like a challenge.

“You ready?” she grins.

I glance at the club entrance. The crowd. The bouncer. The stairs.

My throat tightens.

But I reach out and take her hand anyway.

Because it’s too late to turn back now.

And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.

The bass hits first.

Even before we step fully inside.

It pulses under my skin, loud and relentless, like someone’s holding a speaker up to my chest and daring my heartbeat to sync with it.

The bouncer checks our names—Katherine flashes him a smile that probably gets her through most doors in life—and just like that, we’re in.

Riot Club lives up to the name.

The air is thick with heat and sweat and perfume that doesn’t quite mask the alcohol. The lights are low—deep reds and pulsing blues, flickering like a heartbeat in strobe—and the music...

“Dime por qué lloras / De felicidad…”

“El Teléfono” is blasting through the speakers like it’s 2008 again and we’re dancing in someone’s garage after drinking vodka from a water bottle. The beat pounds so hard the floor itself vibrates. People crowd the dance floor, hips moving, arms lifted, heads thrown back in laughter.

Everyone looks like they belong here.

I feel like I just walked into someone else’s dream.

We push our way through the crowd, Katherine’s hand hooked around my wrist, guiding us like she’s done this a thousand times. And maybe she has.

I stumble once. Apologize to someone who doesn’t even hear me.

And all the while, my brain spirals.

I’m twenty-six years old.

I have a full-time job. I pay my rent on time. I buy my own groceries. I have a plant that hasn’t died yet. I’m technically a grown woman.

But walking through this crowd?

Hearing this music?

Heading up the stairs to the VIP section of a club like I’m someone who does this regularly?

It feels wrong.

Like I stole this night from someone else’s life and I’m going to get caught at any moment.

Because no matter how much time has passed—no matter how many birthdays have stacked up—I still feel sixteen sometimes.

Sixteen and anxious and deeply unsure of myself.

Sixteen and pretending to be cool when I never knew how to dance.

Sixteen and quietly guilt-ridden about staying out past ten, even when no one cared.

My parents never checked in. Never enforced curfews. I could’ve stayed out till dawn and no one would’ve blinked.

But I still tiptoed home.

Still felt like I was doing something wrong.

Still played the part of the good girl.

The quiet one. The one who didn’t drink too much. The one who didn’t get into trouble. The one who didn’t let anyone too close.

And now here I am.

In a club. Wearing red lipstick. Walking past strangers with glitter on their cheeks and drinks in their hands. Climbing the stairs to a private section like I belong here.

And I don’t.

I don’t.

I grip the railing tighter.

Katherine glances back at me once, beaming, shouting something I can’t hear over the music. I nod, smile faintly, keep walking.

Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t know how to say it. Not without sounding ungrateful. Not without disappointing her. Not without confirming what I already believe:

That I can’t do this.

That I don’t fit.

The VIP section is a little quieter. Not by much. Just enough that the bass doesn’t feel like it’s rattling my teeth. There’s a sleek couch setup, a long glass table filled with small plates, fancy drinks, and coworkers already laughing, already loose.

They see Katherine.

They see her.

And then they see me.

Eyes flick over me in passing—some smiles, a few nods, one girl I recognize from Zoom gives me a friendly wave—but no one says anything just yet.

Still, I feel it.

Seen.

And not in the romantic, movie kind of way.

In the raw, terrifying, naked kind of way.

The kind where the hoodie doesn’t save you anymore.

I sit at the edge of the couch, trying to make myself small. The leather squeaks under me. I smooth my dress out, sip water from a sweating glass, and try to remember how to act like I belong in my own life.

Maybe if I fake it long enough, I’ll start to believe it.

The lights up here are softer.

Warmer.

Still dim, still flickering from the music below, but not as harsh. The kind of glow that makes people look a little better, a little more relaxed, a little less intimidating.

I sit with my drink—water, for now—gripping the glass too tight and trying to remember how to function.

A few coworkers drift over. People I recognize from work chat and project check-ins and endless Slack threads.

Samantha from accounting compliments my earrings.

Miguel from marketing asks if I like reggaeton.

Liam—who’s always joking in meetings—offers me a plate of mini empanadas and says, “You clean up nice.”

They’re all friendly. Genuinely.

There’s no cruel undertone. No judgment. No whispered looks.

Just warmth.

But I’m still quiet.

Smiling politely, saying thank you, answering questions with short but safe replies. My hands never quite stop fidgeting in my lap or tapping the rim of the glass. My eyes scan the room too often, like I’m waiting for someone to tell me I’m not supposed to be here.

Because I don’t feel like the girl they’re talking to.

I’m still wearing that invisible hoodie. Still hunched, still hiding behind practiced small talk and careful laughter.

But if Vicky were here?

I’d be different.

She’s seen me sobbing in the dark, surrounded by snacks and shame and silence. She’s seen my worst spirals, my messy breakdowns, the parts of me I try to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

And she stayed.

That’s the difference.

That’s why I can be silly with her. Loud. Soft. Raw.

With other people? I’m just this version. Polished edges and apology eyes.

Until—

“Alright, alright, look at this crew!”

Greg walks in like he owns the room—because technically, he does. Our manager. Balding but confident, shirt half-tucked, wearing some kind of printed button-up that says cool boss energy more than business formal.

People cheer, a few stand to greet him.

He raises a glass of something amber and laughs. “Glad you all made it out of your caves. I was starting to think half of you were AI.”

More laughter. Even I smile.

Then his eyes sweep the room.

They stop on me.

And something shifts in his expression. Not unkind—just… surprised.

“Y/N?” He squints, then chuckles. “Wow. I didn’t recognize you without the hoodie and messy bun.”

The comment makes me freeze for a split second—but he says it casually, without malice. Just surprise.

I laugh.

A real one, kind of. The kind that’s a little unsure, but still genuine.

“Yeah,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I almost didn’t recognize me either.”

People chuckle softly. Katherine beams.

Greg walks over and clinks his glass gently against mine. “Well, you look great. Glad you’re here.”

He takes the empty seat beside me and starts chatting with everyone—asking Miguel about his dog, teasing Samantha about her Spotify Wrapped, telling Katherine he still doesn’t understand TikTok.

And slowly—so slowly—I start to relax.

I take a deeper breath.

My shoulders loosen.

I set my empty water glass down on the table, flag down the server, and when she leans in, I hear my voice say:

“Can I get a cherry vodka and Red Bull?”

She nods.

My heart hammers.

Bold.

Stupid?

Maybe.

But I want to feel something. I want to taste something sweet and fizzy and wrong. I want to be a little more than this shell. Just for one night.

Just for a few hours.

The music shifts to something smoother, more danceable. People start standing up, moving closer to the balcony railing that overlooks the dance floor.

I lift the drink when it comes. It’s pink and fizzy and tastes like rebellion.

And for the first time tonight—

I let myself smile.

Not the polite one.

The real one.

The vodka’s hitting.

Not in a dizzying, blackout kind of way—but warm and weightless. Like I’ve floated half an inch above all the anxiety pressing on me for years. My limbs feel light. My smile keeps slipping out easier.

I’m laughing with coworkers. Actually laughing.

Samantha and I bond over our mutual hatred for Slack emojis. Miguel and Katherine are fake-arguing about who danced worse in high school. Liam keeps sliding plates of snacks toward me like I’m going to vanish if I don’t keep eating.

I let myself exist here.

Music hums through my bones. Bass in my ribs. My third vodka tastes like childhood candy and bad decisions. I sip it anyway.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe an hour. Maybe five minutes. Time doesn’t work properly in clubs.

I lean back into the plush couch, my knees tucked close, boots dangling off the edge. I’m warm, surrounded, not invisible for once—and weirdly okay with it.

Until it happens.

Voices at the stairs.

Low, laughing.

Footsteps on metal.

I glance toward the staircase, not really focused, eyes soft from the buzz. Just another group coming up to the VIP—nothing unusual.

But the shift in energy is immediate.

A few people at our table—Katherine, Miguel, even Greg—perk up, smiling, waving.

“Yo! You made it!” someone calls out.

I blink.

Samantha lifts a hand, grinning. “That’s my cousin—he actually showed up!”

I follow their line of sight without thinking.

A small group of guys is climbing the stairs. Most of them dressed in that effortless, too-cool-to-try way: dark shirts, silver chains, tattoos peeking under sleeves. Confident. Comfortable.

And at the back—

No.

No way.

Everything stills.

The vodka buzz disappears like it was never there.

Because he’s there.

Jungkook.

Climbing the stairs, slow and deliberate, head slightly tilted as he surveys the space. Black button-up open just enough to show the tattoos crawling down his chest. Sleeves rolled. Hair messy, damp at the ends. Silver hoops in both ears, a glint of light catching the ring on his lip.

He looks like a storm barely leashed.

Like he’s too real to exist in the same night I’m pretending belongs to me.

My heart lurches, tight and hot.

I don’t move.

Katherine shifts beside me—and I can feel her stiffen.

She knows.

She remembers.

“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath, wide-eyed. “That’s Jungkook.”

I already know.

Of course I know.

He reaches the top of the stairs just as a few people from our group go over to greet them. There are hugs, loud voices, handshakes.

And then—

He looks up.

And sees me.

Our eyes lock.

Just for a second.

But it stretches.

His expression doesn’t change—no dramatic reaction, no double take. But I see something flicker in his gaze.

Recognition.

Memory.

Stillness.

Like maybe he’s just as surprised as I am.

Maybe.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

Because in all the daydreams, in all the hypothetical versions of this night where something wild and cinematic happens—I never once imagined he’d walk through the same door.

And I never imagined I’d be seen like this.

Not by him.

Not without the hoodie.

Not without the shield.

Just… me.

In red lipstick and messy curls and boots that suddenly feel too loud.

The moment breaks when someone claps Jungkook on the back and laughs too loud.

Just like that, the energy shifts again—back to motion, to noise, to people moving around her like the ground isn’t still tilting beneath her feet.

The guys from the stairs reach our group, folding in with the kind of ease that only people born into comfort can pull off. One of them—tall, handsome, full of charisma—grins and raises his drink like a toast.

“This the famous marketing team?”

Laughter.

Greg stands, already pulling chairs closer, greeting them like old friends.

“Glad you made it, man. We were just talking about how you never show.”

Someone’s cousin. Someone’s friend. A small flood of introductions happens as people shift to make room.

They’re laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, sliding into the booth with practiced ease. And then one of them—black curly hair, a cheeky grin—gestures around the group.

“I know Katherine, and Sam, and this loud dude—” (he points at Miguel, who mock-scowls) “—but I don’t think we’ve met everyone. Introductions?”

Katherine, ever the social butterfly, takes the lead.

She starts going around the table with names and small “she’s the one who handles client crises at lightning speed” or “this guy eats peanut butter straight from the jar at work” types of comments. Everyone laughs along.

But they’re getting closer.

And then Katherine’s hand gestures toward me.

“And this,” she says with a soft smile, “is Y/N.”

My stomach drops.

All eyes shift to me.

I feel the weight of it instantly.

His eyes, especially.

I can feel them on me like heat through glass.

I stiffen. My cheeks flush—instant, impossible to stop. My fingers tighten around my glass, and for a second, I debate saying I forgot how to speak.

But I don’t get that choice.

Everyone’s watching. Expecting.

So I force it out.

“I—uh—hi. I’m Y/N.” My voice is small. Nervous. But it doesn’t shake.

One of the guys smiles, nodding. “Nice to meet you.”

Another throws out a “cool name.”

I nod, offering a tiny, polite smile.

But I can feel how red my face is. I can feel the way I’ve curled into myself again—shoulders hunching, legs crossed, one boot tapping lightly against the floor.

And when I glance—just a flicker, just for a second—

Jungkook is watching me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not amused. Just… there.

Still.

Present.

I look away fast, heart rattling in my chest like it's trying to crawl up my throat.

Greg says something to the group that makes them all laugh, and the attention shifts again.

Relief and embarrassment swirl together in my stomach like oil and water.

No one said anything weird. No one laughed at me. No one even stared too long.

But still—I feel like I just stood under a spotlight with a sign around my neck that said this is what anxiety looks like.

I take a slow sip of my drink, the cherry vodka suddenly too sweet, too sharp.

And all I can think is:

He knows my name now.

The music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat.

It’s late now. Maybe close to midnight—maybe later. Time has gone slippery.

Most of the group has thinned out. Some are on the dance floor, bodies weaving under flashing lights. Laughter spills from the stairs every few minutes. Katherine’s nowhere in sight—last I saw, she left giggling with one of the guys, disappearing into the haze of music and bodies.

The couch is quiet now.

Except for me.

And him.

I’m sitting at the far end, drink mostly watered down from melted ice, cradled between both hands like it’ll anchor me to the moment.

Jungkook sits at the other end, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, thumbs moving lazily over his phone screen.

The silence between us is loud.

But not awkward.

Just heavy. Like static before a storm.

I glance at him once—just a peek—and catch the slope of his nose in profile, the soft curve of his bottom lip, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheekbones in the low lighting.

He’s real.

And somehow still unreal.

I look away.

Focus on the condensation dripping down the side of my glass.

And then, after what feels like an entire hour compressed into ten seconds, he puts his phone face-down on the table.

I feel it before I see it.

His eyes on me.

I look up.

And he’s looking directly at me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not soft. Just... real.

And then he speaks.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The question hits harder than I expect.

My breath catches.

“I’m not—” I start, then stop.

He raises a brow, like he’s giving me a second chance to be honest.

“You are,” he says calmly. “At the store. At the park. That night at the fight. You keep running.”

His voice is quiet. Low enough that it doesn’t rise above the music, but it slices straight through it anyway.

He leans back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine.

“I try to talk to you,” he says. “Be friendly. Say hey. But every time, you act like I’m about to bite you.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again.

“I…” I swallow. My cheeks are burning. “I’m just… not good at—”

He waits.

I try again. “At talking. To people. I’m not used to... this. Attention. Or—whatever this is.”

His head tilts slightly, the edge of his lip quirking. “But you’re here now.”

I blink. “What?”

“You’re here,” he says, motioning around with a small gesture. “At a loud-ass club. In makeup. In a dress. Sitting across from me. Talking.”

I fidget with the straw in my glass, fingers slippery with nerves.

“I didn’t really mean to come,” I admit, voice barely above the music. “They asked in front of everyone, and I panicked and said yes. Then Katherine guilt-tripped me into following through.”

Jungkook chuckles. It’s soft. A little amused. “And the park?”

I bite my lip.

He continues, voice low, not teasing. Just… curious. “You sit there like you want to disappear. But you keep showing up.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Because he’s right.

I do keep showing up.

Even when I don’t know why.

Even when I’m terrified.

“I just…” I try to find the words, voice catching halfway through. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

That gets him.

His brows draw together, like he’s actually confused by that.

“Waste my time?” he repeats, slowly. “Why would you think that?”

I shrug. “Because... I’m not like the people you’re usually around.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not interesting,” I murmur. “Not fun. I’m awkward. Quiet. I don’t look like…” I gesture vaguely toward the dance floor, where people are laughing, effortless, magnetic.

His expression doesn’t change.

He just watches me.

And then he says, simply, like it’s obvious:

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t want to be.”

That silence comes back—thick and humming between us.

I can’t look at him.

But I feel it.

The shift.

The undeniable fact that I’ve been seen.

And not just noticed.

Seen.

The moment between us teeters—suspended in some strange, weightless pause where I almost feel like maybe, maybe, I belong in it.

But then, the universe does what it always does.

It reminds me.

A voice cuts through the moment. “Yo, Jungkook, what’s up, man?”

I blink, and a coworker—Jake, I think, from another department—plops down on the other side of Jungkook, grinning, already pulling him into some conversation about mutual friends and “remember that night at Noir?”

Jungkook gives me one last glance, like he’s trying to hold the thread of whatever just passed between us.

But the moment breaks.

I stand quietly, smoothing my dress out of habit.

“I’ll be back,” I murmur, not sure if anyone hears me.

I slip away from the couch and head toward the exit—out of the music, out of the lights, out of that sudden, overwhelming visibility.

Outside, the air is cooler.

Crisp, biting.

I dig into my jacket pocket for my cigarettes and lighter. My fingers are clumsy, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering in my veins. My boots click lightly against the pavement as I make my way a little off to the side of the club entrance.

But I’m not alone.

A group of guys—maybe four or five—are huddled nearby, already smoking. Laughing in that careless, half-drunk way that makes everything sound louder, meaner.

I light up and keep my distance. Hug the wall. Eyes down.

I just need a minute.

A breath.

But then I hear it.

At first, it’s just fragments.

“Did you see that chick inside—” “—the one with the big boots and the red lipstick?” “Dude, she was huge.” “Right? I didn’t know they let heavyweights into VIP.”

My heart sinks.

My hands freeze.

They don’t say my name. But they don’t have to.

I know.

My throat closes.

My eyes burn.

I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just keep smoking like maybe the nicotine will hold me together. Like maybe if I stay perfectly still, they’ll forget I exist.

But the words keep echoing.

Fat.

Huge.

Laughter.

It doesn’t even matter if they meant it to be cruel.

It still hurts.

And I hate how used to this I am.

I hate how practiced I’ve become at not reacting.

My eyes sting harder, and I blink fast, trying to will the tears back. My lips tremble, but I take another drag like that’s going to help.

Then I hear footsteps.

Heavy ones.

And before I can look up, I hear a low, familiar voice—tight with something dangerous.

“Is there a problem?”

I glance to my side.

Jungkook.

Standing there.

Still. Cold. A different kind of presence entirely.

The group falls silent immediately.

One of them—a guy in a bomber jacket, who was laughing the loudest—straightens up, eyes wide.

“Oh shit—Jungkook, bro—nah, man. No problem here.”

The others murmur quickly in agreement.

Jungkook doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.

He just stares at them.

The air feels like it’s holding its breath.

The guy in the bomber jacket laughs nervously. “Didn’t know you were out here. We’re just chilling, man. All good.”

Jungkook’s voice is calm. Steady. But it cuts.

“You sure?” he asks, head tilted slightly. “Because I heard something different.”

More stammering. More backpedaling.

They recognize him.

Not just as a guy—they recognize who he is. What he’s capable of.

“There’s no problem,” one says again, voice lower now.

Jungkook looks at them a beat longer. Then turns, stepping between them and me, placing himself just enough that it feels like a shield without saying it out loud.

He doesn’t look at me yet.

Not until they’re gone.

And when they finally scatter, awkward and mumbling and fast-walking down the block, he finally turns back.

His voice is soft now. So different from before.

“You okay?”

I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.

But my eyes give me away. They always do.

He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, “You don’t have to act like it didn’t hurt.”

And something inside me almost breaks open.

Because no one’s ever said that to me before.

Not like that. “Would you like me to drive you home? I am with my car and I haven’t drank any alcohol..”

I shake my head again, trying to keep my voice even though everything inside me is fraying. " I—I’m okay. I’ll just get home on my own."

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.

Instead, Jungkook crouches a little so his eyes are level with mine. His expression is careful—not pitying, not forced. Just… present.

“Okay,” he says softly, like he actually means it. “Cab then?”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

“I know we barely know each other,” he continues, like he’s reading the swirl of panic in my chest. “So I won’t offer to drive you. But I can call a cab. One of the companies I trust. They’re discreet. Safer than calling some random app.”

My throat tightens.

This shouldn’t be this hard—saying yes to help. But my brain is spinning. My skin still feels too thin from earlier. From everything. And yet, the way he says it, like he’s handing me a choice instead of cornering me into one… it makes something in me ease. Just a little.

I nod. Barely.

He stands back up and pulls out his phone.

The silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy. Just there.

He doesn’t fill it with words.

And I’m grateful for that.

I swipe at my cheeks again, trying to fix the damage, but I can feel the dried salt along my skin. I probably look like a wreck. Red-rimmed eyes, broken voice. Meanwhile, he’s standing here looking like a painting with bruises—too vivid, too unreal.

I shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “For… being like this.”

His brow furrows.

“Don’t do that.”

I blink, startled.

“Don’t apologize for feeling something.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Whatever it is you’re carrying,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation for it. Least of all me.”

And goddamn it—

That does it.

The tears threaten again, fast and hot, and I hate that he’s seeing it, hate that I’m breaking apart in front of someone I barely know, but also… some traitorous part of me is grateful he stayed. That he didn’t walk away the second things got messy.

His phone vibrates, and he glances down at it.

“Cab’s three minutes out,” he says. “Black Toyota. Plate ends in 52.”

I nod again, trying to gather the pieces of myself, trying not to fall apart in this alley outside a warehouse full of noise.

He doesn’t speak again.

But he doesn’t leave either.

We stand there in quiet, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. Close enough to feel his presence—warm, grounded, steady.

I don’t look at him.

But I feel his gaze on me, not heavy or invasive. Just aware. Like he’s keeping watch. Like I’m not alone for the first time in a long time.

And for some reason… that’s what almost breaks me.

Not the noise. Not the night.

But the kindness.

The softness in a place built for hard things.

I don’t know what this is. Or what it means.

But I know this much:

I won’t forget it.

Not tonight.

Not him.

Not the way he didn’t try to fix me.

Just stood close enough to make the silence feel safe.

The cab pulls up, headlights cutting through the haze of the alley. I turn to thank him one more time, my voice small, frayed at the edges.

“Thanks again. For… everything.”

Jungkook nods once, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his bruised jaw catching the glow of a nearby streetlight. He doesn’t smile—not really—but there’s a softness in his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

As I reach for the car door, he speaks—low and steady.

“Next time you see me…” His voice pauses like he’s picking his words carefully. “…don’t avoid me.”

It’s not a request. Not a demand either. Just… something in-between.

A truth offered.

I swallow hard and look at him, really look at him, the air thick between us.

I nod once.

And I get in the cab.

The ride home is quiet. My phone stays in my lap, untouched. The driver makes a couple polite comments, but I’m too far gone to answer. I keep replaying his words in my head.

Don’t avoid me.

He noticed. Somehow, he noticed I was trying to disappear.

By the time I reach my apartment, the exhaustion hits like a freight train. My body feels heavy. My mind is foggy.

I strip off the dress, drop it carefully onto the chair like it’s made of glass. Wipe off the makeup with shaking hands. My face feels raw without it, but also… clean.

I throw on a giant sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, the familiar cotton hugging all my softest parts. The mirror reflects someone who looks like she almost let the world see her—and didn’t die.

I fall into bed like gravity doubled, pulling me straight into the mattress. The last thought in my head is him.

And then nothing.

The next morning

It’s still early when I wake.

Too early.

But the light filtering through the blinds is soft and peach-colored, like the sky is still deciding what kind of day to be. I don’t usually do this—wake up before the world—but something feels different today.

Lighter.

Not good. Not fixed.

But less heavy.

I pad into the kitchen, make my usual coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterness feels like a small punishment I’ve earned.

I open the balcony door and step outside into the cool morning air, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my hands. One cigarette, one lighter, one breath.

I sit down in the old rusted chair I thrifted years ago and take the first drag, then sip the coffee while the smoke curls up and disappears.

My phone buzzes.

Vicky 💜 Morning weirdo. You awake or still emotionally hungover?

I smirk, thumb tapping quickly.

me: Awake. Balcony. Smoking. Watching the world not fall apart. You?

Vicky: Laptop. Lecture in 30. Hair in a bun. No bra. We thrive.

She calls me seconds later.

I answer, camera off.

“Morning, professor.”

She groans. “Don’t. I already spilled soy milk on my notes and the Wi-Fi’s acting like it’s allergic to responsibility.”

I laugh, and she immediately softens.

“You sound better,” she says.

I stare out over the rooftops, watching the sun ease its way up over the buildings.

“I feel… less awful.”

“Want to talk about it?”

So I do.

All of it. From the moment I ducked into that bathroom and overheard those girls, to the way my brain spiraled out of control so fast it almost derailed the whole night.

“I know it was stupid,” I say quietly, flicking ash off the edge of the balcony. “Like… why did I let it get to me that bad?”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts in, firm but warm. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“I just—I felt like I was nothing again. Like I was thirteen, hiding in the locker room, praying no one noticed how much space I took up.”

Vicky sighs softly, the sound of her fingers clicking on keys in the background. “Y/N… you reacted like a person who’s lived through real pain. That’s not something you just… outgrow. It lingers. Triggers happen. Doesn’t make it less real just because it looks small from the outside.”

I blink hard, pressing my lips together.

“And,” she adds, voice sly now, “you didn’t let it ruin everything. You still showed up. You let someone help you.”

I hesitate.

“He called me a cab,” I admit, softer now. “After I told him I didn’t feel safe getting in a car with someone I barely knew. He just… listened. Said he’d order it for me if that’s what I wanted.”

There’s a pause.

Then a delighted gasp.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“That’s so hot. Are you kidding me? Gentleman behavior and emotional intelligence? Marry him immediately.”

I snort. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s kind of terrifying. But also not? Like, he looks like he could ruin your life but also fold your laundry.”

Vicky cackles. “Danger with a heart. A classic. We love to see it.”

I smile, blowing out a stream of smoke and watching it fade into the sky. My chest still feels bruised, but not broken.

“He told me not to avoid him next time.”

“And are you going to?”

I pause.

Let the silence stretch.

Then quietly: “I don’t want to.”

Vicky hums. “That’s my girl.”

She sighs. “Okay. Gotta go pretend I’m an expert in child development now. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“Love you too.”

She hangs up.

And I sit there for a while, cigarette gone, coffee cold, but heart just a little warmer than yesterday.

Maybe next time… I won’t run.

Maybe next time… I’ll let him see me.

Really see me.

Even the parts I’m still learning to look at myself.

I’m still on the balcony, staring at the last swirl of smoke disappearing into the sky when my phone buzzes again.

Katherine 🖤 Hey girl. You okay? You left kinda abruptly last night.

My heart skips a beat.

I pull my hoodie tighter around my arms and unlock my phone with a thumbprint I wish could delete anxiety.

me: Yeah. I just wasn’t feeling great. Needed some air.

She replies almost immediately, like she’s been waiting.

Katherine 🖤: That’s what Jungkook said. He told everyone you weren’t feeling well and called you a cab. Total protector mode 🥺

My stomach flips.

He told them?

I can’t decide if that makes me want to curl up and die or… smile.

me: Wait—he told you that?

Katherine 🖤: Girl. The second someone asked where you went, he just said “She wasn’t feeling well. I got her home safe.” Dead serious. And then he dipped.

me: He left?

Katherine 🖤: Yup. Like 10 minutes after you. Wouldn’t even take a drink. Just left. Honestly? Kind of hot.

My blush hits hard and fast, warming my cheeks like I just stepped into a furnace. I pull my knees up on the chair, hiding behind the ceramic coffee mug like it might cool me down.

Katherine 🖤: Also… I got laid 😇

I blink. Hard.

me: WHAT???

Katherine 🖤: Yeahhhh. One of Jungkook’s friends. Tall, dimpled, criminally good at neck kisses. Literally the best sex of my life. Like I think I astral projected at one point??

me: Oh my god, Katherine.

Katherine 🖤: Don’t “oh my god” me. You’re the one who got rescued by a bruised, tattooed underground prince and rode home in a cab he summoned like a damn knight.

me: I rode home. You rode a man.

Katherine 🖤: LMAOOOOOO okay point for you. But still. How are we in the same city and you get the brooding fighter who leaves parties early for you?

I bite my lip, trying to smother the growing smile, but it’s useless.

Jungkook.

The way he stood there in that alley.

The way he didn’t push, didn’t question, just… saw me. Called a cab. Stayed until I was safe. Told them I wasn’t feeling well so I wouldn’t have to explain myself later.

And then left.

For me?

Katherine 🖤: Just saying… if you don’t text him, I might.

I roll my eyes, thumbs already moving.

me: Back off. He’s terrifying and possibly capable of reading minds.

Katherine 🖤: Perfect. He can hear me thinking you better text her, you emotionally unavailable legend.

I laugh, clutching the mug to my chest as the city wakes up around me.

Something about today feels different.

Not fixed.

Not perfect.

But maybe… like the beginning of something.

Like maybe I'm allowed to be seen.

Bruised, messy, soft, and still worthy.

And maybe the boy who left early to make sure I got home safe... maybe he saw that too.

212 notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 5 months ago

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sam kerr x sister!reader

um i wrote a fic? sorry for the chelsea fans but i simply couldnt make this solely chelsea. glad that i could please the SK fans tho yall are patient and queens! hope you all enjoy and lmk what else you might want to see in the future 👀 love you all!

warnings: none? that i’m aware of !

There was something completely all-consuming about the thought of a tiny alien growing inside of a body. It made you uncomfortable, thinking about a tiny human with a deformed body and underdeveloped everything just existing inside of a person. To put it lightly, it freaked you out. It was possibly the best birth control for a 16-year-old seeing firsthand what it looked like when a baby kicked or hearing the sounds of first-trimester morning sickness. You’d made it very clear to your sister that yes, whilst you were willing to babysit once the deformed fetus entered the world and was slightly less deformed, you would take some responsibilities. You wanted nothing to do with it until it made its grand entrance into the world.

That didn’t change the fact that yours, your sister’s, and your sister’s fiancé’s lives had very quickly come to revolve solely around your future niece or nephew in a very short amount of time. Normally, it wouldn’t bother you in the slightest. If anything, you were usually doing anything and everything to get Sam and Kristie to leave you alone, but there was something different about their attention completely revolving around the life that the two of them were building together.

It hadn’t mattered truly when they’d missed your parent-teacher interviews for an anatomy scan or missed your first training with the senior Chelsea team because Kristie had woken up with such bad morning sickness that she hadn’t been able to leave the bathroom for hours, or when you’d had to walk 3 miles from school to the training grounds because your sister had been up so late trying to make Kristie comfortable enough to sleep that she’d completely forgotten that she was supposed to pick you up early on a Thursday so you didn’t miss training.

None of it mattered individually, but altogether, it made a difference.

It had been a big decision moving halfway across the world to live with your sister at 15. You were a good football player, you weren’t anywhere near the prodigy of your sister, but if you wanted to make strides in your career, it was the best decision to move to London to play in the academy. It didn’t make the decision any easier; you were moving in with your sister that you’d essentially not known for most of your childhood. Too wrapped up in her own career in other countries to spend any time with you. Yet the moment it had even been an option, she was ecstatic at the idea of you joining her in London, taking you under her wing, and truly welcoming you into the tight-knit family that Kristie and her had built in London.

It was good, it was so good. You had made advancements in your football that you didn’t think were possible; school was good, and for once in your life, you felt like you were actually in a place where you were fully understood and at peace.

It had been perfect, until Sam had torn her ACL a couple of months into your stay, and then things had gone downhill. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t deal with; in terms of the footballing aspect of your life, it was definitely tough. You didn’t have your training buddy or your person to help you settle into the club that still kind of terrified you. On the flip side, you got to spend a whole lot more one-on-one time with your sister, and her girlfriend was there to cater to all of your football needs. After the initial impacts of her surgery, life had mostly gone back to normal; sure, your sister wasn’t there physically on the pitch with you, but she was there to support you in every other way.

Then, the idea of a baby had been mentioned.

It wasn’t alarm bells from the beginning. At first, it had mostly seemed like an idea for the future, not near future. Of course, they wanted to start a family, and of course, you wanted that for them. It just hadn’t been made clear to you that it was a plan for the present. Until you’d been sitting on the couch on a movie night, and a gift bag had been thrust into your hands. The both of them had the goofiest smiles on their faces that you’d known that something had been up. You just hadn’t expected a positive pregnancy test to be the source of the excitement.

Initially, not much had changed. The pregnancy was so early on that the biggest worry was an early miscarriage and making sure that the three of you didn’t let the information slip too early.

It had been completely fine. Life had kept on moving, until the symptoms had started.

First, it was a bit of exhaustion, then some vomiting, headaches, nausea, more vomiting, migraines, insomnia, every possible pregnancy symptom you could think of. Kristie was afflicted by every possible pregnancy symptom.

You felt bad. Here, two of your favourite people were trying to start a family, and it was starting off as hell.

Then the feelings of sympathy had very quickly turned into resentment and then into isolation.

You resented the fact that you didn’t feel at home anymore. There was nothing homey about the situation you were living in. You felt like in a number of fleeting weeks you had gone from feeling on top of the world to feeling like you no longer belonged in the life that you’d so recently settled into.

It was a rough realisation to come to that you were no longer wanted, that you were being replaced.

It was a slow process, but it was easy to figure out when you were and weren’t wanted, and in the picture-perfect future life of your sister and her fiancé, it was clear that you weren’t.

You were 17, you were on the cusp of being an adult, you just hadn’t expected to be thrust into your independent adulthood so early on. A shiny new baby was going to replace you, and once that happened you were going to be even more unwanted than you already felt before it was introduced to the world.

Whilst you knew that your mood was being affected by the neglect you were suffering, it was all too easy to blame it on the exams you were going through for your last year of school, or the slight injury setbacks that were keeping you from your first minutes for the blues, or the fact that you were a teenager with fluctuating moods. You didn’t expect your slightly off interactions or slightly less happy demeanor to be a warning sign for anybody, specifically the people closest to you. Your performance on the training pitch had been as good as usual, you’d been saying all the right things, acting in all the right ways even though you actively felt like a stranger in the apartment and life you’d once felt like was home.

You’d managed to allude to all of the people closest to you, it just hadn’t occurred to you that people on the outside would notice your slightly off behaviour.

Lucy was one person at the club who was newer than you, even though you didn’t necessarily fit in with all the older girls due to the age disparity it was common knowledge that you were an extension of your sister, people who were friends with Sam were friends of yours. It was a little bit embarrassing that in hindsight most of the people were only friends with you as a result of your last name but it was easier to just accept it.

Lucy was one person that wasn’t particularly close with your sister, on no means were they enemies, they just didn’t hang out with the same people. If Sam and her didn’t interact on the regular then neither did you, that was just how it worked.

It’s why you’d been a little bit surprised when she’d asked you to be her spotting partner in the gym. A few sets in, though, it had become abundantly clear that Lucy had ulterior motives.

“So what does a kid like you do nowadays to have a little bit of fun, uh?”

You weren’t sure if spotting for Lucy was much help at all. There was absolutely zero possibility that if she failed, you were going to be able to lift the weight that she was pressing. The ease with which she did it all was shocking and enough of a focus for you.

“Play soccer for one of the best teams in England.”

Lucy laughs, even though all you’re doing is being honest. Between school, football, and trying to live up to the expectations of your sister, you don’t have time for ‘fun’.

“It must be hard, having so much pressure on you, so young?”

You shake your head. You don’t think of it that way. Pressure is privilege. That’s what your mom had taught you, and then your brother, and now your sister. Pressure is what had made you good enough to be where you were.

“It’s more pressure trying to decide what to have for breakfast in the morning than coming here every day.”

Lucy finishes her set and sits up, looking at you in a way that makes you feel like you have to ask.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek, and you get the feeling that you’re going to be told something you don’t want to hear.

“You’ve been acting differently lately, spacey, less present. I’m just wondering if there is any particular reason.”

You focus on switching the weights from Lucy’s bar to yours and lying down on the bench she’d previously occupied.

“I don’t know what would give you that impression.”

You focus on your set, and Lucy uses it as an excuse to stare at you in the exact same way she had been all morning.

“You look like a kicked puppy all the time. You’re less happy, less comfortable. You look like you’re on edge all the time.”

It’s a list of traits that probably suit you. You’ll admit that you’ve been less than enthusiastic in recent times, but you hadn't thought it had been extremely noticeable. Sam hadn’t noticed, not that she noticed much about you anymore.

“Didn’t realise you were so focused on the team protege, Bronzey.”

Like Sam, you were a pro in humorous deflection, yet when you spoke it came off with an unfamiliar edge that made you uncomfortable.

“I’m worried about one of my teammates and friends because they’re exhibiting behaviours that are unfamiliar for them and no one else seems to be noticing.”

You finish your set and focus on drinking from your water bottle and not making too much eye contact with Lucy.

“Lot of big words coming from you, Luce.”

Lucy’s determination doesn’t fade. She looks at you the same way.

“So it’s not football. I’m going to make an educated guess that it’s not school. You’re going to be an aunt and you’ve got a good family situation. What is it?”

You must flinch, even if you don’t feel it. You must because Lucy’s eyes light up.

“So it’s Kerr household issues then?”

You focus on finishing your set again. You focus on the feeling of your arms pushing and relaxing, the feeling of all your muscles stretching and slackening.

“You know you can talk to me about it. I might not have the best advice, but I won’t judge you or go and tell your sister about it or anything.”

You finish the set, and all that’s on your mind is that you have one more to go. One more and you can remove yourself from whatever this awkward conversation is and go and hide in some other corner like normal.

“I don’t know what makes you think it’s any of your business.”

You’re three reps in, nowhere near failure, yet on the next one, Lucy takes over and pulls the bar up and onto the rack.

Before you can have a go at her, she sits down next to you on the bench, and for whatever reason, puts an arm around your shoulder. It makes you incredibly uncomfortable, and you flinch away almost immediately, but Lucy doesn’t shy away.

“Look, whether it’s from a teammate to another teammate, or a friend to a friend, or whatever you feel most comfortable calling it. You don’t seem like you’re doing okay. If I can tell, it’s not going to be long before other people figure it out. I don’t really know you properly, but you seem like a good kid. You also don’t seem like the kind of person who likes to be vulnerable in front of people you don’t trust. If you don’t let go of whatever has clearly been bothering you, then that’s probably the inevitable if you don’t talk to somebody about it or get it off your chest. That person by no means has to be me or anyone else here. Just think about it, okay? You’re not alone. I can’t imagine how hard it would be playing here and everyone constantly making you feel like you were in your sister’s shadow. You aren’t just your sister, though. People around here like you beyond that, and they’re here to support you beyond that. You aren’t your last name.”

You’d be a liar if you said that Lucy’s words didn’t hit you a little bit, but you didn’t let her see that. You shook her arm off you and rolled your eyes.

“You have no fucking clue what it’s like to be me. Don’t try and make it out like you understand.”

Before she could say anything else that remotely played on your heartstrings, you walked away, dragging your drink bottle and gear off to the other side of the gym and settling into whatever exercises for your ankle strength.

You didn’t like to admit it, but what Lucy said to you resonated with you for the rest of the day. It had you in your head, thinking about it over and over again. You were second-guessing everything, and it translated out onto the pitch. In training, you were sloppy, to the point of nearly injuring yourself due to a lack of awareness. If you were trying to prove that you were over your setbacks, then it was a clear testament to the opposite. You were evidently a shit show. It was what was expected of you. You were a teenager. You were expected to crash out, to not be able to live up to the constant expectations of being a professional every day. You were falling into the one stereotype that you spent every minute of every day trying to claw away from. Already consumed by the reality of your stupifying family situation and adding on self-doubt about your every action was a whole new mind game that you’d never truly experienced.

There was one part about what Lucy had said that had stuck with you the most. If you didn’t get it off your chest soon, it was inevitable that you were going to let it slip in far worse ways, and that was a slippery slope you had no intention of going down.

It wasn’t surprising that your sister wasn’t there to pick you up after training had finished. There was a slew of excuses that trumped you. You were used to being forgotten. As the reality of new life being brought into the Kerr household became more real, it only felt like you were fading further.

You didn’t want to go home, not to a place where you actively felt like an impostor. You didn’t have many people to lean on, though. As much as Lucy tried to make it out like you were an individual person at Chelsea, you weren’t. You were Sam Kerr’s younger sister, the baby of the family, the nepotism sister, riding on your sister’s success and reaping whatever benefits came from it. You were a complete result of your sister, stuck in a never-ending cycle of following her footsteps.

In Australia, you’d had individuality, your parents’ sole focus. Your football wasn’t as good, but you hadn’t questioned your existence or how you fitted into spaces. Yet in England, or with your sister, you had to second-guess everything, were forced to feel like you didn’t belong anywhere.

You didn’t want to go home.

There weren’t a lot of people in London you could call. A couple of months ago, Kristie was your go-to person for when your sister was tied up with her stuff, but with the baby on the way, Kristie’s sole focus had been shifted. You didn’t matter in comparison. Sam’s friends were like family, but they weren’t your family; they were people that had to like you because you lived with Sam and were with her all the time. You hadn’t made many friends at Chelsea; it didn’t seem important in retrospect. It left you with a handful of people. You could always call your mum or someone else in the family, but it seemed pointless in that there would be no outcome. So you called the only person that was really left.

It had been a long shot; St Albans wasn’t exactly in close proximity to Cobham, but you felt like you were at a crossroads.

You’d had to wait outside in the cold for a while, but it wasn’t awfully long until Caitlin pulled up in front of the training grounds. Before you could second-guess your decision-making, you got into her car, buckling your seatbelt before looking at her.

“Just drive, I’ll exp n later.”

Caitlin got the message and pulled her car into drive before heading back onto the highway.

“Where we going? Yours? Mine? An airport?”

It was hard not to laugh at the predicament.

“Just yours.”

The rest of the car ride was silent; it was good, it was hard for you to slot every feeling into place, but it was good to think about it all. You felt like a whirlwind of feelings, a big spiral of never-ending emotions that were completely nonsensical.

By the time you get to Caitlin’s house, not much was making any more sense, but you felt less panicked. You walked from the car into her house in the same silence that had stretched between the two of you the whole car trip. In through the front door, into the kitchen, and sat down at the island when Caitlin pointed at one of the seats. You felt like you were cemented to the seat, all of the weight of the day, or really the last few weeks, was weighing you down like there were rocks stuffed in your pockets. You felt heavy, filled with all of the uncertainties.

Caitlin pushed a glass of water towards you, and you took it gratefully.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

You’d been around Caitlin practically since birth. As a kid growing up, you hadn’t wanted to be around your sister; it had always been her best friend that had lit up your face. She was your sister’s best friend, but in every way, she was a sister to you; you’d spent every moment of your childhood following the two around and every waking moment with them when they were around.

“I can’t just spend an afternoon with my favourite auntie?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes, reaching over the table to ruffle your hair.

“Of course, you can, dickhead, but that doesn’t mean that you are. Something’s up, and if you called me, then that means you want to talk about it because it has something to do with Sam.”

Were you really that easy to read? First, Lucy, and now Caitlin. You were beginning to doubt your abilities to keep all of your cards to your chest.

“That’s some creepy shit; you should become some mindreader.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes at you.

“Tell me about it; I can’t do anything in this house without her sniffing it out.”

You turned your head to see Katie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling at you, but mostly at Caitlin.

“Ya didn’t tell me mini kerr was coming over.”

You tried to stop the way your face flinched at the sound of your last name. You didn’t know why in recent times it had begun to bother you so much. It was just so synonymous with your sister. Every time you heard it or saw it on your jersey, it was a clear sign of the one thing you were becoming most afraid of. You weren’t living up to it or living the life of it.

“Just wanted to spend some time with my favourite derby losers.”

Katie’s reaction is visceral. Her face moves into something of pure disgust.

“That kind of slander is just not acceptable in this house. You want to embrace your Chel-shit culture? Keep it away from our house. We’re going to have to sage the bad vibes away now. Do a full cleanse.”

At a point in your life, you’d never felt less Chelsea than you did right now. The thought of the club put you on the brink of dissociation.

“Katie, can you please go get some pasta? We’re all out, and I’m making bolognese for dinner.”

It was a cue. You were sure of it because as soon as the words left Caitlin’s mouth, Katie was nodding dutifully and off and out of sight.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up or keep dodging around it?”

With your lip between your teeth and so much uncertainty, you nodded. There wasn’t much point in keeping it all in when you’d come here with the inadvertent intention to offload some of it.

“Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me. When I got here, it was hard. We made it work, and she tried to make me fit in with her life as it was, but it never quite felt right. But with the baby now, there’s no pretending. I’m not a part of her life, and she doesn’t want to pretend that I am anymore. And I’m sick of waiting in the background, hoping she’ll get her shit together and remember that I’m part of her life. She doesn’t care about me, and I can’t handle it anymore.”

Caitlin’s expressions are schooled. They are most of the time, but she doesn’t give anything at all away.

“Your sister loves you a lot. I’m not invalidating what you’re feeling. I am sure that you’re right. She loves you though. Before you came here, all she ever talked about was wanting to spend more time with you, going back to see you, Facetiming you.”

You shake your head. You didn’t come here to be told that you’re loved. You came here to feel a little bit less chained down.

“No, she doesn’t, or she doesn’t show it remotely. She doesn’t pick me up from school. She forgets me or stopped caring because she’s busy looking after Kristie or busy being worried about the baby, stressing about the baby. It’s all they talk about. It’s all they care about. It’s the shiny new toy, and I’m the old one at the back of the wardrobe that’s all broken and disgusting. I’m the last option. I’m the last option at Chelsea, the last option at home, the last option for everybody, and I can’t physically handle it. I’m done constantly being left on the fucking sidelines of life whilst everybody else plays.”

Caitlin nods. She listens. It’s what you need. You just need to feel listened to.

“Your sister should be focusing more on you. She doesn’t realise that you didn’t move for independence like she did. When we moved for football for the first time, it was because we finally wanted independence. We wanted freedom. We wanted to feel like adults. You want to feel supported, want to feel like you’re a part of a family. You’re feeling that whilst your sister is simultaneously beginning to start her own family, and that’s scary. I would be scared by that if I were you. You’re seeing the cementation of new roots, and in your eyes, you don’t fit into the foundation that they’re building. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed about your sister since we were 18, and that is the fact that she’s a little bit unobservant. She doesn’t do small feelings. She does the big ones. She doesn’t understand the anxieties that you’re experiencing because she doesn’t experience them. Also, whether you want to admit it or not, I think you might be a little bit jealous of this baby. You didn’t get to spend your childhood with your sister. That was stripped from you when she moved away. This baby gets all the attention and all the love and doesn’t get left behind, and that’s tough.”

You are a little dumbstruck for words. It’s been hard to pinpoint all of your feelings, and yet Caitlin has just laid them all out in front of you.

“I’m not jealous of the fetus.”

Caitlin snorts, a proper snort that has you in fits of giggles.

“Not even a little bit?”

You shake your head defiantly. It’s easier to deny than admit it.

“Because think about it. This time you’re like the older sister. That kid won’t want to be spending time with Kristie and Sam. It’ll be fawning over you from day one. Babies take a village. I know you feel on the outs right now, but when that baby comes, it’ll change.”

It’s easy to say that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but in your opinion, there really isn’t. You can’t see any future where you feel any less of a misfit.

“It’s not just Sam though. It’s everywhere. I don’t have friends, not at Chelsea. I’m my sister’s shadow, I always have been, but since the move, it’s been worse. I can’t make friends at school. I’m there purely to go to class, and I miss half of them anyways. Everyone at Chelsea sees me as my sister. I’m just an extension of her. Everything I do that is any good is because of her. Nobody can see past it.”

Caitlin didn’t have a quick answer for you. Your eyes burned with angry, hot tears. They were yet to spill, but they were on the brink, and it was impossible to ignore.

“I can’t get away from my sister’s shadow, and it would be fine if I felt like I was a byproduct of her, if she spent every waking moment helping me be that way. But she hasn’t. It’s all been me. It’s been my hard work, my own push. Sure, she’s helped me into environments that have made me better, but it’s been my hard work. She hasn’t done shit, and yet all anybody says is that I’m good because of her, that I’m just a result of my sister’s influence. I’ll always be a shadow of her to everyone, even her.”

It’s a cathartic feeling. The tears slip down your face. You push and scratch at your cheeks, trying to remove the evidence, but it’s obvious. It’s ugly. It’s everything that’s been building.

Caitlin doesn’t say anything. She just walks around the counter and gives you a big hug.

“You are a lot more than your sister, and if people don’t recognise that, then you should be getting away from that, taking a break. You deserve to feel like your own person because you are.”

You don’t have anything left to say. You’ve laid it all out, and it feels good, but there isn’t any change. Venting is good, but when you’re going to go back to it all, it doesn’t truly matter. You’re stuck in the prison of your life, and there is no escaping.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted. How about you go and take a nap before dinner? Refresh and let your mind rest, and we can regroup, okay? I promise you we can find a solution to some of this.”

You nod; you are feeling tired. It’s been hard to sleep at the apartment with Kristie constantly getting up during the night to hurl her guts.

Caitlin’s guest room is warm, it’s nice, it’s virtually the same as your room at home, and yet it feels so much more welcoming. It doesn’t take you long to drift off.

When you wake up, it’s very clear that quite a few hours have passed. Not only is it completely black, but the sleep in your eyes and fogginess in your head is enough of an indicator that what was going to be a quick nap had turned into something a lot longer. The edges of your vision are hazy and blurred as you blink your way back into consciousness. You don’t want to get up, not at all. It would be so much easier to just stay where you are, forever. Just stay lying in bed and warm and cozy, comfortable. You didn’t get to where you were today, though, by allowing yourself to be comfortable.

So begrudgingly, you pulled yourself out of the bed, still dressed head to toe in a Chelsea tracksuit and hoodie. It really did feel illegal amongst all of the Arsenal memorabilia in every corner, and on every wall of the house, it only made you feel like more of a dichotomy.

Your stomach began to rumble as you walked down the stairs to the kitchen. You were sure that you must have missed dinner but hoped that maybe something had been left aside to tide you over.

You could hear murmurs coming from the kitchen, and in your state of half-awakeness, you’d put it down as being Caitlin and Katie.

You were off guard, and that’s why you’d been more shocked than you thought possible when you walked into the kitchen and your sister was seated in the exact same place you’d been sat a couple of hours ago. Immediately, both Caitlin and your sister’s eyes were on you, them both seeming just as surprised as you.

You were ready to bolt, but Caitlin’s voice stopped you.

“Your sister came to talk to you. She was worried when you weren’t home tonight for dinner.”

You roll your eyes, if you’d moved out a month ago Sam wouldn’t have noticed.

“We haven’t had dinner together in months, don’t lie to my face. You called her, you fucking called her, I trsuted you with something and you called her.”

Sam looked like she was going to butt in but Caitlin stopped her.

“Okay, yes I called her. Because I was worried but also mad and I wanted to fix that. I’m going to leave you two to sort this out.”

Caitlin started to walk towards you and out of the kitchen, you couldn’t help but clutch for her hand as she walked away.

“It’s going to be fine. Trust me and listen to what she says and tell her how you feel. She came here to fix things, or start to fix things.”

Caitlin closes the kitchen door leaving just you and your sister alone with each other.

“Just because we don’t have dinner together doesn’t mean I don’t notice when you’re done. Mum would kill me if I wasn’t keeping an eye on you and let her baby sneak out.”

It was the connotation of it all, Sam didn’t care, she was doing all of this for your mum.

“I’m so sorry mum decided to burden you with my presence.”

Your sister exhales, like she’s trying to keep control, because she feels she has to.

“That’s not what I meant. You matter just as much to me as you do to mum.”

Rich. Really rich coming from her.

“Oh yeah, so that’s why mum calls me everyday to ask me about my day and how I’m doing and you just exist beside me. When was the last time you talked to me about anything besides football or the baby or Kristie? When was the last time you did anything with me that wasn’t related to football. When was the last time you asked me anything about my life or even acted like you cared?”

Sam exhales again, and breathes in like she’s trying to suck in every bit of oxygen in the room.

“It’s not like that.”

You didn’t want to be angry about all of this, sad, disheartened, depressed. You could deal with that, but anger was so much harder.

“Oh tell me how it is then. I know you didn’t ask to be looking after your teenage sister fulltime but you could at least pretend like my presence isn’t a complete burden to you. I fucking idolised you my whole childhood, when we had dress up days at school I would always dress up as you. I’ve always wanted to be you, and I was fine with everybody putting me into the box of Sam Kerr’s sister, I didn’t care, if anything it was the best feeling in the world. I didn’t care about being your shadow when you were my favourite person. But now that I’m here you’ve wrecked it all. You don’t have to tell me that I don’t fit into your picture perfect life, I’m well aware. I just didn’t expect you to treat me like fucking shit. I’m sick of it, I want to go home, I’d rather jeopardise my football career by going back then deal with anymore of this.”

Sam looks like she’s about to start crying and it feels good, you want her to feel what you are feeling, you want her to feel an inch of what you’ve been feeling for the past months.

“You aren’t a burden to me. Not at all.”

You scoff, you aren’t a burden but she just opts to forget your existence, makes a lot of sense.

“Okay so am I a ghost then? Do I have the ability to turn invisible and nobody has told me about it because you sure fucking act like I’m not here 95% of the time.”

Your sister stands up and starts to walk towards you and you immediately move. You don’t want touch or hugs or whatever she’s going to offer.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. I’m really sorry.”

You really don’t know what to say to that. It’s a step forward but it doesn’t do anything, saying sorry is good and well but it doesn’t change an action.

“I thought you came here for independence. God mum made it out like you were going to blow perth up if she didn’t get you out soon enough. I’ve wanted to be close to you since you were born, you were the light in all of our lives. Then you were here and I underestimated what it was going to be like but it was awesome and just having you in the house made it all so much better. Kristie and I had always wanted kids but having you around just made it seem like it would be the right fit, you have made our lives so much better. So, we started the process and it was all I could think about. I was your age when mum had you, I got to see you take your first steps and grow your first tooth and I thought it would be good for you to have the same experience. I just didn’t get how much time it would take up and how consumed with it I would get. You don’t deserve to feel this way, you don’t deserve to not feel cared for. I love you more than anybody else, I would put down anything for you, without a question. I haven’t made it seem that way recently but it’s true. You’re my priority, you always have been and you always will be. I don’t want you to go back home, having you here has been the best thing that has ever happened. I don’t know how i;m going to fix this but I’m going to. I’ll maker the changes, I’ll talk to Kristie, I’ll spend more time with you like I did before.”

So many feelings, so little words.

“You don’t get me. I don’t want you to give up time, Kristie is the love of your life, this baby is going to be your kid. Your kid, not your sister, your kid. I don’t want you to detest me because I take away moments from your life.”

Sam shakes her head.

“You are just as big a part of my life as anything else is. You fit into it all, if I haven’t amde you feel that way that is completely my fault.”

It’s nice to hear her say that, it’s nice to feel accepted even if it’s just for a second.

“It’s not just that. I am literally your shadow. I don’t have any friends at Chelsea, everyone thinks I’m good because of you. Kerr is plastered everywhere and I’m just synonymous with all of your achievements. I don’t get to be me, the only difference is the different first name letter on our jerseys. I’m a good football player, because of me, not because of you. I’m sick of everyone telling me that I have a good right foot because my sister is Sam Kerr, or that I must have gotten my good defending skills from practicing with you. Everything has to be because of you, and I can’t handle it. I don’t have any friends that aren’t yours, my life is a by product of yours and I’m done with it being that way.”

This time when Sam takes a step towards you, you don’t immediately step away. Her presence doesn’t bother you, it’s the look on her face.

“Okay, we can fix that. You want to quit? Move clubs? Go on Loan? I can talk to everyone at the club and make changes. Wew can change jerseys, you can have your first name and not last name. You should spend some extra time with the younger girls, stop feeling restricted by what I do and don’t do and just live your life. I’ll tell everuone how much of a fuckup I am and how you are skilled because of you. Whatever you want, I am here to support it. I haven’t done that enough recently and it needs to change, I want to make you my complete priority. No more forgetting you because I’m being selfish and only thinking about myself. My asshat behaviour ends now, I promise. What do you want, I will try my hardest to help you get it. I can call our agent right now and you can be playing in a different country.”

You shake your head, a small smile working it’s way to the corners of your mouth at your sisters franticness.

“I don’t know, I have no fucking clue what I want. I just want you to know, I want help, I want to not feel like shit everyday just because of who I am.”

Sam nods, and reaches out for you. The hug is easy, it’s cathartic, you feel so much pressure releasing from your body as her arms tighten around you.

“Okay, I can do that. We can do that. You and me yeah, you and me against the world.”

It’s not even close to fixed, your life hasn’t changed. But the overall weight, the soul crushing pressure of it all fades. You don’t trust, you don’t trust her to make changes. She hasn’t earnt that trust but you hope, you fucking hope that maybe something is going to happen.

#sammykworshipper thoughts #woso community #woso #sammykworshipperfics #sam kerr #sam kerr being protective #sam kerr x kristie mewis #sam kerr imagine #sam kerr x reader #samkerrworshipperactuallywritingaboutsamkerr?#sister sam kerr #woso fic #woso imagine #woso couples #woso fanfics #woso one shot

373 notes · View notes

burreauxsss · 4 months ago

Text

i miss you, im sorry

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

(all pics from pinterest)

synopsis: fast forward to a few weeks after the breakup between travis and madison . the bengals are 9-2 winning a thursday night game. y/n supports but someone pops back up in her dms that she wasnt expecting. (and travis becomes obsessive but whatever)

notes: its march (my month) and uconn womens basketball is going to win it all. just trust me guys.. also taking a break after this one because im tired of writing in this au so im gonna make a new smau

warning: this is a au/ alternative universe.

bengals

❤️ 381,904 💬 4,109

Liked by: nfl joeyb_9 lahjay_10 and others

bengals: both him.

username_1: burrow for mvp!!

username_2: we barely won that division game 35-34, nobody celebrate.

username_3: all these bandwagon bengals fans in the comments..

*load more comments*

yn.handle 📍baltimore, maryland

❤️ 221,034 💬 23,904

Liked by: joeyb_9 skims kimkardashian traviskelce and others

yn.handle: late night out.

skims: absolutely stunning!

username_4: joe is so lucky i swear.

username_5: frauds yn.handle: chiefs fan saying this btw.

joeyb_9: i love this outfit. *liked by yn.handle*

username_6: why did travis like this.

*load more comments*

joeyb_9

❤️ 312,238 💬 13,014

Liked by: yn.handle alo bengals and others

joeyb_9: keep going.

username_7: the hair?

username_8: comparing yn's outfit to his outfit, opposites attract.

username_9: so foine.

*load more comments*

yn.handle posted a story

caption: ✈️

tmz

❤️ 1.2m 💬 34,473

Liked by: duexmoi brittanymahomes others

tmz: mixed signals? kansas city tight end travis kelce has been lurking around on his ex's social media page. liking one of her posts, sending fans into confusion as y/n y/ln has already made her relationship status public with quarterback joe burrow.

does he want her back as seen in this message she recently shared on her story?

duexmoi: i think he does. hes a cheater, realized he messed up then regrets it.

username_10: guys, joe will fight for y/n.

username_11: hes trying to save her from a loser team.

username_12: shes flying everywhere right now so wont be surprised if one of those stops is kc.

username_13: are we all serious? y/n would never cheat on joe.

*load more comments*

duexmoi

❤️ 174,400 💬 21,968

Liked by: tmz and others

duexmoi: yn.handle spotted in cincy. shes not in kc ladies.

username_14: why are yall so obsessed with her.

username_15: she deserves better. leave her alone.

username_16: im pretty sure she wouldnt go back.

username_17: yall are sick.

*load more comments*

yn.handle

❤️ 239,480 💬 45,678

Liked by: vancleef skims joeyb_9 and others

yn.handle: "come back to me" - the leagues favorite tight end 2024

yourbsf: the caption?? 💀

joeyb_9: come back to me though? yn.handle: always shiesty

username_18: clock that tea.

username_19: travis in shambles rn

username_20 im screaming at the caption

*load more comments*

yourbsf posted a story

caption: yn.handle & yourotherbsf en 📍cincy

joeyb_9

❤️ 490,825 💬

Liked by: yn.handle lahjay_10 and others

joeyb_9: mvp.

*comments off*

nbcsports

❤️ 981,570 💬 39,620

Liked by: bengals lahjay_10 joeyb_9 and others

nbcsports: sunday night football. chargers vs bengals.

username_21: curse?

username_22: joe hates sofi..

username_23: the outfits though

bengals: our house soon.

*load more comments*

yn.handle 📍los angeles, california

❤️ 120,432 💬 3,981

Liked by: joeyb_9 ysl skims traviskelce and others

yn.handle: LAX.

username_24: joe is so lucky bro

username_25: hottest wag

joeyb_9: thought this was for my eyes only. yn.handle: nope 🙂‍↔️

username_26: oh!

username_27: just gonna pretend i didnt see that.

traviskelce: 🔥 username_28: travis, stfu.

*load more comments*

bengals

❤️ 880,742 💬 8,241

Liked by: nfl yn.handle traviskelce and others

bengals: we're here.

username_29: travis stalking as usual..

username_30: win this please..

username_31: hes so finee bro

username_32: bolt up! username_33: shut the fuck up!

*load more comments*

notes: cliffhanger on him trying to get her back (yall thought) fast forwarding to week 17 so we can get to present day (including the playoffs) soon, mb if its a tad bit boring.

#joe burrow #burreauxss #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #✦ its over im sorry au ✦#joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow smau

169 notes · View notes

kesadoll · 5 months ago

Text

♡ CWS. MDNI 4k wrds! kinda crazy black! reader, boxer!zoro unprotected, AGAINST THE WINDOW, old friends t lovers, fingering, (almost) oral {z}, fingering, squirting, she throws it back on him :p, zo is very nasty in the mouth, {petnames: baby, mama, ma || reader calls him ♡ zo ♡ || he calls himself daddy like once}, srry if i said "y'all" too much im from the country ♡

♡ sum. your old moss-headed friend from high school has become your most recent obsession, & luckily you received an invite to one of his upcoming matches...

kesa's note did i eat the banner or what ?!?! i think im starting to get the hang of this again yall hold on! this was really smthn fun, smthn easy, smthn for the dolls♡ pt.2? asks & reblogs always welcome!

“where is heeeee~” you huffed, searching for that moss-headed idiot you hadn’t seen for years.

of course, aside from when you would see him on tv. your old friend from high school: roronoa zoro. he still had the same mossy green buzz cut as always, but now he looked like he was carved from the gods themselves, which was only decorated by his tattoos and the scars on his chest and eye. seeing him like that pulled at your chest, tightening it.

you didn’t just want his attention anymore; you needed it. all. of. it.

you would always find yourself in front of your tv on a thursday night, anticipating the handsome man to appear on screen. he’d finally gone pro in boxing, like he used to talk about. you were obsessed, whether you’d like to admit it or not, and that fire was only ignited by your phone buzzing, pulling you out of one of your silent “just scrolling on instagram and so happened to see him on your feed” escapades.

it was robin, one of the girls from your old high school friend group. she wanted to surprise zoro at his last match of the season, knowing he was going to host an afterparty in one of the most notorious clubs in the city.

after some contemplation and some reassurance from the others (luffy, usopp, nami, robin, jinbe, franky, vivi, sanji, & broooks) you finally set it upon yourself to go.

as the days grew closer, you got more nervous but oddly excited. you’d finally get to see your latest obsession in the flesh, and you had the craziest dreams just thinking about it.

you definitely made sure you’d be dolled up: lashes done, your nails done in cute french tips and your toes matched, everything waxed, your silk press on LOCK. not that you didn’t care about your maintenance, but it was reaaaaal important now.

it was finally match day, and you could hardly wait for it to start. you put on your athlete’s gf best: a skintight black dress that barely covered the very tops of your thighs, poppin out your so-kate's you never took out the box just for today.

you even brought out your little nameplate chain and watch to match, grabbing your black puffer jacket and your small purse on your way out the door to robin’s deep blue car that the girls waited for you in.

“cmon pretty girl! they're gonna take our seats!” you heard nami giggle out of the passenger seat, vivi opening the backseat door with a big smile.

you absolutely adored going anywhere with your girls. there was no doubt that every single time there would be some sort of pregame, and tonight was no different. you, nami, and vivi passed around shots (which looked more like the 3 of you taking big sips of don julio before robin took it away), and a blunt you ended up rolling.

the stadium finally came into view, the four of you scrambling to make sure your makeup, hair, and perfume were just as good as they were when yall left.

y’all’s beauty sesh was cut abruptly when a black car blasting music zipped past, luffy’s stupid head sticking out the window, giving yall a dumb smile. you could only imagine how fucked up the guys were.

after what felt like forever finding a parking spot, the four of you hopped out, the cool air making you shiver as you put on your jacket. you guys walked up to the entrance, doing the usual event procedures.

the guys weren’t far behind yall, finally walking inside and making your way to your seats, which were closer to the ring than you had thought. you grew impatient, the realization of where you were finally starting to set in.

luckily for you, it didn’t take much longer; the lights besides the ones above the ring dimmed slightly, your heart pounding in your ears once you heard the announcer come on the speakers.

you sort of tuned out the first introduction since it wasn’t about the man you came here to see in the first place, but it was for a man you’ve heard before: his name was arlong. everything else about him was drowned out by cheers and boos, fading out once music began to play.

9 by drake began to play, and you knew what time it was having watched his matches so many times before; zoro was finally here.

“33 fights, 33 victories, 24 wins by KO, 27 consecutive KOs..” you mumbled with the announcer under your breath, “this champion from los angeles california is your reigning, defending, undefeated, universally recognized middleweight champion, roronoa zoro,” the crowd begins to yell, your friends in shock at how famous their old friend had gotten, “AKA TRIPLEEEEEE FIST!”

just over your left shoulder, you could see a green buzzcut surrounded by men in black come from an entrance, and god was he a sight to see. his broad shoulders complimenting his soft muscles, your favorite tattoo of his crawling up his side from his v-line, along with that deep scar on his chest . . . he looked so fucking good. he had that nonchalant smile on his face, taking pictures and signing posters that kids lined up against the railing flung out towards him.

you gawking was cut short by luffy and usopp yelling zoro’s name like idiots, which made nami’s hand that you had held for support squeeze.

“ZORO!! OVER HERE!!” they both yelled, hopping up and down like high school girls. robin facepalmed while nami yelled a motherly “shut the fuck up!” in which the boys sat down, but it didn’t matter since zoro looked over once he was in front of your row, his face going from shock to happiness.

“oh shit- girl, do you see him???!?!?!” nami leaned over to you, making sure her voice was low.

“yes, he’s hard to miss, oh my god. .” you couldn’t hide the fascination in your voice, trying to put on your best game face. before you'd only seen him on tv, but in person he looked even better.

“when did he get so hot???” she said, slightly putting her hand over her mouth. you almost responded, giving nami a slight side eye since she was talking about your man like that, but you knew she didn’t know how enamored he had you.

you didn’t need to respond though, because you watched as his eyes trailed from your heels . . . up your cocoa-buttered legs, eyes dancing as they traveled up to your thighs, which made you cross your legs, and then suddenly the two of you made eye contact.

his eyelids lowered as he looked from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again, that nonchalant smile turning into an even sexier one. he turned since his security kept pushing him toward the ring, but your eyes never left his body, both nami and robin gripping either of your arms at this point, freaking out that he just looked at you the way he did.

“did he just-???” you stuttered, your face in awe.

“ithinkthefuckso!” nami blurted out, shaking your arm.

“oh he wants you, and bad. he just eye-fucked you in front of my corn dog, bitch.” robin said half seriously, which warranted a cackle from both you and nami.

the fight didn’t last long, though close, resulting in another win under zoro’s belt. sweat coated his body in a heavenly sheen. he was escorted out of the ring and down into the aisle again, you and your friends in a group on the sides. you were talking to vivi when, out the corner of your eye, you saw the guys dapping up zoro, security slightly on edge, seeing how they practically slapped each other around. you kept your cool, trying not to freak out seeing him make his way to y’all.

“hey,” zoro’s voice cut through the conversation, his eyes scanning over the four of you, “just invited luffy n' them to my afterparty; y’all coming?”

you all nodded, smiles big across your faces. zoro looked you up and down, licking his bottom lip. “can’t wait to see you there, mama.”

your heart felt like it was at the top of your head at this point, having to blink yourself out of your shock. the combination of the way he looked at you and the way his sweat pooled on the waistband of his shorts you needed that BAD.

“yeah.” was all you could get out, your cheeks burning from how big your smile was.

zoro hummed, letting his security push him away with a smirk on his face. you couldn’t help yourself anymore and quickly spun yourself around, fangirling.

at the club…

you were getting antsy, this time a little bit of anger boiling in the pit of your stomach at the fact he had you waiting like you were some kind of whore. which undeniably it was the truth, but you were only a whore for him. the amount of late nights you had just thinking about him alone was a testament to that.

eventually though, your mind was taken off of him by robin pulling you along with her to dance. you and the girls most definitely were turnt up, the loud music and dancing making your pregame earlier worth it.

all while you were shaking ass and body rolling your tipsy ass away, zoro made his entrance. the bottle girls followed behind him as him and his entourage + bodyguards made their way over to the V.I.P section you all were in. zoro wore a dark t-shirt that hugged his chest and he wore baggy jeans. to top it all off, you couldn’t help but notice he was decorated in gold jewelry like a present waiting to be unwrapped. his chains, the 3 stacked lobe piercings, the small nose ring you didn’t know he had until now, the watch that decorated the tatted arm that held the drink in his hand..

of course, there were girls trying to get his attention and get handsy. one girl in particular followed him to the couch, putting her hands on his leg like she was the shit. zoro already had a drink in his hand, bringing it to his lips that were curled into a smirk, showing off his blinged out teeth…………oh fuck that.

you found yourself strutting over, not paying attention to a concerned nami and vivi behind you. zoro’s eyes fixed on you, forgetting for a moment just how good you looked which was part of the whole reason why he invited you here to begin with.

the girl noticed zoro wasn’t paying much attention to her anymore and when she turned her head to see you sauntering over, her face contorted with jealousy.

“hey m-“ zoro stood to meet you, but you stopped him from coming closer with your index finger once he was right in front of you.

“mm mm, you come in here like hot shit ‘n forget you ‘can’t wait’ to see me?” you said to him, trying to ignore the smirk he still had on his face as he looked at you through his eyelashes.

“mama, you know it ain’t like that.” he tried to step closer but you still held your ground, slightly distracted at how sexy he looked with the lights on him like this, “i’m an athlete you know how some people get.”

you raised an eyebrow, slightly because he was calling you out yourself and he didn’t even know it. “and i’m supposed to to believe you because?”

“cause i ain’t like that, y/n, you know me better than that,” zoro chuckled and brought his drink to his lips, his other hand reaching for your waist and pulling you close, his hand finding solace on your ass which it almost completely covered, the seductive tone in his voice making you feel weak in the knees, “let me make it up to you, i’ll do anything you want n’ take you back to my place.”

you hadn’t heard your name from his mouth in a long time, let alone did you think he’d remember it after all these years. but up this close you were able to see the bling you saw on his teeth were actually gold grillz that spelled out his name: zoro at the top & roronoa on the bottom. you hummed in thought, bringing your hand up to his chin just behind his goatee, “then give me all of your attention tonight.”

“i can do that, no problem.” he leaned his face closer to yours, but you denied him the satisfaction of a kiss, playfully pushing yourself off him.

“great, but first since you offeredd~..” you motioned over your shoulder to your friends dancing like their lives depended on it, luffy somehow having a girl who looked far out of his league all over him, “make sure our friends have plenty of drinks and food, yeah?”

your night was everything you could’ve dreamed of. saying zoro was attached to you like velcro would be an understatement. wherever you went he was close behind you, grabbing your hips to push your ass back into him anytime you danced or just stood around. he wasn’t playing about you, and he wanted everyone to know that.

especially when he gripped you by the back of your neck, turning your head to meet your lips with his that were sweet with liquor. his lids were low as he leaned down in your ear, the husk in his voice making your breath hitch, “you ready t’come home with me?”

you nodded again with heart eyes while you stared at his lips, feeling his hands start to travel across your body. it was time to go, and immediately at that. you figured you’d just text your girls in the morning, knowing they’d understand especially since they saw how he looked at you earlier. security escorted the both of you outside and to zoro’s black ferrari, the two of you being met with paparazzi along the way. zoro opened the passenger door for you, going over to the drivers side and getting in before he sped off, his hand rubbing dangerously close figure 8’s into the fat of your inner thigh.

you leaned over the center console, planting kisses along zoro’s jaw and neck, a small mewl escaping from your lips that was drowned out by the music that was blasting. zoro’s pinky grazed your essence soaked panties, clenching his jaw once he felt how wet you already were.

the two of you made it downtown and to his apartment building, hardly able to keep your hands off of one another. the hallways and elevator had you pushed up on them once or twice, you and zoro’s lips crashing into each other with greed. finally making it to the penthouse floor, you were in awe when you turned around and saw the dark modern aesthetic of the home before you.

to your right was a staircase illuminated by lights underneath. you were elated to finally be in this man’s home after only seeing glimpses of it off his socials, it being even better in person. you began to walk up the stairs, not knowing where they led, but you still continued nonetheless.

“you already tryin’ to go up to my room?” zoro teased with a raised eyebrow, following upstairs behind you.

you rolled your eyes, “you act like you haven’t been trying to have me here anyway.”

once you made it to the top, your eyes widened, seeing the vertical windows that took up almost an entire wall. the view through them was beautiful, especially with the downtown lights illuminating the sky. you walked closer to the window, trying not to press up against it since it looked very clean.

“got the best view, don’t i?” zoro came up behind you, hands rubbing up and down your sides, smiling at you.

“you do, your room is nice as fuck.”

“mmmhmm.” you could tell he wasn’t paying much attention, his nose buried in the crook of your neck to take in your scent.

you tilted your head, granting him more access. he mumbled something akin to “thank you baby” against your neck which sent shivers down your spine. he left you sloppy, intense kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands pushing your dress up the fat of your hips.

he lifted his lips off your neck just for a moment, the loss of his touch warranting a whine to escape from your lips. “yeah?” he teased, pushing your dress down your chest to your waist. he pulled your hips back against himself, his dick pressing up against your lower back, straining against his baggy pants, “you’re so needy, baby.”

“shut up-“ you leaned your head back against his shoulder and grabbed one of his hands from off your hip and brought them up to your breasts. since you wore no bra there was nothing to brace yourself for his big, muscular hands fondling them. when he decided to pay attention to your nipples, which he made sure not to do so often because the whines you made to beg him made him even harder, he tugged and rolled them so slow your legs began to tremble off that alone.

“zo-” you whined, your insides throbbing, aching for something, “i want you.”

those simple 3 words were like an ‘on’ button for zoro. a grunt escaped his lips before they met yours, his tongue intertwining with your own. his right hand slid down your waist and into your panties, rubbing his fingers in between your folds, coating them in your essence. feeling his touch made you see stars. it was so little, but all the times you touched yourself imagining it was him. and this? this was better than your cunt could’ve ever imagined.

zoro’s own heart began to thump out of his chest seeing you almost come completely undone once he had his middle finger inside you. just off your moans and the lewd squelching your pussy already started to make, he could tell you wanted this and it made him want you even more. with his left arm draped across your chest, he made sure to hold you up once he put his ring finger, groaning when he felt how you sucked him right up.

“you needed this s’fucking bad, didn’t you?” he said against your lips, chuckling when all you could do was babble ‘pleasepleaseplease’ once he curled his fingers. his rough palm bobbling against your clit making your ears get all hot and fuzzy. “gonna cum for me in front of my window like this, hm? you’re s’fucking nasty, baby.”

“zo~!” you hiccuped, the nastiness of his words sparking a fire in between your legs. you reached your hand up, resting it on the back of zoro’s head, holding on to what little hair his buzzcut left him while your glossy (or at least what was left) lips parted to make way for the moans that bubbled from deep within your tummy. “ngh! fuck fuck fuck zo- i’m gonna- !!” his hand never let up, even as your pussy squeezed around his fingers. even as his fingers became coated in your essence, moving to rub deep circles on your aching bundle of nerves, squirt trickling down your thighs and his hand.

“fuuuck- you’re such a good girl for me..” he shuddered while he released his tight hold of you with his left arm, finally freeing himself from his pants. he brought his other hand up to you lips and you took them in your mouth to suck and swirl your tongue around them.

zoro slipped his cock between your folds, just rocking his hips to coat it with your essence. when you felt him your eyes got big. not because it was the biggest (it was maybe a good 7 and some change), but it was thick. like stretch you OUT thick even though this wasn’t your first rodeo either.

he gave you that sly smile at your reaction, taking his hands from your mouth and kissing you deep, taking a moment to taste you on your tongue which made his dick jump against your pussy. “jus’ relax mama. y’know ‘m gonna take care of you,” he grunted a little, pushing just his tip inside you, your brows furrowing as your breath hitched, “even after this m’gonna.”

“y-yeah?” you stammered feeling him pull you back onto his cock, bracing yourself while you pushed your hand back to his stomach to try and lessen how deep he was. “z- ah! w-wait s’ too-”

“ah ah ah don’t run from me. stay right there f’me.” he still slowly pushed against your hand until his hips met your ass with a little “plap!” zoro began to give you slow shallow thrusts, still giving you time to adjust to his width. he could tell by the way your shoulders relaxed that you were finally ready, and his thrusts quickened as such.

zoro’s mouth fell open, his own moans sounding like a response to yours. he pushed his shirt up his waist but got irritated once it fell again. he opted for the sexier route though, lifting the end of his shirt up to his teeth and holding it there, still talking to you like some slut while his hand found solace around your neck, his dick pushing deeper and deeper, even until his tip began to leave kisses on your cervix. “god, you feel so good baby y’dont even fuckin’ know..” you a cockdrunk, teary mess against his windows could barely even respond to his filthy words. the way his balls slapped your clit, how blissed he looked there behind you with his shirt between his teeth, how focused he looked once he tilted his hips and heard the pornagraphic moan that left your mouth.”i know you feel m’fuckin’ dick, baby, tell me it feels good i wanna hear you say it.”

the slew of words made you squeeze around him, rocking your hips against him, wanting more “s’goods’goods’goods’goodpleasezo” you whined feeling his cock twitch against your walls. it was getting harder and harder for him to keep it easy on you especially with the way you left a ring of your essence on the base of his dick.

“yeah??” he cooed at you, zoro leaning down and putting his weight on you. this new angle made your eyes shoot to the back of your head and your legs almost gave out beneath you.“if it feels so good then cum all over daddy’s dick, ma,” not only did zoro keep going, but his thrusts were a lot more aggressive now. he kept one hand on your hip and one on your neck, his lips painfully close to your ear, “fuckin’ do it.”

the authority in his voice and that dumb nickname absolutely sent you over the edge. “m’gonna hic cum s’hard- s’good zo~” you babbled, your body reaching its high. as your mouth fell open you let out a long string of moans, desperation filling your voice and body while you threw your ass back onto zoro, your puffy lips curling into a greedy smile. “give it t’me.”

“oh shi- fuckkkk- you brat.” he groaned, his shirt slipping from his lips while he threw his head back. zoro’s hips began to stagger all while you were being pumped full of his cum. you ground your hips down on him real good one last time, pouting when he jerked away and pull out of you completely, resting his head against your shoulder with a pant. “fuck you’re good.”

“mmph- thank you..” you shivered, feeling his hands drag up and down your sides and belly.

“i want you t’come with me to japan. i got a house out there i go to during off season, n’ i don’t wanna be alone. i missed you.” zoro said quite sweetly, kissing your shoulder.

you hummed, leaning away from zoro and getting down onto the floor, down on your knees, looking at him through half lidded eyes, “or do you jus’ wanna fuck.”

“both.”

orignal works by me ♡ reblogs welcome, do not steal/recreate.. shiu&tojixreader next

#kesadoll #♡♡♡♡#enjoy ♡#zoro smut #one piece smut #zoro x reader #zoro x black reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro #zoro roronoa #d1 delulu

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light-yaers · 3 months ago

Text

Take Care: Chapter Fifteen

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: OKKKKKAY I'M SORRY THIS IS 7 MONTHS LATE ALRIGHT. i got into a relationship, got promoted at work, and now have ANOTHER promotion around the bend. i am tired, i am busy, but i still got this done because i can't stop thinking about roy kent. love yall

Word count: 6k+

Chapter Fifteen

Roy was right– you had absolutely fractured the shit out of your hand. The few days after the incident, despite the pain, you found yourself not giving a fuck. You hadn’t done it for any other reason than one that was good and needed.

Your feelings about Nate had settled to an erroneous buzz. One that was constantly there, but that you’d rather not think about. Roy, Rebecca and Keeley still didn’t know, and you were determined to still keep it that way for the teams’ sake.

You were still on cloud nine, so to speak. Even the most boring and futile days at Pluto Press were made better by the constant reminder of your behaviour at Wembley. The wrist brace that Roy had forced you to wear was growing on you. You thought of it fondly.

On your way back from work one dark Thursday, Rebecca’s name popped up on your phone screen. You picked up her call with a skip in your step, only a few minutes from the tube station. “Well hello, Ms. Welton.”

“Hello, darling,” she said, but something sounded off.

You stopped walking immediately. “Are you okay?” you asked, concerned.

She sniffed on the other end of the line. “Yes. Well– no. But still yes, sort of.”

“Where are you?”

“At home, darling. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ve just received some pretty subpar news.” You waited for her to catch her breath. “My father died.”

You shut your eyes and froze in place. “Oh, Rebecca. I’m so, so, sorry.”

“My mother’s here, she’s staying for a few days. Just until we sort out his funeral, and other bits and bobs, and whatever fucking else.”

“Okay.” You listened intently. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rebecca breathed out. “Only you would be so quick to offer a helping hand. No, no, it’s all fine. Though, perhaps, you could tell Roy and Ted. I suspect I’m going to be quite busy the next few days.”

“Of course, of course– anything. I’ll let them know, don’t worry.”

“Okay, love.” Rebecca let out a huff. “God– it’s odd. It’s a very odd feeling.”

“I’m always here if you need to talk, or stuff our faces with garlic bread, or get ridiculously drunk on fine white wine, you know.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I know that. Thank you, darling.”

“Send your mum my love.”

“I will, I will. I best be off. I’ll see you soon, okay, darling?”

“See you soon, Rebecca.”

You walked straight to Roy’s house when you got off the tube at Richmond, unable to stop thinking about Rebecca and her mother. You’d never lost a parent, nor a sibling, but you’d lost others. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose someone so immediate, even despite knowing that Rebecca’s connection to her father hadn’t always been incredibly strong.

You rounded the corner and onto Roy’s lavish street, knowing the way even if you weren’t looking where you were going. A right at your front door, all the way down your terraced street, and then a hard right, past the two pillars that graced the entrance of the road to the huge fuck-off houses in the rich part of your neighbourhood.

The lights were dim inside Roy’s house, but you knew he’d be in. You knocked on his great oak door the same way you’d done a thousand times before.

Roy was barefoot when he opened the door, and his once emotionless face erupted into a surprised smile when his eyes met your own.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.

“Fancy seeing you here, too.”

“In my own house?” Roy perked a brow at you playfully.

“Let’s not dabble on specifics.” You smiled. “Are you gonna let me in or what?”

Roy moved out of the way enough for you to sneak past him and into his porch. You took off your shoes and dropped your bag to the floor comfortably, knowing you didn’t have to be anyone but yourself in his home.

Roy shut the door behind you. “Want a beer?”

“Please,” you breathed out.

You followed him to the kitchen, but took a left and settled at his dining table as he opened the fridge.

“Long day?” he asked, shutting the fridge before he popped the tops off two beer bottles.

You sighed deeply. “Kind of, but I’m actually playing messenger for Rebecca.”

“Oh?” Roy slid a bottle your way and took the end chair at the table, so he could sit closer to you.

You tapped the bottle sadly. “Her father passed away. She called me about an hour ago.”

Roy leaned back in his chair, a pained expression donned on his face. “Fuck.”

“Yeah— fuck.”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” you repeated.

“Piss.”

“If you’re going to reel through every profane word in the dictionary we’ll need more beers than this.”

Roy shrugged. “I just don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Yeah, I feel you there.” The swig of beer you took after talking felt incredibly needed. It settled in your stomach warmly. Your shoulders relaxed. You leaned back in your chair, mimicking Roy.

“She said she’ll be busy the next few days with planning his funeral. Oh— and would you mind telling Ted and the guys? She asked me to, but I don’t know the next time I’ll make it to Nelson Road.”

Roy nodded. “Of course, no problem,” he said gently, lowly.

“Thanks.” As you spoke, you leaned forward and laid your head on the table, letting out a great sigh. “I guess that’s the end of my chipper streak.”

“Still riding high after that suckerpunch to Jamie’s dad’s fuck ugly face?” Roy joked.

You lifted your braced wrist towards him, not looking at his expression. “Absolutely.”

“Here.” Roy tucked his chair in abruptly, and before you could move, his fingers gently wrapped around your hand.

You looked up at him then, as he handled you with such care. He pulled the velcro from the brace and let it fall, exposing your bare wrist. Gently, he twisted your hand so your palm faced upwards. His fingers prodded the swollen skin of your wrist delicately, and never to the point of pain.

“It looks a lot better,” he said lowly.

“You forcing me to wear that thing actually paid off, as much as that hurts me to admit.” You laughed to yourself a little, and a smile broke out on Roy’s face.

“I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.”

“You should,” you said smally. You caught his eye swiftly, your stare lingering on his own. You fell headfirst into this indulgence. “You were so quick to take care of me, you know.”

“I could tell you’d never thrown a fucking punch in your life, that’s why,” he said, fingers still on your skin. Slowly, as if tempting fate, he slid his hand into your own. “No good being a writer if you can’t hold a fucking pen.”

You chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m glad you were so proactive. If I lost my hand, then what use would I be?”

“Exactly my thoughts. I was only thinking of your future career as a novelist.”

“Of course, you were,” you agreed sarcastically.

“That was all it was about, nothing else.” Roy wrapped his fingers around your hand, so he was holding you warmly. Like two lovers on a date at the cinema, or hand in hand walking down the street—

Or sat opposite one another at a dining table, not knowing what other moves to make.

You exhaled deeply, comfortably. “Nothing else,” you repeated.

“Nothing whatsoever.” Roy squeezed your hand affectionately.

If the two of you weren’t already a walking cliché of miscommunication, stolen glances and unimaginable angst, then you mentally added this unspoken thing between you to the list. You couldn’t kid yourself though; you knew that yourself and Roy hit every trope in the fucking book.

Roy leaned closer to you across the table. Not too much, but enough to make your eyes focus on him unwaveringly. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and disturbed the butterflies that slept there. Like a living rainforest, your insides ignited with feeling as the butterflies rose from their slumber and wreaked havoc on your guts.

“Do you think…” Roy began, speaking in the softest tone that he possibly could. “Do you think we’ll ever talk about the ‘nothing else’ between us?”

Gently, Roy’s thumb started circling your palm. You froze in place, not knowing how to compute his words while your entire body focused on his touch.

This had been coming for a while, had it not? You and him, him and you. The relentless back and forth played in your mind in an instant. What you’d started as, what you’d almost become, what you thought you’d lost at one point, until Roy had let everything out in his Jeep after you’d trusted him with your problems.

Unwillingly, your thoughts also traversed the time that he’d been a ghost. After his retirement, when he’d refused to face the world and everyone who cared about him— you— for multiple months.

You knew he was trying to change his ways, could see how he’d started growing for the better— but was it enough for you to know that all would be well if things ever soured, if this ‘nothing else’ between you ended up as a simple friendship?

“We’re doing so well,” you let out involuntarily, hating the way your voice shook as you spoke. That wasn’t how you’d wanted to sound. You wanted to sound confident and controlled, not like an imminent mess.

“We are,” Roy burst, smiling. “We really are.”

“I don’t want this— us— to stop.”

“Me neither. Not ever.”

You squeezed Roy’s hand back, trying to communicate in the best way you could when words were failing you. You weren’t made for this; you were made for letter writing, and acts of service, and nothing that required you to dispel your feelings so openly and to someone’s face.

God, you wanted him. You really did. Your thoughts betrayed you every time you got scared of something more. But this, right here— he was literally in the palm of your hand.

So why couldn’t you just fall?

“Roy—,”

You were ripped from the present by the abrupt ringing of your mobile phone. You closed your eyes instantly and wished for the shrill ringing to stop, but Roy had already ripped his hand from yours before you could say a word.

“You should get that,” Roy said bluntly.

Quickly, disgruntled, you grabbed the phone from your pocket and read the name on the screen. Your fucking boss. Jesus fucking Christ, what awful timing.

“I— I’m sorry,” you stuttered and rose from your seat, answering the call.

Roy sat back in his chair and placed his hands in his lap. He watched as you paced his living room, only hearing your side of the conversation. Lots of yeses, and okay’s fell from your mouth. A minute in, you clamped your eyes shut and squeezed the bridge of your nose with your fingers callously. It was plain to see how much you hated it— your job, your world.

Innately, Roy desperately wanted to stand up and grab the phone from your hand. He wanted to yell at whoever was on the other line to fuck off before hanging it up on your behalf.

“Yeah, okay. Alright, bye.” You hung up the phone then, holding it in your hand with shaking fingers.

You stood in Roy’s living room with your back turned to him at the dining table, absolutely fucking fuming.

“That was work,” you said. “Apparently I forgot to finish an important lead off for tomorrow, even though I never got the email. Must have slipped through the cracks.” You placed your hands on your hips and turned back to Roy, sending him the most apologetic stare you were capable of.

Roy’s face was sour. He wasn’t practised in changing his expression for the sake of others. You knew he was pissed off.

“I don’t know why you stay,” he said lowly.

“Money. Life. Living the dream. All that jazz.” You plodded back to the table and sat down again. You picked up your beer and held it in your hands, just so you had something to fiddle with.

“Nah, that’s fucking bullshit.” He took a swig of beer, not daring to hide his opinion. “This isn’t living the dream, this isn’t your dream in the fucking slightest.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I’ve got right now,” you said shortly.

“Not if you let anyone give you a crumb of fucking help,” he snapped. “Do you know how much all of us worry about you? That job is a fucking cesspit of incels who’ve never worked a day in their lives, who give you all their fucking dirty work to do—,”

“Not all of us were blessed with finding their dream fucking career, Roy.” You sent him a red stare. “Some of us have to work for what we want.”

“Oh, and you think that’s what you want? Those fucking yaps at Pluto Press sucking you dry for all you’re worth?”

“It’s the only thing I have right now! So, what the hell do you expect me to do about it?”

“Give yourself a fucking chance!” He exploded. “Rebecca says you won’t let her get you a job.”

You slammed your beer on the table and crossed your arms defensively. “I won’t be a pity piece, Roy. I’d rather fucking move back home than let her give me a job on a silver fucking platter—,”

“You earned that right! You worked with us for a year and never let us forget you! You’re not a fucking pity piece—,”

“You’re an ex-professional footballer, Roy! You don’t fucking understand what real life is like!”

With every fired sentence, the two of you got closer to the other across the table. Fingers were being pointed. Faces were turning red. Heat was passed between the two of you, but not the kind that warmed you gently— it was the kind you never wanted to face Roy with.

“What, you think I didn’t work to get where I am?” He bit.

“Of course, I don’t think that! I know you work hard, Roy, but that coaching position was fucking waiting for you as soon as you realised you wanted it. I don’t get the fucking luxury—,”

“Bollocks to that shit! You’ve been dying to be back at the Dogtrack since you fucking left, and me, and Ted, and Rebecca have been waiting for you to accept any fucking offer we put out—!”

“But I didn’t work for that!” you screamed. “I didn’t work for that, Roy. Keeley does what I used to do, and she’s amazing at it. Rebecca will create a position purely for me to be back, but that’s not what I need or want. I don’t want favours, I want to earn it like the rest of you earned the right to be there. I want to write my book, and be around you all, and not take things for granted— so no, I won’t take favours. That’s not the kind of person I am, and I never fucking will be. I’ll pay my dues the same way you all have, and you’ll all be fucking happy for me when I finally finish things rightly.”

Roy downed the rest of his beer immediately, and almost smashed the bottle as he slammed it back on the table. “Well, I’ll be fucking happy for you as soon as you get your head out of your fucking arse and accept help from your friends.”

“God!” you yelled, then quickly mimicked Roy in downing your drink and dropping the bottle back on the table. You stood abruptly. “Well, I’ll be waiting for you guys as soon as you realise my fucking side of things!”

“Fine!” Roy stood quickly.

“Good!” you yelled, then headed for the door.

“Fucking fine!” Roy was on your tail as you made your way towards your things. You shoved on your shoes clumsily and grabbed your bag, swinging it around your shoulder swiftly.

“Fucking good!” You pulled the latch on his door and left as fast as you could.

“Give me a call when you figure out how much all of us want you to succeed in life!”

You contorted yourself as you fired back at him. “I will!”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

Roy slammed his door as you fast walked home, seething. You’d never got this angry around him, nor he at you, but you wouldn’t falter. Roy wouldn’t ever understand the position you were in.

Roy put his head in his hands as soon as he shut the door. You didn’t understand what it was like for him and every other person who cared for you to see you so tired, so runned down, so burnt out.

You spent the evening pretending the visit to Roy’s had never existed. Sure, you thought about it. You thought of the way he looked at you, and held you, and touched your bare skin. You thought of the words he’d said directly to your face, not faltering for a second. You didn’t even know what ‘nothing else’ meant anymore.

The next morning, a disgruntling newspaper was posted through your letterbox. The headline: Ted Lasso suffers panic attack at important match. You remembered that day, that game, the one before Wembley; the one where Ted had been seen trotting off the field from what everyone believed to be an upset stomach. The truth had come out in the worst of ways. You scowled as you immediately deposited the paper in the bin before you left for work.

There was no word from Roy, no texts, no calls: no apology. You pretended like nothing had ever happened the previous night as you hopped on the tube to central London.

The weekend after, you donned a black dress and matching kitten heels. You wore no make-up, not because you didn’t want to look good, because you knew it would be futile upon seeing Rebecca and her mother’s faces. The church was in Richmond. The service was in an hour. You’d assumed that Roy had held true to his word and passed on the news of her father’s passing. You knew they’d all be attending, even the team.

When you approached the church on that overcast day in June, you found yourself holding your breath. This was a new realm for you. Not the funeral itself, but being a support system for someone else in this circumstance. Rebecca needed her friends and family around her more now than ever. It made you flashback ages ago– to the night of the charity ball.

You’d turned to Rebecca in the bathroom and spoken your mind about Rupert. You weren’t even friends back then; it was odd to put the pieces together of that time. The timid lunches, the feeling of being dirt in the corner that she’d like nothing more than to feather-duster away. Things had changed drastically after the Everton game, and you had never pinpointed why.

Not that you were complaining. You relied on her, on Keeley, on…

Roy’s face flashed at the forefront of your mind. Your heart hurt for him, but your head thought of a few nasty words you wanted to call him to his face.

Rebecca had once ignited those same words in you, way back at the beginning.

Now, here she was– standing outside the church beside her mother, greeting people with the same confident and strong smile that she’d always been capable of donning in dire situations. Your good friend who had done so much for you, and continued to do so.

Your heart swelled as you approached them, joining the small queue of people who waited to say hello and express their condolences.

When an elderly couple finished and pootled inside, she finally met your eye. Her hard exterior began to crumble in an instant. Before she could say a word, you wrapped your arms around her strongly. She smelled like expensive shampoo and Chanel No.5.

“Darling,” she whispered.

“Rebecca.” You squeezed her tightly once, before pulling away. A few crystalline tears pooled in her eyes.

“Thank you for being here,” she said, then cleared her throat.

“Always.” You smiled at her strongly.

“Is this who I think it is?” Rebecca’s mother chimned in. When you looked at her, you could see the resemblance immediately. Her stance, her fashion, even the way her hair was styled. This was Rebecca Welton’s mother through and through. She was shorter than her daughter, but that was no challenge to most people; even when wearing stilettos.

“Mother, this is–”

She stuck her hand out and grabbed your own quickly, leaning towards you. “You’re the gem of the Dogtrack, aren’t you? The one that left for bigger and brighter things after stealing their hearts.”

“W-well,” you stuttered. “I don’t know about that.”

“Stop being modest, darling.” Rebecca smiled amusedly. “Those weren’t my exact words, but they sure are close to what I told my mother of you.”

“How’s your book coming along?” Her mother smiled knowingly.

“I told her a lot, though,” Rebecca added, enjoying the awkward redness of your cheeks.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” You finally composed yourself enough to speak full sentences. You shook her mother’s hand warmly before she eventually tugged away. “Despite the circumstances, of course.”

Rebecca’s mother smiled at you smally. “Quite. And yes, thank you for being here.”

Timidly, you glanced round the entrance of the church. There were people brimming indoors, and a few getting out of cars or walking through the gates at the front. You wondered where the team was, where Keeley was, where Ted and Beard and Nate were. In that instant, you couldn’t wait to see them all.

You hadn’t spoken to Roy since your argument.

“He’s coming,” Rebecca’s mother said suddenly, as if she’d read your damn mind. You turned back to her, at a loss for words.

“Who?” you asked as your heart pelted against your chest.

Her mother perked her eyebrows accordingly. “Your footballer.”

Abruptly, you scoffed. “He’s not mine.” You tried to shake off her words, knowing that Rebecca would have got into her head about something or other. Her eyes scraped over your face, all while you tried not to meet her gaze.

Your face softened when her eyes looked beyond you, to the front of the churchyard. “Are you sure about that?” she asked mysteriously, nodding quickly to a point behind you.

You turned around gently.

The AFC Richmond team bus came to a slow stop outside the gates of the churchyard. One by one, your boys disembarked. They were dressed in their Sunday best; you’d never seen half of them wear more than jeans and track pants.

You met Sam’s eye first, and his soft features graced you with a much needed smile. Behind him, Jamie helped Dani down from the coach steps, and beyond them Isaac donned an expensive pair of sunglasses and gorgeous suit— the kind only a professional footballer could afford for a funeral.

Your heart swelled as they approached. Behind you, you sensed that Rebecca felt the exact same as you.

They were dazzling, it had to be said. Seeing a football team congregate at any event besides a match itself was an experience, but seeing them all here to support the owner of their team was better than you could imagine.

Sam was the first to reach Rebecca, encasing her in a hug that felt intimate and genuine. The others followed, but you were distracted as they all lined up by the front of the church— Keeley had joined the team still disembarking by the coach, Beard and Nate next to her, and the fourth member of their rabble was the one that made your fingers twitch.

Roy donned a black suit. Nothing extravagant, but simple and clean. He’d trimmed his hair and beard. He looked good, and it made your insides twist.

Quickly, as Rebecca pulled away from greeting Dani, you muttered about going inside. Before Roy could even spot you, you headed inside the church to avoid the incoming awkwardness that you knew would come as soon as you said hello to him.

You’d never considered yourself an avoidant. Hell, you’d chased Roy down the street last year after months of him ignoring you. You’d always confronted him when he wasn’t kind in your first few months at Richmond. You’d always been the first to apologise, or mend your relationship, or fix what he’d unintentionally broken. This time, you thought, you didn’t want to do it. It was his turn to approach you and break the ice, address the obvious, attempt to fix what your argument had caused.

It was quiet inside. The vast church walls and arched ceiling made every whisper reverberate back into the room. An organ played a sombre tune. You stood at the back of the room and waited.

You didn’t see Roy in the service, but you knew he was there. Rebecca recited Rick Astley, and the entire church joined in. The only break in play had come from a stray Ted arriving in the middle of the service. It was uneventful, besides the constant pitter patter of your heart beneath your ribs.

Back at Rebecca’s mother’s house you stayed with the boys. Colin caught you up on all of their recent games. Isaac kept his sunglasses on inside. Sam was nowhere to be seen for half of the wake.

Everything felt strange, like you were waiting with bated breath that you didn’t even properly have. The unusualness of being reunited with the team was lost due to the occasion, but you knew that was for the best. This day wasn’t for you— it was for Rebecca and her mother.

As you got yourself a refill of wine, a gentle hand deposited itself on your shoulder. “What’s up, writer?” Ted’s Kansas accent warmed you instantly.

You hugged him immediately, settling into his arms as if you’d been tensed for a number of hours. Perhaps you had been. “Coach,” you addressed him, standing back from the embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the headlines about him a week prior. You grimaced without meaning to. “Oh, well that’s not a good face, is it?”

“Who the fuck sold that story about you? I swear, I’ll find them and make them regret it—,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your damn horses.” Ted chuckled lightly, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your sudden defensive stance was dissipated by his touch.

“Seriously, Ted. That’s private, and not fair in the slightest. I’m sorry they wrote about you like that.”

Ted shrugged. “It’s not like it was a lie made up by the tabloids. It’s alright.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s still shitty.”

“Sure it is.” Ted reasoned with you. “Swings and roundabouts, writer. I don’t care what they write about me. I’m just not fond of what it does to the team as a consequence.”

Your face softened. “Colin tells me your games are going well.”

“We’re almost top of the table, baby.” His smile was dazzling. “And that’s all I care about. Not some snooty paper trying to weed us out.”

In your peripheral vision, you felt the familiar stare of someone. Nate held a beer in his hand and faced you full frontally. You didn’t pay any more attention to him to see the state of his expression— he didn’t deserve knowing that you thought about him.

It took less than a second to realise that it was him that sold the story to the Sun. Of course he fucking had. You could’ve confidently bet money on him being the snake that exposed Ted’s private information.

You refocused fully on Ted, smiling sullenly as you settled in place before him.

You made light conversation with most of the team that afternoon, simply checking in and glad that you had some time to catch up on the current standings. Winding through the corridors of the vast house, you couldn’t help but ponder if Roy would be around another corner. Every room you entered you mentally prepared yourself to face him, but you never found yourself face to face with him as the minutes turned to hours.

At one point you found yourself with no one to chat with. In the grand living room, Keeley and Jamie muttered in the corner. On the other side, Ted and Beard chatted with plates covered in single serving sausage rolls.

You exited the room and headed for the stairs. Quietly, you ascended. Perhaps you wanted to explore the house, or see Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, or get some air away from the subtle hubbub of the various downstairs rooms.

You found her room quickly, noticing the pink bedspread and posters on the walls from the nineties. What you weren’t expecting was the life size cut out of Roy Kent surveying her trinkets. You stalled quickly, enough to make the floorboards creak beneath you. Before you could leave the room, Roy turned to you. Spotted– at last.

“I didn’t realise anyone would be in here,” you said, innately cursing yourself for speaking first.

“I came up here to get away from everyone for a moment,” Roy replied.

You nodded awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it–”

“No.” Roy stepped forward once, and that was all. “Stay.” You stayed frozen to your spot. “This room is fucking big enough for the two of us.”

He was right. As far as teenage rooms go, Rebecca had a good one. With large bay windows that sprawled out with a view of the back garden. It was light, it was airy, and you could only feel the subtle jealousy of wanting a space like this when you were ten years younger.

You surveyed the walls and took it all in. “This is a nice room.”

“A nice gaff, more like. This place is a fucking mansion.”

“Rebecca’s always been well off,” you said, stepping trepidatiously further into the space. You gravitated towards her bed, until you finally sank onto her mattress. It was soft; memory foam. “It doesn’t surprise me that this was her family home.”

Roy shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. There was tension in the air, to say the least. It was apparent that both of you felt out of place, still reeling from your argument the week before, and the lack of closure from it. This was the longest you’d gone in months without actually talking to Roy– not small talk about houses or bed-rooms or the like, but actually talking.

You stuck to your promise of not making the first move, but you opened up the conversation while you still had the nerve. “I guess you saw the paper. About Ted.”

Roy growled gently. “Yeah, I did.” He strolled forward slowly, approaching you on the bed. “I was there, y’know, when he told us coaches about his panic attacks. I don’t want to believe that it was one of us who shared his fucking secrets…”

“But?” you let out before you could stop yourself.

You caught Roy’s eyes, and they twinkled with something unspoken. Did he know about Nate? Did he know how much of a manipulator he’d been to you?

Roy only shrugged, before he finally deposited himself next to you. As much as you felt you deserved an apology still, you were thankful for his proximity to you. “Fucking but. I don’t know who spread that shit around.”

You kept your thoughts to yourself. “Ted seems okay despite it.”

Roy huffed with subtle amusement. “You know Ted and his happy-go-lucky American bullshit. If he was even torn up about it, he wouldn’t fucking tell anyone, especially not anyone from the team.”

“Hmm,” you hummed with concern. You tapped your fingers on your thigh anxiously. “Can you please keep an eye on him,” you said, finally looking into Roy’s eyes properly. “I worry about him. Just keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

Roy’s face softened. His eyes danced over your face for the first time in over a week. “Okay.” He waited for a beat. “For you, I will.”

You looked away first, trying not to blush violently, and suddenly enamored with an overloaded cork board above Rebecca’s bed. Beside you, Roy scooted closer. “Hey,” he said softly.

You kept your gaze glued on the opposite wall to him. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. You sucked in a deep breath, sinking further into the memory foam. “I shouldn’t have said all that fucking shit. I was angry, and you didn’t deserve me screaming down your throat about a job that you can’t control.”

Turning towards him, a smile settled on your face before you’d even said a word. “I know you only want the best for me– all of you– and that’s… that’s…”

“It’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes, I get it.”

“I don’t like fighting with you, you know,” you said.

Roy chuffed immediately. “I’m in the same fucking boat with you there, sweetheart.” You chuckled abruptly at the return of his honesty. This was normal; this was what you and Roy had created from the moment you’d first become friends.

“I would’ve apologised sooner,” Roy started. “I just didn’t want to do it over fucking text, or a phone call. It didn’t seem like enough.”

“You’ve been busy, too.”

“Hey– so have you. With that shit job you still have.”

“Are we going to start arguing again, Roy?” you asked jokingly.

“Nah,” he said, a smile plastered on his usually stoic face. “You already know how I feel about it all.”

“I do.” You nodded.

“And you already know that I’m here if you ever sack it all off.”

“I do.” You nodded again.

“Well.” Roy reached out for your hand instantly. His fingers wrapped around you warmly. “Give me a call if that day ever fucking comes.” You huffed with a mixture of amusement and warmth. “And every day it doesn’t, as well.”

When you looked at him then, you had to fight against crumbling completely. Roy Kent really was something. And you’d spent the better half of two years trying to figure out what that something was. As much as he was reactionary, he also took accountability. As much as he’d made you feel sad sometimes, you could outweigh that with the amount he’d made you feel the complete opposite. He was part of what had kept you in Richmond for all this time, even despite Pluto Press, even despite the shit situation that had placed you there in the first place– he kept you here.

“And I’ll be there to answer.” You meant it. “Every single time.”

“Good,” Roy said softly.

You chuckled to yourself. “Good.”

As the two of you rejoined the wake downstairs. Roy grabbed you a beer without you even asking, and you couldn’t help but notice the line between your unspoken thing getting thinner and thinner.

After the wake, Keeley organised a girls night at hers. You couldn’t remember the last time she’d had you and Rebecca over to the house. Her home was lovely; a real architects dream; with floor to ceiling windows everywhere and an abundance of skylights that lit her home with natural light, even during the winter months.

You made yourself comfortable on her plush sofa, glass of wine in hand, as the three of you caught up properly for the first time in well over a month.

“It was odd, seeing my mum in that kind of environment. Especially when it was all about my dad,” Rebecca said, taking a sip of wine with a fluffy pillow snuggly on her lap.

“Funerals make me feel weird,” Keeley said. “Like, when I die, I think I want to be buried underneath a young apple tree. And that way, my decomposition will help fertilise the tree above me, and then everyone can eat the apples from my branches.”

You refrained from grimacing involuntarily. It was a nice sentiment, but the thought of biting into an apple from Keeley’s death tree made you feel a bit sick.

Rebecca laid a hand on her leg from the other end of the sofa. “That’s lovely darling.” The look on her face showed she was lying. Keeley chose to ignore her.

“Where even were you at the wake?” you asked Keeley. “I didn’t see you for practically the whole time we were there. I hung around with Ted, mostly.”

“I was with my mother, mostly. But you’re right–” Rebecca nodded at you. “I don’t recall seeing you around the house much.”

You clicked your fingers abruptly. “Oh– I did see you with Jamie at one point.”

You and Rebecca laid your gaze on Keeley. She was swiping her finger timidly around the rim of her wine glass, acting as if she wanted the plush sofa to engulf her whole. You’d never seen her so obviously wanting to disappear from a conversation.

“Keeley,” you said lowly. “What’s going on?”

Keeley shrugged smally. It reminded you of Roy.

“Darling,” Rebecca said, pushing her ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I was with Jamie. Maybe.” Keeley finally caved.

You leaned closer to her, bridging the gap in the Keeley sandwich you were in, of which you and Rebecca were the thick and soft slices of bread. When the two of you got close enough to touch her cheeks with your noses, Keeley exploded.

“Alright!” she yelled, propelling herself up with the sofa. She rounded the coffee table until she stood, almost jumping on the spot, before the telly. “You two are the worst at minding your own fucking business!”

“Oh, please– you were practically omitting radiation with how much you wanted to spill this.” You said with amusement, repositioning yourself on the sofa to sit on your feet.

“So, come on, darling. Spill it.” Rebecca copied you, hopping onto her ankles.

Keeley let out an array of noises, that could only be described as utter gibberish, before she let it all out. “At the wake, Jamie told me he’s in love with me.”

In unison, you and Rebecca jumped up from the sofa. The fluffy, cream carpet beneath your feet felt the most of the brunt, as the red wine in your glass had already jumped ship straight to the floor. Your sock was drenched in Merlot, but you didn’t give a shit.

“He said what?” Rebecca screamed.

“No fucking way!” you screeched.

“I know!” Keeley responded, running in place to dispel her relentless nervous energy. “He just said it! Like it was the easiest thing in the fucking world to tell me!”

Rebecca placed her fingers on her chin, almost freezing in place. You, however, were still riding the same wave as Keeley. You jogged on the spot the same as her, not even thinking of the bigger picture, or the reasons why. Of course, Jamie Tartt was in love with Keeley Jones. Why the fuck wouldn’t he be?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’ve been having a secret affair with Sam Obisanya.”

You practically performed a double take as your stare slotted towards Rebecca. Keeley stopped jogging, frozen to her spot at the telly behind you all started playing an advert for car insurance.

“Rebecca Welton!” Keeley exclaimed.

You rushed towards Rebecca before you even realised what you were doing. “It was Bantr, wasn’t it?” you asked bluntly.

“How did you know that?!” Rebecca’s shocked expression was golden.

You smiled slyly. “He tells me everything, you know?”

Instantly, Rebecca went red in the face. “I hope not everything.”

When Keeley rushed forwards, you couldn’t help but innately regale at the scene before you. All your lives were so inherently intertwined. Everyone knew each other, everyone cared for each other, no one would let the other down.

Sam had been periodically texting you updates about the woman he’d met through Bantr and the run-up to finally meeting her in person. After their dinner, he’d uncharacteristically gone silent about most of it. Bar the odd conversation when you’d begged to live vicariously through his love-life, the shift from on the app to in person was apparent.

It all made sense.

It also made sense when you pieced everything together about hardly seeing him at the wake. Evidently, Rebecca and him had been tied at the hip in private.

“I can’t believe you kept this from us!” Keeley yelled.

“I can,” you said, calming down slightly, but still feeling warm from this entire get-together. “He’s a player at AFC Richmond, the club that Rebecca owns. It sounds complicated.”

Rebecca let out a gentle breath. “It was.” She swallowed. “That’s why I broke it off with him.”

Keeley immediately calmed down. “Oh… Rebecca. I’m so sorry.”

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I am, too. That must’ve been hard to do.”

Rebecca looked down-trodden for all of two seconds, before she inhaled deeply. As she did, her back straightened, her chin rose. She was a strong woman incarnate. “It was. But– it had to be done. Sam knew it, too.”

“I bet.” You smiled.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t adore him. I think… I think we’ll both hold onto the past few months for a long time. But!” She exclaimed, flipping the narrative. “That’s not a bad thing. It was fun, Sam and I together. It was fun while it lasted, and I don’t resent it happening.”

“Way to go, Rebecca!” Keeley said, tone full of encouragement.

Rebecca huffed with a smile on her face. As the moment ended, she finally turned to you. “So,” she said.

You took a small step back, scoffing. “So?”

“So, what about you then, darling? It’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

Keeley turned to you now. You were cornered. They had you at every angle.

“Your turn to spill it,” Keeley said.

Innately, your lungs collapsed. But– you didn’t have anything you were hiding. You didn’t have news, you didn’t have a confession of love sitting in your lap from anyone, you didn’t have news of an elicit affair with someone from work, nothing.

Though, when you allowed your thoughts to spiral, there was one thing that cropped up above all else.

Roy.

Stupid, stoic Roy, with his potty mouth that meant he was thousands in debt against Phoebe’s swear jar. Annoying, nagging Roy, who wouldn’t give it a rest with trying to interfere with things that you didn’t want fixed.

Gorgeous, kind Roy, who you knew would catch you if you ever were to fall.

God fucking dammit.

Without thinking, the words burst from your mouth.

“I’m in love with Roy Kent.”

114 notes · View notes

haeiheart · 2 months ago

Text

accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part two out of two]

summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online— so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.

pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (angst time people!!)

warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!

notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!

word count! 10.4k out of 34.6k

PART ONE -> here!

It didn’t take long after that night for things to fall into a new rhythm, if you could even call it that. A rhythm implies stability, some kind of predictable beat, and this? This thing between you and Jeno was a chaotic symphony of kisses stolen between class, fingers laced under the table at someone’s afterparty, him tugging you down onto his bed with that needy look in his eyes that made your knees weak no matter how many times you swore you’d “take it slow tonight.”

You still had your own apartment. Technically. But the truth was, you hadn’t slept there in days. Your spare toothbrush was now sitting in a cracked blue cup in the frat’s shared bathroom (Jaemin had stolen it once as a joke and Jeno nearly went to war for it). Your charger was permanently plugged into the outlet by Jeno’s bed. You knew which of the guys snored, which ones left the milk out, and who always tried to eavesdrop outside Jeno’s room whenever things got too quiet between you two.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you liked it. You liked how easy it was to fall into Jeno’s world. How he’d quietly shuffle into the kitchen in the morning and pour you cereal before you’d even asked. How he’d tug you onto his lap during movie nights, arms caging you in like you belonged there. How he kissed you so often, so deeply, distractedly like he couldn’t help himself.

It was easy. Natural. Maybe even too natural.

Because then came the little cracks.

You’d been curled against him on a slow Thursday evening, your head on his chest while the movie played forgotten in the background. His fingers had lazily traced your spine through your shirt. And it was so intimate, so safe, you let yourself ask—

“Do you ever talk about me to the guys?”

Jeno hummed. “All the time.”

“What do you say?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just chuckled and tucked your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “They know I’m crazy about you.”

Your heart fluttered at that but it wasn’t exactly what you’d asked. Still, you smiled, leaned into him. Let it go. For now.

Another time, someone had asked if you and Jeno were “a thing” in front of him. You froze, watching him expectantly. But Jeno had just laughed, mumbled something like “yeah, whatever you wanna call it,” before moving on to refill his drink. You told yourself not to read into it. You told yourself you knew how he felt.

But then came the silence in the quietest spaces. The kind that crept in after he kissed you goodnight, but didn’t say anything else. The kind that settled when you woke up next to him and he was already on his phone, scrolling through something with a sleepy smile, without a single word. Not cold. Not distant. Just… comfortably unbothered.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because in his head, everything was fine. You were his. He treated you like it, talked to you like it, held you like it. But never once, not once, did he actually say the words.

And no matter how many kisses or lazy mornings or nights tangled in his sheets you shared, that absence began to echo.

You started to wonder if this was it. If this was all he’d give. If he thought the pieces he offered were enough to build a whole future on.

And maybe they should’ve been. But it was the not-knowing that killed you.

So when he held your hand under the table, when he brushed his lips over your knuckles with that soft smile, your stomach twisted. Because how could he not see it? How could he not know that you needed to hear it?

That love, real love, wasn’t always silent.

That sometimes, it needed to be said.

And yet… he hadn’t asked. Not officially. Not once.

He never said you’re mine or do you wanna be my girlfriend or even something low effort like so, this is a thing now, right? Nothing. Just the kisses. The clinginess. The soft smiles that felt like promises.

You didn’t know if it was just you overthinking, overreading. But at night, curled up beside him in that too small mattress, when he’d kiss your shoulder or whisper dumb things into your neck while half asleep, a part of you always wondered. Does he think this is real? Or am I just convenient now?

Jeno, on the other hand, had no clue you were spiraling. Because to him? You were his. Full stop. As far as he was concerned, the moment your lips crashed into his at that party, when you tangled your fingers in his hoodie and moaned into his mouth like you couldn’t get close enough, yeah, that was it. That was his internal “she’s mine now” switch flipping.

He didn’t need to ask. In his brain, the way he spoon-fed you spicy ramen when you were hungover, the way you wiped ketchup off his cheek with your thumb, the way you whispered his name when you were curled up in his sheets, that was already the answer.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask. It was just... he already believed it was true.

So he kissed you like he was kissing his girlfriend. He gave you that boyish, sleepy grin like you were his person. He curled his fingers around your waist under the covers like it was a given.

And you let him. Because you wanted it too. But still, something inside you itched every time someone referred to you as “Jeno’s girl,” and you couldn’t quite figure out if it made you warm or made you worry.

Still, neither of you said a word.

So days turned into weeks. Kisses turned into patterns. His room turned into a shared sanctuary. The boys rolled their eyes when you emerged from Jeno’s room wearing his hoodie again. You rolled yours back, but part of you loved it.

Because he looked at you like you were it.

And you touched him like he was yours.

But somewhere between his steady hands and your tangled sheets, a question was still waiting to be answered.

And neither of you knew when or if it’d finally come out.

The memories you had with Jeno after the kiss were the ones you found yourself replaying at the oddest moments. Half asleep at your desk. In line at the campus café. Walking home after class with your headphones in but no music playing. They weren’t just memories, they were anchors. Little flashes of warmth that reminded you how real it all felt.

You remembered the late night he’d taken you to the bookstore downtown. It had been pouring, and instead of waiting for the rain to let up, he grabbed your hand and ran for it, both of you slipping and shrieking through puddles until you slammed into the warm glass doors. You were both soaked. The store was nearly empty. The clerk gave you a look that screamed please don’t drip on the papers.

But Jeno had just laughed and pulled you deeper into the aisles. You ended up huddled together in the graphic novel section, reading snippets out loud to each other in the soft, fluorescent glow. He pointed to a panel and went, “That’s you. The chaotic raccoon character,” and you slapped his arm. “Excuse me, I’m obviously the heroine. You’re the one with the emotionally repressed villain arc.”

He just grinned. “Can’t lie, I do like knives.”

You kissed him in the corner of that bookstore, rain still lashing the windows, and he held you like he never wanted to let go.

Then there was the night he made dinner at the frat house, like actual dinner, not cereal or ramen. He’d kicked everyone out of the kitchen and cooked while you sat on the counter, watching him dance to some dorky playlist.

He’d stirred pasta like it was a military operation, then turned to you, tomato sauce on his cheek. “Chef Lee Jeno’s specialty,” he’d announced proudly, handing you a bowl.

You blinked. “This is just spaghetti.”

“Shut up and eat it.”

You did. It was salty. Horrible. He looked so smug.

You kissed him anyway.

There was also that time he surprised you with a thrift store date and said you both had ten dollars and thirty minutes to find the dumbest outfit possible for each other. You’d picked out a neon green windbreaker and a trucker hat that said “MILF hunter” (which he wore for the rest of the day, unironically). He chose a ruffled pink blouse and sparkly tights for you and nearly cried from laughter when you walked out of the dressing room.

“It’s giving... magical disco grandma,” he gasped, leaning on the nearest rack to keep himself from falling over.

You were breathless from laughing too hard. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

And then he’d said it.

So soft you almost missed it.

“I’m lucky, period.”

Your heart had clenched. You didn’t say anything. But you held his hand for the rest of the day like you were afraid it might slip out of yours.

Those moments were yours. Undeniably.

But still.

Still, he never clarified anything.

He never called you his girlfriend. Never said it out loud. Never had the “talk.” And at first, you didn’t need it. You didn’t even want it. The feelings were too new, too tender, too beautiful to define so soon. But days blurred into nights and weeks into months, and each kiss piled on top of the last like bricks in a home you weren’t sure you were allowed to claim.

You’d spend a full afternoon with him and go home aching with joy… only to spiral at 1 a.m. because someone asked if you were together and you didn’t know how to answer.

Because what if you said yes and he said no?

What if you looked at him and saw a future and he looked at you and only saw now?

You didn’t want to ruin it by asking. But not asking was starting to ruin you.

So you let the memories carry you, like echoes of a love story halfway written. You held on to the laughter, the cooking disasters, the way he said your name like it was something sacred.

But somewhere in between all the soft touches and jokes and early mornings with tangled sheets and tangled hearts, the silence had grown too loud.

And all you wanted more than anything was for him to say it.

Just once.

You didn’t plan to go insane. Honestly, you didn’t even realize you were insane, not at first. It wasn’t dramatic, not this grand emotional unraveling. It was smaller than that. Quieter. Just little things you’d been stuffing into the corners of your mind for weeks. A slow, creeping discomfort you couldn’t name at the time. Things like the glance Jeno didn’t return when you looked at him too long. Or the way his fingers sometimes brushed yours without catching, without holding on. The way he touched you so gently, so confidently, like you belonged to him already.

Like he’d already decided you were his without ever asking if you agreed.

And maybe that was the part that made your chest ache the most. That somewhere along the way, the affection turned habitual. The kisses came easier than words. The late nights curled into each other’s limbs began to feel like routines. But in all the moments of closeness, you were still waiting. Waiting for the part where he said it. Where he made it real. Where it wasn't just the way he smiled at you like a promise, but the way he said it out loud, clear and honest.

You didn’t need grand gestures or some romantic speech. You just needed the clarity that you were his girl and not just because you acted like it.

Which is why it hit you sideways that afternoon, lazily folded into the lumpy couch in the frat house living room, with Jaehyun’s voice pulling you out of your thoughts mid conversation. You were talking about your evening plans, maybe grabbing drinks with Kkura, maybe seeing if Jaemin wanted to go somewhere stupid like that claw machine café you both found hilarious.

“Oh, I should probably text Jaem back too,” you said without much thought, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. “We all might grab dinner near his old place.”

Jaehyun looked up from his drink, expression half focused, brows lifting slightly. “That cool with Jeno?”

You blinked, still caught in the haze of your phone screen. “What?”

He gave you a mild shrug, like it wasn’t even a weird question. “Just figured. I mean, you two are basically joined at the hip. Thought he’d be coming with or something.”

You tilted your head, genuinely confused. “Why would I have to run it by him?”

Jaehyun paused, squinting like he was making sure you were serious. “...Because you’re dating?”

Your heart skipped something ugly. “Wait, what?”

His face changed then, surprise softening into disbelief. “You’re not?”

You sat up straighter, like your body was trying to escape the weight of the conversation. “No. We’re not. He never—” You faltered. “We never talked about it.” Though you had been feeling down about it, you wouldn't have guessed everybody thought that you two were real. Everybody felt that you two were real, besides you.

Jaehyun’s lips parted, like he had more questions, but he stopped himself. Instead, he leaned back, blowing out a slow breath, gaze flicking toward the wall like it held better answers than you did. “Huh. Wild.” He didn’t sound judgy. Just surprised. “Could’ve sworn. You two act like… you know.”

“Yeah,” you said, quieter now. “I know.”

He nodded, not pushing. “Well. Shit. You guys do you, I guess.”

That was it. That was all.

And somehow, it felt like your entire chest caved in.

Because it wasn’t just Jaehyun. It wasn’t just some misunderstanding. It was that everyone thought you were already something. And maybe Jeno thought that too. But you didn’t know for sure, not really, and the fact that you had to hear it from someone else before confronting it yourself? That made it worse.

Worse than every unspoken kiss. Worse than every moment you leaned into him and felt him hesitate. Worse than the fact that it wasn’t even the first time you'd wondered, is this it? Is this enough?

Now you were left with the awful question of why he hadn’t said anything. Why he hadn’t asked. Why did he look at you like you were his but never gave you the courtesy of making it true?

The couch suddenly felt suffocating. The frat house is too loud. Your throat thickened with the weight of pretending you hadn’t just been gutted by the simplest misunderstanding in the world.

Because maybe that’s all it was to him. Just something simple. Just assumed.

But not real.

Not to you.

It started accidentally.

You didn’t mean to start spending every day with Jaemin, Kkura, and somehow Haechan. But after that offhand conversation with Jaehyun left your stomach in knots, the idea of returning to the frat house felt suffocating. You needed air, space, clarity, and without meaning to, Jaemin gave it to you.

It started with a casual text:

[jaemin]: “yo i need you to save me. I almost bought cargo pants with embroidered skulls.”

He was joking. Probably. But you were already halfway to the thrift strip he mentioned before he could follow up with a location pin. And somewhere between talking him out of the skull pants and getting into a passive aggressive argument over which candle scent was more “emotionally healing,” Haechan appeared. Apparently, he and Jaemin bonded over beer pong at the last party, and now, somehow, Haechan was just there.

You might’ve raised an eyebrow at first, but then Kkura showed up for “moral support” and just like that, the four of you were a unit.

One day melted into the next, coffees that turned into late lunches, spontaneous thrift store raids, trips to claw machine arcades where Haechan kept winning tiny plushies and pretending to give them away before stuffing them in his own pockets. Jaemin dragged you into dressing rooms just to spin dramatically in jackets he wasn’t going to buy, and Kkura began documenting every hangout with blurry candids, some of which were suspiciously well-timed to catch your reactions to Haechan’s dumb jokes.

You'd barely notice when the sun dipped below the horizon because you were too busy arguing with Jaemin over whether or not a hideous crocheted vest counted as “ironic hot.”

“It’s giving... decaying garden gnome,” you told him, arms crossed, tilting your head at his reflection in the dusty thrift store mirror.

“Exactly,” Jaemin said, striking a pose like he was on a runway. “Avant-garde. Revolutionary. I am fashion.”

“You are delusional,” Haechan muttered from the corner, clutching three different denim jackets he was trying to get you all to help him pick between.

“Take the one that doesn’t make you look like a backup dancer in an early 2000s boy band,” Kkura offered, barely glancing up from her phone as she snapped a picture of Jaemin mid-pose.

It was blurry, but your laugh in the background was clear. She smirked. “That’s going on the album.”

There was an album. Kkura had started it half as a joke, uploading blurry candids of the four of you under the group chat name: Himbohub.

Most of them were from the arcade. That became your usual stop after class when no one wanted to go home just yet. It was loud and colorful and kind of sticky, but in a charming, childhood nostalgia way. Haechan took the claw machines as a personal challenge. He won something almost every time, usually a squishy animal or one of those weird bootleg characters that looked just off enough to be cursed.

“This one’s for you,” he said solemnly, holding out a wonky looking pink cat with one eye half-sewn shut.

Your hand had barely reached out when he jerked it away.

“Psyche. She’s mine now.” And he shoved it into his hoodie pocket like it was treasure.

You hit him. He grinned like it was worth it.

Jaemin, meanwhile, kept wasting tokens on the photo booth, not for the photos, but because he liked watching the countdown stress you out.

“Three… two— oh no you blinked, let’s do another.”

“I swear to God, if I see one more photo of me mid-blink—”

“Too late. Already printed. Frame it for your wall.”

Kkura usually sat on the edge of the dance game machine, snapping pictures, yelling out scores, and stealing sips from whatever drink was closest. She once forced you and Jaemin to compete on DDR, but Jaemin started voguing halfway through and lost spectacularly.

“Performance over perfection,” he said, flipping imaginary hair as Haechan booed him.

You’d find yourself laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Sweating from too many games, buzzing from sugar and soda and the warmth of having people who made the world feel big and safe and full of light.

You’d pile into someone’s car after, limbs tangled, fries shared, music blasting. Sometimes you’d end up back at your place, all of you crashing into the couch, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you think ghosts get bored?” Kkura asked once, lying upside down with her legs thrown over the back of the sofa.

“They haunt people for fun, I think they’re good,” Haechan replied, mouth full of Cheetos.

“I hope I come back as one that just steals socks,” Jaemin added.

You had no idea how the conversation had ended up there, but you didn’t care. The night stretched on and on like it didn’t have to end.

Somewhere in between, Jaemin started walking closer to Haechan, their shoulders brushing more than necessary. Kkura began taking photos without telling anyone, catching the little in-between moments. Haechan started giving away his plushies without faking it. And you started feeling... good again. For the first time in a while.

They weren’t trying to fix you.

They were just with you.

Present.

Loud.

Warm.

And every time you laughed so hard you had to cover your face, every time Haechan shoved a drink into your hand or Jaemin swung an arm over your shoulder or Kkura silently handed you a tissue after an emotional overshare, you felt a little more like you again.

Even if the ache of Jeno still hovered under your skin like a bruise, even if his name still lived quietly in your mouth, even if your heart still tripped over itself every time your phone lit up...

For a while, in those days, in that haze of fried food and photo booth printouts and claw machine prizes, you almost forgot to hurt.

Almost.

It felt easy for now. Light. Uncomplicated in the way your life hadn’t been for a while.

Which is why, when Jaemin casually said, “Let’s swing by the house real quick, I forgot my charger in the living room,” you didn’t even blink.

You followed him up the walk to the frat house, familiar steps but a completely different feeling in your chest. The four of you were still talking as you came in through the side door, laughter carrying as you stepped into the kitchen. Haechan was saying something stupid, something about how you all should enter a reality show together as “the hot disaster friend group” and you were still wiping tears from your eyes when the air shifted.

It was small. Subtle.

But you felt it. That shift.

And then came the voice. Low. Pissy.

“What is he doing here?”

You froze like the words had been pointed directly at you. And in a way, they were.

Jeno stood just past the kitchen threshold, hand curled around a bottle of water, eyes locked on Haechan with something sharp in them. He didn’t even look at the rest of the group. Just you. Then Haechan. Then you again.

Your throat went dry. “We’re just hanging out.”

Jeno scoffed. Not even subtle about it. “Yeah, I can see that. Been doing a lot of that lately, huh?”

Jaemin’s brows furrowed immediately. “Yo, what’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Jeno’s voice dipped lower. “I haven’t seen her in days, and suddenly she’s just hanging out with—” his gaze flicked to Haechan again, “randoms.”

“We’re not randoms,” Kkura cut in sharply, her tone clipped. “Chill.”

But you were already stepping forward, heart thudding hard. “Jen, what’s going on?”

He didn’t answer you right away. Just looked at you with that same expression, something tight in his jaw, in his shoulders. It wasn’t just irritation. It was that ugly, festering thing that had clearly been building. And now it was cracking through the surface.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” he asked, barely masking the frustration. “Of all people?”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“Haechan,” he clarified, like it wasn’t obvious. “Your ex?”

You stared at him. “Jaemin is also my ex.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal is we’re dating.”

The words hit like a slap.

The silence that followed was loud, too loud. You could hear the soft hum of the fridge, the distant noise of someone moving upstairs. And you could feel every eye in the room shift between you and Jeno, but it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the way your heart stuttered in your chest.

You stepped closer, voice suddenly low. “No we aren't you never asked…you thought we were dating?”

Jeno looked at you, confusion threading through the anger now. “Yeah? I mean, we’re always together. We’re kissing. We sleep next to each other. You’re always at the house.”

“And you never asked me,” you said, your voice cracking just slightly. “You never asked. You never even talked to me about it. You just assumed.”

Jeno opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him.

“You assumed I was yours because you touched me like I was. You kissed me like I was. But none of that ever came with a conversation, Jeno. None of it came with a single goddamn word. You just started acting like we were something and thought that was enough.”

He looked stunned. Like he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. “I didn’t think I had to say it. I thought it was obvious.”

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Well, it wasn’t. And now I’m standing here, trying to explain why I’m allowed to hang out with my friends, and you’re losing your shit over something you never even claimed.”

Jeno looked at you, eyes wide, hurt, finally sinking in behind the disbelief.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” you said, voice shaking. “Because you never made me one.”

No one said anything.

Jaemin’s eyes dropped. Haechan looked away. Kkura put a gentle hand on your arm, but you barely felt it.

Jeno looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.

But you didn’t take it back.

You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, no matter how many kisses, how many laughs, how many nights tangled together on that shitty frat couch, none of it meant anything if it never came with a choice. A real one.

And you were done waiting to be chosen silently.

You didn’t even realize how tense your hands were until Kkura gently touched your arm. Just enough pressure to ground you. Just enough to remind you that you were standing in a room with three of your closest friends and Jeno was about to unravel something personal in front of all of them.

You could feel their eyes on you, Jaemin’s confusion, Haechan’s discomfort, Kkura’s concern and the longer you stood there, the more your pulse pounded like a war drum in your ears.

“We’re not doing this here,” you muttered, shooting a pointed look at Jeno.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Silent, jaw tight, he followed you down the hallway to the same spare room you’d stormed into days ago, only this time the air was already thick before the door even shut.

You turned to face him. Your arms were crossed, but it wasn’t for defense, it was to keep yourself from shaking.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” you asked, sharp.

“Yes, I’m serious!” you snapped, taking a step forward. “You humiliated me back there in front of everyone because what— you’re mad that I haven’t been glued to your side for three fucking days?”

“I’m mad because you’ve been with him!” Jeno shouted back. “You and Haechan and Jaemin, running around like— like none of this means anything to you.”

Your chest caved with disbelief. “None of this means anything to me? Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“You didn’t even tell me where you were,” he said, frustrated, dragging a hand through his hair. “You just disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. I needed some goddamn space, Jeno. Because being with you feels like trying to read between the lines of something that never fucking ends.”

He stepped closer, voice rising. “You could’ve just said that.”

“I have! I’ve been trying to talk to you, trying to figure out where I stand, but every time I get close to asking, you kiss me instead or look at me like I’m already yours.”

“Because you are.”

“No, I’m fucking not!” you yelled. “You never asked. You never chose me, not really. You just assumed I was yours because it was convenient.”

Jeno looked like you’d slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is being strung along like this,” you said, voice breaking. “You get all the perks of being with me, but none of the responsibility.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s not true.”

“Then what are we, Jeno?” you asked, pushing the words out like venom. “Because I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending to be okay with not knowing what we are. With everyone else thinking I’m your girlfriend, while I sit there not even knowing if you’d claim me if someone asked you to your face.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes gleaming with something, rage or pain or both. “You want me to say it now, then? Is that what this is?”

“I want you to stop acting like loving me is implied!” you shouted. “Like I should just know!”

He looked at you, something behind his eyes shifting, snapping.

His voice snapped louder than you expected. “Well, maybe I didn’t think I needed the label when you were already acting like you’d say yes to anyone who gave you attention.”

Silence.

It was one of those moments where the world didn’t stop, it just went quiet.

Your heart dropped.

He saw it the second it hit you, the way your expression shifted, like the words physically landed. Like they’d taken root in the one place he swore he’d never aim to hurt.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Jeno’s face paled, the words hanging in the air like smoke.

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“No,” you cut in, your tone cold, shaking, wounded. “No, say it again. You think I’d say yes to anyone? Is that what all of this was to you? Me being easy? Me being just another girl who gives you attention or seeks it?”

“Y/N, that’s not—”

“Save it.”

He reached for you, but you took another step back like his hand might burn.

And it did. It would’ve.

You weren’t even sure if it was anger or heartbreak swelling in your chest, but whatever it was, it made it hard to breathe.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” you whispered.

And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, quiet, final, leaving Jeno alone with the echo of his own mistake.

It was silent after the door slammed shut.

Too silent.

You didn’t say a word when you walked back into the kitchen, face blank, fingers curled tightly around the edge of your phone. Jaemin, Haechan, and Kkura all looked up at you, wide-eyed, waiting, but no one pushed you for anything. You didn’t need to say what happened. Not really. It was all too loud in that house, even when no one was speaking.

“Get your shoes,” Jaemin said gently, standing.

“Wha— Jaem, it’s not—”

“We’re going out,” Kkura added, taking your hand before you could protest further. “You need a change of air. And probably sugar.”

Haechan stood too, more serious than usual. “We’ll trash talk him later.”

You let out the tiniest, exhausted laugh, and that was enough for them to rally. Ten minutes later you were out of that house and in the passenger seat of Jaemin’s car with your knees pulled to your chest, the wind pulling at your hair through the window crack. You didn’t even know where you were headed, just that it wasn’t back in there.

The rest of the day blurred.

A quiet lunch at a half empty diner, milkshakes passed around, bad gossip and even worse impressions of your professors. Jaemin forced you to help him shop for an ugly beanie “for the sake of fashion crimes,” and Kkura pulled you into a skincare aisle like your life depended on you finally buying lip balm that wasn’t expired. Haechan, for once, didn’t push too many jokes, just stuck close, annoyingly gentle in the way only he could get away with.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” he muttered when he bought you that pastry you barely glanced at.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you knew what they were doing. You knew it was a distraction, a giant group hug disguised as retail therapy and chaos. And it worked, kind of. The ache was still there, lodged under your ribs, but it didn’t choke you the way it had earlier. At least not with them.

Meanwhile—

Jeno didn’t leave his room.

He hadn’t moved much since you walked out. The door stayed shut. The blinds stayed down. His phone buzzed a few times, probably Jaemin or even Kkura trying to feel things out, but he didn’t look at it. He didn’t want to look at anything.

What he said played on loop.

He hadn’t meant it, not like that. Not to cut you like he did. But the words had flown out sharp, too fast to catch, and by the time he saw your face, it was too late.

Now the guilt sat in his chest like concrete, weighing down every breath, every thought. The silence was loud. The house didn’t feel like home with you gone, and the room felt colder with the echo of your voice still bouncing off the walls.

And Jeno, for once, didn’t know how to fix it.

You were fine.

Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself like a mantra. The kind of lie you repeat until it sounds true. Like if you stared at your reflection long enough and said, “I’m fine” with the right tilt of your head, the puffy eyes and cracked lips would look intentional like maybe you’d chosen to fall apart a little, like it was a vibe.

But the truth was uglier. It sat heavy in your chest, coiled somewhere between your lungs and your throat, stubborn and choking. You hadn’t touched your assignments. You hadn’t left your apartment since you stormed back from the frat house three nights ago. Your coat still hung half-off the hook by the door, the sleeves twisted like they’d given up mid-shrug. The air inside felt stale, thick with the scent of uneaten leftovers and lavender wax melts that had long burned out.

The first night you didn’t cry. Not really. You just lay there fully clothed, face buried in the pillow Jeno used to sleep on when he stayed over. You’d kept it there even after he started asking you to stay at his place more often. You said it was “for backup.” But really, you just liked how it smelled like him. Now it didn’t. It smelled like time passing. Like something fading.

It wasn’t until the second day, when you opened the fridge looking for something, anything, to fill the silence, that it hit you. The coconut yogurt. The stupid probiotic coconut yogurt Jeno made fun of and then started buying for you anyway because he said, “Fine, be healthy and mysterious.” You stared at it, hand frozen on the fridge door, and everything unspooled. Your throat burned. Your chest cracked. And you cried, not in the gentle, cinematic way people cry in the movies, but in hiccuping sobs that came out too fast to breathe through. You slid down to the floor in front of the fridge and wept until your hands went numb from clutching your knees so hard.

You didn’t call anyone. But they showed up anyway.

Kkura was the first. She didn’t knock. Just let herself in, arms full of iced americanos, her bag weighed down with a ridiculous number of face masks. “Get up,” she said, as gently as possible. “We’re not doing this.” You blinked at her from the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like old detergent and defeat. She handed you a drink and held up a pastel pink sheet mask. “We’re exfoliating the sadness today, babe. You don’t get a say.”

A few hours later, Haechan let himself in with his usual flair, kicking the door open like he owned the place. “Emergency delivery!” he sang, hoisting up an obnoxiously large pizza box. Two flavors of soju dangled from his fingers. “Healing comes in slices, bitch!” He didn’t wait for an invite, just made a beeline for your bed and collapsed onto it, scattering your pillows like flower petals. “What do we think? dramatic crying playlist, or trashy Netflix romance marathon?”

Jaemin trailed in after, as if he hadn’t spent fifteen minutes arguing about whether or not to come. He dramatically flopped onto the floor, arms splayed like he was in a crime scene photo. “I brought emotional support gummies,” he announced, shaking a bag of sour candies like they were sacred. “Also, I wore this shirt because I know you hate it and thought maybe insulting your eyes would distract you from your existential collapse.”

You peeked up from your blanket cocoon. “I don’t hate that shirt.”

“Yes you do,” he scoffed. “It’s literally neon.”

Somewhere in the mess of wine-stained paper cups, greasy pizza crusts, and Haechan trying to teach Kkura how to do a TikTok dance while balancing a slice of pepperoni on his head, you laughed. Just a little. Just once. But it cracked through the fog like sunlight.

The next night, Jiwoong FaceTimed you from a beach you didn’t recognize. The ocean stretched behind him in shades of blue that looked fake, the kind you’d only see in ads. He answered without a hello, tilting his head at the sight of your face and greeting you flatly with: “You look like you’ve been losing a custody battle with your emotional stability.”

Your lips twitched. “You’re in a postcard and still bullying me?”

“I’m multitasking.” He angled the camera to a puppy lying belly up in the sand, tongue flopped sideways like it had never known hardship in its life. “This is you. No thoughts, just vibes. You’ll be back to this version of yourself soon.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I’m trying.”

“I know. That’s why I called.” He paused, the sound of seagulls echoing in the distance. “You need me to fly back and beat him up?”

You choked a laugh. “No. Maybe.”

“I’ll bring churros.”

“Okay, that’s tempting.”

And in the quiet moments between calls, in the laughter that felt just a little forced but still better than silence, you started to feel like maybe you’d be okay.

You weren’t there yet.

But god, you were so lucky to be loved like this.

However on the other side…

Jeno hadn’t left his room in three days.

The air inside felt stale. His sheets were tangled around his legs, hoodie tossed somewhere across the room like it couldn’t bear to stay on him. His phone lay face down on the desk, buzzing a few times that morning but he ignored it.

He couldn’t tell if he was still angry or just…hollow.

His mind kept going back to the look on your face when he said it. That sharp second where your expression cracked like glass. You didn’t yell. You didn’t even look surprised. Just hurt. Tired. Like you’d finally hit the wall you’d been dancing around.

And then you left.

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve run after you. But instead, he just sat there, mouth still parted like a fucking idiot, the weight of his own words echoing in his chest.

It wasn’t until the third night, after skipping dinner, again, and hearing a faint knock on his door for the fifth time that the sound of the lock clicking open made him sit up.

He expected Jungwoo or Jaemin.

He did not expect Johnny to walk in, followed by Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Yuta, holding a tray of food and a six pack of soda.

“Okay,” Johnny said, glancing around. “This is disgusting.”

“Jesus,” Doyoung muttered, wrinkling his nose. “It smells like sadness and Doritos in here.”

“I bet he hasn’t showered,” Yuta added, eyeing Jeno. “Have you showered?”

“Leave him alone,” Jaehyun said mildly. “We’re here for a heart to heart, not an intervention.”

“I’m fine,” Jeno croaked, voice dry.

“No, you’re not,” Johnny said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Which is why we’re here.”

They didn’t force him to talk right away. Just passed him the food and turned on some shitty rerun of a zombie drama they all half watched. It was quiet, strangely comforting. But after the silence stretched long enough, Jeno sighed and set down the sandwich he hadn’t touched.

“I fucked up,” he said.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “We know. We heard.”

“I said something worse than I ever should’ve said to her. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, I just…” He rubbed his eyes. “I was so angry and scared and fuck, I was jealous. I didn’t even think. And now she probably hates me.”

“Jealous of Haechan?” Jaehyun asked.

Jeno nodded. “But it wasn’t just him. It was all of it. Her being gone. Hanging out with other people. Laughing with them and not me. I thought we were…” He trailed off.

“You thought you were dating,” Doyoung filled in.

Jeno looked down. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Yuta leaned forward. “But you never asked?”

Jeno shook his head. “I just thought… I don’t know. We were acting like it. It felt like it. She stayed over. We kissed. She laughed at my dumb jokes. She wore my hoodie.”

“Bro,” Johnny said, deadpan. “You just described half the frat. That’s not a relationship.”

“That’s a sleepover,” Doyoung added.

Jeno dropped his face into his hands with a groan.

“I should’ve just said something. I thought if I asked, I’d mess it up somehow, or she’d get scared off. I thought if I held onto it tight enough, it’d be real.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Jaehyun said, not unkindly.

“I know that now,” Jeno muttered. “She was right. She waited. I didn’t ask. I made her feel like she wasn’t worth the actual words.”

“Sounds like you need to say them now,” Yuta said.

“Yeah, like yesterday,” Doyoung muttered.

“But how?” Jeno whispered, looking up. “She probably doesn’t want to see me again. I said something that if someone said that to her, I’d punch them.”

“She might be mad, yeah,” Johnny said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “But if you mean it, if you’re honest, if you’re real, she’ll hear you out. If you care about her, and you want to do this right, you have to start with accountability. No excuses. Just truth.”

“And maybe,” Jaehyun added, “try showering first.”

Jeno laughed, weak but real, and the others chuckled with him.

But even with the weight still heavy in his chest, something in him settled. Maybe it was the clarity. Maybe it was just hearing it all out loud. But he knew what he had to do now.

Whether you wanted him back or not he needed to tell you that you were always worth the words.

Before this interrogation It had been four days since anyone had heard Jeno’s voice through the door.

Jaemin hadn’t pushed.

He hadn’t knocked more than once. Hadn’t tried to start some forced, clumsy heart to heart the way others might have. Because Jaemin knew Jeno, knew that the kid only came out when he was ready, when the storm had passed far enough that he could walk through the wreckage without shaking.

Still, that didn’t stop him from checking in the only way he knew how.

A bowl of rice. A cup of miso soup. Sometimes instant ramen, other times leftovers from whatever late lunch Jaemin grabbed with you and the others. He’d quietly leave the tray just outside Jeno’s door before retreating back downstairs, back to the makeshift “therapy hangouts” with you, Kkura, and Haechan.

He didn’t talk about Jeno during those meetups.

Didn’t talk about you when he was home.

It was hard. Torn didn’t even begin to describe it.

But this was how he could at least care for both of you. Quietly, in the background, where his loyalty didn’t have to be loud or obvious or make anyone choose.

So that morning, just like the others, Jaemin reheated some dumplings and poured a bit of tea into a small insulated bottle. It wasn’t fancy. But it was warm. It was something.

He was halfway down the hallway, tray in hand, yawning as he turned the corner, when the sound of a door creaking open made him stop short.

And there Jeno was.

Hair still damp from a long overdue shower. Face bare, hoodie replaced by a fresh t-shirt. He looked tired, but cleaner. Human again.

And he was staring at Jaemin.

More specifically, at the tray in Jaemin’s hands.

They stood there in silence for a second. Not tense. Not quite awkward either. Just… unsure. Cautious. Like two friends on opposite sides of a line neither of them meant to draw.

Jeno’s gaze dropped to the dumplings, then back to Jaemin’s eyes.

A beat passed. Then he gave a soft, crooked smile. The kind that didn’t reach all the way to his cheeks but still managed to feel real.

“I guess it was you,” Jeno murmured. “You’re the one who’s been feeding me.”

Jaemin didn’t move at first. Then his lips twitched into something close to a smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice dry, “you clearly weren’t going to feed yourself.”

Jeno chuckled, just barely. “Fair.”

Another pause. Jaemin stared at him, then finally extended the tray. Jeno reached out slowly, fingers brushing the edge.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Jaemin shrugged like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. They both knew that.

Jeno looked at him again, something fragile in his expression. “I heard you were with them a lot. With her.”

“Yeah.” Jaemin’s tone didn’t waver. “She needed people.”

Jeno didn’t ask if she’d talked about him. Didn’t ask if she cried. He just nodded, lips pressed in a line. “Makes sense.”

They stood there again in the quiet.

And then Jaemin exhaled. “I’m mad at you,” he said bluntly. “You know that, right?”

Jeno nodded again. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know how long I will be. But I still care. So… don’t starve. Or die. Or whatever.” His voice softened at the end. “That’d piss me off even more.”

Jeno huffed, biting back a tiny smile. “Got it.”

Jaemin gave a short nod and started walking away, but not before glancing over his shoulder once.

“You’re gonna have to fix it yourself,” he said. “If she ever lets you.”

Then he disappeared around the corner.

Jeno stood there, holding the tray.

And for the first time in days, he felt the smallest flicker of hope pulse somewhere inside his chest.

It started with a text.

[jeno]: hey. Can we talk?

You didn’t answer.

The screen stayed quiet for an hour. Then another.

Then another text.

[jeno]: i get it if you’re not ready. just… please let me know you’re okay.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he tried again.

[jeno]: i shouldn’t have said what i said.

[jeno]: i didn’t mean it.

[jeno]: i was angry and stupid. and scared.

He waited. Refreshed the screen. Waited some more.

You saw it. You always did. But your fingers never moved. You couldn’t make them. Not when the sound of his voice in your head still made your chest twist. Not when the memory of him, of that night, still throbbed like a bruise under your skin.

Jeno started calling.

The first time, you watched it ring out.

The second time, you let it go after two seconds.

The third, your phone buzzed in your hand while you were out with Jaemin and Kkura, and Jaemin glanced over with a tight expression, like he wanted to answer for you.

You tucked it back in your pocket and said nothing.

He stopped calling after that.

Two days passed.

You assumed he got the hint.

But you should’ve known better.

Because when the knock came that night, gentle, tentative, barely there, you thought it might be Kkura. Maybe even Jaemin, checking in. But when you opened the door, your heart stumbled.

Jeno stood there.

Not in frat clothes. Not with that hood pulled low over his eyes like he’d been avoiding the world.

He looked… like he tried.

Hair brushed down neatly. Sweater a little wrinkled. Eyes tired. Hopeful. Frantic. He’d showered, you could tell. He looked cleaner, less like the shell he’d been hiding inside. But his expression was barely holding together.

Your breath caught.

“Hi,” he said, voice rough. “I know I shouldn’t have come here. But you weren’t answering and I—I didn’t know what else to do.”

You didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him, like if you blinked, he’d disappear.

Jeno shifted, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “Please, Y/N. Just let me talk. I won’t push for anything. I just—let me be in the same room as you again.”

You looked at him. The small way his chest rose and fell like he hadn’t breathed right since that night. The way his hands trembled slightly, fists unclenching at his sides.

You were angry. Still were. Still hurt.

But something in you, the part that once stayed up talking with him until 3 a.m., the part that remembered his dumb laugh in between kisses and how he’d hold your hand without thinking, couldn’t close the door.

You stepped aside.

He didn’t move until you spoke.

“Come in,” you said, quietly.

And Jeno, relieved, stunned, exhausted, stepped over the threshold like it might break him.

You didn’t say anything after he stepped inside. Just walked back toward your small living room and left the door slightly ajar, like maybe you still hadn’t decided if you wanted to keep him in or not.

Jeno followed slowly, quietly, like he was afraid any sudden movement might make you vanish. His eyes scanned the room, the half empty cup on the coffee table, the throw blanket you’d probably curled up under when you weren’t speaking to him, your phone tossed aside, screen dark.

You sat on the edge of the couch and didn’t look at him.

He stayed standing.

And then he started.

“I meant to say it.”

Your gaze flickered up, sharp, uncertain. He swallowed.

“I meant to say I wanted to be with you. That I already felt like I was. That I didn’t realize how fucking much it meant to say it out loud until it was already too late.”

You said nothing. Just pulled your sleeves over your hands, eyes low.

Jeno sighed, stepping closer but still giving you space. “I thought we were on the same page. I know that sounds stupid now, but I really thought… you felt what I felt. I thought we didn’t need to talk about it because it was just there, in the way we were with each other. In the way I looked at you. How I always wanted to be around you. How I couldn’t sleep unless I was texting you goodnight, or hearing you breathe next to me.”

You looked away.

“I didn’t say it because I was scared,” he continued, voice cracking now. “I didn’t want to ruin whatever we had. I thought if I pushed too much, or made it official, you’d think it was too much too fast. You’d… leave. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You didn’t answer, but your shoulders tensed.

He noticed. And for a moment, he was quiet again. Then—

“But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve said something. I should’ve fucking said something the first time we kissed, or the morning after, or that time you stayed over and didn’t even bother with your apartment for three days. I should’ve asked. I should’ve told you you weren’t just some girl I was messing around with. You’re not. You never were.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, voice hoarse. “I didn’t just like you, Y/N. I loved you. I still do.”

You blinked hard. Your throat burned, but you kept your jaw locked.

“I know I hurt you,” he said, softer now. “That night… I was frustrated. I was confused, and I saw you laughing with him, Haechan, of all people, and it just flipped something in me. It wasn’t about trust. It wasn’t even jealousy, not really. It was fear. Because for once, I actually had something I didn’t want to lose.”

You finally looked at him then, and something about your expression made him pause. You weren’t angry. Not exactly.

You were exhausted.

So he kept going.

“You don’t owe me forgiveness. Or another chance. I get that. But I needed to come here because… I needed you to hear it from me. Not through a text. Not through Jaemin. Me. I wanted to tell you I was wrong. That I shouldn’t have expected you to just know what we were. I should’ve said it. I should’ve asked you.”

He looked down, hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like an option. I never wanted that. Not for you. Not for us.”

He took a shaky breath.

“And I’m sorry I said what I said that night. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

The room fell silent. You stared at the wall past him. Your throat was so tight it ached, your chest heavier than it had been in days.

When you finally spoke, your voice was low.

“You really hurt me.”

Jeno looked up slowly, like the words had physically struck him.

You still didn’t meet his eyes.

“I thought I was going crazy,” you said. “One day we’re acting like we’ve been together forever, and the next I’m being avoided when it comes to the serious questions. That it almost felt like you didn’t think I’d stay.”

Jeno opened his mouth to say something, but you kept going.

“You didn’t say it, Jeno. You didn’t ask. You just… assumed. And then got mad when I didn’t read your mind.”

He shut his mouth. Nodded once, tightly.

You took a breath. It hurt. “I needed to hear it. I needed to know I wasn’t just building something out of nothing. And when I didn’t hear it, when you didn’t say it, I started to believe maybe I made it all up.”

That broke him a little.

You could see it in the way his shoulders folded inward, in the flicker of panic across his face. Like he was suddenly watching every moment with you through your eyes, and finally saw the cracks.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time.

You nodded, arms hugging yourself. “I know.”

And then neither of you spoke. The silence didn’t feel peaceful—it felt fragile, like something raw still bleeding just under the surface.

Jeno stepped forward, one pace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

You looked at him. Finally. “Then don’t say things that make me feel like I was never yours to lose.”

And Jeno’s heart splintered clean through.

Next thing you know, you witness something you never thought would unfold in front of your eyes.

You hadn’t seen him cry like that before.

Not like this.

At first, it was just the way his eyes glossed over. A quiet blink, a shift in breath. But then it cracked, a tremble in his jaw, a sound he barely swallowed down. And then the tears fell, slow and then all at once, as if holding it in had finally run out of room inside him.

He turned away for a second, dragging a shaky hand over his face like that might stop it.

It didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice breaking. “God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I fucked this up. I fucking ruined it. And I don’t even know how to fix it because—”

His voice choked off.

You stared, frozen for a beat. You didn’t expect this much. You didn’t expect him to crumble in front of you like the words he’d been holding in had cracked something wide open. Jeno was always so composed, so quiet in his sadness, but this?

This was him unraveling.

You stood slowly and stepped toward him.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, still trying to catch his breath, his voice hoarse and wet with tears. “I thought I was protecting us by not saying anything, and all I did was make you feel invisible. I made you think I didn’t care, when that’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t know how to stop caring about you.”

Your chest squeezed.

“Jeno,” you said gently.

“I kept thinking about the look on your face that night,” he mumbled. “How you just… shut down. And it’s all I’ve been thinking about. That I did that. That I pushed you to a place where you had to convince yourself I didn’t mean anything to you. And I hate that. I hate myself for that.”

You touched his arm, tentative. His whole frame shook under your hand.

“I still love you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I still want this. I want you. I’ll do it right this time, if you let me. I’ll say it every day. I’ll make it clear. I just— I need you to know that it was real. It’s always been real.”

Your throat was tight. You didn’t realize tears were welling in your own eyes until you blinked and one slid down.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know it was real.”

He looked at you like your voice alone was something to hold on to.

You hesitated, then added, “And… I’m sorry too.”

Jeno’s brows knit, confused.

“I’m not saying I take it all back,” you said. “Because you needed to hear what I said that night. But I know I got… cold. Defensive. Angry. And I didn’t mean to shut you out like that. I just—when you said those things, it felt like everything I’d let myself believe was fake. And I didn’t want to feel that again. I didn’t want to feel small.”

You sniffled, laughing bitterly. “So I built a wall so fast I didn’t even realize I locked myself in, too.”

Jeno stepped closer. His eyes were red, lips parted like he was still trying to catch his breath.

“I forgive you,” you said.

His breath hitched.

You nodded slowly. “I forgive you, Jeno. And I still love you too. That didn’t go away.”

He looked like he might cry again at that.

And maybe you did too, because when he reached for your hands this time, you didn’t flinch. You let him hold them, fingers trembling against yours. He pulled you close like he didn’t want to risk you slipping away again, and when you let him, that’s when the tears really came again for both of you. Quiet and full of everything you hadn’t been able to say until now.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m gonna do better,” he whispered. “I swear I’ll do better.”

You nodded, hands curling around the fabric of his hoodie.

“We will,” you murmured back. “We’ll do better.”

And just like that, the hurt didn’t disappear. But it settled, softened into something that could finally begin to heal.

Together.

Jeno’s breath was still uneven, but the storm behind his eyes had settled into something else now, something quieter, more certain. He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, eyes tracing every part of your face like he needed to memorize this moment.

His thumbs brushed your knuckles, slow and reverent, before he took a steadying breath.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

You nodded.

He hesitated for a beat, not out of doubt, but weight. Like the question had been sitting in his chest for a long, long time.

“Will you be mine?” he asked. His voice cracked, not out of fear, but sincerity. “Like... officially. No more almosts. No more blurred lines or half steps. Just mine. My girlfriend. And of course without a doubt I’m yours”

The way he said it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was raw. Honest. Like this wasn’t just about claiming you, but about finally choosing you out loud. Finally giving the love between you a name that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

He swallowed. “Because I should’ve asked you a long time ago. And I don’t want another day to go by where you don’t know exactly where we stand.”

His gaze never left yours. “So…will you?”

The room held its breath.

And this time, he waited.

Your breath hitched, just a sharp, shaken inhale because everything inside you cracked wide open the moment he said it. All the anger and confusion and weight of the past few weeks lifted just enough for your heart to finally speak louder than your fear.

“Yes,” you whispered. Then again, stronger, like it needed to echo. “Yes, Jeno.”

And you didn’t wait.

You surged forward, crashing into him like you’d been holding back for years, not days. Your hands tangled in the collar of his hoodie, yanking him down, and he met you halfway, mouth already parting, gasping against yours like he’d been dying for air and finally found it in your kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was weeks of everything unsaid exploding in between the seams of your mouths, desperate, messy, clumsy in the way that it could be. You pushed him back, lips never breaking, until his back hit the door and he groaned into you like he didn’t care if the world burned around him so long as you stayed pressed against him like this.

His hands found your waist, gripping like he was terrified you’d disappear again. Your fingers slid under the fabric of his hoodie, palms running up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him shiver.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your mouth, breathless. “You’re mine now.”

You kissed him harder in response, like yes, fuck yes, I’m yours, but only because you chose me.

His mouth dragged across your jaw, then lower, tongue hot as he kissed down your neck, hands still trembling as they held you close. You weren’t thinking anymore. You couldn’t. All you could feel was the heat of him, his body, his words, the way he whispered your name like it hurt to say but he needed to keep saying it just to believe this was real.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, your foreheads touched, your lips swollen, your hands still gripping his hoodie like you might fall if you let go.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion. “I missed us.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t fuck it up this time.”

“I won’t,” he promised, eyes wide, lips twitching like he might cry or smile or do both. “I swear to God, I won’t.”

And just like that, you kissed him again, so deep, so consuming, it felt like starting over. But this time, you weren’t drifting through some unspoken dream.

You were finally wide awake.

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