#unanticipated changes

[holeforzenin]

BESTFRIEND SATORU HELPING YOU COPE WITH YOUR BREAKUP!!

Tw - Degradation n praising, Satoru likes you. Not proofread. I hate this sm and it was rushed but oh well

ଘ ੭ ✩‧₊˚

You made your best effort to compose yourself, attempting to suppress the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you as you gently rapped on the sturdy wooden door looming in front of you. Hastily trying to put yourself together before you were met with Satoru’s familiar, handsome face.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as soon as he caught sight of you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"What are you doing here so late babe, Shouldn't you be uhhh—having boring phone sex with your little boyfriend?" he quipped—his playful chuckle hinting with pride and maybe even jealousy laced with it.

His expression quickly changed to concernment when he saw the tears escaping your eye line. Instantly, his face softened and he moved closer, gently gripping your shoulders to get you to look at him.

"Woah, are you okay, sweetheart? Did something happen?", he asked worriedly as warm tears streamed down your face, he gently moved one of his hands to the back of your head, guiding your face into his chest for a tight embrace.

"What happened? C'mon, talk to me" he softly mumbled, feeling your sobs resonating against his chest, you sniffled and finally broke down, "No Satoru, He cheated! he fucking cheated on me—I don’t know what to do”. You gripped onto his shirt tightly as you held onto him.

His mouth gaped in shock and anger as he hugged you impossibly closer, The scent of his minty cologne enveloped you, clouding your thoughts and senses as you continued to cry in his arms.

“What??? I'm so sorry sweetheart, knew that fucking prick didn't deserve you—I'm so fucking sorry. What can I do to make you feel better?"

___

“Ahh, shit gonna lose my fucking mind in this tight pussy.” he lets out a throaty groan that resonated in the air.

Pure sweat glistened from his body, his biceps, his chest, his back—all fucking sticky and damp almost as if he was working out— well it coulddd count as a workout, technically.

“No fucking way, that dumb fucker cheated on this”, he gasped, anger coursing through him as his hand instinctively gripped onto the headboard for stability while he loses himself to the warmth of your soppy pussy compressing the life out of his cock, each squeeze pulling him deeper into your core.

His white bangs stuck to his forehead as the ends tickled his face with dampness. You mewled loudly as your face distorted with unanticipated pleasure—Pleasure that you'd never thought you could ever felt before, until this day.

He had you folded in a fucked-up mating press—insisting that the closer he is to you, the better he'd be able to comfort you.

“Fuckk! Toruu~” you moaned pornographically, your toes involuntarily curling against his toned back as your knees knocked against your bouncing tits.

His beaming blue eyes piercing through you feverishly as he stared down at you—his face just mere inches away from yours. "Fuck yeahh, moan my fucking name just like that sweetheart, that's right. I'm the one pounding this perfect little pussy” he purrs softly, smirking as drool escapes your lips.

Of course, he was unhappy and worried to see his poor best friend miserable because of the breakup. But deep down, a part of him felt…relieved?

It's not like that dumb, immature scrawny bitch could ever give you what he has to offer.

Never, Never never never. You deserved better, way better. Someone like him…

“Mmm Fuckkk, Satoruuu. stretching me s’good” you cried out in pure ecstasy as the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so rawly and naturally in a way that felt heavenly —your boyfriend was never able to find it.

“Yeah? You like me splitting open this pretty pussy with my cock? When was the last time you had a good fucking like this, babe?” Satoru laughed breathlessly, his cock throbbing with each thrusts.

The bed sinking as a result from his weight as he bullied his hefty cock into you—fucking you absolutely dumb, deeper into his mattress.

Your glassy eyes were now obscured by a hazy blur, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins as your eyes rolled back—Satoru thought the sight of you like this was so so beautiful. Seeing his precious little best friend whom he loveee so much getting dumbed down from his dick etched something primal in him.

His mouth gaped slightly as he moaned, his eyes full of desire and passion. He brought his face closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin before he smashed his lips onto yours.

His mouth completely devouring you as the both of you moaned in unison, lost in the intensity of the kiss—your tongues tangling together as your tummy fluttered in excitement.

His skin stuck to yours disgustingly as your boobs bounced against his chest, your fingers laced through his hair. The sensation made him groan before he eventually pulled away from the passionate kiss.

He quickly switched positions, hauling your body closer to him so your ass could slowly be arched up—resting against his thighs as he pounded your sloppy, messy cunt at the deeper angle.

A rhythmic series of “Hahhh!” fills the room—almost like a chant of pleasure escaping his lips as his gaze is fixated on where the two of you were connected—his cock completely disappearing inside your warm core at the snap of his hips as his snowy pubic hair lightly nudges against the sensitive bud of your arousal.

“This pussy is taking me in so well, fuck he could never—dunno why you were even with him–nghh! in the first place” he emphasizes on the last word with a deep, hard powerful thrust.

“I could treat ya so much better than he ever did sweetheart, better forget about him—don't ever wanna see you crying that fucker again” he smirks down at fucked out face—so cute and pretty all clumsy from his cock.

Thick balls slapping against your asshole as your slick coats both of them, forming a slippery layer that gradually dripped down onto his sheets.

“Or don't worry, heh—i’ll just fuck you into a brainless little slut, that'll surely make you forget about him” he laughs out. His tongue dragging against his lips as his fingers kneads into the soft flesh of your thighs.

Your eyes rolled back uncontrollably to his words, it was obvious to you that Satoru had a little crush on you for a while now and fucking hated your boyfriend but hearing him actually vocalizing his feelings in such a vulnerable, intimate moment made you lose your mind.

His lengthy cock dug into your pussy in such a mean manner in the new angle—his relentless thrusts hitting your cervix over and over, making your pussy overflowing with juices all over his dick, facilitating to force his dick into you.

You squealed, feeling his finger suddenly rubbing fast circles on your clit—causing your inner walls to flutter around his shaft in a euphoric response to the new wave of pleasure that surged through your body.

“Mmmfp! Yesyesyes! don't stop, s’close” you exclaimed, your fingers tightly clasping onto the sheets to anchor yourself.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my dick baby?” He inquires with a toothy grin, his bicep muscles prominently bulging, emphasizing his toned physique as his abs flexes because of the angle. Giving you the most delicious view of his body.

“Yes! Ahh, Toruuu” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you felt your orgasm approaching. Your body trembled in ecstasy. The feeling of good sex was so so refreshing to you that you started questioning yourself why you weren’t with Satoru instead in the first place?. He was charming, rich, and funny—despite his annoying personality and teasing, he was almost perfect, but maybe because you two have been best friends for all those years, you just haven’t thought about him like that.

Before you knew it, milky white rings coated his cock—overlaying every inch of his shaft and painting his balls. “Mmmmm!” You breathe heavily, almost losing your mind as you watched Satoru’s eyes roll back at the feeling of you messing up his dick.

“Yessss, that’s it baby—God, fuck, making such a pretty mess all over me” he tried to keep his composure but he miserably failed, he just fucking couldn't, hell he couldn’t even pull out quick enough before spurting his hot cum directly into your womb, making loud squelching noises filling the room as his warm, sticky cum overflowed out of your pussy.

It was so so messy, there’s no way there wasn’t a big wet patch of cum below the two of you.

“So do ya prefer our date being tomorrow or the day after—I’d prefer tomorrow because I’m not working, plus I wanna take you out as soon as possible,” he said in a cheery, out-of-breath tone, managing to catch you off guard as if he wasn’t still balls deep inside of you.

“Seriously Satoru? We can discuss this later” you muttered with a hint of annoyance—causing him to pout in response before picking up your upper body to sit on his lap—cockwarming him.

He pulled you into a sweet, passionate kiss—his hands groping your ass as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

“Fineee” he playfully whispered—you giggled lowly, feeling his smile forming against your lips as he held you close.

[chogiwow]

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

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

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k

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

a/n: part 2 finally here !!!! guys, i think i'll complete it in one more part, we haven't even got to the juicy parts, they're both still Realising their feelings for each other i'm really taking the slowburn to another level :'D posting this now since i have a busy weekend ahead and it'll take some time for the final part to come out, so enjoy <3

nine.

jake wasn't sure when he started noticing the small things.

it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't some grand realization, some epiphany that crashed into him like a runaway train. no, it was more like a slow leak in the ceiling – subtle at first, barely noticeable, until one day, he looked up and realized the whole thing was caving in.

you were still there. still at your desk. still doing your job. but something had changed.

for one, you no longer lingered.

before, you used to wait by his desk after reminding him of a meeting, hovering until he actually got up because you knew how prone he was to getting lost in his own head. you used to place his coffee just within reach of his right hand, knowing that he’d grab it without looking. you used to let out these small sighs when he worked through lunch, before eventually caving and placing a takeout container beside him with an exasperated, “at least eat before you starve.”

but now? now, you just told him his schedule and left. you still got his lunch, but it was left on the side of his desk, impersonal. you still reminded him about meetings, but you never waited for him to actually stand up. and the worst part? he knew it was because of him. because he had snapped at you. because he had made you feel like you had overstepped when, in reality, you were just doing what you had always done – taking care of him.

the guilt sat heavy in his stomach.

well, he had got what he had wanted, right? he had told you to stop caring, to make yourself scarce, and you were doing just that. you were back to being background noise again, the week before had probably just been a blip in time. maybe none of it had even happened – he hadn’t been late to his meeting, he hadn’t spent an entire evening with you sorting through his emails, he hadn’t brought you coffee like a delirious fool. he hadn’t snapped at you – acknowledged your efforts and put you down regardless.

there’s a law in physics, the law of unintended consequences.

jake had spent his life studying the rules that governed the universe. he had built entire theories on cause and effect, on how one action – one force – could change the course of everything around it. but there was a gap in every equation, an unpredictable variable that not even the most meticulous calculations could predict.

it was a rule he had known but never thought to apply to his own life.

and yet, here he was, watching as you followed the letter of his words but not the spirit. he had wanted distance. he had told you as much in sharp, thoughtless words. he had thought, idiotically, that space would bring things back to how they used to be.

instead, it had set something irreversible in motion.

at first, he told himself it was fine. he had bigger things to focus on, deadlines to meet, research papers to finalize. but the problem with noticing something was that you couldn’t stop noticing it. you were efficient, precise, the perfect assistant; exactly as you had been before.

except now, he felt the absence of you.

before, he never had to wonder if he’d make it to meetings on time. you would wait, standing by his desk with that look, the one that told him you knew he’d ignore you if you gave him even a second of leeway. but now? you simply reminded him and left. no hovering. no pointed sighs. no exasperated nudges to get moving.

and then there was the coffee.

it was a small thing, but jake noticed. before, the cup would be exactly where he needed it, always within reach of his dominant hand. a quiet, unconscious act of care. now? it was placed neatly at the edge of his desk, just out of immediate reach. he had to go out of his way to grab it.

it was ridiculous, the way these tiny details unsettled him.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that he had asked for this. that he shouldn’t be so thrown off by things he never even realized he relied on.

and yet.

he wasn’t sure what did it.

maybe it was the moment he saw you cleaning up a stack of files and, in your hurry, ran your hand along the sharp edge of a paper cutter. you barely reacted, shaking off the small drop of blood, about to move on like nothing happened. but something in jake stilled.

something made him sit still and watch like a creep through the crack of his door as you paused in your actions and moved your finger to your lips, gently sucking on the wound till the bleeding stopped.

it was such a small act. so innocent, something akin to a first aid, but his breath hitched. his breath hitched when his eyes tracked your actions, your hand going back to sorting through files, your wound long forgotten.

his body moved before his mind could catch up, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood.

for the first time in days, you actually looked surprised when he placed a bandaid in your palm instead of just tossing it onto your desk.

“you should be more careful,” he said, his voice coming out gruff, almost scolding.

you blinked at him, clearly thrown off, before your expression shuttered back into polite professionalism. “it’s just a small cut.”

jake clenched his jaw. he knew that. of course he knew that. but that wasn’t the point, was it?

still, you thanked him with a nod, applied the bandaid, and carried on like nothing had happened.

and that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn’t.

because jake, who had always been so good at solving problems, had stumbled upon one that didn’t fit neatly into any equation.

the unintended consequence of his distance wasn’t just that you stopped lingering. it was that he now felt like an observer in his own life, watching as something essential slipped away, and—

and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

jake had never been one to believe in regret. he made decisions, and he lived with them. he adjusted. he recalibrated. he hadn’t cared much when only his mom could make it to his annual school competitions, doing her best to cheer louder, to compensate for the missing person in his life. he hadn’t given two shits when people in high school had stared and pointed at him like he had been an anomaly. not when his overbearing aunts had disguised their praises for him as something he should inherently be able to do to make up for the absence of the person in his life.

he hadn’t wasted time pondering upon silly questions like ‘was i not enough?’ or ‘was i not lovable enough for him to stay?’.

even in his young mind, those had seemed futile questions, ones he would never have an answer to and therefore, not worth his time.

but now, he was finding himself staring too long at the empty space you used to fill. he was realizing that, for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had overlooked the most important one.

he had always thought that if he pushed something away, it would eventually return to its natural place. like gravity pulling a comet back into orbit.

but now, he wasn’t so sure.

now he was actually questioning things – emotions, feelings, hurt.

had he hurt you?

but why would he care? why would he start now? why would you care about him to the point that you would let his ineptitude hurt you?

jake didn’t consider himself the kind of person who fixated on things. he was methodical, pragmatic, someone who could compartmentalize problems into neat little boxes and only open them when absolutely necessary.

but this?

this was a crack in the foundation he hadn’t accounted for.

he told himself it was fine – your distance, your absence, the way you had begun to retreat from him in increments so small he might not have noticed if he weren’t already looking for them. he told himself he had wanted this, and that it didn’t matter.

and yet.

jake found himself watching. noticing. keeping track of the subtle ways you had begun to slip from his periphery, like sand through his fingers.

before, he had always known where you were. even if he wasn’t actively looking, you were just there, orbiting around him in a way that felt natural, unshakable. but now? now, he caught himself scanning the office for you, only to realize you were nowhere nearby. it wasn’t that you weren’t working – you were still efficient, still meticulous, still the perfect assistant – but you were no longer his constant.

the worst part? he had no idea why it bothered him so much.

he kept trying to rationalize it, to shove the thought into a mental folder labeled irrelevant and move on. but it was harder than he expected.

because there were moments, tiny and fleeting, where he thought he caught glimpses of something deeper beneath your polite professionalism. a hesitation before answering him. the way your lips pressed together just slightly when he handed you a stack of papers without so much as a please or thank you. the way you never quite met his eyes for too long anymore.

it had been a series of choices, he realized. small, inconsequential decisions that had snowballed into something much bigger than he had ever intended.

like the way he had dismissed you, snapping at you in a moment of frustration. he hadn’t thought twice about it then – just another conversation, another fleeting exchange in the middle of an exhausting day. but the weight of it lingered, heavy and suffocating, because now he could see the ripple effect in real time.

he had thought pushing you away would return things to normal. instead, it had left him standing in the ruins of something he hadn’t even realized was important to him.

and the most frustrating part? he didn’t know how to fix it.

jake wasn’t used to being at a loss. he had built his life around solutions, around having the answers before anyone even knew there was a problem. but this? this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve with logic or calculations. this was different. this was messy and human and something he didn’t even fully understand himself.

so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t control – he observed.

he started paying closer attention. he told himself it wasn’t because of you, not really, just a vague curiosity that had no deeper meaning. but then he noticed how you laughed more with others now. how you lingered in conversations with coworkers, how your shoulders relaxed when you weren’t around him.

it was disorienting, realizing that you had found ways to exist outside of him. that you had always been capable of doing so, but he had just never seen it before.

and maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

one afternoon, he caught himself staring at the untouched coffee on his desk. it had gone cold. the same coffee you had placed there earlier, just slightly out of reach, like an afterthought.

jake had always taken for granted that it would be there. he had never even considered the effort behind it, the simple, thoughtless care that had gone into something as small as placing it within easy reach.

but now, staring at the lukewarm liquid, he felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like how things felt off-kilter. how he had let something slip between his fingers without even realizing what it was. he didn’t like how aware he was of your absence now, how much space you had unknowingly occupied in his life before you started retreating.

it was frustrating, this gnawing feeling of wrongness.

so he did something stupid.

“hey,” he said one evening, catching you just as you were gathering your things to leave.

you blinked at him, clearly surprised. “yes?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “did you—uh. did you send the reports to finance?”

your brows furrowed slightly. “yes. i emailed them over earlier.”

“right. okay.” he shifted, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “thanks.”

you nodded, waiting for a beat. when he didn’t say anything else, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “alright. goodnight, dr. sim.”

and then you were gone.

jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. what the fuck was that?

that wasn’t what he had meant to say. it wasn’t what he wanted to ask. but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, heavy and unfamiliar.

because what had he wanted to say?

had he wanted to tell you he noticed? that he missed something he couldn’t even name? that for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had failed to account for the one thing he should have seen coming?

gravity.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

he had pushed you away. and now, he wasn’t sure how to pull you back in.

jake sat back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway where you had just been.

he needed to fix this. he needed to rise up from his inability to form human bonds or interact like a normal functioning adult. he had never felt the need to do so before, but for once – he wanted to. at least try and make amends.

because  jake never meant to offend anyone, much rather put them down. but he had done, willingly so this time around. but he wasn’t so broken as to not hold on to the semblance of a decent human being and not apologise.

he needed to fix this. he just didn’t know how yet.

ten.

its 10:09 am when the phone on your desk rings.

your fingers hesitate for a second before picking it up, already half-expecting it to be a mundane request from another department. but the voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“hello, this is dr. sim’s office, correct?”

you straighten slightly at the mention of jake’s name. “yes, this is his assistant speaking. how can i help you?”

the woman on the other end exhales, relief threading through her voice. “oh, thank god. i’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell. can you please tell him his mother is calling? it’s urgent.”

your breath stills. his mother? you’ve never spoken to her before, but something about the way she sounds – strained, worried – has your heart clenching instinctively.

“of course, ma’am. please hold for a moment.”

you press the receiver against your chest as you rise from your desk, walking toward jake’s office with quick steps. when you push the door open, you find him at his desk, eyes glued to his monitor, expression unreadable.

“dr. sim,” you say carefully. he barely glances up. “your mother is on the line.”

that gets his attention.

his head snaps up so fast it looks like it might hurt, and the second he sees your expression – neutral but carefully watching – something in his own face shifts. a split-second crack in his usual control.

his mother wouldn’t call the office unless something was wrong.

you see it the moment his mind catches up to the implication. his face goes pale, and he pushes back his chair roughly, standing so fast it scrapes against the floor.

“transfer it,” he says, voice clipped, but his hands are already trembling as he reaches for the phone on his desk.

you nod and return to yours, quickly pressing the button to connect the call. as soon as it clicks over, you hear his voice – lower now, tight with something close to dread.

“mom?”

you should turn away. you should focus on your work, give him the privacy he needs. but something keeps your gaze locked on him, even as you try not to make it obvious.

there’s a pause. then, whatever his mother says has the color draining from his face entirely.

his fingers clench around the phone. his jaw sets tight, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

then, finally, he exhales.

“when?” his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your stomach twist.

another pause. then he nods, even though she can’t see him. “okay. i’ll be there.”

he hangs up.

for a moment, he just stands there, fingers still curled around the receiver like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his head is slightly bowed, his shoulders tense.

and then he turns.

his eyes meet yours. and for the first time in a long time, you see something raw and unguarded in them. not frustration. not cold professionalism. something else entirely.

something that makes you forget, for just a moment, that things have been different between you. that there’s been an invisible wall between the two of you, made of everything unspoken.

“is everything—” you catch yourself. it’s not your place to ask. but the words are already out there. “is everything alright?”

he swallows. a muscle in his jaw jumps. he looks like he wants to say no. but he doesn’t.

instead, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to ground himself. “i need to leave for a bit.”

“of course.” you hesitate, but then add, “do you need me to reschedule anything?”

he nods once, curtly. “yes. i’ll send you a list.”

the phone call had been brief – too brief for how he looked now. his face was pale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. the usual sharp focus in his eyes was gone, replaced with something unsettled, something raw.

you had barely heard what he’d said when he hung up. just a quiet, clipped response before he set the phone down with unnatural care, as if it might shatter in his hands. then silence. a long, heavy silence that made you shift in your seat.

he’s already reaching for his coat, but the way he moves – it’s not the usual controlled efficiency he carries himself with. his hands are stiff, his grip on the fabric just a little too tight. like he’s barely holding himself together.

“…dr. sim?”

jake didn’t respond.

you hesitated, glancing toward the doorway of his office. no one else was around – just the two of you in this unsettling quiet. you had been ready to move on, to keep things professional, to pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the strange coldness that had settled between you both. but this? this wasn’t something you could ignore.

you took a step forward. “jake.”

his head snapped up.

it took you off guard, the way his gaze sharpened at the sound of his name. but then, just as quickly, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. his expression flickered – like a fault line deep underground, cracking beneath pressure.

you tried again, softer this time. “what happened?”

jake inhaled, but the breath barely reached his lungs. “it’s my mom.”

your stomach twisted.

you had remembered jake’s phone call with her a few days ago. how he had sounded so agitated back then. jake never spoke much about his family, but you knew enough to understand that she was important to him in ways he didn’t know how to express. that, for all his cold rationality, all his carefully measured distance, she was a gravitational force in his life that he could never quite pull away from.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked at his hands – like he wasn’t sure when they had started shaking. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly inaudible.

“she’s in the hospital.”

something in your chest tightened. “jake…”

he shook his head once, as if physically stopping himself from unraveling. “i—i need to go,” he said, already reaching for his coat, movements stiff. “i don’t—i can’t just sit here.”

“of course,” you said immediately. “do you want me to call someone? arrange a flight?”

“no,” he said, too quickly. he pressed his fingers to his temple, exhaling hard. “i’ll handle it.”

you watched him, watched the way he was barely keeping himself together. and despite everything, the growing distance, the unsaid things, you couldn’t just let him go like this.

“jake,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “let me help.”

for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze directly. and for the first time in weeks, you saw something unguarded in his eyes.

not calculation. not control.

just fear.

his throat bobbed. he looked like he wanted to say something – like he didn’t know how. but then his jaw clenched, and he nodded once, just slightly.

you reached for your phone. “i’ll book the next flight.”

jake exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. he didn’t thank you – not verbally. but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly, the way his hands stopped trembling—

it was enough.

the drive to the airport was quiet.

jake was in the passenger seat, fingers curled into fists on his lap. he had barely spoken since leaving the office, only responding in brief nods or single words when necessary. the weight of the unknown pressed heavy between you both, thick like fog.

you had booked the first flight you could find, mere hours from the phone call and you had made sure he had gone back home immediately to pack his necessities. you knew you had a hard time coming with all the meetings and deadlines that needed to be pushed back, but that could wait. you had to make sure he was fine first.

you were in half a mind to offer to go along with him, but that would be crossing a line, right? afterall, you both were still at crossroads, still just assistant and employer. you couldn’t possibly even dare to suggest this in the first place.

when you pulled into the departure lane, you hesitated before reaching for his bag in the backseat. “are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“no,” jake said, shaking his head. his voice was hoarse. “you’ve done enough.”

you swallowed. he wasn’t saying it unkindly – just…tiredly. hollow in a way that didn’t suit him.

still, you lingered. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because of the way he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly. maybe it was the way his breath came uneven, like he was bracing for something.

maybe it was because, for the first time, jake sim looked small.

he was out of his lab coat for the first time, a hastily found hoodie on his frame but his eyes. they looked so lost, so panicked and scared all at the same time, you couldn't even start to think what was going on in his mind. but you know for once that it hadn’t got anything to do with numbers and the universe.

you don’t know how to comfort him, not without knowing the situation and you definitely do not want to feed him empty reassurances. he would see right through them, the logical man that he was, he would probably even scoff at you for being presumptuous. so you do the best you can with the situation.

“i hope she’s okay,” you said quietly. “let me know when you land.”

he hesitated. then, finally, “yeah.”

“and don’t worry about work, i promise i’ll reschedule everything, take as much as you need.”

this, you mean too. because you will make sure of this, it’s the only thing you can do, to be quite honest. so you decide that you will, and you’ll give it your all.

you didn’t expect more. and yet, just as he was about to turn away, he stopped.

for a second, he looked like he might say something else. like he might let something slip through the cracks of whatever walls he had built between you both.

but then he just inhaled sharply and stepped away from the car, disappearing into the terminal without another word.

and you were left there, watching him go, wondering why it felt like something in you had gone with him.

eleven.

jake sat in his old car, the one his mom drove now. he had tried to convince her to buy a new one, but she insisted on using this beaten up junk he had used for most of his university life.

his day had been hectic, to say the least. he had touched down within two hours of leaving, all because you had managed to book him the earliest flight possible. his first stop had been the hospital where his mother had been admitted. she had fainted apparently, in the middle of a grocery store. someone had helped her and when she had come to, she had called jake immediately.

of course, as an understanding woman, she had hesitated before calling, but then she figured she’d be abandoning her son the way his father had, so without a second thought, she had called. she had buried the feeling that she was being a burden and explained to jake what had happened.

something very minor, a quick surgery would fix it, she’d be up and about in a week, but she would require someone by her side for that time.

jake talked to the doctors, a decision was made almost immediately, whatever his mother needed, he would do it. the surgery was in three days, she would not be in any major danger till then.

and then he had called you. well, he had called his front desk and asked to be transferred to you because he did not have your number.

“dr. sim?” your voice sounded distant and it only hurt a little that you didn’t call him by his first name like you had back then.

a long silence. then, his voice – low, rough, exhausted.

“she needs surgery.”

you had straightened in your chair. “surgery?”

“a minor procedure,” he clarified, though his voice sounded anything but reassured. “the doctors said she’ll be fine, but…”

he trailed off. you waited.

“but i don’t know if she wants me here.”

that was the part that made your stomach twist. not the surgery, not the hospital – those were tangible things, things jake could analyze and categorize, things with numbers and statistics and measurable risks. but this? the unspoken weight of old wounds, of things left unresolved between him and his mother?

this was something jake couldn’t quantify.

“dr. sim…” you started, hesitating. you weren’t sure if he wanted comfort, if he would even accept it. “i’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

a dry, humorless chuckle crackled through the receiver. “i have been pushing her away for so long, i won’t blame her if she doesn't want me here.”

and he had done the same to you too. he had convinced himself that you did not need him or have any requirement of him in your life for it to function.

you closed your eyes. “have you talked to her?”

another pause. “not really.”

the admission had made something in your chest tighten.

“i don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “i don’t know if i should even be here.”

you exhaled slowly, gripping your phone tighter. “dr. sim, she called you.”

that made him pause.

“she called you,” you had repeated, softer this time. “if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have.”

for a long time, there was nothing. just his breathing on the other end, slow and uneven. then, finally—

“maybe.”

it wasn’t certain, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

you had glanced down at your planner, at the list of tasks you still needed to get through before the day ended. none of them had seemed as important then.

“if you need anything,” you had said, voice steady, “just let me know.”

jake hadn’t responded right away. but when he finally did, it was quieter, softer than before.

“yeah,” he murmured. “thanks.”

and then the line went dead.

his hands rested now on the wheel, unmoving, but his mind was anything but still. he had been sitting there for ten minutes now, staring at the house in front of him, telling his mother to go on first, that he would follow soon after. it was the same house he had grown up in, the same porch light flickering against the damp evening air, the same worn-out welcome mat his mother refused to replace because she said it held memories.

memories.

jake hated memories.

but lately, they kept creeping in, unwelcome and persistent, just like the thoughts of you that he couldn’t seem to shake. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out of the car. the moment he knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately.

“come on in, i was starting to think you’d spend the night in that old thing.” his mother’s voice was warm but held that gentle chiding tone only mothers could master. she must have been waiting.

“yeah,” jake muttered, stepping inside. “sorry.”

his mother gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. instead, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. it was strange, being back home. the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.

they ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. his mother had made all his favorite dishes, even before she knew he was coming like it was something she did regardless of whether or not her son was in town, and he hated how easily that made his chest tighten.

“so,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “how’s jay? sunghoon?”

jake nodded. “they’re good.”

his mother hummed, waiting. jake knew she wasn’t just asking about them.

“and you?” she prompted.

“i’m fine,” he answered automatically.

her eyes softened, but she didn’t call him out on the lie. instead, she reached for his empty plate and stood to rinse it. that was always how it was between them. no forced conversations, no prying. just patience. it used to drive him crazy.

“you don’t visit as much anymore,” she said casually, but jake could hear the weight in her voice.

jake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “i’ve been busy.”

“too busy for your mother?”

his throat felt tight. “that’s not—” he sighed. “i don’t know.”

she shut off the sink and turned to him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “you’ve been running, jake.”

the words struck deep, hitting something raw inside him. he opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point? she saw through him, as she always had.

“ever since your father left,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you’ve been running from anything that makes you feel too much. you push people away before they can leave you first.”

jake clenched his jaw. “that’s not true.”

her expression didn’t change. “isn’t it?”

he wanted to argue, but flashes of his past screamed otherwise. his father’s car pulling out of the driveway, his mother’s silent tears in the kitchen, the way he had stopped asking when his father would come back. how he had pulled away – from her, from the warmth she tried so hard to keep alive in their home. because what was the point? if his own father could leave so easily, then wasn’t everything temporary?

his mother sighed, walking over to sit beside him. “i don’t bring this up to hurt you, sweetheart. but i see the way you hold yourself back. you’ve always done that, even when you were a boy. you care, but you don’t let yourself feel it too deeply.”

jake exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen table. the weight of his mother’s words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against old wounds he’d buried for too long.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

his mother didn’t gloat, didn’t press. she only gave him that quiet, patient look that somehow made him feel both seen and uncomfortably exposed. it was always like this with her – gentle in the ways that hurt the most.

“i know why you’ve been distant,” she said softly, moving back to the table. “and i know it’s not just about me.”

jake stilled. he knew what was coming next. he could feel it in the way his mother studied him, in the way her eyes carried an understanding he wasn’t ready to face.

“you always bottle things up,” she continued, her voice steady. “you don’t let yourself get attached. you let people slip away before they even have the chance to stay.” she paused, letting her words settle.

then— “but there’s someone you don’t want to let go of, isn’t there?”

jake’s breath hitched. his immediate instinct was to deny it, to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. but the words refused to form.

because she was right.

because for the first time in years, there was someone – someone who had slipped into his life so effortlessly, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed until the absence of their presence started to eat away at him. someone whose voice still echoed in his head, whose absence left a hollowness he couldn’t explain away.

you.

his mother didn’t push. she just waited, as she always had, offering a space that was safe even when it didn’t feel like it. and maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few days, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t want to run from this conversation.

jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his mother simply hummed, waiting.

“i’m… off,” he admitted, hesitating. “lately, everything feels – wrong. like i’m forgetting something important, like i’m missing something. but i don’t know what to do about it.”

his mother tilted her head slightly. “and does this have something to do with the person you called earlier?”

jake’s fingers twitched against the table. “i didn’t call her directly,” he muttered, because even now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle what saying your name out loud would do to him. “i had to go through the front desk to reach her.”

his mother smiled knowingly. “that’s not the point, sweetheart.”

jake swallowed. he knew. he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“it’s just… she’s just been there,” he found himself saying, his voice hesitant. “always so put together, always knowing exactly what i need before i even have to ask. it’s like she—” he stopped himself before he could say too much, but his mother was already watching him with an expression that told him she understood more than he wanted her to.

“she takes care of you.”

jake’s jaw clenched. “yeah.”

“and you don’t know what to do with that.”

his laugh was hollow, humorless. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

his mother sighed, her eyes soft. “jake.”

he shook his head, leaning back against the chair. “i hurt her.”

the words felt heavier than he expected. saying them out loud made them real, made them impossible to ignore.

his mother didn’t look surprised. “how?”

jake hesitated. he wasn’t sure where to begin. it wasn’t just one thing – it was everything. the way he’d dismissed you, the way he’d taken you for granted, the way he’d let you become part of his routine without ever stopping to consider what that meant.

“i pushed her away,” he admitted, his voice tight. “i didn’t even realize i was doing it until it was too late. and now…”

his mother’s gaze was patient, understanding. “and now?”

jake exhaled slowly. “now, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

his mother’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “because change terrifies you. and she’s become part of your life in a way you never expected.”

jake stared at the table, his thoughts a tangled mess. “i don’t even know when it happened,” he murmured. “i just… one day, she was there. and now, when she’s not – it feels wrong.”

his mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over his. “that sounds a lot like caring, jake.”

he let out a slow, shaky breath. “maybe.”

his mother squeezed his hand. “sweetheart, i’ve watched you close yourself off for so long. and i know you think it’s safer that way. but it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to care.”

jake closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that. he really did.

“i don’t know how to fix this.”

his mother’s smile was sad but encouraging. “then start by not running away.”

jake swallowed hard, her words settling deep inside him. for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe – just maybe – he didn’t want to run anymore.

jake’s fingers curled against the table. “i don’t know how i feel about this.”

his mother reached out, resting a hand over his. “that’s okay. but don’t let your fear stop you from figuring it out.”

jake didn’t respond. he didn’t know how.

his mother sighed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “just don’t push her away, jake. don’t make the same mistake your father did.”

the words hit harder than he expected. he wasn’t like his father. he refused to be. but deep down, he knew – he had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt that he had been the one keeping others at arm’s length.

maybe that needed to change.

later that night, as he lay in his childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you carried yourself, the way you fought for your place, the way you—

the way you made him feel.

jake turned onto his side, exhaling heavily. maybe it was time to stop running. maybe, for once, he needed to stay.

twelve.

you sat at your desk, staring at the chaotic schedule in front of you. jake had only been gone a few days, but it felt like an entire month’s worth of work had piled up. between rescheduling meetings, handling review dates, and ensuring the interns didn’t completely destroy the office system, your plate was overflowing. but that was your job. and you were good at it.

jake’s absence, however, made things feel heavier.

you had never been more aware of how much of your day revolved around him until he wasn’t here. normally, he’d be in his office, shooting you the occasional exasperated look over paperwork, or stepping out to ask for another coffee despite already having two. you had gotten used to the rhythm of his presence, the way it filled spaces without needing to demand attention.

now, that presence was gone, and you were left to make sure everything didn’t completely fall apart before he returned.

you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples before picking up your phone. another call, another problem to solve.

by the time jake’s return was only a few days away, you were running on caffeine and sheer determination. you had managed to keep everything under control, but it had taken everything out of you. your mind barely had space to wander – except for the brief moments when you remembered your last conversation with jake. the way his voice had sounded so lost, the hesitation behind his words.

but you couldn’t dwell on that. he wasn’t here. and when he came back, things would fall back into place.

a knock on your office door snapped you from your thoughts. you looked up to see one of your colleagues peeking in.

“hey, dr. sim called. he asked for you specifically.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah. said he wanted to check in.”

you hesitated for a moment before grabbing the office phone and dialing the number.

it barely rang once before he picked up. “y/n.”

his voice was different. not as tired as before, but still carrying something heavy. you straightened in your chair. “dr. sim. you called?”

a pause. then, “yeah. i just… wanted to check in. how’s everything?”

you glanced at the never-ending list on your screen. “under control.”

jake let out a small huff, almost like a laugh. “of course it is.”

silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what else to say. but then his voice softened. “thank you. for everything. i know it’s been a lot.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “that’s my job, dr. sim.”

jake inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hurt him.

your job.

like this was just a role, a duty to fulfill. like you were only here because of professional obligation, not because you had ever cared beyond that.

and maybe that was the worst part – knowing that at some point, you had cared. that at some point, he had meant more to you. but now, all that remained was distance, formality.

“right,” he said after a moment, his voice unreadable. “i’ll be back soon.”

“of course. safe travels.”

the call ended before either of you could say more, but the weight of it lingered. you sat there for a long time, staring at your desk, trying to push away the uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

meanwhile, on the other end of the line, jake sat in his childhood home, gripping his phone tighter than necessary. for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had lost something important.

and he had no idea how to get it back.

jay keeps him updated, the way you’re single handedly managing his schedule, making sure kang doesn’t fire his ass straight up (not that he would, jake’s too much of a genius for that to happen). but more than that, jay spoke of the way you kept things running, how you barely took a break, how you worked yourself to exhaustion, making sure everything was still intact for when jake returned.

jake listened in silence, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each passing word. you had always been efficient, always been reliable. but there was something about the way jay talked about you now – how you were overextending yourself, how you hardly left your desk unless necessary – that made him uneasy.

by the time he finally stepped back into the office, the weight of unfinished conversations, of unspoken words, was pressing heavily on his shoulders. his absence had given him clarity, but clarity didn’t mean anything if he didn’t act on it.

when jake does come back, it’s a surprise to you too. he hadn’t called in advance, hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t even asked you to book a flight. just shown up to work on a thursday like he hadn’t been on a leave the past week.

it surprised you, you thought you were hallucinating.

jake was the same, yet different. he was still dressed impeccably, his dark suit fitted just right, his tie slightly loosened as if he had already had a long morning. but his eyes – those damn eyes – were sharp when they landed on you, scanning you like he was seeing you for the first time in months, not weeks.

“morning.” his voice was smooth, composed. if he was affected by anything, he didn’t let it show.

you forced herself to breathe. “morning.”

a pause later, you added, “how’s your mom?”

jake smiles, faintly. he looks tired, but also like he was well rested. like the week away from his office had given him the rest he had deserved.

“she’s fine,” he says, and you realise you had missed the warmth of his voice, “she’s recovering pretty fast.”

you nod, thankful that things were alright. you want to say something more, ask him how he was doing, ask him ask him if he’s really okay.

the words sit on your tongue, hesitant, unwilling to be spoken. you don't know if you have the right to ask anymore.

jake, for his part, watches you like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expecting you to say more, but when you don’t, he only nods. there’s something restrained in his expression, something that makes you feel like there’s more he wants to say too – but neither of you does.

instead, the moment passes.

“i should—” you gesture vaguely to your desk, to the endless tasks that had piled up in his absence. “i didn’t know you were coming back today, if you want , i can set your schedule up today. maybe a meeting in an hour with director kang, if you’re up for it, and then a review session with the legal team later in the afternoon. i can send the details to your email.”

jake exhales, eyes flickering to his office door. you’re rambling and he finds it amusing. or endearing. the thought of the latter feeling makes him tighten his hold over his bag, but he doesn’t look away, just nods along to whatever you say.

afterall, you know what’s best.

“right. i’ll look through it.”

you nod once, curt, and then turn back to your screen, as if that conversation hadn’t just been something fragile, something that could’ve cracked open if you had let it. you think that’s the end of it. that he’ll walk away, go back to his office, and things will return to the way they were.

but jake doesn’t move.

he lingers.

and then, in a voice softer than before, he says, “thank you, y/n.”

your fingers pause over your keyboard.

it’s not the words themselves that make your breath hitch – it’s the way he says them. the way they aren’t just polite acknowledgments, aren’t just an empty phrase meant to brush past the weight of everything left unsaid. no, this is different.

this is him meaning it.

this is gratitude in its truest form, held in his voice like it’s something delicate.

you inhale slowly, schooling your expression before you look up at him again. “of course,” you reply, but the words feel distant, like they don’t quite match the way your heart stumbles against your ribs.

jake’s lips press together, as if he wants to say something more. but then jay appears, calling out to him from the other side of the office, and the moment snaps in half.

just like that, he’s gone.

for most part of the day though, jake is drowning in work.

it had been that way since he got back – nonstop reviews, overflowing emails, projects that had stalled in his absence. the moment he stepped into the office, he had been pulled in every direction, barely given room to breathe. and he let it happen. work was easier to focus on. it was something he could control.

but every now and then, between the numbers and the reports, he felt it – the weight of your presence just beyond his reach.

you were there. moving around the office, talking to coworkers, slipping in and out of the conference room with files in hand. he caught glimpses of you in passing, his eyes drawn to you more times than he could count. you weren’t avoiding him anymore, not like before, but the distance was still there – an unspoken, lingering thing between you both.

he wanted to talk to you. he really did. but every time he so much as turned in your direction, something else demanded his attention – a call, an urgent email, a meeting running longer than expected. so he buried himself in work, knowing that if he just got through all of it, if he could just clear his plate, then maybe he could finally sit down with you. no interruptions. no distractions. just you and him.

but the day passed, and the timing was never right. not until lunch.

he didn’t notice at first – too caught up in his screen, typing away furiously. but when he finally leaned back to stretch, his eyes landed on your figure, knuckles raised against his door as if you were just about to knock.

your eyes widen as if you had been caught doing something scandalous, but you school your expression, clearing your throat hastily.

“you should eat,” you said, voice careful. “it’s been a long day, and it's only going to get busier later. dr. lee called for an impromptu review at four pm.”

you sound apologetic, almost as if you’re the one who put him through this predicament, especially after his first day back.

for a second, he just stared at you. it had been so long since you had done something like this for him. since you had even looked at him like this – cautious, hesitant, but still caring. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the words weren’t automatic, weren’t distant.

jake exhales, pushing away from his desk. his shoulders ache, his mind heavy from the sheer amount of work waiting for him, but for the first time today, his focus shifts entirely – to you.

you’re still standing there, waiting for his response.

his gaze flickers over your expression, taking in the way you hover, like you’re unsure if you should even be here. like you’re debating whether you should have said anything at all.

and suddenly, he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

jake clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “have you eaten?”

you blink, clearly thrown off.

“uh,” you hesitate. “no, not yet.”

jake nods once, contemplative. then, without overthinking it, he pushes back his chair, standing to grab his coat.

“let’s go, then.”

your brain stutters. “go where?”

“lunch.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like it’s not entirely unprecedented and completely out of character for him to suggest something like this.

you stare at him, almost suspicious. “like, together?”

a corner of his mouth twitches, though he quickly tamps it down. “yes, y/n. together.”

you should say no. you should.

because this? this is dangerous territory. jake doesn’t ask you to lunch. he doesn’t ask you for anything, really – at least, nothing that doesn’t pertain to work.

but then he tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting. and maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, maybe it’s the way your stomach actually growls at the worst possible moment, or maybe it’s just that he’s looking at you like that.

like he’s trying.

“…okay,” you say before you can stop yourself.

jake nods, satisfied, before leading the way out of his office.

thirteen.

the café jake picked was a little ways away from the office, tucked into a quieter street lined with small shops. it wasn’t anything extravagant – just a cozy place with warm lighting and a surprisingly extensive menu. you weren’t sure what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“you come here often?” you asked as you both settled into a table near the window.

jake hummed, glancing over the menu. “not really. but i figured somewhere away from the office would be better.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “oh.”

he didn’t elaborate, just focused on the menu like this was something normal. like he hadn’t just, for the first time in forever, actively chosen to spend time with you outside of work.

the waitress arrived, and after a quick back-and-forth (in which jake somehow convinced you to order something other than your usual go-to sandwich), you were left with nothing but your drinks and the thick air of unspoken words.

“so,” you started, wrapping your hands around your cup. “how’s your mom doing?”

jake leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table. “better. still recovering, but she’s been more energetic these past few days.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“she actually told me to stop hovering over her,” he added, lips twitching in amusement. “said i was more of a nuisance than a help.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i can imagine. you don’t seem like the type to sit still when you’re worried.”

jake’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “you’re not wrong.”

there was a beat of silence, comfortable this time. jake studied you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “what about you?”

you frowned. “what about me?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “how have you been? you’ve basically been running the office while i was gone.”

“it’s nothing i couldn’t handle,” you said, brushing it off.

jake wasn’t convinced. “jay made it sound like you barely had time to breathe.”

you huffed, shaking your head. “jay exaggerates.”

“does he?”

you hesitated. “okay, maybe a little. but it’s my job. it’s what i do.”

something flickered in his expression, but before you could dissect it, he changed the subject. “what do you do after work?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“when you’re not running the office or making sure i don’t completely destroy my schedule—what do you do?”

you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “why do you want to know?”

jake smirked slightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. “just curious.”

you hesitated for a moment before sighing. “not much, honestly. i usually just go home, maybe read a little. sometimes i go out with friends, but it depends on the day.”

jake hummed, nodding. “sounds… peaceful.”

“sometimes.” you tilted your head. “what about you? when you’re not buried in research papers or ignoring kang’s calls?”

jake exhaled a laugh. “ignoring kang is a full-time job in itself.”

you snorted, shaking your head. but you’re also slightly malfunctioning. never in a million years would you have even imagined that you’d be sitting across jake sim, making small talk. is this a dream?

“but,” he continued, “i guess i read, too. or watch documentaries. i used to play soccer more, but it’s been a while.”

your brows lifted slightly. “soccer? really?”

jake smirked. “what, don’t believe me?”

this side of him is new. the smirk, the unguarded laughs, the way he sometimes bites his lips. you will yourself to stay calm, clench your fingers in your lap and exhale slowly.

you shrugged. “i just can’t picture you running around on a field when you’re usually glued to your computer.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, mock-offended.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered.

then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “so, are you seeing anyone?”

your entire brain short-circuited.

“wh—what?”

jake leaned back, utterly unbothered. “you know. dating. boyfriend, girlfriend, situationship. whatever people call it these days.”

you stared at him. “why do you want to know?”

he shrugged, playing it cool. “just making conversation.”

your eyes narrowed slightly, but you answered anyway. “no. not at the moment.”

jake nodded slowly, almost like he was committing that information to memory.

you crossed your arms. “and you?”

his expression didn’t change. “no.”

“not even someone waiting for you to finally look up from your research and realize they exist?”

jake exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “not that i know of.”

you hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

for a moment, the conversation lulled, and then you found yourself blurting, “why did you choose astrophysics?”

jake glanced up, slightly surprised by the question. but after a beat, his lips curled up faintly. “you really want to know?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t.”

he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on that familiar, passionate undertone he always had when he spoke about his field. “i guess it started when i was a kid. i always liked figuring things out, but space… space is different. it’s infinite, unpredictable. the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know.”

you watched him, absorbed by the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

“it’s terrifying,” he admitted, a small grin playing on his lips. “but it’s also incredible. there are entire galaxies out there, black holes that warp time, planets that could be habitable. the laws of physics as we know them could be completely different somewhere else.”

you smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “you sound like you’re in love with it.”

jake blinked at you, momentarily thrown off.

then, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i am.”

and for some reason, something about that made your chest feel oddly tight.

the food arrived then, breaking the moment. but as you both ate, the conversation continued – easier now, lighter. and you didn’t miss the way jake kept looking at you, like he was memorizing this, like he was finally realizing that outside of the office, outside of schedules and meetings and deadlines, there was you.

and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore.

jake walks beside you as you both make your way back to the office, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. the lunch had been... nice. unexpected, but nice. and now, as the two of you walk in comfortable silence, he seems more at ease than you’ve seen him in a long time.

then, without warning, he speaks.

"did you know that if you fell into a black hole, time would slow down for you compared to someone watching from the outside?" his voice is contemplative, as if he’s only now realizing he said it out loud.

you blink, caught off guard. "um. no?"

jake nods, as if he expected that. "yeah. it’s called time dilation. the closer you get to the event horizon – the point of no return – the slower time moves for you, relative to everyone else. so technically, if you could somehow escape, you’d find that far more time had passed for the rest of the universe than for you."

you process his words, lips twitching. "so what you're saying is... if i ever want to time travel, i should just jump into a black hole?"

jake huffs out a laugh. "not unless you want to be spaghettified."

you stop mid-step. "spaghettified?"

he turns his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "yeah. because of the intense gravitational pull, your body would stretch into thin strands, like spaghetti. it’s called ‘spaghettification.’"

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "you’re messing with me."

"i swear i’m not." he grins, and for a moment, you see a different version of him – one without the weight of responsibilities or expectations pressing down on him. "the gravitational pull at your feet would be much stronger than at your head, so you’d get stretched out like a noodle before—" he snaps his fingers. "—being ripped apart."

you stare at him, utterly baffled. "what a horrifying way to go."

"oh, absolutely," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "but theoretically, if the black hole was big enough, you might not even notice you’d crossed the event horizon. you’d just... fall. forever."

you don’t know what’s funnier – the fact that he’s so nonchalant about it, or the fact that he’s clearly enjoying this little tangent.

"so, the moral of the story," you say, crossing your arms, "avoid black holes."

jake chuckles, the sound low and genuine. "exactly."

for a moment, the two of you just walk, and you realize something – you actually like listening to him talk about this. there’s something comforting about the way he explains things, the way he gets lost in his own thoughts, his usual guardedness slipping away as he speaks about something he genuinely loves.

you glance at him, curious. you suddenly wonder about the jake sim you don’t know about. the one who apparently plays soccer and reads for leisure at home. what does he read? books on astrophysics? does he read fiction? does he have a favourite soccer team? does he still watch matches?

the more you imagine, the more you want to know.

who is jake sim outside of the brilliant astrophysicist you’re an assistant to?

but you don’t have to wonder too long. you’re already at the office doors and jake pushes them open first, holding them so you can step inside before him.

and that’s when jay sees you.

he’s standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, cup of coffee in hand, and the moment he spots the two of you stepping in together, his brows shoot up to his hairline. his eyes flicker between you and jake, and then – because he’s jay – his lips curl into a knowing smirk.

"well, well," he drawls, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "look who decided to have a little lunch date."

you freeze. "it wasn’t a—"

jake, to your surprise, doesn’t even flinch. he merely tugs off his coat, shrugging. "we were hungry."

jay’s smirk deepens. "uh-huh. sure."

you roll your eyes and push past him, but not before catching the way jay mouths "okay, i see y’all" at you behind jake’s back.

you ignore him.

you ignore the warmth in your chest too. however, if you know jay, you’d know that he’s anything but dismissive. that’s how you find yourself cornered in the printer room not even twenty minutes later.

jake had barely settled back into his office when you made your way to the printer room, hoping to grab some reports before his next meeting. it was supposed to be a quick trip – get in, get out, avoid any unnecessary interactions. but, of course, jay had other plans.

you didn’t even hear him coming.

“so.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin. “jesus—”

jay leaned against the printer, arms crossed, watching you with an all-too-knowing look.

you should’ve known. the moment you and jake had stepped into the office together, jay had been watching. his eyes had flickered between the two of you, brows raised ever so slightly, but he hadn’t said anything much at the time. which, in retrospect, had been a warning in itself.

and now, here he was, looking way too entertained for your liking.

“what do you want?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed the stack of papers.

jay grinned. “oh, i don’t know. just wondering how your little lunch date went.”

you almost dropped the reports. “it wasn’t a date.”

“sure,” he nodded sagely. “just two colleagues, having lunch together, alone, outside the office, for the first time ever.”

you exhaled sharply, fixing him with a look. “he asked. i said yes. that’s it.”

jay hummed, unconvinced. “and what did you two talk about?”

“nothing special.”

“uh-huh. so, just to be clear,” jay continued, tilting his head, “jake sim—our very own resident workaholic, who has never once asked you out to lunch—randomly decides to do so today, and you think that means nothing?”

you shifted, feeling cornered. “jay—”

“because, and hear me out,” he interrupted, grinning wider, “it kinda seems like he’s making an effort.”

you blinked, lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

jay watched as realization flickered across your face, the way your fingers tightened around the papers in your grasp. and then he smirked, patting your shoulder before sauntering off, leaving you standing there, replaying the conversation in your head.

making an effort.

no. no way.

…right?

fourteen.

it started, as most things did between you and jake, with work.

you had long since grown used to your role as his assistant, leaving meticulous reminders on his desk so that he wouldn’t conveniently forget to review reports or attend meetings. it was a well-oiled system by now. you left him a note, he (sometimes) actually followed through, and the world kept spinning.

but now there was a comfortable dynamic starting to form between you two.

now jake would stop by your desk for a whole minute, greeting you warmly and in fact, he had started receiving his coffee from you at your desk itself.

there was always a polite but warm ‘good morning’ and ‘thanks for the coffee’ greeting you. and you liked it. you liked that jake would mirror your smile. the first time he had smiled at you – like, openly grinned, with his eyes crinkling – you had been blindsighted. you were probably too shocked to even return the gesture, sitting still for a whole minute, imprinting and memorizing the sight you had just been graced with in your memory.

turns out, you didn’t have to memorise it, because you were suddenly a regular recipient of it. every damn morning. well, it certainly was one reason to start looking forward to your mondays.

this was still jake, he was still the same old sleeves rolled up deep in calculations person inside his office. but when he passed by you? or when you entered his office? a permanent grin etched on his face. those eyes that had been focused on some report? positively sparkling behind his thick rimmed glasses.

he was suddenly starting to resemble a puppy in you reyes and the more you sneaked glances at him, the more you were concerned of this comparison.

so when you left a neatly written sticky note on his desk one evening—"reminder: review kang’s quarterly report before 10 am meeting tomorrow."— you thought nothing of it.

the next morning, you arrived to find the note on your desk. only, something had been added beneath your writing, in jake’s neat, slanted script:

"did you know that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate? just like kang’s expectations."

you blinked. then blinked again. what the hell?

you turned your head toward his office, where the glass door remained shut, jake nowhere in sight. he had to have done this late last night. and he hadn’t even addressed your reminder – just hit you with a completely random space fact.

you thought it was a one time thing. maybe he saw the post notes on your desk and decided to leave one for the fun of it?

the next evening, after finishing up your reports, you left another note on his desk: "don’t forget to go through the intern evaluations before friday."

when you returned the next morning, there was another addition:

"forwarded you the evals.” below it, in his slightly scratchy handwriting was an addition: “incidentally, did you know that time moves slower in stronger gravitational fields? maybe that’s why this week feels endless."

you covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. this man.

and just like that, it became a thing.

it started slow, with simple reminders laced with cosmic facts, but then it evolved. jake’s responses became more elaborate, slipping in more than just dry science.

one day, you left: "you need to approve the lab’s funding proposal by end of day. no exceptions!"

by the next morning, jake’s response was waiting for you: "did you know that some stars shine brighter when they have a companion? also, the proposal is on your desk, don’t nag."

your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason that day.

but jake never acknowledged it out loud. when you interacted in person, he was the same – calm, composed, occasionally brooding but never ignoring your reminders anymore. yet, on paper, in these little sticky notes, something else simmered beneath his usual cool demeanor.

it was a language only the two of you seemed to understand.

the next time you found a note, you stared at it a little longer than usual before pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

"scientists believe there’s a ninth planet in our solar system, but we haven’t been able to find it yet. kind of like how i never see you taking breaks. go home on time for once."

like he’s one to speak, pulling long hours on days you leave on time anyway. regardless, you read it three times, warmth unfurling in your chest before tucking the note away in your drawer – right next to all the others you had kept. because you were keeping them now.

even if he didn’t catch you in the act of placing them carefully in one of your drawers, you had a feeling jake knew.

sometimes he was straight up funny, or so you thought. it was a side that you could usually only see through these notes because jake sim in person? he never said stuff like this.

once you reminded him of  a deadline: “the research proposal deadline is on friday. let me know if you need anything."

he replied: "there’s a giant storm on jupiter that has been raging for over 300 years. that’s still shorter than some of the meetings we sit through."

you had laughed. you had tried to be discreet about it but you couldn’t help the chuckle that had tumbled out and jake had caught you in that moment.

it was unfair, really. how easily he managed to make you smile. how effortlessly he turned something as mundane as sticky notes into something… else.

your cheeks had warmed up and very sheepishly, you looked away. but you missed the way jake had smiled to himself, pushing his glasses up and scratching his ears. cute, he had thought.

and proceeded to malfunction the rest of the day.

and of course jay noticed. of course he had something to say.

he started with jake first, because believe it or not, his friend was an absolute loser.

jay had been watching jake all morning. well, technically, he’d been watching jake for weeks now, but today was different.

jake was fidgeting.

now, jake sim did not fidget. he was the type of guy who could stare at a complex data set for hours without breaking concentration, but today? today, his pen was twirling between his fingers with a sort of nervous energy, his glasses had been pushed up his nose at least five times in the last two minutes, and most damning of all, he kept sneaking glances at your desk.

jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the way jake’s ears tinged pink every time you so much as moved.

“oh, this is so good,” he muttered to himself.

jake ignored him, as he usually did. but jay knew the truth.

he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the sticky note exchanges. it had started small, easy to brush off as just another one of jake’s quirks, but then jay had seen you laughing at a note one morning, your eyes lingering a little too long on the writing before tucking it away. tucking it away. as in, keeping it.

jay, of course, had confronted jake immediately.

“you like her,” he’d accused one evening as they left the office.

jake had barely given him a glance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, dude. you’re writing her space facts like it’s some secret code for flirting.”

jake had hesitated then, the barest of pauses in his step before he scoffed. “it’s not flirting. it’s just… facts.”

jay had groaned. “you absolute loser.”

the worst part is, jay actually reads one of those notes. 

you don’t even notice. he was leaning against your desk, waiting for you to find him one of those empty files you usually kept handy when he saw it. the yellow paper peeking out from under your keyboard.

you hear him scoff.

you turn just in time to see him pluck the sticky note off your desk, holding it between two fingers like it’s the most scandalous piece of evidence he’s ever seen.

“really?” he deadpans, reading the words aloud. “fact: the andromeda galaxy is on a collision course with the milky way. kind of like how you’re on a collision course with burnout if you keep staying past office hours. go home, y/n. – jake’”

he blinks. then looks at you. long. hard. smug.

you snatch the note back. “mind your business.”

“oh, no, no,” jay grins, crossing his arms. “this is my business. because you–” he points at you, then at your drawer, which probably has a whole stash of jake’s little science notes, “are clearly stockpiling these. and he” —cue the dramatic hand gesture in the direction of jake’s office— “is clearly trying to rizz you up with astrophysics.”

your soul leaves your body. “he is not!”

jay just laughs. “oh, honey. he is. and the fact that you’re keeping them? you’re down bad.”

you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “please shut up.”

“but like—are you guys flirting through the cosmos?” he’s grinning so hard, it’s physically painful to witness. “is this—interstellar rizz?”

“jay…”

“a universal love story?”

“jay.”

“gravitational attraction?”

“oh my god!”

fifteen.

it's been a whole entire month now. an entire month from the day you had been venting to jay about how you were just a paperclip to jake. a whole month since you quietly but seamlessly made your presence known in jake’s daily routine.

funny, how things change.

jake’s never been good with change though. 

it unsettles him – the way you’ve become this constant, the way he’s started to notice you in ways he never used to. at first, it was just small things. the way you always showed up in the lab before him, already setting up for the day. how you somehow remembered his preferred coffee order better than he did. the way your presence always lingered in the room, even when you weren’t speaking.

but then, those small things started becoming something more.

like how he started looking for you before even realizing he was doing it. how your voice, your laughter – hell, even the way you sighed when you were frustrated – started threading itself into the fabric of his days.

and the worst part? he let it happen.

jake liked routines, formulas, things that followed a set pattern. he liked knowing what to expect. but you? you were anything but predictable. and yet, somehow, you were still there, right in the middle of everything, shifting the entire equation of his life without permission.

how your presence had become something…expected.

jake didn’t like expecting things. expectations led to disappointments. people left, and routines shattered. he had learned that early on, and he had learned it well.

jake hadn’t meant to think of you. really.

he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the notes sprawled out before him, running calculations and double-checking measurements for the upcoming visit to the observatory. it was standard procedure – his advisor had asked him to review the telescope’s latest readings, compare them with the simulations, and ensure everything was in order before they proceeded with the next phase of their research. it was work he could do on autopilot, something he’d done dozens of times before.

and yet, he found himself pausing.

because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go alone.

it wasn’t unusual for jake to make solo visits to the observatory – he actually preferred it that way. it was quiet, isolated, just him and the endless expanse of the universe stretched out before him. no distractions, no expectations. just the comfort of knowing that the stars above would always remain as they were – constant, unmoving, predictable.

but ever since you had slipped into his life, disrupting the structure he had so carefully built, everything felt different.

the observatory had always been his space. a place where he could think, where the world made sense. it was the last place he should be considering bringing someone else. and yet, the idea had wormed its way into his head and refused to leave.

he frowned, tapping his pen against the desk.

why did he want you there?

it wasn’t logical. you weren’t a physicist. you had nothing to gain from being in the observatory, nothing to contribute to the calculations or the data collection. the rational part of his mind told him there was no reason to invite you.

still, he found himself gripping his pen a little tighter, watching you from the corner of his eye as he wondered what you would say if he asked. but technically, he could use an extra pair of hands. he needed to cross check some numbers anyway, maybe you would be willing to help?

or is he rationalises his thoughts and actions as he finally makes his way over to you. it seemed, lately he had been doing a lot of that – seeking you out at your desk. 

“are you busy this evening?”

you looked up from your notes, brow arching slightly. “depends. are you about to ask me to do something tedious?”

jake scoffed lightly. “define tedious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “dr.  sim, you’re asking me to stay back after work. that email disaster was a one-time thing, but if you’re going to make me stay late to organize more files or proofread another hundred pages of data sheets, i will be charging overtime.”

jake huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “it’s not that.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

he shifted his weight slightly, gripping the edge of your desk like he needed something solid to keep himself grounded. “i need to check something at the observatory tonight. cross-check some numbers, recalibrate a few things.” a pause. “figured an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

you blinked. “and i’m the extra pair of hands?”

jake nodded. “yeah.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher his expression. you weren’t exactly well-versed in astrophysics, and you were pretty sure there wasn’t much you could actually do to help. but jake wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you were at least somewhat useful, he wasn’t the type to waste time.

still, something about this felt… off. not in a bad way, just unusual. jake rarely asked for company, let alone your company outside of work hours.

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “i’m not sure how an assistant is supposed to be helpful at an observatory.”

jake shrugged, nonchalant. “moral support.”

you gave him a flat look. “moral support?”

“yeah. you know. in case i get emotionally overwhelmed by all the equations.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “right. that definitely sounds like something you’d struggle with.”

there was a glint in his eyes, like he was amused by your skepticism, but he didn’t argue. just watched you, waiting for your answer.

you exhaled through your nose, considering. the observatory wasn’t exactly your idea of an exciting evening, but… you couldn’t deny you were curious.

and maybe – just maybe – a small part of you liked the fact that he had asked.

“…fine,” you relented. “but if i get bored, i’m leaving.”

jake smirked. “noted.”

which brings you to now.

the observatory was quieter than you expected. it stood at the edge of campus, slightly isolated, its large dome stretching into the night sky, a dark canvas dotted with stars, and though you've never really considered yourself someone particularly enthralled by space, you can't deny the way the sight steals your breath.

in the center of the room, a massive telescope stands like something out of a sci-fi movie, its lenses gleaming under the soft glow of the control panel. but what steals your breath is the view beyond the glass ceiling – an entire universe stretched out above you, vast and infinite.

you exhale, stunned. “wow.”

jake watches you, something unreadable in his expression. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought you’d like it.”

there’s something about the way he says it – soft, almost hesitant – that makes your pulse skip.

jake was already setting up, his movements methodical. you hovered near the entrance, taking in the scene before finally making your way to him.

“so, what now?” you asked, clearing your throat.

he glanced at you, then gestured to a set of notes on the table. “just cross-check these while i calibrate the telescope.”

you nodded, flipping through the pages. silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. just the soft rustling of paper, the occasional click of buttons, and the steady sound of jake adjusting the equipment.

after a while, you looked up, watching him in his element. his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, completely immersed in his work.

“so.” you clear your throat, still taking in the sky. “this is where you go when you disappear for hours?”

“sometimes,” he admits. “it’s quiet here. no emails. no meetings. just… this.”

he moves to the telescope, adjusting the dials with practiced ease before glancing at you. “want to see?”

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer.

jake’s hands brush against yours as he guides you to the eyepiece, and you pretend not to notice the way your skin hums from the contact.

you peer in, and suddenly, it’s just you and the stars.

it’s breathtaking. planets and constellations in sharp clarity, galaxies swirling in a cosmic dance.

“this is insane,” you whisper.

jake chuckles. “insane in a good way?”

“in the best way.” your voice reduces to a whisper on its own accord. through the eyepiece, you feel like you’re experiencing something intimate, only for your eyes. “i think i’m starting to understand why you like doing this work.”

you don’t know what motivates you to actually say it out aloud, but the comfortable silence that had settled between you may have been a catalyst.

jake laughs a tiny little laugh, almost quietly as if he wanted to preserve the sanctity of this moment. nothing but the hum of the machines surround you now and he can hear the way your clothes rustle when you adjust yourself to the telescope.

“it makes sense,” he said simply.

you tilted your head. “more than people do?”

his hands stilled.

for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then, he let out a quiet breath, gaze still fixed on the telescope.

“people aren’t predictable,” he said finally. “science is.”

you set the notes down, stepping closer. “predictability isn’t everything sometimes.”

he turned to look at you then, something unreadable in his expression. the air between you felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could name. the way his gaze lingered made your stomach twist, and for a second, you thought he might say something – something important.

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice quieter. “you ever think about it?”

“think about what?”

“how small we are,” he muses. “how, in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re just specks of dust on a floating rock.”

you pull away from the telescope to look at him, but his gaze is fixed upward.

“you’re telling me,” you start, amused, “that we came all the way here so you could have an existential crisis?”

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “no. i just—” he hesitates, choosing his words. “i guess i wanted to show you why i love this.”

you don’t know why, but that confession makes something tighten in your chest.

you watch him for a moment – how the glow of the dim lights casts a soft halo around his face, how his brows furrow ever so slightly in thought. the glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the stars above you. how his eyes shine behind those glasses, holding things you didn’t dare to ask him about. the soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his neck craned up in familiar appreciation.

for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in his world.

“this is where it started for me,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

you turned to him, curious. “what did?”

his lips curved, not quite a smile, but something softer. “my obsession with space. the stars. everything.”

you waited, sensing that he wasn’t finished. and after a beat, he exhaled, tilting his head back as if he could reach into the past and pluck the memory right from the sky.

“i was ten the first time i saw saturn through a telescope,” he murmured. “my mom took me to an observatory for my birthday. she—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “she wasn’t exactly the type to understand science, but she knew i loved it. so she made the trip just for me.”

you watched him, noting the way his fingers twitched slightly before curling into his palm.

“she let me stay up late,” he went on, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “and i remember looking through that telescope and seeing saturn’s rings for the first time. it didn’t feel real. it was just this perfect thing, floating out there in the dark. and i thought, ‘if something this beautiful exists so far away, what else is out there?’”

you felt your heart twist at the wonder in his tone, the lingering traces of a child who had once stared at the universe with wide-eyed fascination.

“she sounds like she really cared,” you said gently.

jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “yeah,” he admitted. “she did.”

a comfortable silence stretched between you, the weight of nostalgia settling in. when he spoke again, his voice was a touch lighter. “anyway, that’s how it all started. one night, one telescope, and a planet millions of miles away.”

you smiled. “and now you’re here. making it your whole life.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah, guess so.”

the two of you stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between you – not awkward, not uncertain, just there. comfortable. quiet. something unspoken settling in the air between you like stardust.

and when jake finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with another question. it was with a quiet, thoughtful, almost teasing murmur—

“you know, saturn’s rings are actually disappearing.”

you turned to him, eyebrows raised, almost alarmed. “what?”

he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “slowly, of course. give it a hundred million years.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile that pulled at your lips. typical.

jake had been careful in his explanations at first, as if gauging whether you were truly interested or simply indulging him. but the moment he realized you actually wanted to listen, something in him loosened. the words started flowing, effortless, unfiltered. he spoke of nebulae and galaxies colliding, of stars that lived and died before the earth had even existed. he pointed out constellations, filling the silence with a quiet reverence that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something infinite.

you wonder if anyone else has ever seen this side of him.

not the researcher, not the reserved and often too-intense scholar, but the man who could speak about the cosmos with a fascination so deep it bled into his voice. the man who, for all his cool detachment, still carried the kind of awe that made you believe in something bigger than yourself.

and that’s when it happens. that’s when you feel it.

that slow, creeping realization that something has shifted. that this isn’t just about your inherent respect for this man. no, it was more than that. sure, you had started this month with a reluctant motivation to make this person acknowledge your existence.

but now that he is? it does something to you.

a quiet, unsettling shift that settles deep in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs where your heart beats just a little too fast. the realization slinks in slow, insidious – like the tide rolling in, creeping past where you thought the shore ended, until suddenly, you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

jake is still speaking, voice steady and sure, filling the silence with his quiet reverence. you barely hear the words anymore. something about the life cycle of stars, about the sheer immensity of time itself – how the light from some of these constellations has taken millions of years to reach earth, how when you look up, you are peering into the past.

it should be overwhelming. it should make you feel small.

but instead, all you can think about is the man beside you. talking so animatedly, his lips splitting into a grin, his teeth biting into the flesh every once in a while when he pointed out another constellation to you.

the paperwork you were here for in the first place remained forgotten. insignificant, almost as if you hadn’t really been required for it in the first place.

because you realize, then, that this isn’t just admiration anymore. this isn’t just you being awed by his mind, by the way he sees the universe with such unguarded wonder. it’s not just about the way he listens when you speak, or how he’s begun to answer your notes with scribbled facts, or how he’s been looking at you lately, with something unreadable in his gaze.

it’s him.

jake, with his impossible knowledge and even more impossible depth, the way his fascination bleeds into his voice when he speaks of things so much bigger than himself. the way his eyes are fixed on the sky, dark and gleaming, reflecting galaxies you’ll never touch but somehow feel closer to just by standing here next to him.

and it terrifies you.

because this isn’t what you planned. you were supposed to break down the walls between you, supposed to demand acknowledgment, supposed to pull him out of that self-imposed solitude and make him see you.

but now that he does?

now that he’s speaking to you like this, sharing this piece of himself so freely, without reservation?

now that you’re standing here, heart stuttering in your chest, wondering if maybe – just maybe – you don’t want him to see you just as his assistant anymore?

the thought makes your breath hitch.

“—are you listening?”

jake’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and you blink, snapping back to the present. he’s turned toward you now, brows raised in mild amusement, but there’s something else in his eyes, too – something patient, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to whatever just shifted between you.

you clear your throat hastily. “yeah. of course.”

his gaze lingers for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you. but then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks back toward the sky.

“good,” he murmurs. “i’d hate to bore you.”

as if he could.

you don’t say it out loud. instead, you let your gaze drift up to the stars, to the vastness of everything above you.

and you let the realization settle, no matter how terrifying it is. because something’s happening. something has happened in the span of a month already. you have an inkling as to what it is, but you’re not going to admit to it. not yet.

the tiny voice in the back of your mind is here to support you on that cause it seems, chanting in tiny font: just an assistant, just an assistant, just an assistant.

but when jake shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore

sixteen.

the office is eerily quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic scratch of a marker against the whiteboard. the usual hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations has long since died down, leaving behind an almost sacred kind of stillness.

you glance at the clock in jake’s office – 7:34 pm. way past your office hours, but jake’s still in his office.

jake should have gone home hours ago. so should you. and yet, here you are, perched on the edge of his desk, watching as he works through whatever calculations are currently consuming his mind.

you’ve seen this scene play out before, too many times now.

it used to be just an observation. a fleeting thought that it couldn’t be healthy to spend so many hours so completely submerged in work. but lately, that thought has settled into something heavier, something almost akin to concern.

he’s been stuck for the last twenty minutes. you can tell because he’s frowning at the whiteboard like it personally offended him, one hand on his hip, the other tapping the marker absently against his thigh. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, equations unraveling and reforming, one possibility after another spinning behind his sharp gaze.

you don’t know when you started caring like this. you really don’t.

but you do.

so, as you hover near his desk, watching him scribble something with an almost frantic energy, you decide – he needs a break. and you, apparently, have taken it upon yourself to make sure he gets one.

“dr. sim,” you say, but it barely registers. his pen doesn’t even pause. nothing.

with a sigh, you reach forward and pluck the pen right out of his hand.

that gets his attention.

he blinks, finally looking up at you, and you don’t miss the way his brows furrow, like he’s only just realizing you’ve been standing there this whole time. you would have laughed at the way he looks at you like a kicked puppy. like you just snatched his lollipop right from his hands. although, given the situation, that’s an accurate comparison.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice slightly rough from lack of use.

“saving you from yourself.” you twirl the pen between your fingers, giving him your best unimpressed look. “when’s the last time you took a break?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t have time for a break.”

you shake your head. “that’s not an answer.”

jake lets out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. “i just need to finish this.”

“that’s what you said two hours ago.” you glance at the clock pointedly.

his lips press together, but you see the way exhaustion flickers across his features. he’s wearing himself down, the way he always does, and for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with you anymore.

“you look like you’re about to fight that thing,” you tease, breaking the silence.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “might as well. it’s being stubborn.”

you tilt your head, pretending to examine the mess of symbols and numbers scrawled across the board. you don’t understand a fraction of it, but that’s never stopped you from trying. “have you tried… asking nicely?”

jake gives you a flat look, and you grin, making your way over to the whiteboard in question.

“or,” you continue, voice laced with mischief, “you could let me help. i’m very good at doodling. that squiggly line right there?” you gesture vaguely toward the board. “desperately needs a smiley face.”

for a second, he just stares at you, expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches. “that’s not a squiggly line. it’s a sigma notation.”

“yeah, well, i think it would be a lot friendlier if it had some personality.” before he can protest, you lean forward, swiping the marker from his hand. with a few quick strokes, you turn the apparently very serious mathematical symbol into a little doodle of a face, complete with tiny arms raised in triumph.

jake huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “that’s sacrilegious.”

“it’s art,” you correct, grinning as you cap the marker and toss it back to him. “you’re welcome.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a softness there, something warm and reluctant in the way he looks at you. like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his space, disrupting his routine with something as simple as a smiley face on a whiteboard.

like he hasn’t just surprised himself by not losing his mind over the fact that you just doodled on his very important notes. like he doesn’t even mind.

for a long moment, he just stands there, marker still loosely gripped in his fingers. then, with a quiet sigh, he lifts it and – to your utter delight – draws something beside your doodle.

he started with a small star in the corner – sharp, clean lines. then, next to it, he hesitated before adding another one. then another.

you tilted your head, watching him with something warm in your gaze. “what are you drawing?”

he glanced at you, then back at the board. “…orion’s belt.”

a slow smile stretched across your lips. “of course.”

jake didn’t know why the warmth in your voice made his pulse stutter, but it did. and when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly, he felt it even more acutely – the soft graze of fabric against fabric, the fleeting press of warmth before it vanished again

he doesn’t know when he started paying attention to things like this. the way your laughter fills up a room, how effortlessly it winds its way into the air, sinking into the corners of his office like it belongs there. the way you nudge him – not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in ways no one else ever has.

he doesn’t know when it started, but he knows now that he’s in too deep to ignore it.

because right now, he’s standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, with you beside him, doodling what can only be described as a catastrophically inaccurate solar system.

and somehow, impossibly, he’s smiling.

actually smiling.

he catches himself in the reflection of the glass across the room, and it startles him a little. he looks different. softer, somehow. the lines of his face, not weighed down by calculations or theories, but by something lighter. something he doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

jake doesn't know how long he stands there, marker in hand, staring at the mess of doodles you've scattered across his once-pristine whiteboard. he should be appalled, maybe even annoyed, but he's neither. if anything, he feels... lighter.

your laughter still lingers in the air, curling around the edges of the quiet like something tangible, something warm. and when you shift beside him, stretching lazily with a satisfied hum, he catches a faint trace of your perfume, something soft and familiar, something he has no right to associate with comfort but does anyway.

"i think we did some great work here," you say, stepping back to admire your collective masterpiece. "a true collaboration between genius and artist."

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "you mean vandalism."

"semantics," you counter easily, nudging his elbow playfully. your touch is fleeting, barely there, but jake still feels it long after you've moved away. he grips the marker tighter than necessary.

you glance at him then, a knowing glint in your eyes. "alright, dr. sim. time for your verdict. did my artistic intervention help at all?"

he exhales slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the board again. and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s you, but he realizes that, somehow, the problem no longer seems as daunting as it did twenty minutes ago. the frantic mess of calculations, the numbers that had refused to align, don’t feel as suffocating now.

it’s absurd. it’s ridiculous. but somehow, your ridiculous doodles make the whole thing feel less intimidating.

jake turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. you’re still looking at the board, a pleased little smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way his mind is currently betraying him.

when did this start? when did you start creeping into his thoughts, into his space, into his carefully structured life with your easy laughter and casual touches? when did your presence start feeling like a constant, like something that belonged?

the realization unsettles him.

he clears his throat, looking away. "it’s… better."

your smile widens, and for some reason, jake has to fight the urge to look away again. "see? i told you i’m helpful."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. if anything, it’s just an excuse to look at something other than your stupidly pleased expression, which, annoyingly enough, does things to him he’d rather not analyze right now.

"well," you say, clapping your hands together, "my work here is done. i’ve successfully distracted you from overworking yourself into an early grave. i should get a raise."

jake snorts, shaking his head. "you’re already overpaid."

"lies and slander," you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "i should report you to hr for emotional damage."

he’s about to retort when you suddenly step forward, reaching for the marker in his hand. jake’s breath hitches – completely involuntarily, because that’s the only explanation – as your fingers brush against his.

it’s brief. a fraction of a second, really. but it’s enough.

jake freezes.

the touch is light, barely there, but his mind registers it in excruciating detail – the faint press of your skin against his, the subtle warmth of your fingertips. it’s nothing. it’s everything. it’s enough to send his brain into a sudden, inexplicable shutdown.

you don’t seem to notice. or if you do, you pretend not to. you just pluck the marker from his hand and uncap it, adding one final detail to your masterpiece.

jake watches, still unnervingly aware of the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. his fingers curl slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that’s no longer there.

you step back with a satisfied nod, capping the marker with a flourish. "there. perfect."

he barely registers what you’ve added – a tiny shooting star trailing behind orion’s belt – because he’s too busy trying to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way his heart is currently behaving like it’s lost all sense of reason.

silence stretches between you for a beat too long. jake wonders if you can hear it – the way his pulse feels too loud, the way his carefully structured composure feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

then, mercifully, you step away, stretching again as you let out a small yawn. "alright, for real this time. i should go before i become permanently attached to this office."

jake nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

you glance at him one last time before heading for the door but for a moment, you just stand there, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. then you turn, looking at him with something softer in your gaze. something thoughtful.

"you should go home soon too, dr. sim."

it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that. no teasing, no playful lilt. just quiet. just sincere. jake’s heart clenches, aching to hear you call him but his first name. but he doesn’t say anything. not yet.

and for reasons he can’t quite explain, it sends something dangerously warm curling in his chest.

jake swallows. he nods.

you smile – soft, small, something just for him – and then you’re gone, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you somehow louder than it should be.

jake exhales slowly, staring at the empty space you left behind.

then, finally, he looks back at the whiteboard.

the equations are still there, unsolved. the numbers are still a mess, waiting for him to untangle them. but in the midst of all that, there’s something else now. doodles and stars and smiley faces. a small, stupidly drawn solar system that doesn’t belong in a room like this, in a world like his.

and yet.

jake lifts a hand, absentmindedly tracing a fingertip over the edge of one of your stars.

and yet, somehow, impossibly…it fits.

jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, not everything in his world has to be so rigid, so calculated. maybe some things – some people – aren’t meant to be neatly solved, but simply felt. and as his fingers linger over the soft curve of your drawn star, he realizes, with quiet certainty, that you’re the first anomaly he doesn’t want to solve.

[onefleshonepod]

Nona leant into her and said, “Thanks. I love you too, Camilla,” and: “Do you know who I am yet?”

Beyond the fact that this scene instantly came to mind — a parallel to the Rider-Waite tarot card with a figure merrily walking off a cliff, white dog trotting at their heels — when I thought of this card, Nona as a character works perfectly for The Fool.

On both literal and metaphorical levels, she is experiencing life for the first time. Her existence represents a new beginning for the series, with a new unanticipated book exploring new people and new stories.

Her innocence, however, sees her delve several times into the reversed meaning of the card: taking on tasks she can't fully comprehend, throwing eldritch tantrums, and making naïve mistakes and misunderstandings which drive the plot.

The jig was finally up. [...] “Nona,” said Palamedes [...] “that was very important information—information that changes everything—[…] and the type of information Camilla and I personally trusted you to prioritise.” This was too much to bear. “I’ve had things to think about,” Nona wailed. “I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

ID: A digital collage of "The Fool” tarot card as Nona from the Locked Tomb series. The design parallels the Rider-Waite Fool card. Nona, dressed in a yellow raincoat and respirator, is stepping off the edge of a cliff with Noodle at her heels. A destroyed city is in the background in tones of orange and purple, and Varun the Eater is a bright blue orb in the top right corner of the smoggy yellow sky. Nona’s outfit is from illustrations by Holly Hobbie, Lou Rogers, Howard Smith, and Henry Hintermeister. The cliff is from Brunhilde by Arthur Rackham. The city images are photos of 1940s Warsaw. Noodle is from a painting by Cecil Aldin, with some added legs. The left side of the card shows the upright meaning of The Fool and reads, “Beginnings | Innocence | Leap of Faith | Spontaneity | Idealism" in all caps. The right side of the card shows the reversed reading and reads "Chaos | Foolishness | Naïveté | Poor Judgment | Gullibility" in all caps. The base of the card reads "The Fool | Nona" in a groovy font.

[writers-potion]

Storyediting Questions to Ask

As You Read the First Draft:

Are there place that surprised you as you read your first draft? - Why do you suppose that is? - Is there material there you'd like to expand?

What are the character really doing in this story? - Might they have issues you haven't explored fully yet?

Look to the places that drag. - These might be scenes where you have avoided dealing with something deeper. - What are the characters really thinking in these places? - What are their passions, frustrations, and desires?

Imagine alternative plotlines. - How might your plot be different if ti headed off on another tangent from various points in the story? - You don't have to follow them, but they might suggest other streams that can flow into the main plot.

Think About Structure:

Does you story play out naturally in three acts?

Is there an immediate disturbance to the Lead's world?

Does the first doorway of no return occur before the one-fifth mark?

Are the stakes being raised sufficiently?

Does the second doorway of no return put the Lead on the path to the climax?

Does the rhythm of the sotyr match your intent? If this is an action novel, does the plot move relentlessly forward? If this is a character-driven novel, do the scenes delve deeply enough?

Are there strongly motivated characters?

Have coincidence been established?

Is something happeing immediately at the beginning? Did you establish a person in a setting with a problem, onfronted with change or threat?

Is the timeline logical?

Is the story too predictable in terms of sequence? Should it be rearranged?

About Your Lead Character:

Is the character memorable? Compelling? Enough to carry a reader all the way through the plot?

A lead character has to jump off the page. Does yours?

Does this character avoid cliches? Is he capable of surprising us?

What's unique about the character?

Is the character's objective strong enough?

How does the character grow over the course of the story?

How does the character demonstrate inner strength?

About Your Opposition:

Is your oppositing character interesting?

Is he fully realized, not just a cardboard cutout?

Is he justified (at least in his own mind) in his actions?

Is he believable?

Is he strong as or stronger than the Lead?

About Your Story's Adhesive Nature:

Is the conflcit between the Lead and opposition crucial for both?

Why can't they just walk away? What holds them together?

About Your Scene:

Are the big scenes big enough? Surprising enough? Can you make them more original, unanticipated, and draw them out for all they are worth?

Is there enough conflict in the scenes?

What is the least memorable scene? Cut it!

What else can be cut in order to move the story relentlessly forward?

Does the climactic scene come too fast (through a writer fatigue)? Can you make it more, write it for all it's worth?

Does we need a new minor subplot to build up a saggin midsection?

About Your Minor Characters:

What is their purpose in the plot?

Are they unique and colorful?

Polishing Questions:

Are you hooking the reader from the beginning?

Are suspenseful scenes drawn out for the ultimate tension?

Can any information be delayed? This creates tension in the reader, always a good thing.

Are there enough surprises?

Are character-reaction scenes deep and interesting?

Read chapter ending for read-on prompts

Are there places you can replace describing how a character feels with actions?

Do I use visual, sensory-laden words?

For a Dialogue Read-Through:

Dialogue is almost always strengthened by cutting words within the lines.

In dialogue, be fair to both sides. Don't give one character all the good lines.

Greate dialogue surprises the reader and creates tension. View it like a game, where the players are trying to outfox each other.

Can you get more conflict into dialogue, even emong allies?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[astrofaeology]

Uranus in the Houses

paid readings | Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following met. Uranus is the planet which rules over innovation and social reform, it can represent where in life you break the rules and reform.

1st house Individualism and unconventionally are common characteristics of those born with Uranus in the first house. They may have a particular or eccentric style of presenting oneself to the outer world, and they are prone to rapid shifts in identity or appearance. Their independent spirit is motivated by a desire for autonomy and a refusal to submit to the expectations of others.

2nd house Uranus in the second house might bring about abrupt shifts and unconventional ways in financial affairs and personal ideals for natives. They may have fluctuating income, unexpected profits or losses, and a need to devise novel ways to generate resources. Their independence and ability to stray from tradditional financial institutions are critical to their perception of worth.

3rd house Natives with Uranus in the third house tend to think and speak in unconventional and different ways. In addition to having unexpected insights or changes in their local environment, their thoughts may be revolutionary or disruptive. Their learning style is often atypical, and they may have unusual interactions with their siblings or neighbours.

4th house Uranus in the fourth House might create instability, many moves, or an unconventional household arrangement in inhabitants' homes and families. They may demand more autonomy in their living circumstances or experience abrupt changes in their family relations. Their origins are typically linked back to an autonomous or unconventional definition of "home."

5th house Uranus in the 5th House encourages natives to exhibit their romantic urges and inventiveness in unique and often unexpected ways. They may have unconventional interests, relationships, and children, and they want adventure and unrestrained self-expression. Their romantic relationships may take unexpected turns or encounter rapid infatuation.

6th house Uranus in the 6th House brings about sudden changes and creative solutions in daily routines, health issues, and work routines. They might thrive in creative work settings, have erratic schedules, or practise alternative medicine. They often offer others odd or disruptive services.

7th house For people born with Uranus in the 7th House, relationships and partnerships are typically marked by unexpected agreements, a desire for freedom within the union, and unexpected attraction. They may experience unanticipated changes in their one-on-one relationships or attract peculiar companions. Traditional relationship ideals can feel restrictive.

8th house Uranus in the 8th House causes Natives to experience abrupt changes and disturbances in relationships, shared resources, and psychological depths. They might encounter unexpected financial arrangements, inheritances, or dramatic changes in their closest connections. They frequently take a radical approach to regeneration and power.

9th house Uranus in the 9th House is associated with beliefs, higher education, and long journeys for natives. They may challenge existing views, embark on unexpected intellectual journeys, or take advantage of unanticipated growth chances while travelling. They have a diverse and dynamic perspective.

10th house When it comes to their career, public image, and life direction, these natives have a distinct and often innovative signature which electrifys their presence. Their professional path may alter abruptly, and they gravitate towards unconventional roles or industries - and in the present day they work with technology heavily - it's all about change. Their goals are typically centered on encouraging societal innovation and change through their public contributions.

11th house When it comes to friendships, organisational connections, and humanitarian causes, natives with Uranus in the 11th House have a distinct and often innovative perspective. Their social networks may alter abruptly, and they gravitate towards strange groupings. Their goals are typically centred on encouraging group innovation and change.

12th house Such topics are surpressed and hidden in the 12th house. Humanitarian issues and the topic of rebelling against order may show up resitricted or hidden. These natives often rebel through their innerwork and perhaps through spirituality. This placement offers rebellion through unpredictiblity and flashes of insights.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

@astrofaeology private services 2025 all rights reserved

[avelera]

a thing that stands out to me about viktor's personality is how direct/focused he is for the lack of a better word? the whole when you change the world don't ask for permission thing

it's a good thing imo, but when he was so unworried and confident about breaking in into the office and doing illegal experimentation i was SO stressed because i'm the opposite of that and i would be so worried about what other people would think

(the intention of this ask is to discuss viktor but if anyone reading this has insight how to turn caring about stuff like that off it'd be welcome lol)

I think the thing about Viktor is that there's other things he cares about more.

Like, of course you as a normal person would be worried about breaking into an office or saying not to ask for permission. Presumably, you care about what people think of you and not getting arrested more than you care about any sort of cause or ideal.

What they're showing with those scenes is that Viktor is a science fanatic. He goes beyond normal human behavior, partially to save his own life, partially because he really does believe that much in leaving a name for himself and a legacy because he knows he's going to die young and he cares about making the world a better place before he does with a lot less time to do it than others. He doesn't have time to care about what people think, or to worry about being arrested.

Side note, one reason he wasn't afraid either was because he's Heimerdinger's assistant. Because of that, Viktor seems reasonably assured he can talk his way out of trouble but as Mel points out, Viktor is wrong about Heimerdinger.

He thinks that as a fellow scientist, Heimerdinger just needs to be convinced! Mel, who actually understands people, casually points out that Heimerdinger already understands the technology and that's why he supported Jayce's expulsion, and would probably support Jayce and Viktor's banishment if they got caught. Viktor miscalculated here, badly, he was absolutely in more danger than he realized by taking up Jayce's cause, because he underestimated Heimerdinger's fear of magic.

Viktor has blindspots as much as Jayce does, actually. Specifically, he doesn't look at edge cases or unanticipated threats. He never considers that a steel-cutting laser beam could be used for warfare! He never considers that the Hexcore could be evil until it kills Sky! He never considers that assimilating people into his little peaceful cult could have bad consequences or be an evil act! Viktor has tunnel vision which is another reason he's so confident and focused, he's not worrying about all the side possibilities and risks until he's punched in the face with them, like with Sky's death or with his future self showing him the burnt out wasteland his ideas lead to.

At least, that's my two cents!

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

24 year old ftm guy recently awakened to my dominant side. This side blog will focus on ftms, sometimes cis guys, and very rarely girls. If you're under 18, block me and fuck off.

About me:

I've been on T for 5 years. For the sake of this blog, sometimes I'll be acting as though I have a cis guy body (ie no tits and functioning dick capable of knocking someone up) cuz its more fun for me that way.

I'm 24, homoflexible, and I have a (cis) boyfriend irl. He knows abt this acc and we have a sexually open relationship.

everything here is just a kink, not reality or what i actually believe.

my submissive/main blog is here

i have adhd so sometimes i might bounce around or ramble a lot on here about random shit when I'm in the mood

Outside of kink i love video games, anime, art, cooking, being silly, and yapping

dw about offending me or being weird. I'm a little freak and its really hard to make me genuinely uncomfortable so go nuts

KINKS AND MORE BELOW

kinks: breeding and impregnation, humiliation, degradation, cnc, corruption, saying shit like 'you have a pussy so you were designed to get fucked and impregnated', unnecessarily detailed roleplays, intoxication (specifically weed), and moreeee that I'll probably add later as I think of them.

meh: anal (receiving) ge play (depends on how its done), breast growth/expansion, watersports, actual pregnancy,

hard limits: anal (giving), underage, scat, gore, vore, feet, injuries beyond moderate bruising and biting, drugs harder than weed

???: misgendering/detrans- i kindaaa like it being done to me, but I don't know if I really want to do it to others, so I'll be avoiding it on this blog for now.

Side note: I am open to irl meetups if any of you are ever in Orlando. Feel free to message me if you're curious!

Feel free to message me. Be aware that you can and should tell me if you're ever uncomfortable, want to change the subject/kink, or w/e else. Kink should be a fun escape from reality and not another stressful thing to worry about!!!

I've been getting a WILDLY unanticipated amount of interaction on this blog so i get a ton of messages and anons. Apologies if I don't respond- its not personal i promise, I'm just physically unable to get to everything at this point, and I'm also chronically terrible at responding to things in general lol.

[ennn]

Jac Schaeffer on Agathario, Rio as Nicky's dad, Rio' scar speech

Some highlights from the Jeff Goldsmith Podcast.

Jeff: That brings us obviously speaking of relationships to Agatha and Rio, you have a very interesting foundation and I know if stuff was cut, you wouldn't be able to speak exactly on some of it, but I'm curious, was there more there? It's good to leave your audience wanting more. And people have speculated as to whether or not there was more of a flashback between them and more of their history.

Jac: There was more in the writer's room. There was never any more on the page. We sort of, it was our story instinct, I would say, that getting too far into their backstory would sort of be too much of a counterweight to the Nicky material. And so we really included what we felt was vital to this chapter. But we, we certainly talked about it at great length of how they met and what their relationship was and what it looked like in happier times and all of that.

And I didn't anticipate that the shippers would be so fervent that there would be, you know– and I–it feels foolish for not – you never know how anything is gonna land and you never know if people are gonna care.

And the amount that people care is staggering to me. And it's my hope that in the MCU there's more unpacking of the Agatha and Rio backstory.

Jeff: You were talking about the shipping group, like was there ever anything about Nicholas's father or is there any credence to the concept that it could have been born as the love child between these two?

Jac: Yes. I mean, we talked about a lot of different versions of who is the father of Nikki. And we ultimately decided that for Agatha's story, it wasn't relevant to the story we were trying to tell and we didn't really wanna get into the weeds of if it was magical or, y'know – that's again – it's sort of more rules.

We certainly considered the idea that Rio is the father. I wonder if I should ask the writers if they sort of still hold that in their hearts. It's something that I certainly thought about a lot and, and like to sort of contemplate. I enjoy that it is left to fan interpretation.

I also feel that I know how the MCU works and I don't think it serves anybody to sort of for me as the creator to emphatically tell you something that isn't on screen. Because, you know, like I said, it's my hope that these stories continue.

So, so perhaps there is a later chapter that will address this, but I, but I will say that, that when we were casting, sometimes we were like, "Does that kid look like Rio? Does that kid look like Aubrey Plaza?"

Jeff: So it's a path that, that is...

Jac: Fans and viewers, yes, are– I think they're picking up on our brainwaves for sure.

Jac: [on the toughest scenes to do] And then Rio's like little speech by the campfire was really hard.

So Giovanna Sarkees wrote a beautiful monologue that was quite long. And then it was one of those things that on the day Aubrey was doing it, and it wasn't Aubrey's fault, but it just wasn't clicking. It didn't feel right for what Aubrey had brought to the role. There's so much economy in what Aubrey does, you know, like she accomplishes so much with her physicality and her very being, that this long speech just felt wrong to me.

And I changed it on the day –which is always a risk – I changed it in the moment and the "she is my scar" I came up with, watching her do that.

[hoiststowline]

radio silence [w/ bluestreak, hound & ironhide]

as a bot who likes to chat over the phone, sudden or unexpected silence would cause immediate distress to bluestreak. several missed calls notifications spiral into handfuls of panicked voicemails, wondering why you weren't picking up and if something was truly wrong. it was simply out of character or out of the norm, lest for your usual routine. the concern arises because of how abrupt it is, and as the clock drags painfully slow to the hour mark, he's taking off towards your house. bluestreak hadn't even wanted to wait that long, but had been assured by sideswipe and sunstreaker that you were likely asleep or at work, things that happen to cause you to be away from your phone. but he knows your schedule, very well, and knows it's too early for you to be at work, and too late for you to still be asleep.

if you aren't home, he's about to launch a full-blown investigation until he speeds past your work, engine screeching with how hard he slams on his brakes. no, he isn't in charge of you, nor do you have to tell him if your plans change, he has to convince himself to take a step back. but he's still a little on edge when it comes to everything, and sometimes things move too fast for him to keep up with. bluestreak is immensely overprotective of you. he only wants the best for you, but feels somewhat guilty and selfish that he's roping you into his risky endeavors. the unanticipated shift change just had him anxious, and it was an easy fix to just drive past your usual spots.

your phone had died. it was about fifteen minutes after he'd left your workplace that you called back, finally able to get your phone to turn back on. immediately, he's turning around, ecstatic to hear your voice and that you were taking a thirty-minute break. straight away, he dismisses your apologies, apologizing himself for blowing up your phone. bluestreak was just worried, sheepish of his actions suddenly when he discerns how much he overreacted. to his utmost surprise, you instantly quell his unease, greatly excited to see him and spend some much-needed time together. your patience and understanding he feels he doesn't deserve sometimes, but pushes that back down for another time as he pulls back up against the curb.

hound is more laidback than most, but such a trait doesn't hinder his tendency to worry. early on in your relationship, when you propose calling him on your walk to your car after work, it's a nightly debrief that he looks forward to. it's regular too, a stability that he can only describe as refreshing, something to look forward to amidst a chaotic and stressful day. you’re communicative too, letting him know if you’d be a few minutes late or early. unbeknownst to you, he'd move things around if it overlapped with this hour of the day, never missing this unless an absolute emergency. but in this instance, when you message him that you were already in the car and headed back home instead of the usual phone call, he's confused. nevertheless, he still shakes it off when you offer to call him when you get home, still more than happy to chat.

but when the time stretches past your commute time, that perplexity and disquiet returns. where did you go? you don't owe him the call, but that gap of silence troubles him greatly. hound paces the room, uncertain if he should just try to call you anyways, but he didn't want to appear overbearing or pushy. mirage suggests letting it ring two or three times, so he does just that, but you don't pick up and with a sigh he ultimately hangs up. now, he's a little more than distracted, about five minutes from heading out to retrace your steps until you call him back.

you'd fallen asleep. been dead on your feet from a particularly difficult shift, and didn't feel like good company for the drive home to chat with hound. not wanting to bother or trouble him, you had thought after getting home and changing out of your uniform you would be in better spirits in wishful thinking. unforeseen circumstances persisted when you had fallen asleep on the couch after hardly making it through the front door. he felt awful you were so exhausted, but as long as you were alright and not hurt he was more than fine with letting you get your rest. you insist upon having your daily exchange, asking him about his day with a sprinkle of apologies with each yawn you stifle. hound relaxes as you fall asleep on the other end of the line, hanging up after a minute or so.

ironhide appears as someone who would notice radio silence the least, only because you don't use technology often enough for him to become concerned. you like to call each other here and there, but if he's got the time to call you, he rather just take a ride to your place to come see you. he appreciates that one-on-one time, whether it be going for a drive or hanging out in your garage. old-fashioned he may be, but if you’re happy with this arrangement, he has no complaints. if something isn't broken, don't try to fix it. so radio silence from you isn't all that alarming, as it is likely he's been pretty quiet himself on his end regarding messaging over technology.

though he is going to realize that he hasn't heard a peep from you at all throughout the day. really thinking about it, he hadn’t physically seen you since yesterday afternoon, but that wasn’t so far from normal. with this development, he's going to go around asking if anybody has heard from you or seen you today, the usual suspects: likely kup or blaster. if they haven't remotely heard a sound out of you all day, then he's a little restless about the whole ordeal. ironhide would let it go until the next morning, but it doesn't stop the building disquiet that sits like a rock in his stomach. he even sends you two messages and leaves a voicemail, just letting you know he was thinking of you and was wondering how your day went.

he gives you until ten a.m. the next day to give him any sort of signal that you were alright, extremely fair to him. the moment the clock hits ten, he's on the road, trying your phone a few times. alarm rises when he cannot find you nor your car anywhere, but he’s only familiar with a handful of spots you frequent. just as he's about to head on the highway, a call filters through his coms that he wastes no time in picking up. ironhide hardly gets a hello in before you're talking so fast he's having a hard time keeping up with your explanation. "i was at the library," you'd rambled, and he gathers you were there late last night and returned early this morning to work on your paper, your phone shut off the entire time. you hadn't meant to disappear, and you swear you can practically hear his entire frame relax through the phone.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

[lsunstreakerl]

I feel like this is fair game after tentacles (btw 🥵🥵🥵) so for the kink prompt oviposition <3

yeah I really walked myself into that one, didn't I.

here's the unanticipated sequel to the tentacle prompt- and also the last we'll be seeing of these two. 3.7k words, Max POV.

HI: clearly still a kink prompt fill. if you're not sure what oviposition is, do a quick google and then decide if you want to keep reading.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: tentacles, now reciprocated breeding kink, brief worries about a potential bad egg, mpreg/eggpreg? I have no idea. charles-typical possessiveness, slight mind break at the beginning.

crackfic notes: once again struggled to take it seriously, sorry. max takes his new parenting duties very seriously, because he likes to be good at everything (even if this now includes carrying eggs)

"We should go on vacation together."

Max looks up from his phone, surprised.

Charles is leaning over the chair across from him, race suit around his hips. They're waiting for the drivers meeting to start, but they're a few people down still, so there's scattered conversations across the room.

Max points a finger back at himself.

"Me?"

Charles nods, and there's something weirdly intense in his eyes as he leans further forward.

"Yes, you and me. Check out a beach somewhere for a couple days- it'll be nice, really."

There are several other people Charles should want to take a beach vacation with before Max.

Several.

Last year when Max had gone to Italy, he'd ended up completely zoned out almost the entire trip- barely remembers anything except warm sand and soft winds, seagulls he could hear through the villa windows. It had been nice, and he'd been very relaxed afterwards, but he'd also gone completely radio silent by accident, and had a lot of explaining to do when he got back.

Still- he'd felt really good when it was over, muscles loose and relaxed, thoughts slowing to a manageable pace. It could be nice to do that again.

He's not sure he wants Charles with him though. At the same time-

"Sure."

What's the worst that could happen?

------

Max is slumped onto a the smooth stone of the cave, drooling into the ground as Charles twists another tentacle inside of him. The viscous secretion that had gone down his throat is definitely kicked in by now- he feels more like a doll than anything, supported only by the tentacles wrapped in and around him.

He goes cross eyed as it pushes against his prostate, moaning as it slides in and keeps going- the fullness feels overwhelming.

Charles rumbles at him, and one of the larger tentacles wraps around Max's waist, pulls him into the air. He's limp as he dangles- if Charles wants him to move he's going to have to do it himself- and the change in the angle just makes everything worse, like he's being split open and reshaped, exactly how Charles wants him. In a way, he is.

He's pretty sure he's doing better than last year- he's been conscious longer this year, and he's not as afraid, he knows Charles won't hurt him- even if it feels like adding another tentacle really will kill him.

"Charles, Charles, s'not enough, need more-"

This problem is new. If he had it last year he doesn't remember it- but Max isn't filled enough. It doesn't feel possible, not with the way there's three of them inside him already, pushing deeper than anything should go, but-

It's not satisfying the deepest part of Max, the spot in his gut that's aching, empty and untouched. He needs it, more than anything else.

A smaller tentacle slides up to support his head, pushes gently against his jaw.

"I know, you need it, need a clutch so bad, I'm almost ready-"

Max sobs as the three tentacles inside him twist together, pushing against him and sliding, hot-thick-wet-hard on a loop in his brain. He's absolutely useless like this, can't focus on anything but being filled, scratching the itch under his skin that demands Charles take care of him.

There's a thick tentacle lifting near his mouth- it's the one with the slime, or whatever it is- makes Max fuzzy and not feel as much. He twists his head away, futility trying to spread his legs further.

"No, no I want- I want to feel it, please-"

Charles sounds incredibly satisfied when he rumbles again, and Max can feel the tentacles inside him start to stiffen, holding him open as Charles carefully lowers him into the water.

"You are perfect, Max. Perfect brooder, you need it so bad- you want to feel it, want to take care of them. You carry so well for me."

Charles' breathing picks up as Max is mostly submerged, head and shoulders above water as he feels the rest of the tentacles swarm over him, pinning him in place, squeezing his thighs, milking at his cock, pulling at his chest-

It's too much.

Max is practically stupid with it, seeing double and crying as he finally starts to feel the pressure- Charles is giving him what he needs.

It feels endless, but slowly the ache inside of him starts to settle, even as Max feels beyond full- he's doing a good job, doing exactly what Charles needs.

Charles is whispering soft words at him, but Max isn't aware enough to catch them, just knows that they sound sweet and encouraging as the pressure builds and builds.

His toes are curling, muscles so tight he thinks he might snap when Charles lets out a low warble, and then Max is coming for a final time, fucked out and thoroughly bred as he passes out.

------

Max is pressed to Charles' chest, lazily floating in the water as Charles' fingers skate along his prostate, playing with him more than anything- Max is too tired to contribute, lets the orgasm flow through him in a gentle wave.

Charles is floating on his back, and there's something being pressed to Max's lips.

He's tired of fish. The babies aren't big enough to want it yet, and Max is sick of it. He would kill for a steak right now.

"Max. You need to eat."

He turns his face further into Charles' chest, hips weakly twitching as Charles pulls his fingers back out.

"I am tired of fish."

Charles sighs, and then he's hooking his index finger behind Max's teeth, pulling his head up to give him a soft glare.

"We are in the ocean. Fish is all we have."

Max closes his lips around Charles finger, toys at it with his tongue- he knows Charles is into that, and the way his face shutters as he presses further into Max's mouth is only proof.

Max lets go, resting his chin on Charles' sternum.

"I want steak."

"You're kidding."

Charles looks annoyed, but also- there's a tiny crack in his expression, enough that Max thinks he might have a shot here.

"Steak and a kebab. From the market."

Charles' hands rest of Max's hips, and there's a few tentacles sliding and squeezing around him, a sign Max is beginning to learn means Charles is conflicted or stressed. Or horny. It's actually a sign of most things, now that he's thinking about it.

"Max- you are carrying, I am not going to leave you here with an undefended clutch to go get a kebab."

Max shifts his hips down, rutting gently against Charles' hip.

"The babies want it."

Charles snorts.

"Sure. Unless you are carrying baby sharks, I don't think so. And they would want fish anyways, so nice try- but no."

Max groans. He's full and hungry, and if he's going to be in this cave for a week, he wants something to do.

It hadn't been a problem last year- he'd been so exhausted that he'd slept most of the carrying period.

This year, however, had gone exactly as Charles had predicted. Max had been building a thin, stubborn layer of fat over his chest and thighs, and it had been stumping him and Jake to no end- no amount of dieting or working out was getting rid of it, but Max was still within his target weight.

He actually got to workout less because of it- though Jake had upped his long runs and endurance training.

Now, he's starting to shed that weight, because even if he hadn't, his body had been preparing for the entire year, waiting until he needed it for the eggs.

It also means he wants steak. The eggs are perfectly well taken care of- because Max is amazing at everything he does, up to and including egg carrying, thank you- but now he needs to be taken care of.

"Charles."

Charles doesn't meet his eyes.

"Max."

Max curls his fingers loosely around one of the tentacles- it's a thicker one, his fingers can't quite wrap around it, but it's firm and slippery, and he's almost not thinking about it as he slides his hand up and down a section of it.

Charles shudders underneath him. The tentacles around Max's waist and thighs tighten- he'll be impressed if he doesn't have purpling bruises on his skin when this is over.

"Max."

"It will be fine, Charles. The clutch and I are perfectly okay. Please?"

Charles sighs, and Max can tell he's won, grinning as he pushes up on Charles' chest, water lapping at his hands.

"Yes! Thank you, you are such a good provider-"

Max is learning what makes Charles tick as well, and the soft rumble Charles makes at his words confirms it. The tentacles give Max a few more soft strokes before he's being rearranged in the corner of the pool- his corner- with the small rock shelf for his legs, the pillow and blankets for his arms and head.

This area has gotten nicer since last year as well. Max has better blankets, the rocky corners and edges are smooth and rounded.

Charles gives him an annoyed look as he floats closer to the edge of the cave- Max has figured out there's an underwater passage there, and that's how they're getting in and out.

"You are ridiculous."

Max gives him his most innocent smile.

"Steak! And kebabs!"

Charles rolls his eyes, and then he's back underneath the water. Max sees the soft rectangular lighting disappear into the darkness as he leaves.

The bioluminescence has been intriguing Max, and he makes a note to ask about it- how deep can Charles dive, to need his own light source?

He settles onto his folded arms. He should've asked Charles to grab his phone too- maybe get some emails answered, sign off with something stupid like 'max verstappen + eggs' and then never elaborate.

Now he really wishes he'd asked Charles to grab his phone.

He loses track of time a bit, half dozing in the water, starting to kind of miss Charles. He has no idea how long it takes him to get to the market and back- or if Charles has to do some kind of weird thing to make the tentacles disappear. That seems important to know, and Max doesn't want to have to wait a year to find out. He'll ask when Charles gets back.

------

Max is startled out of his half nap by a large splash, and then Charles is bursting out of the water, curling over him so quickly Max barely processes what's happened. One moment he's dozing in his pool, and the next he's practically cocooned in tentacles brushing gently over him, almost like they're checking on him.

Charles looks stressed, cupping Max's face in his hands.

"No one- no one has come in here, yes?"

Max frowns. He's not sure why Charles is so freaked out, but he doesn't like it- raises a hand to curl around Charles' wrist, doesn't complain as the tentacles wrap around him, sliding over his skin.

"No, it's just been me. No one else, I promise."

Charles buries his nose into Max's neck, cocoons Max completely, pressed up against him.

Max lets him- doesn't even ask if he's gotten the food, because Charles is distressed, and Max is bitchy but not heartless.

He's running his thumb along the side of Charles wrist, keeps his breathing deep and even as Charles holds him.

"Did you see something?"

He keeps his tone light and casual, tries not to kick his leg as a tentacle wraps around his ankle.

"Someone else has been nearby. I could- I could tell. They were scouting out the cave."

Charles still sounds freaked out, but he also sounds pissed.

Max carefully rolls the information around in his mind.

"Do we need to move?"

Everything tightens around Max at once, and he squeaks as all the air pushes out of his lungs, frantically tapping at Charles arm.

"Merde- sorry, sorry Max. No, we are not moving. It would be too stressful for you."

Max raises an eyebrow.

"And knowing there is someone watching the cave isn't stressful?"

Charles bites at his lip, blood welling up where his teeth sink in. Max reaches a hand up, swipes his thumb carefully across it before pushing down, applying pressure.

"I am not fragile. If we need to move, we need to move."

The rumble from Charles is more aggressive than any Max has heard before- vibrates through him down to his bones.

He's watching Max intensely, eyes dark. Max lets him work through it in his head, waiting patiently. He still wants steak.

Charles sighs, nosing at Max's shoulder again as there's a soft scrape of teeth.

"Maybe next year. I do not have anywhere else set up at the moment- but I also panicked, when I noticed, so-"

He winces.

"My family knows. Lolo will probably come by to help guard the cave."

Max feels his cheeks heat up near instantly, embarrassment rushing through him.

"Oh my god."

This is... not how he wanted to meet Charles' family. Officially, anyways- he's met them all at race tracks many times, but not-

"Ohhhhhh my god."

He drops his face into his hands. Charles is making a smaller rumble, holding Max tighter to him.

"It is okay, Max. They understand, and Lolo will be very nice- you probably will not even see him."

It doesn't help.

Max is never going to be able to look Charles' family in the eyes again.

Charles sighs, brushing at Max's hair.

"I have kebabs?"

Max perks back up.

------

It's been a few days, and Charles is starting to get stressed. Max is as well, because- this time last year he'd had the egg in his lap by now, and this year it's still just the two of them.

Max hasn't mentioned it, but he's not feeling well- flips between hungry and nauseous, spends more time lying on top of Charles as they float in the water than he does anywhere else.

He's been eating the fish Charles brings him, even when he's not particularly hungry. He worries maybe the egg- because at this point surely it's gotten down to a singular one- might somehow not be getting enough from him.

Charles is dozing, floating on his back with Max on top of him. Max has his face tucked into his neck.

"I am doing a bad job."

Charles hums, mostly asleep.

"...what? I did not catch that, sorry."

Max tries to ignore the tug in his chest.

"I am not doing a good job- I'm fucking it up."

Charles is definitely awake now- sits them up so that he can look at Max.

"Don't say that. Don't- you are doing perfect, Max. It is not you."

Max frowns. He can see the guilt written across Charles' face as well.

"Well, it is not you. So I am the problem."

Max knows he's right. He's done something wrong here, and he's going to figure it out. Going to excel at this, just like he does everything he's ever put his mind to.

Charles makes a distressed noise, fingers tightening on Max's hips.

"Max, it is possible that it's neither of us- sometimes it is just a bad clutch. Although, that would also be my fault."

It hadn't felt like a bad clutch- not that Max would know, he has no baseline for good or bad, barely remembers last year.

He can't ignore that he's still been eating more as well- and losing weight, which means there's still an egg, and it's still taking nutrients, it just- hasn't come yet.

Max hasn't fucked up completely. They might still be able to fix it.

He has a brief moment internally, wondering when he'd started caring about taking care of an egg- an egg- that his coworker has given him.

Well- Charles is a bit more than a coworker now.

Max tries to tackle it like a racing problem- he's losing time somewhere, why.

Max is eating enough, he's sleeping enough, and despite the scare earlier in the week he's not distressed- the only thing that bothers him other than the occasional nausea is that he's cold.

He blinks.

He's cold all the time.

Max wasn't cold last year- he remembers this much. The pool isn't exactly cold either, nice and warm, but right now- the only time Max has felt warm is when he's practically trying to crawl into Charles' skin.

That's not Max's needs- it's the egg.

He pokes Charles in the chest.

"I think we need to go somewhere warmer."

"Huh?"

Max frowns, pressing tighter to Charles, trying to get more of his warmth.

"I am cold, Charles, all the fucking time. I do not think it is just me- I just didn't realize until now. I think it needs to be warmer."

Charles' brows are pressed together, hands running down Max's sides. The warmth helps- and it makes Max feel better to realize it's not that he's become about as useful as damn limpet- it's just that he's been subconsciously trying to fix the problem.

"We're already in the Mediterranean- we'd need to go south to get any warmer, closer to the African coast."

Max is fine with that.

"I think- Charles, I don't know what else it could be."

"Okay. That's fine, we can do that."

Charles tilts his head to the side, eyeing Max.

"I'm going to be very confused if you have a tropical egg, by the way."

Max shrugs.

"You are the one who knows the biology here, not me."

------

Max doesn't want to know if Charles' species has an Airbnb service for little dens. He thinks they might- or maybe a very good honor system, because he's been asleep for most of the trip, doesn't even want to ask how they'd gotten here.

He's curled up in a new cave, warm and humid. Charles looks out of place here, deep blue tentacles and bioluminescence stark against the lighter stone and coral.

It confirms Max's thought about regional differences.

He's feeling much better now, even if Charles looks slightly miserable, which Max feels a little bit bad about.

Another head of hair pokes through the surface of the water, deep brown eyes scanning over them both.

Lorenzo had traveled with them, guarding the new cave as well. Max has sort of gotten over the embarrassment- for the moment, anyways- and it's nice to have him here, hunting for food now that Charles refuses to leave Max's side.

Charles lifts his head from Max's thigh.

"Lolo, how the fuck is he having a tropical egg?"

Lorenzo passes Charles what looks like a stingray, neatly sliced open.

Max has developed a taste for the meat, which makes his stomach turn if he thinks too hard about it.

"Human repo is weird, Charlot. The stem cells make things funky- sometimes they give completely different species."

Charles eyes the slice of stingray meat he's passing to Max.

"...are you actually having sharks?"

Max feels his eye twitch.

"Charles, how the hell would I know? They're your eggs."

Lorenzo snorts, patting Charles' shoulder before flashing a smile at Max.

"I hope you feel better soon. Shout if you need anything."

He dips back underwater, and Charles flops his head back on top of Max's thigh.

"Am I going to need caves all over the world for you? Is that what this is?"

Max wrinkles his nose, trying to hide his amusement.

"Well, I am of course fairly wealthy- having multiple properties cannot be that much of a surprise."

Charles laughs into his leg as Max combs his fingers through his hair.

"Of course."

------

Max is feeling ill again, stomach doing flips as he groans, back pressed to Charles' chest.

"I know, but you are doing so well- you have taken such good care of the clutch this time, better than I could've asked."

Charles is speaking softly into his hair, even as Max tips his head back, fingers gripping one of the tentacles. He doesn't remember the egg part being this bad last year, but maybe his brain has blocked it out- the pressure is back, sends roiling shockwaves through him.

Charles is carefully stretching him open, slow and methodical. It helps a little bit, but mostly Max just wants it to be over-

There's a tentacle sliding up his hip, wrapping around his cock, and Max jerks, even though he's pinned down. Charles is squeezing at his chest, and it's helping, taking his mind off of everything, losing himself in it.

Max isn't sure how long he's stuck in the limbo, distracted by wandering tentacles and clever hands, Charles taking his mind off of everything, gently coaxing him through it, even as it builds and builds-

It's gone.

Max comes with a gasp, arching up in Charles' grasp. He can faintly hear a confused noise from Charles, before he's carefully being arranged back in his little coral cranny, and then something is carefully being placed in his lap.

It's not like the last egg. It's- it's squishy.

Charles cocks his head to the side.

"Max, I actually think those might be sharks."

Max gingerly runs a finger along the sack membrane. Little menaces- no wonder it's been hard this year, there must be over a dozen of them in there.

He's weirdly proud of himself. Sharks.

He looks back up at Charles, feels a smile tugging at his lips.

"Unleash the shark?"

Charles groans.

"That was terrible."

------

Last year, Charles had left Max back at the villa, confused and forgetful. This year, Max is traveling back to Monaco with him. Charles is still being weirdly attentive, even without the tentacles- straightening Max's hoodie, pressing against him at the airport in the private lounge, always having water or a snack.

Max hasn't forgotten anything yet- it's crystal clear in his mind.

It's kind of fucking with him a little bit. Charles had said it would take a few years before Max started remembering things- but he's wondering privately if maybe he's rushed this timeline, like all the others in his life.

He's mildly worried he's going to grow gills next.

Max splits from Charles at the airport, tries to ignore the weird feeling in his chest at the way Charles almost reaches after him, shoving his hands into his pockets instead.

"Same time next year?"

There's a wry twist at the side of Charles' mouth.

"Oui. I'll do some cave hunting this year, since you are so picky."

Max grins.

"Have fun with that. Bye, Charles."

Charles flips him off as he walks away.

[dwaekkicidal]

The Project

˚ʚPerv!Emo!Han Jisung x Cutesy!Fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Third part of 'The Incidents' Series; based off of this ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: told from his pov, jisung is a huge perv/creep, panty stealing, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), ji jerking off with reader's panties <3, other idols mentioned but not involved: Chan (skz)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: Italics are Han's thoughts! also the picture is just a reference for the outfit i had in mind :)

The Incidents Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Han finds himself reading multiple messages from her later that night. They started off with apologies, but once he convinced her that it was fine, they turned into a conversation about the project. They had agreed on meeting at her apartment the next day at 1 pm; Han offered to bring lunch for them and Y/N offered to order dinner for them, if it came down to them working that late.

He reads over the messages again and again, suddenly realizing how much of a movie his life has become with her. The Meeting and the unanticipated closeness combined with the almost protective nature she gives off when her friends are around and make nasty faces at him. The devil on his shoulder just laughs, knowing exactly what he's thinking. It tells him that it’s how she always is with everybody. And he knows it’s right, but sometimes he can’t help but feel different.

Before he can dive any deeper, the elevator dings and opens its doors for him. His hold on the food bags tightens as he makes his way down the hallway, whistling a melody to himself as he counts his way to her apartment number.

He rings the bell, standing there patiently until she opens it. She’s wearing a skin-tight romper and her legs are bare for once, minus the leg warmers that cover her shins. He visibly gulps when his eyes pass by her crotch, looking at the way it outlines her body there perfectly. He smiles shyly as he walks past her, kicking off his shoes at the front door and waiting for her to close the door behind him. His eyes take in every detail of her apartment as she leads him through the hallways. Not nearly as pink as I thought it would be.. They pass her roommate’s room, listening embarrassingly to the joking “be safe, wear a condom” talk they got that ended with him red in the face.

The door to her bedroom opens and she hurries him in, closing it behind him. Ah. There it is. Nevermind. His eyes dart from the white furniture to her cutely decorated mirror and pink vanity, then to her bed. Her comforter is white, ruffled, and puffy with little pink flowers decorating it. And he does not miss the stuffies that sit upright on display along her pillows. He watches her laugh nervously and step between him and the bed, trying to hide the onslaught of plushies behind her frame as she bites her lip. I’ve never seen her so shy before.. She looks so innocent now that she’s not dressed all whoreishly.

She points towards an area on the floor: a little spot is set up and padded by blankets and pillows. He laughs to himself, She even has pink laptop stands. She takes a seat and pats the spot next to her, waiting patiently as he lays out the food across the floor and finally sits.

For the majority of the time there, Han behaved himself! He only occasionally found his mind wandering elsewhere, but would always recover from it before it became too much of a problem. Or caused a visible problem. In the span of 3 hours, they managed to finish all of the research and got the first few slides finished. They were going to keep going and see how far they would get without a break but changed their minds when Han received a text message and Y/N was called out to the kitchen. He watched her waddle out to the hallway as he responded to the message; something about Chan needing a favor from him ASAP.

A few minutes pass and Han finishes up his conversation with Chan, but the girl is nowhere to be found. He faintly hears talking from outside the room and figures they’re still busy so he takes the time to get a more detailed look around her room. He gets through most of the room with innocent glances until he sees her dresser. He freezes and just stares, thinking back to what he got off to the night prior. Her panties.

Han looks nervously at her cracked door, watching for a moment to see if she or anybody would walk by. After what felt like hours of internal debate, he cautiously walks up to the dresser. He traces the pink knob with his fingertips, losing himself in thought as he slowly wraps his hand around it. Am I really… She’s right there.. He glances over again. He can see her arms resting on the kitchen island from the crack in the door.

He watches her like a hawk as his hands slide around the rest of the knob, pulling it towards him slowly. He gets it halfway open before deciding that it was far enough, and any farther would get him in some real trouble. He peels his eyes away to look down, taking in the different colors and fabrics of underwear that she has. He even notices that some pairs have a matching bra that’s folded and stored on the leftmost side of the drawer. He lets a finger run across a few of the more intriguing pairs before an imaginary light bulb appears over his head.

He slowly turns towards her closet. The door was slightly ajar and he could see a peak of her different colored clothes that hung inside. But then he dips lower. The edge of her hamper also peeks out. And it was full. He swears he can faintly see a baby-pink piece of cloth at the very top. The pair she had on yesterday…? The sound of distant laughter has his eyes snapping back to the cracked door. He assumes the girls are too far away to walk in on him without him hearing. Once they begin to chat again he lets his eyes flicker between the opened drawer and the cracked closet door. She has so many pairs… she won’t notice 1 missing… right?

He bites his lip and softly closes the drawer, doing everything in his power to not make any noise as he makes his way to the closet. It creaks slightly as he opens it further and he cringes, snapping his head to the door as his heart pounds in his ears. They’re still talking and he’s now out of line of sight from the crack in that door, so it would have to be fully opened in order to see him. He gulps and turns back to the onslaught of clothes, looking through some of them curiously before returning to his original plan.

Holy shit. The pink set of underwear he saw yesterday is lying at the very top of the pile, bra and panties almost on display for him. He can even see the dress she had on just below it. Shaky hands reach out and grab the fabric of the panties. He runs his fingers along it to familiarize himself with the texture but feels his eyes roll into the back of his head when he notices a slightly darker spot on them. Right where her pussy would have rested against the fabric.

“Fuck..” he whispers under his breath, running his finger along the spot and shivering when he realizes that it’s still slightly damp. Shit… you think she got wet after touching my dick? His dick twitches in his pants and he looks to the door once more, making sure he still hears voices before he continues. He looks down at the fabric and roughly runs his thumb along the spot, gathering as much of the wetness as he can before bringing it up to his nose. He closes his eyes and inhales strongly, moaning pathetically at the smell.

He would have gone as far as to push his thumb past his lips to have a taste, but he suddenly hears the sounds of jingling keys fading and footsteps coming towards the bedroom. His eyes snap open and he returns the door to its earlier position, backing away and pocketing the dirty panties as he returns to his spot on the floor.

Y/N walks in with a smile, taking her seat next to him. “Sorry about that. They’re going to the mall and wanted to talk about me joining them later.” Her eyes jump to the drop of sweat falling down his face and he can see her bite back a smile. “That’s fine… I uhh... was going to ask if we could call it here anyways. One of my friends needs a favor from me.”

“Oh, that works!. We got a lot done today, same time tomorrow?” He nods and quietly packs his things. She leads him back to the front door and he hurriedly exchanges goodbyes.

His mind races the entire way home. No way. He walks into his apartment, ears ringing and heart beating out of his chest. Holy shit.. His dick twitches in his pants at the feeling of the bunched-up fabric in his hoodie pocket. No fucking way I got away with that. He stands there for a while, catching his breath and calming himself down. He finally moves after a few minutes only to be startled by a text message. His heart drops at the contact name.

He rolls his eyes and lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, rushing to his room as he reads the last message. He’s thankful for his busy roommates when walks through the quiet halls of their shared apartment. He locks his door, just in case, and makes his way to his bed, discarding everything but his boxers on the way there. His bag and clothes are settled into a messy pile by the time he makes it to his sheets. The stolen pair of panties lay beside him on the bed, almost tauntingly, and he eyes them warily as he slowly palms himself through his boxers. Once he’s sure she won’t magically pop out of thin air and scold him, he reaches for them.

His free hand grabs them and rubs the material again, this time intensely rubbing the dark spot. He bites his lips and pulls his boxers off, letting them pool on the floor as he spreads his legs open. The hand that holds the underwear shakes as it brings them up to his face. He inhales quickly and groans before letting his tongue dart out bravely along the fabric. The hand wrapped around his dick squeezes harder as he throws his head back. This is so gross, but oh my god.. She smells and tastes so fucking good.

His head returns upright and he brings the panties to his dick, wrapping the fabric around it. The hand returns to the bed to ground him as he tests the waters, experimentally squeezing the fabric against him and moving it up and down. I've gone this far.. might as well go all the way. His hand speeds up and he moans at the feeling of the soft sheer that’s occasionally interrupted by rough floral patterns.

He doesn’t bother holding back moans of her name. Of your name. He knows he’s home alone and the apartment walls are thick enough anyway, so he goes to town. He tries his best to enjoy the moment and not rush it, but he loses patience quickly and speeds up even more, quickly chasing his orgasm. His hips buck into his hand as he moans and pleads into the air and cums. He watches the pink fabric as he rides out the high; his cum paints the dark spot white and even seeps through some of the mesh areas.

Once he calms down he realizes how hard he still is and whimpers, allowing his hand to slowly move against him again. His hand adjusts the position of her panties, wrapping it completely around his length and freeing his tip to the cold hair. The even darker, now messy spot rubs against his sensitive skin, pulling even more desperate moans from his lips as he overstimulates himself.

He leaves the fabric like this for the rest of the time, opting to paint it like a canvas. He uses the lack of fabric on his tip to his advantage, rubbing his pointer finger harshly over his slit with each thrust.

Two more orgasms are pulled from him like this before he taps out, chest heaving and sweaty skin glued to his sheets. By the time he’s finished showering and cleaning up his mess, he’s face to face with the underwear again. I don’t think I can return these now, so I might as well keep them. He laughs nervously at the thought of keeping it as a souvenir and places them gently on his pile of dirty clothes.

As he lays in bed, sleep pulling at every nerve in his body, he hears another ding from his phone.

Taglist: (purple=can't be tagged)

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina @rylea08 @grandma143 @caught-in-the-afterglow @yaorzu-blog @jabmastersupriseee

@easypeezylemonsquezy @iiriam @soaplickerrr @kimahreummm @seungfl0wer @4l17h4 @moonlightshostage @whyisaah @lostgirlinthewoodss @kookiesbunny @piscesrising01 @adollsmind @iheartbangch4n

[chogiwow]

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

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

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

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

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

a/n: part 3 is hereee ! and apparently ! there's gonna be one more part :'D bc i can't write for shit w/o making my characters go through emotional hell

seventeen.

life goes on, as is bound to.

you still wake up at six every morning, rushing to get ready because you prefer to dawdle in bed for half an hour before realisation strikes that you’re going to be late again. you still alternate between cereals and toast, a simple breakfast, before you catch the bus to your work.

it's a routine you’ve followed for months now, and you’re finally settling into it.

work still kicks your ass, but you get through it. 

somehow, though, something has changed. the night at the observatory had been the catalyst to this.

it’s subtle at first. the way jake acknowledges you more, the way his gaze lingers for just a second longer when you pass by his office. the way his notes keep coming – little comments, little jokes, little facts about the universe that make you pause and smile before you tuck them away in your drawer.

like the slow drift of galaxies, expanding ever so slightly over time – so gradual that no one on earth would ever feel it. the kind of change that isn’t obvious until you stop and measure it, until you realize the stars aren’t where they used to be. that’s what this feels like. that’s what you and jake are becoming.

it’s in the way he lingers by your desk a little longer than necessary after handing you a report.. it’s in the way your name sounds when he says it – less clipped, more like a thought spoken aloud, like he was already in the middle of thinking about you before he even called you.

the universe is always changing, he told you once. expansion isn’t a choice, just a consequence of existence. even if you tried to hold everything still, the shift would happen anyway, quietly, inevitably.

maybe that’s why you don’t fight it. why you let these moments unfold, pretending not to notice the way his shoulder nearly brushes yours when you stand too close at the coffee station. or how his gaze lingers just a second longer when he thinks you’re not looking.

but it’s not just at work.

somewhere along the way, he’s started integrating himself into your routine in ways that don’t feel intentional, yet keep happening anyway.

like how you keep running into him at the coffee machine in the morning, a barely-awake jake muttering something about how caffeine is the only thing keeping him alive, while you groggily nod in agreement. or how, somehow, without ever planning it, you both always seem to leave work around the same time, walking to the bus stop together in companionable silence, the city lights stretching out ahead of you.

and then, there are the lunches.

you don’t know when those became a thing. it started with that one lunch invitation – one that you thought was an exception, a random occurrence. but then it happened again. and again. and now, it’s just… part of the day.

"are we getting lunch?" he asks you casually one afternoon, not even looking up from his screen.

you pause, caught off guard. "uh, i guess?"

he hums, nodding, like that settles it.

and just like that, it’s a thing.

there are conversations, too – ones that go beyond deadlines and reports. ones where you learn that jake likes books about astronomy, not so big on fiction. that he’s been working on a research paper in his free time, though he never lets you see it. that he still thinks about his mother’s cooking when he’s stressed, though he rarely has the time to make anything himself.

and in turn, you tell him things, too. about your family. about how you used to excel in your art classes, how this job had been a way to repay student loans but you were starting to enjoy it. about the little bakery you stop by every friday after work because their pastries remind you of home.

he listens. really listens.

you don’t know when it happens, but one day, you wake up, go about your morning routine, and realize – jake sim is a part of your life now.

and it feels… weirdly normal.

so it's easy to pick up on cues now. it's easy for you to discern the frown on his face when he’s thinking about a complicated calculation or what to eat for lunch.

it started small.

at first, you didn’t even notice the way jake had started paying attention. you were too used to being the one who did the noticing, who made sure he was okay, who subtly adjusted things in his life so that he could function without running himself into the ground.

but then, there was the first time.

it had been one of those days where you just wake up feeling tired, like some age old fatigue settling in your bones. you had been running on four hours of sleep, your brain foggy and sluggish, a dull headache pressing at your temples as you tried to focus on the report in front of you. it was late, and most of the office had emptied out. the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound accompanying the rapid clicks of your keyboard.

and then, out of nowhere – a cup of tea materialises on your desk.

you blinked at it, then up at jake, who was standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“i heard peppermint tea is good for headaches,” he said simply. “figured you could use something.”

you stared at him, trying to process the gesture. jake wasn’t the type to do things like this – at least, not before. he accepted help, sure. he let you fuss over him when he got too caught up in work, too lost in his thoughts to remember to eat or drink water. but this? this was different. besides, how had he even figured out you were coming down with a dull pounding in your head?

still, you took the tea, murmuring a quiet, “thanks,” as you wrapped your hands around the warmth of the cup.

the next time, it was an umbrella.

you had forgotten yours at home on the one day it decided to rain, and just as you were mentally preparing yourself to brave the storm, jake appeared beside you at the entrance, wordlessly opening his umbrella and tilting it over you.

you looked at him, startled.

“what—”

“i’m heading out anyway,” he said, as if that explained everything. “might as well walk you to the station.”

you didn’t argue. you weren’t sure you could, with the way your chest tightened at the thought that he had noticed – had thought about you, even in passing.

then, there were the snacks. the ones you mentioned liking once in a conversation weeks ago, the ones you’d find in the break room with a note in his messy handwriting that read, for when you forget to eat.

the way he started subtly shifting schedules around so that you wouldn’t have to stay too late. the way he made sure your favorite tea was stocked in the kitchen, even though you never asked.

and then, there was today.

you were having one of those days. the ones where everything felt like too much – too loud, too fast, too overwhelming. the emails were piling up, your head was throbbing, and every little thing was grating on your nerves. you just wanted to finish your work and go home.

jake seemed to sense it before you even said anything.

you barely had time to react before he was pulling you away from your desk, leading you toward the quiet sanctuary of the rooftop, devoid of emails, and computer screens and irritating fluorescent lights.

you let yourself be guided, confusion simmering beneath your exhaustion.

“what—”

“you need a break,” he said simply. how the tables had turned.

he wasn’t wrong, but still – you hesitated.

“i have work—”

“it’ll still be there when you get back.”

the words were firm, leaving no room for argument. and maybe that was what finally made you relent, allowing him to tug you into the dimly lit space where the city lights couldn’t reach, where the stars were endless and infinite above you.

for a moment, there was silence.

then—

“you’re always looking after me,” jake said, voice quieter now. “but who looks after you?”

your breath hitched.

the words caught you off guard, unraveling something deep inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you had been holding onto. you never really thought about it – not in those terms. you were fine, you always told yourself. you managed.

but jake… he had noticed.

and when you didn’t answer right away, he exhaled softly.

“i do,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made your chest ache. “i will.”

you turned to look at him then, only to find that he was already watching you. there was something there, something in the way he was looking at you that made it hard to breathe.

and suddenly, you realize it all happening. the dull thudding against your chest, the beginnings of a tremor in your hands, the way your eyes trembled slightly, unsure of what to do, where to look.

the world hadn’t stopped spinning, the weight on your shoulders hadn’t disappeared, but standing here – beneath an endless sky, with jake’s steady gaze holding yours – you felt something shift.

like the earth’s axis tilting ever so slightly, a small, imperceptible change that altered everything in ways no one would notice at first. but given time, given gravity – eventually, everything would feel different.

eighteen.

jake doesn’t consider himself the petty type. he really doesn’t.

but when you stroll into the office that morning, casually greeting jay with an easy, “morning, jay,” followed by a teasing, “you look like you had a long night,” jake feels something inexplicable twist in his chest. it’s not jealousy. no, that would be ridiculous. it’s just… unfair. unjust, even.

because when you turn to him, all he gets is a polite nod and a warm, “morning, dr. sim.”

dr. sim.

why does that sound so… wrong?

he tries to brush it off, truly. it’s just a name, a title, nothing personal. but all throughout the day, it needles at him, distracting him in the worst ways. he hears it every time you approach him, every time you hand him a file, every time you leave a post-it on his desk with a reminder about a report.

dr. sim, dr. sim, dr. sim.

is that really all he is to you?

jay gets to be ‘jay,’ but he’s stuck being ‘dr. sim?’

he doesn't bring it up right away. that would be ridiculous. childish, even. but by the time the workday is winding down and you’re standing at his desk, waiting for him to sign off on something, he can’t hold it in any longer.

jake clicks his pen a little too aggressively as he signs off on the last document, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. he shouldn’t care this much. he really shouldn’t. but after hours of hearing “dr. sim” fall so effortlessly from your lips while jay gets the privilege of a casual “jay,” he’s had enough.

“you call jay by his first name,” he says, his voice carefully measured as he hands the file back to you.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden statement. “uh… yeah?”

“and me?”

you hesitate, brow furrowing slightly. “you’re dr. sim?”

something about his expression makes you pause, studying him a little closer. he’s looking at you with that unreadable intensity again, the one that makes you feel like he’s solving some impossible equation in his head. you tilt your head, suddenly amused.

jake sighs, setting his pen down. “right, of course. but it wasn’t always ‘dr. sim.’”

you tilt your head, clearly not following. “what do you mean?”

he leans back in his chair, studying you. “you used to call me jake.” well, you had just called him that one time.

at that, your brows furrow. “no, i didn’t.”

jake levels you with a look. “yes, you did. once.”

you still look unconvinced, so he elaborates, voice softening ever so slightly. “it was when my mother was in the hospital.”

something flickers across your face, and oh – there it is. recognition.

jake watches as you straighten, lips parting slightly before you quickly school your expression. “i—” you clear your throat, shifting on your feet. “i didn’t mean to. it just slipped.”

jake quirks a brow. “so it was an accident?”

you look distinctly uncomfortable now, gaze darting to the side as you mutter, “i wasn’t really thinking, that’s all.”

because how the hell are you supposed to respond to this anyway? is he confronting you about calling him by his first name that one time or is he trying to…? no, that would be hoping for too much.

jake exhales through his nose, fighting back a smirk. “well,” he says, reaching for his pen again. “think about it.”

you frown. “think about what?”

he signs off on the document with a final flourish before pushing it toward you, meeting your gaze with something unreadable. “calling me jake again.”

your brain short-circuits. completely malfunctions. “what?”

its like you’ve forgotten how to string together sentences, you talk in mono syllables now.

jake shrugs, oh-so casual. “you already did it once.”

“that was—” you huff, flustered beyond belief. “that was different.”

he tilts his head. “how?”

you glare at him. “it just was.”

jake is grinning now, and it’s so unfair how smug he looks. like he’s won something. “alright, if you say so.”

you don’t press him, nor this abrupt demand for calling him by his first name, simply snatch the report off his desk and exit as quickly as you can, willing the flush in your cheeks to calm down. but the thought lingers in your mind the entire day, stretching into the moments that follow.

the thing is, jake isn’t used to wanting things. he’s always been good at compartmentalizing, at focusing on what matters and dismissing everything else as unnecessary distraction. but this – you – are slipping past his carefully drawn boundaries, making space in places he hadn’t thought to guard.

and it’s not just the way you call him dr. sim.

it’s the way your laughter carries through the office, light and infectious, somehow making the fluorescent lights feel less harsh. it’s the way you scribble little doodles on post-its when you leave notes for him, sometimes of constellations, sometimes of a tiny spaceship floating aimlessly in the margins. it’s the way you frown at your computer screen when you’re concentrating too hard, the way you murmur “please cooperate” to the printer like it has any choice in the matter.

he starts noticing things he shouldn’t.

like how your shoulders tense when you’re stressed, and how you always roll them out absentmindedly when you think no one’s watching. how you tap your fingers against your mug while waiting for your coffee to cool. how you always seem to instinctively seek out the quietest corners of a room, as if subconsciously drawn to spaces where you can just breathe.

jake isn’t sure when his awareness of you started tipping into something more. he only knows that once it did, there was no undoing it.

maybe that’s why, when the workday finally winds down and you’re getting ready to leave, he finds himself blurting out, “i’ll give you a ride home.”

you pause, hand frozen over the strap of your bag. “what?”

he clears his throat, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “you take the bus, right? i can drop you off.”

before you can respond, jay snorts from his desk. “damn. guess my offer to drive you home just got revoked.”

jake shoots him a glare, but jay only grins, visibly enjoying the moment far too much. meanwhile, you shift your attention back to jake, expression unreadable.

“you don’t have to do that,” you say slowly.

“i know.”

you hesitate for another moment before nodding. “alright, dr. sim. if you insist.”

jake stiffens.

you’re teasing him – he can hear it in your tone, see it in the amused glint in your eyes. but still. after everything, ‘dr. sim’ still feels like a wall between you. he opens his mouth, ready to say something, but then you’re already brushing past him, walking toward the exit with an easy, “i’ll meet you outside.”

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face before following you out.

the drive is quiet at first, but not uncomfortably so. the city lights blur past in a steady rhythm, the hum of the engine filling the space between you.

then you shift slightly in your seat, glancing at him. “you really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

jake keeps his eyes on the road. “i know.”

you watch him for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “you’re hard to read sometimes.”

that gets his attention. he flicks a glance at you, eyebrow raised. “am i?”

“mhm.” you tilt your head against the window, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “sometimes i think i’ve got you figured out. and then you do something unexpected.”

jake hums, considering. “like offering you a ride?”

“exactly.” you grin. “it’s very… un-dr. sim-like.”

he exhales sharply through his nose. “right. because i’m just dr. sim to you.”

your grin falters slightly, the teasing air shifting into something quieter. you don’t answer right away, and he doesn’t push. the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. it just lingers, like something unspoken settling between you.

jake for his part can’t comprehend why he said that. his fingers curl around the steering wheel, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you try not to blatantly stare at his lean fingers. just the thought makes you want to bang your head against a wall because what the actual fuck?

this was not normal.

then again, nothing about this situation is normal. if someone told you a month ago that you’d be sitting in the jake sim’s car while he drove you home… you would have laughed and commended them on their imagination. but now?

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, jaw clenching slightly. he hates that he’s thinking about this. about you. about the way your voice softened just then, like maybe you were considering something you hadn’t before. and he hates even more that he’s noticing things he shouldn’t – like the way you shift in your seat when you’re deep in thought, or the way your fingers play idly with the zipper of your bag.

it’s distracting.

you, in general, are distracting.

he exhales slowly, forcing his thoughts back to the road. he’s good at controlling his emotions – has spent years perfecting the art of keeping things measured, composed, professional. but there’s something about you that makes it difficult. like you’re slowly dismantling his careful walls without even realizing it.

you shift in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space between you feels. the air is charged now, thick with something neither of you are acknowledging outright.

jake swallows. he doesn’t know why he brought it up. maybe because he wants to hear you say his name again. and not just by accident. maybe because he wants to know if it meant anything to you at all. maybe because he’s realizing, with a slow, sinking certainty, that the sound of his own name in your voice did something to him that he can’t quite explain.

you study his profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the dim glow of the dashboard. there’s something different about him in this moment. something rawer, more unguarded. and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you said it again. just to see how he would react.

but then you hesitate.

because you know, instinctively, that if you do – if you let yourself cross that line – there will be no going back.

a few minutes later, you break the silence. “wait—”

jake barely has time to register your alarm before you turn to him, laughing in disbelief. “we don’t even live in the same direction, do we?”

jake tightens his grip on the wheel, resisting the urge to groan. because, no, you don’t. and he knew that. he just… he just didn’t think that far ahead.

you laugh again, shaking your head. “you really offered me a ride without knowing where i live?”

“i—” he exhales sharply, gripping the wheel tighter. “i wasn’t thinking.”

“that’s new.” you shoot him a grin, eyes twinkling. “dr. sim, not thinking things through?”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. there’s no point. he walked himself straight into this one.

eventually, he sighs, fighting the urge to bite his lips because he can feel your stare and it's making him nervous.

“thank you,” you say, “it’s kinda nice to actually sit on my way home.” it's just a joke to you, but this piece of information is new to jake and he’s already filing it away in a cabinet in his mind that he’s subconsciously come to dedicate to you.

jake glances at you, but you’re looking out the window again, city lights reflected in your eyes. and for some reason, his heart does something weird in his chest.

you continue, voice softer this time. “also it’s been a while since i had a quiet drive like this.”

jake doesn’t know what to say to that. so he just focuses on the road, letting the moment settle.

the rest of the drive is quieter, but it’s different this time. less awkward, more… something else. something almost comfortable. like neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

when he finally pulls up in front of your place, you don’t get out immediately. instead, you linger for a second, fingers tapping against your bag. and you take a shot at whatever this was. at whatever this was about to become. good or bad.

jake doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush you, just waits. his hands are still on the steering wheel, but his grip is loose now, relaxed.

you take a slow breath. you don’t know why this moment feels important – like stepping over an invisible line you won’t be able to cross back over. but you recognize the weight of it all the same.

you shift slightly in your seat, turn toward him, and say quietly, “thanks for the ride, jake.”

it’s subtle, the way he reacts, but you see it all the same.

his fingers twitch where they rest. his posture stiffens, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. and then there’s his eyes – warm and dark in the dim lighting, holding yours for just a fraction longer than necessary.

it’s a simple thing, calling someone by their name. but with him, it feels like something more. like offering a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you had been keeping at arm’s length. like letting him step just a little closer, even though you don’t know if you’re ready for it.

jake.

the name lingers on your tongue, settles into the space between you. it feels different from dr. sim, feels different from the careful distance you’ve been trying to maintain. more familiar, more intimate. more dangerous.

you should get out of the car. you should say goodnight and go inside before this shifts into something you can’t take back.

but instead, you linger.

jake doesn’t look away. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t break the moment, just lets it settle the way he does with most things – quietly, carefully, like he’s turning it over in his mind before deciding what to do with it.

and you? you sit there, pulse thrumming in your throat, because for the first time in a long time, you realize you want something you shouldn’t.

the problem is, you don’t know if you’re brave enough to take it.

nineteen.

you don’t call him ‘jake’ all that often.

truthfully, he had half expected you to go back to last name basis with him and you had in fact, but jake quickly learned that it was only when you had to be formal. notifying him about kang’s incoming rounds? he’s dr. sim again. the words are professional, as if drawing a clear boundary between the workday and whatever exists outside of it. but then there are moments where the distinction blurs.

the end of a long shift when you linger in the doorway of his office, hesitation evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. a thoughtful pause before you ask if he’s heading out soon, if maybe you could walk together. and in those moments, he’s jake.

knocking on his door quietly just five minutes before lunch, your head peeking in and your fingers gripping the doorframe, asking him shyly whether you would have lunch together again? he’s jake then. and the way you say it – soft, almost careful – does something to him. it’s the kind of thing he shouldn’t be thinking too hard about, but he does anyway.

because it’s different. there’s a familiarity in it that wasn’t there before. a warmth that seeps in through the cracks of whatever this dynamic is. he tells himself he won’t read into it. he tells himself it’s just a name. and yet, when you brighten slightly at his nod, he wonders if maybe you don’t dislike calling him jake as much as you pretend to.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

doesn’t tease you about the way you seem visibly flustered while doing this. doesn’t push you to pick one, rather lets you do what you’re comfortable with. but it lingers in the back of his mind, a quiet thought he doesn’t quite know what to do with. the realization settles in during the most mundane of moments – when he’s typing out a report, when he’s sipping his coffee, when he’s scrolling through his phone. it clicks, all at once, that you only ever call him by his first name in the quieter, more personal moments. not when you’re in a room full of people. not when there’s an audience. just when it’s the two of you, when the words carry a different kind of weight.

he tries hard not to smile like a lunatic at his screen at the realization. he fails miserably.

jake can feel it – a quiet sort of courage, inching its way into his chest. it’s fragile, tentative, and it crumbles a little every time he watches you move through the world so effortlessly. the way you strike up conversation with department assistants, ask the janitor about his daughter, or pass the cleaning lady a cup of coffee like it’s second nature.

you’re effortlessly kind. not in a loud, performative way, but in a way that’s woven into the fabric of who you are. it’s in the way you remember details most people would forget, how you know which of the interns take their coffee black and which ones are too shy to admit they don’t know how to request time off. it’s in the way you say people’s names like they matter, like they’re more than just faces passing through the halls.

and maybe that’s what unnerves him the most.

because up until now, he’s seen you as his assistant. his colleague, even. the one who hands him charts and keeps his schedule in check, who teases him just enough to throw him off balance but never enough to cross a line. it was easy to keep you in that box, to pretend that was all there was to you.

but now – now he sees you as a person. as someone with a world outside of this building, with people who care for you, who look forward to your presence. he sees the way you brighten around others, how effortlessly you slot yourself into people’s lives, and it stirs something deep in his chest.

jake doesn’t know what to do with that.

he should look away, should focus on the notes in front of him, but his gaze lingers a second too long. because when you laugh at something the receptionist says, when your shoulders shake just a little from the force of it, it hits him – really hits him – that he wants to be someone you laugh like that with.

and maybe that scares him more than anything else.

he feels himself wilting at the simple brush of fingers when you hand him a report, an unintentional graze of arms when you lean over to point something out on his screen. but each time, it lingers. not physically – just long enough to be noticeable – but in his mind, it stays.

he tells himself it’s nothing. but then it happens again.

like when you pass him a coffee one morning, your fingertips skimming against his palm. it’s not supposed to mean anything, but his fingers twitch against the warmth of the cup, and when his eyes flicker up to you, you’re already turning away like nothing happened. like your skin hadn’t just burned into his.

or the time he catches you mid-stumble in the hallway, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you, fingers wrapping lightly around your wrist. it’s brief, over in a second, but he swears he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips long after he lets go.

and then there are the moments that are quieter, heavier.

the ones where you’re physically not there but he’s thinking about you. he’s thinking about you too much.

when he’s in his bed, his body sinking into his comforter, that’s when you strike. when the absence of conversation makes the memory of your voice louder. he replays moments he shouldn’t, imagines responses he never gave, finds himself staring at the ceiling as if the answer to all of it might be there.

and he doesn’t know what to do, what to feel because he’s never done this before. never let himself sit in the weight of emotions like this, never allowed himself to even consider what it would mean if he did. but it’s getting harder to pretend it’s nothing when you’ve made a home in the corners of his mind, settling into places he hadn’t realized were empty.

he’s unsure of what to feel and how much of it he should feel in the first place. because if he lets himself feel all of it, if he acknowledges that this pull toward you is real, then what happens next? what happens if he admits, even just to himself, that he doesn’t mind being in your orbit at all?

because you’re in his orbit now, and somehow, he’s in yours.

and jake – who has never been good at these things, who doesn’t know how to define whatever this is – finds himself wanting to stay there.

so when you willingly reach out to him to stay a while longer, he doesn’t hesitate.

you don't plan it. really, you don’t.

it’s one of those things that just happens – a fleeting thought that slips past your usual mental filter before you can stop it. and by the time you realize what you’ve done, there’s no taking it back.

jake is beside you in the breakroom counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he moves with his usual precision, measured and methodical, the way he does most things. you watch as he tilts the carafe, the dark liquid swirling into his mug, steam curling into the space between you.

you’re not even supposed to be here. you had just come in to grab something quickly, but then jake was there, and then you were making conversation, and then—

“hey, are you doing anything this weekend?”

jake glances at you, his hand still wrapped around the coffee pot. he blinks, as if the question caught him off guard. “uh.” a beat passes. “not really. why?”

you clear your throat, shifting your weight. “there’s a space exhibition at the museum this week. it’s only in town for a little while, and i thought… i don’t know. it might be interesting?”

jake stills.

it’s subtle, but you catch it. the way his grip tightens just slightly around the handle of his mug, the way his eyes search yours as if trying to read into the intent behind your words.

you hold his gaze, waiting for an answer, but the longer the silence stretches, the more you start to regret opening your mouth in the first place. maybe this was stupid. maybe you’re overstepping. maybe he doesn’t actually—

“i’d like that.”

your breath catches. “you would?”

jake nods, setting his coffee down. “yeah.” his voice is quieter now, more certain. “it sounds… nice.”

there’s something about the way he says it that makes your stomach flip. you’re suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the warmth of his presence seems to linger in the space between you.

you offer him a small smile. “cool.”

jake hesitates, then, like he’s considering something. “you really think i wouldn’t be interested in a space exhibition?”

you blink. “i—what?”

“the way you phrased it,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “like you weren’t sure.”

“well, i mean…” you exhale, suddenly flustered. “of course, i figured you’d be interested. it’s just—”

“just what?”

you hesitate. “i wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with me.”

the words hang in the air between you, weighty and unspoken. for a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much. if you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize was there.

but then he smiles.

it’s small, barely there, but you catch it. a soft curve at the corner of his lips, something warmer in his eyes. and for some reason, that look alone makes you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest.

“saturday?” he asks.

you nod. “saturday.”

he picks up his coffee again, taking a slow sip, and when he lowers it, he’s still looking at you. “what time?”

“um.” you scramble to think. “maybe around six? we could grab something to eat after.”

jake hums, considering. “sounds good.”

and just like that, it’s set.

the realization settles in slowly as you go about your day, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. you asked jake to go somewhere with you. outside of work. on a weekend. and he said yes.

it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but somehow, it does, because when saturday arrives faster than you expect, you’re all but a bundle of nerves.

neither of you had called it a date per se, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you had been yearning to call it that.

you tell yourself not to overthink it. you tell yourself it’s just two colleagues going to an exhibition together. nothing more, nothing less.

but then jake shows up looking… well. like that. and you weren’t prepared for this.

he’s waiting for you outside the museum when you arrive, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans. it’s a simple look, but somehow, it makes him seem even more put together than usual. he has his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the entrance before landing on you. he’s changed out of his horn rimmed glasses for a thick black framed one and honestly? it does a number on you.

you’ve always considered him to be attractive, like its a fact at this point, there’s no denying it. but right now, seeing him dressed so casually – a side of him you never could have even imagined – it makes you curl your fingers into a fist, pushing down at whatever churning feeling rises up in your throat straight from the depths of your chest.

jake, for his part, is having a similar moment.

he’s used to seeing you in a professional setting – sharp, polished, always composed. but tonight, under the dim glow of the museum lights, you look different. not in a way that’s unfamiliar, but in a way that makes something in his chest shift uncomfortably.

casual. at ease. like the version of you that exists beyond his orbit. and for some reason, he finds himself wanting to know more about that version.

his gaze lingers a beat longer than it should before he catches himself.

“you made it,” he says, clearing his throat.

you raise an eyebrow. “was there ever any doubt?”

jake huffs a quiet laugh. “no. just making conversation.”

something about that makes you smile. “shall we?”

he nods, and the two of you make your way inside.

the exhibition is stunning.

massive planetary models hang from the ceiling, their surfaces illuminated with soft light. constellation maps line the walls, showcasing the stars in intricate detail. there’s even an interactive section where visitors can simulate what it would be like to walk on different celestial bodies.

jake takes it all in with an expression you rarely see on him – genuine, unguarded wonder.

you watch as he moves from display to display, his gaze lingering on certain exhibits longer than others. every now and then, he murmurs something under his breath, a fact or observation about a particular planet or star system.

there’s a small part of you – an unfamiliar, irrational part – that wants to see him like this more often.

then, at one point, he pauses in front of a model of betelgeuse.

the exhibit is quieter here. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty, just hushed, like stepping into the stillness of space itself.

this part of the museum is quieter, darker. the only illumination comes from the digital projection of the massive star suspended above them, pulsing in slow, rhythmic intervals. every few seconds, a deep red glow spills across the room, washing over their faces, their skin – before retreating into darkness again. it feels like stepping into the void of space itself.

he stops walking without realizing it.

you almost pass him before noticing he’s no longer beside you. when you turn, he’s standing still, hands in his coat pockets, gazing up at the red giant with a look you can’t quite place.

it’s unlike him.

there’s something distant about the way he looks at it, like he’s seeing something beyond the projection itself. the soft flickering light makes the sharp angles of his face seem softer, more open, and for a second, you feel like you’re seeing him – just jake, without the polished professionalism, without the careful restraint.

you hesitate for only a moment before stepping closer.

“you like this one?” your voice is quiet, like speaking any louder would disturb the stillness between you.

jake hums. “betelgeuse is interesting.” his gaze doesn’t leave the star. “it’s one of the largest stars we can see with the naked eye, but it won’t last forever.”

the words linger in the space between you. heavy. measured.

you tilt your head slightly, glancing at him. “what do you mean?”

“it’s nearing the end of its life cycle.”

this time, he does look at you. and for some reason, the moment feels different.

maybe it’s the way the red light reflects in his eyes, making them seem warmer than usual. maybe it’s the way his voice is quieter here, steadier, like he’s sharing something that matters. or maybe it’s just the closeness – how, in this darkened corner of the exhibit, with no one else around, it feels like you and jake exist in your own little pocket of the universe.

“eventually, it’ll go supernova,” he continues. his gaze flickers over your face for a beat too long before shifting back to the dying star above you.

then, softer—“but for now, it’s still shining.”

the words settle over you, quiet and lingering. neither of you move nor speak.

you just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the warmth of him is noticeable in the cool air of the museum. close enough that if either of you shifted even slightly, you’d touch.

the projection pulses again, casting your faces in a deep red glow.

jake is half-lit, half-shadowed, the flickering light drawing out the details of his expression – the faint crease in his brow, the careful set of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly like there’s something else he wants to say but doesn’t.

there’s a stillness in the air. a moment where it almost feels like something should be said, but neither of you say anything. like the silence itself is waiting.

the betelgeuse model pulses one last time before dimming again, but even after the light fades, you still feel it.

twenty.

jake doesn’t think much of it at first.

the exhibition had been… nice. more than nice. he had enjoyed it more than he expected – not just because of the displays, but because of you. because of the way your eyes lit up when he talked about the stars, because of how you listened, genuinely listened, not out of politeness but curiosity. because for the first time in a long time, he had allowed himself to just be.

neither of you had called it a date. you’d simply invited him, and he had simply said yes.

that was all. at least, that’s what he thought.

until jay brought it up.

“damn, didn’t think you had it in you, sim.”

jake looks up from his coffee, blinking. “what?”

jay leans back in his chair, grinning. “the whole date thing. i mean, i know you’re not the best at this stuff, but you did good. a museum date? classy.”

jake’s stomach twists in a way he doesn’t fully understand.

he doesn’t answer right away when jay asks how the "date" went. he just takes a sip of his drink, lets the word settle in his mind, like if he doesn’t react to it, it won’t hold any meaning. but it does.

date.

jay had said it so offhandedly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

jake huffs. “it wasn’t a date.”

jay tilts his head, unimpressed. “then what was it?”

jake thinks about it for a second too long, and jay’s lips twitch like he’s already won. but jake refuses to entertain this. instead, he says, “just an exhibition. we were both interested in it, so we went. that’s it.”

jay hums, swirling his beer lazily. “sure.”

jake ignores him. or at least, he tries to. but the thought lingers.

he’s still thinking about it that night, staring at the ceiling, the room dim except for the soft glow of his bedside clock. 2:28 am.

jake sighs. turns over. closes his eyes.

it doesn’t help.

jay’s voice is still in his head. so… how’d the date go?

it hadn’t been a date. that much, he was sure of. but then, what had it been?

he tries to be rational about it. you had been the one to invite him. but it hadn’t been anything extravagant – just an exhibition you thought he’d enjoy. that’s what friends do. that’s what coworkers do.

and yet, jake finds himself ruminating about the evening again. the way you had smiled when you saw him waiting outside the museum, the way your eyes had lingered just a second too long. the way you had listened, really listened, when he talked about the stars, about betelgeuse. the way you had looked at him then, in the dim red glow of the exhibit, like you saw something in him that even he couldn’t quite understand.

his stomach twists. groaning, he presses a hand to his face. this was stupid. he was overthinking it. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous.

because the thing is, he can’t remember the last time he spent time with someone like that – just the two of them, sharing quiet conversations, moving through the space together like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe that’s what unsettles him the most. how natural it had felt.

it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

the thought gnaws at him, the edge of something unfamiliar settling deep in his chest.

jake has never been good at this kind of thing – relationships, feelings, whatever this was. he keeps his world structured, predictable. work is work. anything outside of that is just white noise, distant and unimportant. that’s how he’s always operated.

but you? you’re not white noise. you never have been.

jake knows this. knows it in the way his pulse had stuttered – just for a second – when you brushed against him, fingers barely grazing his sleeve. knows it in the way he had caught himself glancing at you, noticing details he shouldn’t. the way your hair caught the faint light of the exhibit. the way your lips had parted slightly when he explained something, as if committing his words to memory.

he groans into his pillow. this was dangerous. he couldn’t – shouldn’t –be thinking like this. shouldn’t be thinking of you well into the depths of the night.

it wasn’t a date. it wasn’t.

jake tells himself that again, but the logic of it is starting to feel shaky, unsteady beneath his feet. because if it wasn’t a date, then why did it feel so different? why did he keep circling back to the way you had lingered at the end of the night, standing just a little too close, hesitating like there was something left unsaid?

and maybe the worst part – the part he’s trying the hardest to ignore – is that some part of him had wanted it to be a date.

the thought startles him. his stomach clenches, his fingers curling into his sheets.

he doesn’t know what to do with that realization. doesn’t even want to acknowledge it fully. because if he does, then what? then everything changes. then he has to start questioning things he’s not ready to question.

so instead, he focuses on the facts.

you had invited him. you had called it an exhibition. you had never said it was a date.

and when jay had said the word, you hadn’t been there to confirm or deny it. so he should leave it at that. let it go. move on.

but he knows himself. he knows this isn’t something that will leave him easily.

and sure as hell, the next morning, it’s still there, lodged in his brain like a splinter. he catches himself watching you more than usual – studying the way you move, the way you talk to others, the way you act around him.

do you see him differently now? have you always?

it takes him another day to gather the nerve to ask.

you’re in the break room when he finally does, stirring sugar into your coffee. he leans against the counter beside you, pretending to be casual.

“so…” he starts, clearing his throat. “the exhibition.”

you glance up. “yeah?”

jake hesitates. “did you… was that—” he stops, exhales through his nose, tries again. “would you have considered that a date?”

something flickers across your face. it’s so quick, so fleeting, he almost misses it. then you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“why? would it have mattered?” you say, teasing.

but jake hears it – the way your voice tightens, just a little. the way your grip on your cup tenses before you force yourself to relax.

he swallows. he doesn’t know what he had wanted you to say, but now, with this, he isn’t sure what to do with it.

you don’t give him a chance to figure it out. “don’t overthink it,” you say lightly, nudging his arm as you pass by. “it was just an exhibition, right?”

and well, you try not to overthink it either. in fact you try not to think about it at all. but you still wonder, would it have been that bad had it been a date?

you know you’re expecting too much of course, neither you nor jake had been close enough before this. sure, the month that had led up to this had been eventful, to say the least. but jake had never shown any romantic interest in you. or anyone, for that matter.

from what you knew, jake wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this. he was meticulous, methodical, everything in his life followed a formula, a pattern. work, research, the occasional gathering he was dragged into. he had routines, predictable rhythms, and you? you weren’t supposed to be part of any of it.

and yet, here you were.

you try to shove the thought away, but it lingers. because despite everything, despite your better judgment, you still wonder.

you replay the moment in your head – the hesitance in jake’s voice, the way he had carefully chosen his words. he had been thinking about it, too. maybe not in the way you wanted, but enough for him to ask. and that alone was dangerous, wasn’t it? the fact that he had considered it at all.

you take a deep breath, willing yourself to stop spiraling. it was just an exhibition. it wasn’t a date. jake had never given you a reason to think otherwise.

but the thing is – you don’t think you would have minded if he had.

the thought sits heavy in your chest as you go about your evening, but you ignore it. you go home. you change into more comfortable clothes. you eat dinner. and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you text jay.

which is how you end up here – sitting across from him at a bar, nursing a beer, and feeling considerably less fine about everything.

jay watches you, unimpressed. “so let me get this straight – you wanted it to be a date, but when jake asked if it was a date, you said no?”

you groan, knocking back another sip. “it sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“it is dumb.”

you glare at him. “it’s not that simple, okay? he looked—” you struggle for the right word. “weird. like he was waiting for me to say the wrong thing.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “and you thought the wrong thing was saying yes?”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “i don’t know. i just… i didn’t want to make it worse.”

jay studies you for a moment, then shakes his head. “you two are ridiculous.”

you shoot him a glare, but there’s no real bite to it. “it’s not that simple.”

jay scoffs. “no, it actually is. you had the chance to be honest, and you chickened out.”

you open your mouth, then close it. because as much as you hate to admit it – he’s right.

you had wanted it to be a date. and when jake, hesitant and uncertain, had asked if it was one, you had shut him down before he could even decide what he wanted to hear. because the truth? the truth was terrifying.

because if it had been a date, if jake had agreed, if jake had thought of it that way too – then what? what would you have done with that knowledge?

jay raises an eyebrow. “are you afraid jake would treat you different if you had told him it was a date?”

you stare down at your beer. “…i don’t know.”

you feel a bit ridiculous right now. like you were back in college, worrying over your crush noticing you and talking to your girlfriends about it.

jay sighs, shaking his head. “you know, for someone who started this whole thing trying to get jake to notice you, you sure are bad at dealing with him actually noticing you.”

you let out a dry laugh. “yeah, well. i didn’t expect to fall for him in the process.”

jay stills. you blink, realizing what you just said.

and then you exhale, pressing your fingers to your temple. “god.”

“you like him,” he repeats plainly, voice cutting through the noise of the bar.

there’s no teasing lilt, no smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he’s not mocking you. he’s just stating it like it’s a fact, like it’s something as obvious as the beer bottle in your hand or the way your fingers are tightening around it.

and maybe you should lie. maybe you should deflect, laugh it off, pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. because you’re exhausted. because there’s no point in pretending anymore.

“yeah,” you murmur, setting your bottle down. “i do.”

jay doesn’t react right away. he just leans back, tilts his head like he’s trying to piece something together. “and?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, shaking your head. “and what?”

jay gives you a look. “and what are you going to do about it?”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “nothing. what the hell am i supposed to do about it?”

“you spent all that time trying to get him to notice you,” jay says, propping his elbow up on the table. “and now that he has—”

“it’s not like that,” you interrupt, voice tight. “that was just—”

“a way to get under his skin?” jay lifts an eyebrow. “sure. but now?”

you don’t say anything. because now? now it is different.

now, you’re here, drowning in the weight of it, feeling like an idiot because you had let yourself hope. because you had wanted to call it a date. because when you had looked at jake in the dim glow of the exhibit, something had settled in your chest, something real and terrifying, something that had whispered, this is it.

you don’t shy away from it. you don’t deny it. but you also feel like a dumb teen with a crush, stomach twisting with something close to regret. because now that you’ve admitted it to yourself, you can’t take it back. you can’t pretend it was never there.

you look down at your hands, fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. “i don’t know what to do with this.”

jay exhales, leaning back. “you don’t have to do anything right now. but you should stop lying to yourself.”

silence stretches between you. heavy. unspoken. but something has shifted, set in stone.

and it’s not just the realization that you like jake. it’s the fear that it won’t matter.

jay watches you for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “you ever think that maybe… you’ve always liked him?”

your head snaps up. “what?”

he shrugs. “maybe it’s not that jake’s suddenly reciprocating, but that you’ve always had feelings for him, and now that he’s acting different, you’re finally noticing.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “bullshit. jake didn’t even want to call it a date.” you tip your bottle toward him, your mouth twisting bitterly. “reciprocate my ass.”

jay leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “just because he couldn’t call it a date doesn’t mean he didn’t want it to be one.”

you shake your head. “don’t do that. don’t sit here and try to make excuses for him. if he wanted it to be a date, he would have said so. it’s that simple.”

jay is quiet for a long moment. then, softer, “is it?”

you hate the way your throat tightens. the way your chest aches. because you don’t know the answer to that. because part of you knows that jake is different. that maybe it’s not as simple as him just not wanting it.

but that doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t say it. that he hesitated. that he left you to sit with that disappointment, with the weight of knowing you had wanted something more than he did.

so you don’t answer. you just grab your beer and take another drink, staring down at the table like it might give you the clarity you so desperately need.

jay doesn’t push any further. he just sits back, watching you, like he’s waiting for you to come to your own conclusion.

and you do.

the realization settles in your chest, heavy and unyielding.

you have feelings for jake. you have had feelings for jake. and maybe you’ve been trying to ignore them, to mask them as something else, but they’ve been there all along.

and now? now, you don’t know what to do with them.

twenty-one.

what do you do when you have feelings for someone you’ve just realised you’ve had feelings for a long time? what happens when you realise that the crush had secretly migrated into full blow ‘i like this person’ zone?

you do what any rational person would do when faced with undeniable, terrifying feelings for someone you weren’t supposed to fall for.

you avoid him.

it’s not obvious at first – or at least, you hope it isn’t. you still do your job, still interact with him when you have to. but you stop lingering after work. stop waiting by his office door with some offhand excuse just to talk to him. stop initiating conversations that aren’t strictly necessary.

jake notices the shift before he even fully understands it. the way you talk to him, the way you look at him – it’s different. not in a way that anyone else would catch, but jake isn’t anyone else. he’s spent too much time watching, listening, knowing exactly how you move through the world. and right now? you’re moving away from him.

not completely. not obviously. but in the way that matters.

you don’t linger after work anymore. you don’t stop by his office just to make some offhand comment about something completely unrelated to work. you still talk to him, still answer when he calls, but it’s all business now. and it’s throwing him off more than he cares to admit.

he tries not to overthink it. maybe he’s imagining things. maybe this is just how things are supposed to be. but then, he finds himself hesitating before he knocks on your office door one afternoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“hey, uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “lunch?”

you glance up from your desk, looking at him for a beat too long. and for a second, something flickers across your face – something that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t understand. but then, just as quickly, you smile.

“oh,” you say, then offer him an apologetic smile. “i can’t today. we’re going out for ms. heo’s birthday.”

jake blinks. “ms. heo?”

“from the assistant team,” you explain. “we’re all grabbing lunch together. it’s kind of a thing we do when someone’s got a birthday coming up.”

he doesn’t know why that surprises him. of course you’d have your own circle in the office, people who weren’t just him and jay. but the realization still sits uncomfortably in his chest, like something he should’ve known but never really considered until now.

“oh, right,” he says after a beat. “that makes sense.”

you hesitate for a second, almost like you’re about to say something else, but then you just give him a small wave before turning back to your work.

jake doesn’t go back to his office right away. instead, he watches as you leave with the others, watches the way you laugh at something someone says, watches the way you move so effortlessly in a space that suddenly feels completely separate from him.

and it hits him.

maybe you and him exist in two different worlds. maybe he’s only just now realizing it.

and that should be the end of it. but then, purely by coincidence – because of course, that’s all it is – he ends up at the same restaurant later that afternoon. it has nothing to do with the fact that he had asked you where you would be going. and it has nothing to do with the fact that he had dragged jay there despite the latter’s protests about how he had a report to file urgently.

jake tells himself he’s just here for lunch. that the fact that you’re sitting a few tables away, surrounded by your coworkers, is purely incidental.

jay, however, is not buying it.

“you’re the worst liar i’ve ever met,” he mutters, stabbing at his food with little enthusiasm.

jake doesn’t respond. he keeps his gaze on his own plate, like that might somehow stop his ears from picking up the sound of your laughter, the easy cadence of your voice as you talk to the others.

it’s strange.

he’s so used to seeing you in his space – his office, his schedule, his orbit. but here, surrounded by people who move through the world with you instead of just passing through it, you seem… different. freer, somehow. more yourself in a way that jake isn’t sure he’s ever seen before.

and it unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“dude,” jay says suddenly, dragging him out of his thoughts. “are you seriously considering it?”

jake frowns. “considering what?”

but jay just tilts his head in your direction. and that’s when jake realizes – somehow, at some point, he had started to stand up.

his pulse jumps. he hadn’t even thought about it. it had been instinctual, a decision made before his brain had even caught up to it.

he hesitates. this is a bad idea. he knows that. and yet, before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving, already making his way to your table.

the chatter quiets as he approaches. a few of your coworkers exchange confused glances, clearly just as thrown off by his presence as he is.

you look up last. your expression is unreadable.

jake clears his throat. “ms. heo.”

she blinks. “uh—yes?”

he exhales. no turning back now. “happy birthday.”

silence. and then,

“oh!” ms. heo recovers quickly, her surprise melting into a polite smile. “thank you, dr. sim!”

jake nods. “enjoy your lunch.”

and with that, he turns and walks off, forcing himself to keep his pace even, his shoulders squared.

by the time he reaches his table, jay is staring at him, looking equal parts entertained and exhausted. jake doesn’t say anything as he picks up his fork. he doesn’t have to.

because now, after everything, after weeks of trying to make sense of this – he finally understands one thing: you aren’t the only one confused.

you on the other hand, are mildly confused. for a moment, nobody says anything and then, it’s like the entire table collectively short-circuits.

“did dr. sim just—?”

“what the hell was that?”

“wait, how did he even know?”

you barely hear them over the sound of your own thoughts, still stuck on the fact that jake – dr. jake sim, notorious for barely remembering his own birthday – had gone out of his way to wish ms. heo a happy one.

you snap out of it when ms. heo turns to you, wide-eyed. “was that because of you?”

“i—” you shake your head, just as baffled. “i have no idea.”

because really, you don’t. sure, jake has always been a little softer than people give him credit for, but this? this was unexpected.

and it was…it was sweet.

maybe too sweet, considering you’ve spent the last few weeks trying to convince yourself that none of this meant anything. that jake only saw you as his assistant, that you had just misread things, that any warmth between you had been incidental at best.

but now, here he is, going out of his way to do something thoughtful – something he had no reason to do.

and it lingers. the way his voice had sounded, a little quieter, like he wasn’t sure how it would land. the way he hadn’t even looked at you, not really, before walking off like he was escaping.

you shake your head, pushing the thought away.

later, when you pass by the dessert counter on the way out, you pause.

jake doesn’t like sweets. you know that. you’ve heard him say it a dozen times before. but when your hand moves before your mind can stop it, when you find yourself paying for an extra slice of the coffee cake, something that’s not too sweet, you tell yourself it’s just a small thing. just a thank you.

nothing more.

you don’t give it to him right away. instead, you leave it on his desk, tucked neatly in a small paper bag, the note attached reading simply:

for the birthday wishes.

and then you go about your day as if you haven’t just done something completely out of character. as if you haven’t just spent far too long deliberating over whether or not to leave the note at all. it’s ridiculous. you don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. it’s just a piece of cake.

except, when jake finds it, it doesn’t feel like just a piece of cake.

he stares at the bag for a long moment, fingers brushing over the note, the simple handwriting somehow making his chest feel inexplicably tight. he knows exactly who it’s from. knows exactly why you left it. and yet, when he opens it to finds the dessert – something just sweet enough but not overly so – he finds himself hesitating. because it’s from you. and for some reason, that means something.

so he doesn’t hesitate this time before approaching you in the hallway, the small paper bag in one hand, the note pinched between his fingers. you’re balancing a stack of folders, mid-step toward your office, when you hear him clear his throat.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he says after a moment, picking up the note between his fingers. his voice is quiet, almost careful.

you force a shrug, suddenly very interested in the pile of folders in your arms. “it’s just coffee cake. thought you might like it.”

jake studies you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to make sense of something. then, instead of setting the bag aside like you expect him to, he opens it, peeling back the paper to reveal the neatly packed slice inside. the scent of coffee and caramel drifts into the air between you.

you watch as he hesitates, then picks up the small fork tucked beside the container. you don’t think he’s actually going to take a bite – he’s made his distaste for sweets well known – but then, to your complete and utter shock, he does.

he takes a bite before he can overthink it. the taste is rich, the coffee flavor strong, just the way he likes it. and maybe he should’ve expected it, but there’s something about the fact that you remembered, that you even thought to pick something he might like, that makes his stomach twist in ways he doesn’t entirely understand.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just chews thoughtfully, expression unreadable. then, finally, he swallows, clears his throat, and glances at you. “it’s good.”

you blink. “you don’t have to lie.”

“i’m not.” he looks down at the cake, then back at you, almost like he can’t believe it himself. “i actually… like it.”

something strange and warm curls in your chest. you don’t know what to do with it. don’t know what to do with the way he’s looking at you right now – like you’ve somehow caught him off guard, like he doesn’t quite understand how you’ve managed to do that.

you clear your throat, shifting the folders in your arms. “well, good. wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

jake nods, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t move to put the fork down. he takes another bite, slower this time, and you realize with a start that he’s enjoying it. not just tolerating it. actually enjoying it.

the thought makes your stomach do something odd.

you take a step back, needing to put some distance between you before you start reading too much into things. “i should—um—i have some things to file. so…”

jake nods again, this time a little more distractedly, his gaze dropping back to the cake. “yeah. sure.”

you turn before he can say anything else, before you can let yourself linger, but as you leave, you hear the quiet scrape of his fork against the container, another bite taken.

the warmth in your chest lingers long after you’re gone.

as for jake, he doesn’t know what to make of it either. not yet. there was the whole 'date' fiasco before all of this.

the cake was a small thing, a simple thank-you, nothing inherently significant. and yet, as he stares down at the empty container on his desk, the lingering taste of coffee and caramel on his tongue, he can’t shake the feeling that it meant something more. that you meant something more by it.

he thinks about the way you looked at him, the way your voice had been just a little uncertain when you’d given it to him. thinks about the way you’ve been lately – present, but distant. still here, still doing your job, but something is different. something’s changed.

and he doesn’t know why it unsettles him so much.

jay finds him like that, still staring at the empty container like it might give him answers.

“dude,” jay says, sliding into the chair across from him, “i thought you didn’t like sweets.”

jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “i don’t.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “right. so that’s why you demolished that cake like it personally wronged you?”

jake scowls but doesn’t argue. he can’t. because jay is right, and they both know it.

jay studies him for a long moment, then leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “you know, for two of the smartest people in this office, you and y/n are really, really dumb.”

jake frowns. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

jay sighs dramatically. “it means you’re both dancing around whatever this is instead of just dealing with it like normal human beings.”

jake stiffens. “there is no ‘this.’”

jay just looks at him, unimpressed. “uh-huh. sure.” he gestures to the empty container. “tell me, would you have eaten that if it came from anyone else?”

jake doesn’t answer, because the truth is, he wouldn’t have. he knows it. jay knows it.

he wants to argue. wants to tell jay he’s wrong. but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. because something is changing, shifting, and he’s only just starting to realize it.

and it terrifies him.

because for the first time in a long time, jake thinks he might actually want something more. and he has no idea what to do about it.

twenty-two.

the first sign that something is off is the way jake is gripping his pen.

you notice it immediately when you step into his office, armed with a thick folder of notes for his upcoming conference. usually, he is composed, methodical – his precision extending even to the way he holds a pen, fingers relaxed yet firm. 

so when you see him hunched in his office one evening, a week before a big presentation, you can tell he’s stressed. his fingers are flying across his keyboard, typing in equations and theories as fast as he can.

it's one of those conferences where young researchers present their proposals for research. it's something jake has been working on the entire year – even before you came – and it's finally descending on him.

you linger by the doorway for a second, watching him. he hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on whatever calculations are running wild in his head. his brow is furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. his fingers hover above the keyboard for a second before he exhales sharply, leaning back and rubbing his temples.

he’s exhausted. you can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his usually neat hair is mussed, tangled in soft waves, as if he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

“dr. sim?”

his head snaps up at your voice, and for a brief second, something in his eyes flickers – something tense, something uncertain. it’s rare to see him like this, so unguarded, so unlike the astrophysicist who always seems to have the entire universe mapped out in his head.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, stepping closer. “are you nervous?”

jake exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “no,” he says, too quickly to be believable. then he pauses, scowling slightly before adjusting his glasses. “…maybe.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “maybe?”

he leans back, gaze flickering toward the papers spread across his desk. the conference is in two days – a huge opportunity, one that most scientists dream of. but instead of excitement, there’s only frustration etched into his features. “it doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “i’ve presented research before. i’ve written papers, given lectures – none of this is new to me.”

you tilt your head, watching him closely. he’s clearly overthinking this, spiraling in his own thoughts, which is unusual. jake never second-guesses himself. he never doubts.

but this time, something’s different. and for some reason, it bothers you.

enough that you move before you can think, reaching for his wrist. “okay, that’s enough.”

jake stills.

you tug at his hand, pulling him away from the desk. he doesn’t resist, though his expression is a mixture of confusion and intrigue as you guide him to stand up.

“step away,” you say firmly, steering him toward the window. “you’re overthinking.”

jake narrows his eyes. “i don’t—”

“you are.” you cut him off, leveling him with a look. “you’re spiraling, and you don’t even realize it.”

and then he looks at you. properly. he lets his heavy eyes rest on you, tilts his head slightly to match your height.

you’re too aware of him. it’s unbearable.

the way his fingers twitch against the desk, the way his jaw tenses, the way his throat moves when he swallows – you hate that you notice. hate that your body reacts to every little thing, hate that your heart stumbles over itself like some lovesick fool.

but none of that matters right now. because jake is spiraling, and you are the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

so you shove it all down. you tighten your grip on his wrist – not enough to startle him, just enough to be steady. to make sure he feels you there.

“step away,” you say, voice even, controlled. the exact opposite of how you feel inside. “breathe.”

jake exhales sharply, eyes flicking to yours. he hesitates, searching for something in your expression, and for one excruciating moment, you think he might see it – see the way you’re coming undone just being this close to him.

his jaw tenses, and for a second, you think he might argue. but then he lets out a breath, slow and measured, and glances at you. “…what do you suggest, then?”

you hesitate, then steel yourself. “you listen to me.”

his brow raises slightly, but there’s something amused in his gaze now, as if entertained by the fact that you’re taking charge.

you ignore it.

“i know you,” you continue. “i know that you hate failure, that you analyze everything until it’s perfect. but you need to stop treating yourself like an equation to solve, dr. sim. you’re—” you falter slightly, but then push through. “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

silence.

jake blinks at you, clearly caught off guard.

your heart hammers against your ribcage, but you don’t back down. “you don’t need to prove anything,” you say, voice softer this time. “not to anyone.”

for the first time since you entered the office, jake looks genuinely speechless.

you hesitated for only a moment before stepping beside him, reaching out to gently press a hand against his shoulder. the warmth of him seeped through the fabric of his dress shirt, and at last, you felt the smallest shift beneath your palm.

he exhales. “i need to get this right. the entire thesis hinges on this one equation and it’s just – it’s not clicking.”

you bit your lip, watching the tight set of his jaw, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to ward off an oncoming headache. you weren’t a scientist, and you certainly weren’t an astrophysicist. there was nothing you could do to help him solve the problem weighing him down. but you could pull him out of his own head – if only for a little while.

so you smiled, aiming for lighthearted. “okay, but have you considered that your brain might just be staging a rebellion? like, maybe it’s on strike until you feed it something that’s not data?”

jake let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. still, he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “i appreciate the concern, but i can’t afford to waste time.”

you hummed. “and what if i told you a break isn’t a waste? what if i told you that, statistically speaking, stepping away from a problem can actually improve problem-solving efficiency?”

that did make him look at you. a single brow arched, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “that so?”

“yeah.” you nodded solemnly. “saw it in an article once. probably written by someone much smarter than me.”

and just like that, the moment shifted.

the teasing lightness in your voice didn’t quite reach your eyes either, and jake noticed. he always noticed. something flickered across his face – something unreadable, something soft – as he turned slightly to face you. “you say that a lot,” he murmured. “like you don’t think you’re smart.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i mean… i work with people like you. people who spend their lives studying the universe, making discoveries that change the way we see the world. compared to that, i just… remind you of meetings and make sure you don’t skip meals.”

jake’s brows drew together, his expression darkening slightly. “that’s not—”

but you weren’t done

“jay said you didn’t really see me at first, you know. and i didn’t hate that. i mean, why would you? you’re brilliant, jake. you look at the stars and actually understand them. people like me? we just look up and think they’re pretty.”

silence stretched between you. heavy. uncomfortable. real.

jake stared at you, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. you didn’t realize it, but you’d just gutted him. there was something about the way you spoke, the way you brushed it off like it was nothing – as if you genuinely believed your own insignificance. it made something tighten in his chest, something he didn’t know how to name.

you meant more. more than your job. more than your standing in society. and jake – who had spent his entire life grounded in logic, in facts and equations – wanted to tell you that. wanted to tell you that, in this universe, you meant something.

that maybe, to someone, you meant everything.

his throat felt tight. he swallowed, trying to push past it. “that’s not true.”

you looked up at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice.

“you’re wrong,” he said, firmer this time. he leaned forward, eyes locked onto yours. “understanding the stars doesn’t make someone brilliant. i spent my whole life looking up, trying to figure out what’s out there, but you see what’s in front of you. you remind people to eat. you remind me to eat. you make sure i don’t get lost in my own head. that’s not nothing, y/n.”

you stared at him, lips parted, words caught somewhere between your mind and your tongue. you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all.

jake wasn’t sure why this mattered so much to him. he wasn’t sure why the thought of you belittling yourself made his chest feel like it was caving in. but as he sat there, watching the way your eyes softened with something uncertain, something almost hopeful, he realized—

he wanted to be someone who saw you. really saw you. and he was starting to hope, achingly, desperately so, that you saw him, too.

“when was the last time you ate?” you say, changing the subject and hoping against hope that your cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.

jake glances at his monitor as if the answer might be there. “…lunch?”

“that was six hours ago.”

at that, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “yeah. i lost track of time.”

you already figured as much. without another word, you set the small paper bag you brought onto his desk. he looks at it, then at you, puzzled.

“i stopped by that bakery after work,” you say, not quite meeting his eyes. “figured you might need something.”

there’s a pause.

“you went all the way there?” his voice is quiet, almost unreadable.

you shrug. “it’s friday.”

jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at the bag before carefully pulling it toward him. he opens it, and the scent of fresh pastries immediately fills the space. his shoulders loosen slightly.

“it’s the coffee cake i got you last time, you seemed to like it.” please someone, make the ground crack open and swallow you whole/

“…thanks,” he murmurs. then turns away as if physically trying to shield himself.

you nod, pretending to busy yourself by scanning the contents of his desk. there are notes everywhere, covered in equations and scattered diagrams, a barely-touched cup of coffee off to the side.

“is this for your conference?” you ask, gesturing at the mess.

jake sighs, sitting back in his chair. “yeah. the presentation is next week, and i still need to finalize my model. it’s a mess.”

you glance at the numbers on the screen. “you say that like i can���t already tell.”

he huffs a quiet laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot. i’ve been working on this for months, and if i screw it up now—” he exhales sharply. “i don’t know.”

you watch him for a second, weighing your words. then, without thinking too much about it, you sit on the edge of his desk.

“you won’t screw it up,” you say simply.

jake looks up, surprised. “you sound pretty confident.”

you tilt your head. “because i’ve seen how much you care about this. and i’ve never seen you half-ass anything. so, yeah. i’m confident.”

something shifts in his expression.

it’s subtle, but you catch it – the way his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. like he wasn’t expecting you to believe in him so easily.

a beat of silence passes. then, his gaze flickers down, like he’s trying to hide something. “you have too much faith in me.”

“maybe,” you say, watching him carefully. “or maybe you just don’t have enough in yourself.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the only sound in the room is the faint hum of his monitor and the city buzzing outside the windows.

then, slowly, his fingers tighten around the paper bag in his hands. he nods once – more to himself than to you.

“…i should eat.”

you take that as your cue to leave, pushing off his desk. “yeah. you should.”

you don’t expect him to say anything else, so you’re already halfway out the door when his voice stops you.

“hey.”

you glance back.

jake hesitates for a second before meeting your eyes. there’s something softer there, something unspoken.

“…thanks,” he says again, quieter this time.

you don’t reply, just give him a small nod before slipping out. and as you walk away, you feel it – that shift, that quiet realization.

something between you and jake sim is changing.

and there’s no stopping it now.

it’s a thought jake finds himself pondering upon too, when it's too late and all the lights in the office have gone out except his own and few stragglers, probably pulling all nighters like him.

his eyes hurt, squinting at his screen all day. if you had been here, you would have probably forced him to take some eye drops. it makes him let out a small laugh which dies as soon as it falls off his lips.

since when did he start thinking of what you would have done?

a quiet sigh escapes his lips. honestly he should have seen this coming. but here’s the thing – jake’s not good with feelings. well, he can’t be a judge of that entirely, mostly because he never tried. he’s never dated, never been in a relationship before, never even had a crush. and now that there’s an inkling of those feelings starting to rise up on him, he’s rightly confused.

jake exhales, leaning back in his chair, eyes trained on the ceiling. he should get back to work. he needs to get back to work. but his thoughts keep circling back to you – the way you just knew he hadn’t eaten, the way you told him he wouldn’t screw this up like it was a fact rather than a possibility.

the pastries sit untouched on his desk. he should eat. that’s what you’d tell him. that’s what he had promised you.

so he does.

the first bite is soft, a little too sweet – just like the memories it brings back.

because it’s friday, and you went all the way there, to get him your favorite pastries. it’s like he’s slowly stepping into you orbit, getting a taste of your life. what you like, what you eat…. and he’s never had this before. never had someone think of him like this.

jake sets the pastry down carefully, staring at it like it holds answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. he can’t be imagining things, right? this feeling creeping up on him – this warmth, this tension that makes his fingers twitch whenever you’re near.

but what is it? what is this?

he scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated. damn it.

he hates not knowing things. he hates uncertainties, hates dealing in emotions when logic has always been his safest place.

so maybe he is overthinking it. maybe this is just you being nice, because that’s who you are. you care about people. this is just who you are.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. he glances back at his screen, at the blinking cursor waiting for him to continue his work, but his mind is already far, far away.

and then he sees it.

the note is small – just a simple sticky note pressed under the cardboard box, written in your handwriting. the ink is slightly smudged, probably from your fingers. jake stares at it longer than he should. he had almost missed it

“betelgeuse is still shining. you’ll get through it too!”

his stomach does something weird, a strange, unfamiliar pull tightening at his ribs. it’s like…it’s like someone suddenly opened a jar of butterflies within that erupted out all at once.

it shouldn’t be a big deal. it’s just a note. just like the dozens he’s left you over the past few weeks – facts about galaxies, black holes, the andromeda-milky way collision – but this one is different.

because it’s from you. because you thought about him. because you left it for him in return.

because you listened to him. and you remembered.

his grip on the note tightens. damn it.

jake has spent years understanding the mechanics of the universe, memorizing equations that map out the way things move, how things change. but this? this thing blooming in his chest – this warm, unfamiliar ache that lingers long after you’ve left – he has no formula for this.

no equation, no logical explanation.

just the undeniable, inescapable fact that you are getting under his skin. and for some reason, that thought sits uncomfortably in his chest.

for some reason, it feels too familiar.

jake thinks about the way his world has subtly, almost imperceptibly, started revolving around you. how your presence has become a fixed point in his orbit. the quiet check-ins, the shared lunches, the notes, the way you listen when he talks about the universe like you actually care. the way you look at him sometimes, like he’s someone worth looking at.

it was slow. a gradual shift. like a planet caught in a gravitational pull stronger than its own. he hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t noticed the way he kept looking for you in a room, the way his mood lifted at the sound of your voice, the way he found himself wanting to make you laugh just to hear it again.

but now? now it’s undeniable.

because the second he sees that note, the second he realizes that you left it there because you know him – know how he’d find it interesting, how he’d read it and think of you – something in his chest collapses.

a free fall. a point of no return.

jake grips the note tighter, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.

shit.

twenty-three.

jake doesn’t throw the note away.

he should. he should crumple it up, toss it in the bin, move on like it’s just another piece of paper. but he doesn’t. instead, it sits on his desk, half-hidden under a stack of equations and research notes, but never gone.

and maybe that’s why, over the next few days, something shifts.

it’s subtle at first.

monday, you bring him coffee. not on purpose – not really. you just had an extra one, you said. leftover from a run you made with a coworker. jake takes it without thinking, murmuring a quiet thanks. he doesn’t even realize until later that it’s exactly how he likes it.

wednesday, you’re in the break room at the same time. he doesn’t even mean to say anything, but somehow, you’re talking. about his presentation, about the stress, about how he’s barely sleeping. you listen like it matters. you tell him, very simply, “you’re going to be fine.” and for some reason, it sticks.

friday, you pass by his office when he’s too in his head to notice much of anything – until you pause in the doorway. you don’t step in, don’t linger too long, but your voice is steady when you say, “don’t forget to eat.”

and he doesn’t.

it’s nothing big. nothing dramatic. just… small things. but jake notices them. he notices you. and by friday night, when he finds himself staring at that damn note again, he realizes—

you’ve been there. all week. a quiet presence, slipping into his orbit before he even knew it was happening.

and for the first time, maybe ever, jake doesn’t mind.

scratch that, he stopped minding a long time ago. he stopped minding the day he had snapped at you and you had made yourself sparse to him. your little note had just been a nail in the coffin, the final act before he had fully realised the extent of his feelings.

the problem is, he doesn’t know feelings. he knows of them, but it all circles back to him being abysmally clueless on how this stuff works. does he just tell you? or are you supposed to figure it out by yourself?

jake doesn’t tell you.

not because he doesn’t want to. not because the thought hasn’t crossed his mind a hundred times over the past week, every time he sees you or hears your voice or finds another piece of you lingering in his space. no, he doesn’t tell you because he genuinely has no idea how to.

it’s a frustrating thing, realizing something but having no clear answer for what comes next. he’s spent years solving equations, mapping out trajectories, following strict logic to find the right answer. but this? this isn’t logical. there are no equations for this. no step-by-step process he can follow. no set reaction to plug into a formula that will tell him what to do.

and it’s driving him insane.

by saturday night, he’s overthinking so hard that his brain refuses to function properly, so he does what he always does when he needs a break – he texts jay. which is how he finds himself at a quiet bar, sitting across from his best friend while nursing a whiskey he barely remembers ordering.

jay watches him, unimpressed. "are you going to actually drink that or just stare at it until it evaporates?"

jake huffs but takes a sip. it burns in a way that should ground him, but his mind is still tangled elsewhere. jay catches the way his brows pinch together, the way he keeps fidgeting with the rim of his glass.

he smirks. "so. you wanna tell me why you've been acting weird for the past week?"

"i haven’t been acting weird."

jay raises a brow, unimpressed. “you just spent the last five minutes sighing at your drink like it personally wronged you.”

jake exhales sharply, shaking his head. "it’s nothing. i just... i don't know."

jay leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, clearly entertained. "oh, this is gonna be good. go on.

“jay, it’s just... how do you know when something's different?”

jay blinks. “different how?”

jake exhales. “like… when someone just—” he gestures vaguely. “—gets into your head. but not in a bad way. just – suddenly, they’re there. and you don’t know when it started, but you know it’s not going away anytime soon.”

jay tilts his head, considering him for a long moment. and then, he snorts.

jake glares. “what?”

“nothing. it’s just—” jay shakes his head, amusement flickering across his face. “man, this feels like déjà vu.”

jake frowns. “what does that mean?”

jay only shrugs, but there's something knowing in his gaze. something infuriating. “nothing. just keep going.”

jake scowls but does, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know, dude. it’s just…you know how you can watch something fall into place in real time? like, it’s not sudden, it’s just a shift, slow and inevitable?”

jay hums. “yeah. i do.”

jake huffs out a humorless laugh. “yeah? and what do you call that?”

jay takes a sip of his drink, eyes glinting over the rim. “you tell me.”

jake doesn’t answer, just frowns at the table, running his thumb over the condensation on his glass. his thoughts have been a mess ever since you left that note – ever since you started feeling less like an anomaly and more like a constant.

and it’s not just the note. it’s the way you notice things, the way you always make sure he eats, the way you listen when he talks about space like it means something to you. it’s the way you looked at him that night in his office, like he was someone worth believing in.

jake shifts uncomfortably, gripping his glass. “i don’t know,” he mutters.

jay sighs. “you do know. you’re just refusing to say it out loud.”

jake looks away. he knows what jay wants him to admit, but there’s something about it – about the weight of acknowledging it – that makes his chest feel tight.

jake exhales, pressing his fingers against his temples. “i just don’t get it,” he mutters.

jay tilts his head. “get what?”

“this,” jake gestures vaguely, frustration bleeding into his voice. “how people do it. the whole – liking someone, being in a relationship, whatever.”

jay watches him for a second, expression unreadable. “you mean… how people fall in love?”

jake tenses. the word feels heavy, pressing against his ribcage like something sharp. “i don’t know if it’s that,” he says, and it’s the truth. “i just – how do people bank on feelings like that? they’re not stable, they change all the time. how do you trust something that’s basically unpredictable?”

jay’s quiet for a long moment. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more thoughtful. “not everything is an equation, jake.”

jake exhales sharply. “yeah, i figured that out the hard way.”

jay doesn’t laugh. instead, he studies jake carefully, and then, as if piecing things together, his gaze turns knowing. “this isn’t just about her, is it?”

jake stills. and suddenly, his mother’s voice rings in his head; ‘don’t be like your dad, jake. don’t push people away.’

jake grips his glass tighter. he hates this part – the part where everything circles back to the one thing he never wants to think about.

jay leans forward slightly, like he already knows. like he’s seen this before. “it’s about your dad, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “it’s not—” he pauses, jaw tightening. “it’s not about him.”

he clenches his jaw, stares at the table. he knows he should let it go, but the words spill out before he can stop them.

“i just don’t get how people do it,” he mutters, voice lower now. “how they just decide to trust someone. to be with them. like it’s that easy.”

jay hums. “it’s not easy.”

jake looks up, brows furrowing as if begging to understand whatever this was.

jay shrugs, swirling his drink. “it’s not easy. and yeah, sometimes feelings change. sometimes they don’t last. but sometimes, they do.” he pauses, then adds, “sometimes, they’re the only thing that does.”

jake doesn’t say anything, just stares at his drink.

jay exhales. “you ever think maybe that’s the whole point? that people choose to believe in it, even when it’s uncertain?”

jake clenches his jaw. “and what if they’re wrong?”

jay tilts his head. “what if they’re right?”

jay watches him for a long moment, then leans back. “look, man,” he says, more casual now. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. but if you’re waiting for some kind of certainty – some mathematical proof that tells you this is safe – you’re gonna be waiting forever.”

jake doesn’t answer, just stares at his drink.

jay sighs, but there’s no frustration in it this time – just something almost fond. “you like her,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

jake doesn’t answer. he just exhales, jaw clenched, grip tightening around his glass like it’s the only thing tethering him to the present. because if he lets himself think – really think – he’ll have to admit it: that it’s not just about liking you. it’s about what comes after. about how people leave. about how things change. about how he spent years watching his mother hold onto something that was never coming back, watching her tell herself if i try harder, if i love more, he’ll stay – and how none of it had mattered in the end.

because sometimes, love isn’t enough. and jake has never been the kind of person to bet on something that fragile.

jay watches him, expression unreadable. he’s quiet for a moment, letting the weight of jake’s silence settle between them. then, with a sigh, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“you know,” jay starts, voice even, “for a guy who spends all his time solving impossible problems, you sure make this one more complicated than it needs to be.”

jake huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s humorless, empty. “that’s the thing, jay,” he mutters. “this is impossible.”

jay raises a brow. “how do you figure?”

jake shakes his head, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “because—” he stops, jaw working, frustration curling in his throat. “because she’s her,” he finally says, like that alone should explain everything. “and i’m me.”

jay just blinks. “wow. that sure cleared things up.”

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “she’s… she’s good, jay. she believes in things. in people. she thinks the best of them, even when they don’t deserve it.” his voice dips lower, almost bitter. “even when i don’t deserve it.”

jay doesn’t respond immediately, just watches him, waiting.

jake exhales, shakes his head. “and she’s smart – god, she’s so smart. not just in the way i am, not just formulas and logic and equations. she understands people. she sees them.” he huffs out a humorless laugh. “she listens to me talk about space like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, like any of it matters, and i know that she sees something in me that i don’t. that maybe no one else does.”

jay tilts his head, watching him carefully. “and that scares you?”

jake scoffs, but it’s too sharp, too forced. “of course it scares me.” he clenches his jaw. “because what if she’s wrong?”

jay sighs. “let me get this straight,” he says, slow and deliberate. “you’re saying she sees something in you that no one else does, that she thinks you’re worth believing in—" he lifts a brow. “and that’s the problem?”

jake clenches his fists. “she called me brilliant.” his voice is quiet, almost small. “the most brilliant man she’s ever known.” he swallows hard. “she believes in me.”

jay tilts his head. “and?”

jake exhales, voice hollow. “and i don’t.”

jay stills.

for once, he doesn’t have a quick remark, doesn’t shoot back with a knowing smirk or a snarky comment. he just looks at jake, really looks at him, and it makes something in jake’s chest tighten, makes him want to take it all back before jay can say anything.

but jay just exhales. “okay,” he says after a beat. “say you’re right.”

jake blinks. “what?”

“say you’re right,” jay repeats, shrugging. “say she does see something in you that you don’t. say she thinks you’re brilliant, that she believes in you when you don’t believe in yourself.” he lifts his brows. “what then?”

jake doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t even know why the question makes his stomach twist.

jay leans forward, eyes sharp. “are you saying she’s wrong?”

jake presses his lips together.

“because if you are,” jay continues, “then you’re saying she’s not as smart as you think she is. you’re saying she doesn’t know you at all.” he pauses, lets it sit. “but we both know that’s not true.”

jake swallows. he hates this. hates how easily jay gets under his skin, how he takes things jake can’t even put into words and lays them out in front of him, undeniable.

jay watches him for a long moment. “you know what i think?” he says finally. “i think you’re so used to proving yourself with numbers and theories and things that make sense, that you don’t know what to do when someone just… believes in you. no proof, no equations. just you.”

jake tenses. he hates how much that makes sense.

jay shakes his head, softer now. “and i think that scares the hell out of you.”

jake exhales sharply, staring at the table. “you make it sound so simple.”

jay snorts. “oh, it’s not. it’s the farthest thing from simple. but that’s the thing, jake.” he leans back. “people don’t believe in you because it’s logical. they don’t care about how many degrees you have, or how many papers you’ve published, or how many theories you can prove.” he tilts his head. “she doesn’t believe in you because of those things. she believes in you, period.”

jake clenches his jaw, the weight of it all pressing into him, heavier than he knows what to do with.

jay watches him for a long moment before sighing. “you really think she’d waste her time on someone who wasn’t worth it?”

jake flinches.

jay shakes his head. “then maybe the real question is—" his voice dips, steady, almost quiet. "why don’t you?"

and that is the one question jake doesn’t have an answer for.

jake grips his glass tighter. the ice has melted now, whiskey diluted and forgotten. but he’s not really looking at it. he’s looking at nothing, eyes unfocused, as jay’s words echo in his head, looping over and over until they settle like lead in his stomach.

maybe he does have an answer.

but if he admits the truth – if he lets himself acknowledge that he’s the only one standing in his own way – then he has to face everything else, too. the quiet belief that he’s not enough. that no matter how much he wants you, how much you linger in his mind, it doesn’t change the fact that you are you and he is him. that you are warm and bright and brilliant, and he is… jake. just jake.

a man who is scared to believe in something good because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold onto it.

the thought weighs heavy, pressing down on his ribs, and before he can second-guess himself, before he can think at all, he’s pulling out his phone.

jake barely registers jay muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. the moment he’s gone, the absence is almost too much. like his thoughts, which had been held back by the steady presence of his best friend, finally push through the floodgates, drowning him whole.

your phone buzzes against your nightstand, the unexpected call lighting up your screen. you blink at the name flashing across it.

dr. jake sim.

your stomach flips. jake never calls. he barely texts. if he needs something, he emails. the fact that he’s calling you – past midnight, no less – has you scrambling to answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hello? dr. sim”

there’s silence, then a low exhale. and then—

“why do you call me that?”

his voice is gruff, lower than usual, edged with something unreadable. you frown, shifting upright in bed. “call you what?”

“dr. sim,” he mutters, as if the words themselves irritate him. “told you to call me jake.”

his voice is rough – low and gruff in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. but it’s not the usual sharp-edged jake you’re used to. it’s looser, unguarded. and… is that the faintest hint of a slur in his words?

you blink. he sounds… off. not angry, not exactly, but different. looser. and that’s when it clicks.

"wait – are you drunk?"

a heavy sigh, followed by the sound of something shuffling in the background. "m’not drunk. just – thinking. about space. about the way everything moves, how nothing stays still. it’s all just—" he exhales, long and slow. "cosmic entropy."

you blink. "...what."

"everything’s always changing," he murmurs, voice dipping lower. "expanding, shifting, breaking apart. that’s the nature of the universe. you can’t stop it. can’t predict it. and yet… people still try. they believe in things staying the same, believe in things lasting." he scoffs, the sound almost bitter. "how do they do that?"

you sit up a little straighter, heart hammering. he’s never called you before. he barely even texts. and now he’s on the phone with you, drunk, rambling about entropy and permanence and—

"jake," you start carefully, "where are you?"

"bar." a pause. "jay’s in the washroom."

of course he is. you press a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. "okay. do you need me to—"

"i just don’t get it," he interrupts, voice dropping into something almost too quiet, too raw. "how can people trust something so uncertain? how do they just… believe?"

your throat tightens. you don’t know what to say to that, don’t know how to answer a question that sounds so much bigger than just theoretical physics. so instead, you latch onto the one thing you do know.

"jake," you say again, softer this time. "do you want me to come get you?"

he doesn’t respond right away. and for a moment, you think maybe he’s drifted off, lost in whatever spiral of thoughts led him here in the first place.

"no," he says, quiet but firm. "just… stay on the phone. just for a bit."

your breath catches. but you don’t hang up. instead you stare at your phone, half expecting the call to drop any second, but it doesn’t. instead, jake keeps talking, voice low and gruff, words a little slurred but still oddly deliberate.

“i mean it,” he says, like it’s the most important thing in the world. “i told you to call me jake.”

you blink. “you’re literally drunk right now.”

“so?” he huffs, and you can hear the faint clink of ice in his glass, like he’s still holding his drink. “that doesn’t change anything.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between frustration and the undeniable amusement bubbling in your chest. you have no idea how you ended up here – half-asleep in your pajamas, curled up on your couch, listening to your boss slash co-worker slash not-so-secret-crush spiral into some kind of drunken existential crisis.

“this is so weird,” you mutter to yourself.

“what’s weird?”

“this. this whole situation –  you calling me. you never call me.”

there’s a pause on the other end, just long enough for you to wonder if you said something wrong. then—

“you never call me either.”

that throws you off. you shift on the couch, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “i—well, yeah, because…you’re you.”

jake exhales, slow and deliberate. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you open your mouth, then close it again, realizing you don’t actually have a proper answer. because what are you supposed to say? that he intimidates you? that half the time, you don’t even know where you stand with him? that despite all that, he somehow manages to take up space in your mind like he’s carved out a permanent place there?

instead, you say, “you just – don’t seem like the type to want people calling you all the time.”

another pause. then, softer this time, “maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

your breath catches in your throat. your brain stalls completely. and jake – oblivious, drunk, or just too far gone to care – keeps talking.

“you ever think about the cosmos?” he murmurs. “like, really think about it? how we’re just – these tiny, insignificant specs in a universe that doesn’t even know we exist?”

you stare at the ceiling, trying to steady your pulse. “that’s…a little depressing.”

“nah,” jake hums. “it’s kinda beautiful, isn’t it? the fact that we’re here at all. that somehow, out of all the possible outcomes, we exist at the same time, in the same place.”

you swallow. something about the way he says it – low, thoughtful, like he’s on the verge of some grand realization – makes your chest feel tight.

“…jake,” you start, but before you can say anything else, there’s some muffled noise on his end, followed by a familiar voice groaning something that sounds like, “oh my god.”

you recognize it instantly. “jay?”

“yeah, it’s me,” jay sighs. “please tell me he’s not talking your ear off about space.”

you glance at the clock. “he might have been.”

jay groans again. “of course he was.” then, directing his attention away from the phone, “dude, i leave for two seconds and you’re out here drunk dialing her?”

jake mumbles something in response, but it’s too quiet for you to make out. jay sighs again, more exasperated this time. “alright, i’m cutting him off. sorry for…whatever this was.”

you can’t help but laugh. “it’s fine. take care of him.”

“oh, don’t worry. he’s not living this down.”

you hear a faint protest from jake, but the call cuts off before you can catch what he says. you stare at your phone for a moment, heart still racing, brain still scrambling to process everything that just happened.

jake had called you. drunk. talking about the cosmos. and…maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you.

you drop your phone onto your lap, pressing your face into your hands.

yeah. you were so not getting any sleep tonight.

twenty-four.

jake wakes up to the worst headache of his life. his skull feels like it’s been cracked open and stuffed with static, his mouth is drier than the sahara, and worst of all – there’s a deep, bone-chilling sense of dread sitting heavy in his chest.

he groans, shifting onto his back, trying to force his brain to function past the pain. the details of last night are foggy, blurred at the edges like a half-remembered dream.

he remembers the bar. he remembers jay. he remembers whiskey.

and then his eyes snap open. oh, no.

he remembers a phone call. he remembers your voice.

“shit,” he rasps.

from somewhere in the room, jay makes a noise – amused, awake, too awake for this hour. “good morning to you too, casanova.”

jake groans again, draping an arm over his eyes. “what did i do?”

jay doesn’t answer immediately, which is bad. jay loves rubbing things in his face, so if he’s holding back, it means he’s screwed. really fucking screwed.

jake forces himself up, barely able to sit without his head spinning. “jay,” he says, voice rough. “what did i do?”

jay is grinning. he’s too pleased, sipping his coffee like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “dunno, man,” he says, tilting his head. “why don’t you tell me?”

jake stares at him. then, cautiously, he checks his phone.

the call log is there. 13 minutes. what the fuck did he say…

he exhales sharply, gripping his phone tighter. “okay. so, i called her. what did i say?”

jay just shrugs, far too casual. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

jake nearly lunges across his bed. it does not help that the twenty four hours of agony that follow are pure, undiluted hell.

jake spends all of sunday trying to recall details from the call. some parts come back in flashes – something about the cosmos, something about his name. something about… maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you...

which – yeah, that part alone is enough to make him consider moving to another continent. because what the hell was he thinking? he’s not the kind of guy to get drunk and call someone? especially not someone he likes. or maybe he is, since he’s never liked anyone before you.

by sunday evening, jake is halfway convinced he’s destroyed the only real connection he’s ever had that wasn’t based on logic or academia.

he doesn’t go outside. doesn’t even open his blinds. the sunlight feels too loud.

every time he remembers a new detail from the call – your voice when you answered, the soft laugh in the background, the way he apparently said your name like it was a lifeline – he sinks deeper into his mattress and contemplates erasing himself from the space-time continuum.

he googles how to fake your own death in the 21st century and immediately regrets it.

he briefly considers texting you. something casual. maybe: hey. sorry if i was weird last night. or just. weird in general.

he doesn’t send it. instead, he stares at the open and empty text box for ten whole minutes before deleting it and throwing his phone across the room like it’s personally responsible for ruining his life.

by monday morning, he’s more nauseous than he’s ever been in his life – part embarrassed, part anxiety, all nerves. he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he looks as terrible as he feels. (he does.)

jake is running on approximately two hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and the sheer willpower not to combust.

he makes it through the front doors of the lab with his head down, his headphones in, and his hope clinging to the desperate idea that maybe, by his sheer will of manifestation – you’re running late today.

you are not. because of course you’re not. you're always on time. of course.

you’re halfway down the hallway, looking just as composed and steady as always, clipboard in hand, hair pulled back in that way that should not make his heart stutter but absolutely does.

jake stops walking. like, fully halts.

you look up just then – because the universe has no chill – and your eyes meet his.

it’s maybe a second. maybe less. but it’s enough. because jake short-circuits.

he forgets how to move, how to blink, how to breathe. you don’t smile, but your expression softens, and it’s so much worse. because there’s something unreadable in your gaze. something curious. something almost fond.

jake panics. he looks away so fast it should cause whiplash and fumbles with his keycard like it personally offended him.

you don’t say anything. you just keep walking.

and jake? jake shuffles sideways like he’s trying to blend into the drywall. his fingers tremble as he finally swipes in, and the second he’s inside his lab, he shuts the door and leans against it like he just outran a tsunami.

from the other side of the hallway, your heart is beating somewhere near your ears. because what the hell just happened?

jake looked like he saw a ghost. or like he was the ghost. and you? you weren’t even trying to be weird, you just looked at him. like a normal person. and he—

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your clipboard tighter, silently begging the floor to open up and swallow you whole. because yes, jake is usually awkward, but he’s never… nervous.

not like that. not like he’s the one with a crush now.

jake lasts approximately three minutes in the lab before he realizes he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown.

because all he can think about is your face when your eyes met his. not shocked. not annoyed. just… soft. warm. the kind of look he’s only seen you give the stars when you’re studying the simulation or looking at the readings he forgot to be proud of until you pointed them out. it’s the kind of look that ruins him.

his brain is running a mile a minute, trying to reconstruct the pieces of last night’s call. he knows he said too much. knows he was rambling. he remembers – faintly – your voice saying “dr. sim,” and how that had cut through the haze in his head like lightning. he’d practically growled at you for it. told you to call him jake. not asked. demanded, more like.

he groans, dragging a hand over his face as he leans against the cool metal table, hoping the shame will physically leave his body.

he should say something. apologize. pretend it didn’t mean anything. but what if you pretend it didn’t mean anything? what if you smile like usual and tease him about being drunk and call him “dr. sim” again and laugh – and mean nothing by it? what then?

because jake doesn’t think he can take it. doesn’t think he can survive being the only one who’s still stuck on what he said. on what he meant.

especially now that he knows it’s you. it’s always been you.

you, meanwhile, are doing a very good job pretending to be normal. you’re even answering emails. smiling at coworkers. nodding politely as if your entire brain isn’t short-circuiting every time you replay the sound of his voice from last night. that low, unfiltered, almost serious tone when he said your name. when he muttered things you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear. things that didn’t sound like drunken nonsense so much as buried thoughts slipping past the guard he always kept so firmly in place.

yeah, you expected him to pretend nothing happened. but you did not expect to look at you like you’d caught him in a secret he didn’t know how to hide anymore.

but as the day continues, you’re unsure of what’s going on. because it already begins with jake nearly bolting in the opposite direction when he catches a glimpse of you turning the corner. it’s too early, he hasn’t had coffee, and he’s already nursing a headache that refuses to fade.

but as the day drags on, it becomes painfully obvious that it’s not. it’s you.

he spends most of the morning ducking behind doorways and acting like he’s suddenly deeply fascinated by spreadsheets he’d normally ignore. you’re around, of course – you always are – but it feels different today. jake can sense the difference in how his heartbeat spikes when he hears your voice, how his gaze flickers toward the hallway every time there’s movement, hoping and dreading in equal measure that it’s you.

the worst part? you’re trying. he sees it in the way you glance his way, the way you linger by the break room longer than usual, clearly waiting for a chance to talk. and jake? he wants to. god, he wants to. but every time he’s just about to walk over, something gets in the way.

first, it’s a department head asking for a last-minute update on his research. then, it’s a scheduling conflict about the upcoming conference that pulls him into an impromptu meeting. by the time he escapes, it’s already lunch hour – but you’re not in your usual spot.

he waits, telling himself you’re probably just running late. then he tells himself you’re probably eating at your desk. then he tells himself to stop being pathetic. he doesn’t eat either.

the afternoon is even worse.

every time he crosses paths with you, it’s like a scene designed to test his patience. you’re walking one way, he’s being pulled the other. you open your mouth to say something, but a colleague interrupts. he steps forward to greet you, but someone calls your name. it’s like the entire universe has conspired to keep you two from talking.

by 4 p.m., he’s convinced the day is cursed. the only moment he gets any semblance of peace is when he steps into the lecture hall to prepare for his keynote talk at the upcoming conference. it’s quiet. the kind of quiet that usually calms him.

it doesn’t work this time.

because now that he’s alone, his mind is a mess of what-ifs. what if you’re avoiding him? what if you regret picking up the phone? what if you remember more than he does? what if you think he’s an idiot?

what if you don’t feel the same way?

he rubs his hands over his face and stares at the empty auditorium. he’s supposed to be reviewing his slides. instead, he’s imagining the way you’d sounded that night – half-confused, half-soft, calling him dr. sim until he’d grumbled for you to use his name.

and the way you’d said it like it meant something. he wants to believe it still does.

but he doesn’t get to linger in that thought. another knock at the door. another set of questions. another missed moment.

the office is quiet.

it’s late – most people have already gone home, and the hallways have settled into that strange, liminal hum that only exists when the world is caught between work and rest. jake’s still in his office, slumped in his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, the hum of his computer casting faint blue shadows across his desk.

he should be exhausted. he is exhausted. but his mind refuses to slow down.

you’d looked at him differently today. not in a bad way, not cold or distant, but like you were waiting for something. like you expected something from him. and jake had felt that expectation like a weight in his chest, crushing and confusing and impossible to shake.

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

all day, he’d meant to pull you aside. at lunch, when you passed by his desk. at four, when you bumped into him in the hallway. even just ten minutes ago, when he watched you gather your things with a smile too polite to be anything real.

he didn’t say a word.

because the phone call – that damn phone call – had changed everything and nothing all at once.

he doesn’t remember all of it. just enough. your voice calling him dr. sim. the way his stomach flipped even then.and then the part that keeps ringing in his ears, soft and slurred and unmistakably honest: "maybe i wouldn’t mind if it was you."

jake groans, burying his face in his hands. he’s never going to live that down.

but the worst part – the part that won’t leave him alone – is that he meant it. still means it. and if he’s honest with himself, he’s probably meant it for a while.

the conference. that’s where this started, didn’t it?

you were the one who told him he could do it. when he was spiraling over deadlines and expectations, when he was ready to pull the plug on the entire presentation and lock himself in his office forever, you were the one who’d looked him dead in the eye and said, “you’re the most brilliant man i’ve ever known.”

he’d scoffed at the time. maybe rolled his eyes. but he’d remembered it. he still remembers it.

and now, the thought of going to that conference – the one he’d only agreed to because you pushed him to – feels… wrong, if you’re not there.

he turns, slowly, letting his gaze drift toward the narrow window in his door. you’re still here.

sitting at your desk, a little slumped over your laptop, frowning in that way you do when you’re too focused to blink. your glasses are slightly askew, your hair a little messy, and jake thinks, without meaning to, how easy it would be to step outside right now. to knock on your desk, to ask you.

but not as his assistant – as something else.

he swallows hard, fingers tightening into fists on his lap. because here’s the thing: he doesn’t want to mess this up. he doesn’t want you to think the invitation is out of guilt or obligation or some weird post-drunken-embarrassment overcompensation. he wants to ask because he wants you there. because maybe he wants to hear your voice in his ear when he’s standing backstage. because maybe – he wants to see what it’s like to have someone like you beside him. for real.

and maybe, for once, he doesn’t want to be afraid of what that means.

his eyes fall back on the small bag by his desk, where the neatly printed schedule for the conference sits, tucked between scribbled notes and a half-eaten protein bar. he pulls it out slowly, flipping it open.

three days. two presentations. one person he wishes was going with him.

jake breathes out, slow and deep. he’s making a decision.

this time, he’s going to do it right. not by accident, not drunk, not in some cryptic metaphor or half-baked excuse. he’s going to ask you. properly. without hiding behind science or sarcasm.

he’s going to ask you to come with him – not as his assistant. not as a colleague. but as the one person who’s believed in him more than anyone else. as the person he can’t stop thinking about. as the one he’s scared to lose.

and if you say no – if you look at him with that confused expression and ask what the hell he’s talking about – then at least he’ll know. at least he’ll have tried. but if you say yes…

jake peeks out the door one more time, watching as you stretch and glance at the time, probably packing up soon. he lets himself smile; small, tired, hopeful.

if you say yes, then maybe the stars are aligning after all.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

what wouldve happened if the Saders (especially Marialena) didn't foretell the prophecy? What wouldve happened if Rafal didn't leave?

This has been in my ask box for months. I hope anon is still around if they still wanted the answer.

@fourleafclovxr Feel free to ignore this, but if you're interested, do you have any thoughts about this question—since it deals with seers and Saders?

⸻

If the neither brother had knowledge of the prophecy then there's a slight chance it may not have happened in a self-fulfilling way with their attempts to prevent it from coming true only furthering its completion. They might've been able to maintain peace.

Yet, even if the prophecy were not told, well, their world is still governed by fate, and considering how much of an inescapable grip that predestination has over everyone's lives, how fates that can't be circumvented—I'm not sure if the innate genre they lived in could have changed from "tragedy."

Even if fates can be subverted by being fulfilled in unconventional ways (as any room for interpretation could be exploited by participants) I don't see how fratricide and there being just One left standing(?) could contain some kind of exceptional clause.

Regardless, this possibility would mean that some sort of "user-friendly" loopholes could exist in their world, like how Chaddick's blood on the handkerchief allowed Rhian II to pull Excalibur when he otherwise wouldn't have been able to.

That instance of cheating is the best example I have at the moment. The rightful son didn't pull the sword, but the event itself, of the sword being pulled, still was able to happen given situational factors. The rightful heir's blood still came into contact with the sword, the sword was pulled (by someone), and the "right" candidate became king by the end. What happened between seminal events may not have mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Thus, prophecies may well work in a top-down way, only going as small-scale as they need to, to ensure outcomes.

So, from this, we could take away that the endings may be predetermined, but that the path to such endings could be open to interference—only to the degree that the ending wouldn't change as the result of any meddling, even if unanticipated third parties involve themselves.

The parties not affected by the prophecy, outside its bounds, could plausibly do whatever they wanted, and have free will (ostensibly, everyone has free will though), but I could venture to say that the consequences of said, seemingly free actions could be manipulated by the hand of fate, to produce those certain outcomes.

Basically, in the Woods, no matter what you try, since you at least have the freedom to try, you won't change a thing with your actions. All those actions would still snowball to produce the exact outcome that's set to happen. (And, if this were true, trying to change your fate would be futile. E.g., think of how Sophie and Agatha were locked into their true natures. They couldn't switch sides.)

(Keep in mind that this post just represents my view of things. We don't necessarily have canon confirmation of anything I'm speculating about.)

Applied to the prequels, if Midas' or the Pan's presences/roles were never predetermined, then they just helped the inevitable end along. If neither of them had been there, perhaps the prophecy still could have reached the same ending by other equally-as-effective means. (Different potential plot(s), one outcome.)

We could also argue that Adela's wording was vague enough to exploit.

So, the same thing could apply to the twins: the prophecy of the One and Adela's betrayal, war, death could happen, and lead to the same outcomes, but the specifics could unfold differently. Or, the events could all happen in the same way but hold different meaning/implications for the future (no 200 year curse despite fratricide or death of another form for Rafal?). Or, none of the events could happen in the same way, but the final ending would be fixed, like I proposed before. I guess we don't really know how malleable or interpretable prophecies or visions are.

And seeing that it's Marialena, I wouldn't put it past her to use red-herrings or mislead, even without saying a word of prophecy. Lying, other methods, or other dialogue/persuasion could produce the same results.

It's hard to separate out the cause and effect to me. We should ask: did (early) knowledge of the prophecy affect how it played out? Or was it set in stone? Or was it inevitable that Rafal's particular combination of character traits (the extorting, the threats, etc.) and the situation (in Monrovia) would have led him to finding out about the prophecy and that that very moment was also a part of the prophecy in action, happening or beginning?

⸻

Second, if Rafal hadn't left, I think the characterization that would hold true was the bit of internal monologue we saw in Fall, that he intentionally cedes some minor(?) arguments to keep the peace with Rhian.

Rhian might not even realize anything were wrong or that Rafal were (probably) hurt by his side being devalued.

I would suspect if Rhian were aware, not much would change. Rhian is prone to burying conflict and truth after all. But, I couldn't see him dwelling on the conflict Rafal lay to rest, unless he had good reason to, or lasting guilt/shame over it.

Rafal on the other hand holds grudges, and while we know he isn't the Evil brother now, he has Evil tendencies, of course, so he could easily let his resentment accumulate and fester inside until he found it in himself to do something: either leave, like he did, or perhaps, display passive aggression?

Outright anger against his brother would not be productive, but if his resentment became that severe, he could potentially lash out, and Rhian would see Rafal's "unprovoked" response as coming out of nowhere. Then, Rhian could accuse him of being irrationally antagonistic, like a villain without motive, or Evil that "always" (often, as of late) loses and that has to deprive Good of an ending to gain one for itself, as we would see the beginning hints of Evil's losing streak no matter what.

By that point, Rafal might either drop the issue, but secretly continue to hold the grudge for the rest of time, a reasonably moderate and functional if not flawless happy ending for the both of them. (Would it last? I'm doubtful.)

Or, Rafal could argue back, setting off the prophecy, even if it had a delayed start this time since I suspect any major enough argument could have set the brothers down the wrong path, no matter what the argument was about, Aladdin or someone/something else, if their bond had weakened over the decades, like it might've been implied to have done in canon.

[hwaflms]

REPLAY ☆ !!

💭 send an ask or comment for questions/to be added to the taglist of a specific fic

— 𖦹 00’ line + mark as romantic tropes (series)

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JUMP CUT!

they say hate is a strong word, but you are pretty sure you hate lee donghyuck.

ᯓ★ pairing. haechan x reader

ᯓ★ trope. enemies to lovers

ᯓ★ genre. actors au | mature

ᯓ★ desc. after all the time and effort it took you to get where you are now, were you really going to let haechan ruin it for you? even if you hate him? even if he’s cast in the same movie as you? even if your characters are in love and you have to kiss him on camera?

⭒ OUT OF STOCK ⭒

HOW TO BE A WINGMAN 101

mark can’t get bitches :(

ᯓ★ pairing. mark x reader

ᯓ★ trope. best friends to lovers

ᯓ★ genre. college au | mature

ᯓ★ desc. you’ve known mark lee for a long time now, but you can’t remember the last time he’s even looked in the direction of a woman. being the good best friend you are, you offer to show mark the ropes and help him find some bitches. what could go wrong?

⭒ OUT OF STOCK ⭒

MISSED THE BOAT

sex doesn’t require any emotional attachment.

ᯓ★ pairing. jaemin x reader

ᯓ★ trope. fwb to lovers

ᯓ★ genre. models au | mature

ᯓ★ desc. finally getting to work with him on a shoot, jaemin’s everything you’ve been told he is. charming, intelligent and good at his job, it doesn’t take much for you two to become friends. the only problem is you find him attractive, maybe a little too attractive. are you setting yourself up to get played by the player?

⭒ OUT OF STOCK ⭒

SOUR GRAPES

one little kiss can’t hurt, right?

ᯓ★ pairing. renjun x reader

ᯓ★ trope. best friend’s brother

ᯓ★ genre. high school au (characters are 18+) | mature

ᯓ★ desc. growing up, it was always girls rule and boys drool with you and your best friend. now that you’re older, how do you tell your best friend that the rule has always applied to every man except her older brother? how can you make a choice when there’s so much at stake?

⭒ OUT OF STOCK ⭒

HOOKED

i don’t dance with strangers, sorry.

ᯓ★ pairing. jeno x reader

ᯓ★ trope. strangers to lovers

ᯓ★ genre. non-idol au | mature

ᯓ★ desc. all your life, you’ve always played by the rules. you’ve never asked for more than you received, never dwelled on the ‘what-ifs’, you’ve never expected anything more out of life. you’ve got a decent job and a boyfriend who loveslikes you. what more could you want? how could an unanticipated encounter with a stranger at a club change your life?

⭒ OUT OF STOCK ⭒

© 2024, hwaflms.

[alexanderwales]

Notes on 3000 miles

Last year my doctor told me that I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a high resting heartrate. So I started biking on an exercise bike, and by my best estimations, I'm either close to hitting 3000 miles or have already gone past that.

I should clarify that this wasn't all at once. I took many breaks.

So here are some notes.

When I started, I was on an exercise bike that my wife had gotten from her work. It wasn't the best, but it was free, and I made a deal with myself that if I biked every day for a month, then I could justify getting something better. I really really did not want to buy a piece of exercise equipment that would just sit in the house gathering dust, because that would feel awful ... but I do kind of wish that I had gotten the better bike sooner, because it removed some of the "friction" of exercise, where it felt like there were too many reasons not to get on the bike. The new exercise bike (a refurbished Peleton off Facebook marketplace that my wife got me for Christmas) really does just feel and move better. I think the general principle of not doing costly monetary commitments until you've shown costly personal commitment is a good one, however.

Blood pressure is in normal range. Cholesterol is in normal range. Resting heartrate is in normal range. This was all the case three months in, and this level of cardio is more than enough to maintain it.

Right now, I bike for thirty minutes a day, going 8-10 miles according to the bike. That range is enormous, because it represents vastly different amounts of work. Going 10 miles in 30 minutes is 20 miles an hour, and I keep the resistance relatively high, so by the end of it I'm always panting. By contrast, going 8 miles makes me feel like I didn't put in enough work.

My goal every day is sweat-based and completely qualitative. I want to soak through a shirt. This means that doing more laundry than I'd prefer to, which is an unanticipated consequence of the biking. It's also, compared to all the metrics the bike gives me, a very clear sign that I am actually exercising my body "properly" in a way that's achieving something.

I did some of the Peleton classes, and found a lot of the metrics to be motivating, but ... eh. Exercise is mostly about being healthy and maintaining my body, so my current strategy, for the last six months, has been to either shut the brain down or keep it fully engaged in something that passes the exercise time. Usually this means a TV show, especially a foreign one with subtitles, which need slightly more brainpower.

The final two minutes is always the worst. I'm just ready to be done with it. Sometimes there's gas left in the tank, but I still feel sweaty, thirsty, and overheated. I have a water bottle, and I drink from it while I bike, and I have a fan pointed at me that I turn on once I'm warmed up, but I always have a sense, in those last two minutes, of "finally I'm done". I tried the thinking man's solution, only biking for 28 minutes, and this did not help. In my entire year of biking a half hour a day, I didn't ever elect to go into overtime.

I initially lost ten pounds, then slowly gained it back. I am, in fact, overweight, but I'm holding more or less steady now, and there have definitely been some body composition changes, with muscle replacing fat. I went down about four inches at the waist. I've changed very little about how I eat (which is 90% meals that I cook myself, and a daily coffee drink of some kind, usually made myself with sugar/cream/chocolate). Biking amounts to 300-400 calories a day or something like that, so I'm presumably eating more to compensate and just not realizing it.

Mental health has been rocky, but that's just sort of how it is for me. I definitely feel less mentally well on days that I don't bike, and feel better afterward, but I have no idea how tight the correlation is, and if I had been keeping track on a mood tracker, I'm not sure I would be able to sus out from self-reported mood alone whether or not I was biking.

During the summer I replaced a lot of indoor exercise bike stuff with outdoor biking. My son has only recently learned to bike, so he's been with me many of these times. Usually that means that we're either biking a lot less distance, or we're biking for a lot longer time at much lower intensity, sometimes both. There's a bike path that's downhill from our house which goes for maybe six miles, with some good, clear turn back points, but that means a fairly arduous uphill to get back home. If I lived in a place where the weather wasn't frigid for almost half the year, I would probably be doing outdoor biking more.

I think the most important thing, if you're doing exercise every day, is making sure that you're doing it in such a way that it's sustainable and virtually incapable of injuring you. This mostly means proper form. Early on, I had a habit of pressing down the right pedal with the outside edge of my foot, and after fifteen minutes of doing that, the muscles in the foot would be aching and uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I was doing that, but it was difficult to get myself to bike in a way that wouldn't be putting strain on me.

I think it's okay to skip a day ... if it's for the right reason. Of the days that I've skipped, I always try to make sure the reason isn't "fuck it, I don't want to". I should either be feeling sick, feeling like I need to rest, or replacing biking with some other form of exercise like a hike in the woods or some weightlifting or something. If I start skipping days because I just don't feel like it, that's where the whole scheme falls apart.

I am currently sort of wondering how long this is going to go on for, and I think the answer is "for the rest of my life", or at least until I'm unable to keep it up for whatever reason. I don't think there's any particular reason to prefer an exercise bike (or regular bike) over running or rowing or some other form of cardio, but I think I have proven to myself that this is cardio I can do daily and stick with it to the level that is probably necessary for me to stay healthy. I'm not committed to doing it for the rest of my life, since in theory some other form of cardio might come along and sweep me off my feet.

I do wish that I had started earlier in my life, even if daily exercise has not been the panacea for mental health that I had been kind of hoping it would be. I hope that I have the willpower and wisdom to keep up with it indefinitely.