pixiefelixie - Tumblr blog

pixiefelixie · 10 days ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CIAO: chapter 1

do read the series masterlist warnings before proceeding!!

pairing: idol!hyunjin x actress!reader warnings: 17k words (geez..), ex-flings to lovers, EXTREMELY slice of life, fake dating au, angst, fluff, swearing, slow (fast?) burn, predatory behavior (sangwoo), terminal illness (suho), mentions of drug-dealing, references to past sexual intercourse important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

first chapter’s finally here 🥹💗 thank you SO much for being excited when i announced this series, it genuinely means the world to me. this chapter is definitely more of a slow build (relationships and everything that leads to the fake dating) but just hold my hand and hang in there 🫶

death doesn’t always come all at once. sometimes, it creeps in slowly—so slowly you don’t even notice it at first. like a dimming lightbulb flickering in intervals, a dying battery that still clings to life. you pretend you don’t see the way it fades. because acknowledging it means admitting that soon, there will be nothing left.

hyunjin swallowed down that thought as he stepped through the entrance of the building, the automatic doors gliding shut behind him. the security guard at the front barely spared him a glance—he’s been here enough times for them to recognize him now. three visits in a week. not enough for a pattern, but enough to make him feel like a ghost haunting the same place over and over again.

he adjusted his mask, pulling his cap lower as he made his way to the elevators. the hallway was quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of the city outside. he pressed the button. the doors slid open.

hyunjin stepped inside, watching the numbers climb as he ascended. the mirrored walls reflected the exhaustion on his face, the tension in his shoulders. he ignored it. instead, he exhaled a quiet breath and closed his eyes, counting the seconds until the doors opened again.

when they did, he was greeted by a familiar sight—the luxury apartment that still didn’t feel as grand as it should. the space was vast, sleek, polished. but it was empty in the ways that matter.

and in the center of it all, sprawled on the couch with a lazy smirk, was suho.

“you look like shit,” suho said, blunt as ever.

“wow, thanks,” hyunjin muttered.

“i mean it. you need sleep. and probably therapy.”

hyunjin sighed and leaned back against the couch. “yeah, well. my schedule is full.”

“make room,” suho said, then smirked. “or i’ll haunt you when i die.”

hyunjin pretended to kick him, stopping just short of his shin. “shut up.”

suho just laughed, like none of this was real. like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a countdown neither of them could stop.

hyunjin wished he could pretend as easily.

suho had been his friend long before he ever knew what an idol trainee was, before his life turned into an endless cycle of rehearsals, cameras, and exhaustion. elementary school, back when suho was just a cocky little brat who thought he was better than hyunjin because he was three months older. and boy, did he milk that fact for all it was worth.

“i was born first, which means i’m smarter, stronger, and infinitely cooler than you,” suho had declared at age eight, shoving a lollipop into his mouth like some kind of smug kingpin.

suho smoked too early, drank too much, partied too hard. and yet, somehow, hyunjin always found himself trailing after him, grumbling about suho’s bad habits but never leaving his side. because for all their differences, they were the same where it mattered. they would wrestle like ten-year-olds one second and then fall asleep tangled up on the couch the next, no questions asked.

hyunjin had always thought of suho as a shooting star—reckless, brilliant, burning too fast but impossible to look away from. suho always knew how to slip out of trouble, even in the most desperate situations—whether it meant sweet-talking his way out or, when all else failed, making a mad dash and vaulting over a fence like his life depended on it.

and hyunjin was just the kid running after him, watching in awe, trying to keep up but never quite catching hold. because suho was untouchable like that.

unruly, magnetic, bigger than life.

but now, sitting here in this too-clean apartment, hyunjin wasn’t watching a shooting star anymore. he was watching a candle flicker, its light softer, weaker—still warm, still bright, but undeniably fading.

and hyunjin didn’t know what scared him more: the fact that suho was dying, or the fact that, for the first time ever, he couldn’t outrun it.

suho reached for the iv stand beside him, nudging it toward the corner where the couches met to make space for hyunjin. the faint rattle of the wheels echoed through the quiet apartment. hyunjin lowered himself onto the cushions beside him, exhaling as he pulled down his mask and tossed his head back against the couch.

almost instantly, a tiny ball of energy launched itself at his feet. suho’s chihuahua. the dog’s paws scrabbled at hyunjin’s legs, tail wagging furiously.

a small chuckle escaped hyunjin, his eyes creasing at the corners as he reached down, ruffling the soft fur. he let the dog’s excited licks soak into his skin, a warm distraction from the cold pit in his stomach.

“your parents are doing me a huge favor by taking him in,” suho murmured, voice quieter now. “make sure you thank them for me.”

hyunjin’s fingers stilled against the dog’s fur. he swallowed, the weight of those words pressing against his ribs. “…of course.”

suho shifted beside him, reaching over to scratch between his dog’s ears. their hands bumped together lightly. the touch was brief, but it was enough for hyunjin’s gaze to flicker down—to the bruised skin stretched over suho’s knuckles, to the thin tube buried deep in his hand.

“you know, he likes you more than me,” suho chuckled once the chihuahua disregarded him.

hyunjin smirked. “everyone likes me more than you.”

suho rolled his eyes, but hyunjin barely noticed—his gaze had drifted to the little dog in his arms, memories creeping in.

they had decided to get long-haired chihuahuas in high school—one of the rare times hyunjin had given suho an idea instead of the other way around. hyunjin had already had kkomi, his tiny black shadow, his comfort through everything. and when she was gone, he had never cried so hard.

a few months later, when suho had wanted a dog, bokki came along—named after suho’s favorite street food, with a funny meaning in japanese that suho was always proud of. at the same adoption center, hyunjin got kkami. their dogs had been just like them: always fighting, always in each other’s space.

soon, suho’s dog would live with kkami.

and hyunjin wasn’t ready for what that meant.

“i wonder what the little guy will think when i’m gone,” suho whispered.

the air thinned. hyunjin’s throat tightened as a lump he hadn’t even noticed lodged itself deeper. and just like that, the pain returned.

not the kind that came from overworking in the practice room, from sore muscles and exhaustion that could be stretched out and shaken off. this was different. this was the ache that settled in his stomach every day, the nausea that made food taste like cardboard, the weight on his chest that kept him staring at the ceiling long after the world had fallen asleep.

the kind of pain that never left.

suho leaned back against the couch, exhaling sharply as if the weight of his own words had stolen his breath. then, as if flipping a switch, he smirked.

“maybe i should leave him something in my will,” he mused, scratching behind the chihuahua’s ear. “like my rolex collection. or my stock shares. what do you think, hwang?”

hyunjin’s jaw tensed. he knew suho did this on purpose—used humor like a shield, like a wall neither of them was allowed to climb over. but tonight, it wasn’t working. not when his breathing sounded just a little more labored than the last time hyunjin visited.

hyunjin felt it creeping up again—that familiar sting, the slow, suffocating tightness in his throat. it always came before or after he visited suho, never during. he had learned to time it, to swallow it down in the elevator or let it drown him in the silence of his own apartment. but today, it was here. right in front of him.

his vision blurred at the edges, chest tightening like someone had wrapped a fist around his ribs and squeezed.

suho must have noticed because his smirk dropped instantly. “hey, hey—hyunjin,” he said, voice sharp despite its rasp. “none of that.”

hyunjin blinked rapidly, willing the tears back, but it was useless. his body had already betrayed him, his shoulders trembling under the weight of something he didn’t know how to hold.

suho groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “god, you’re so embarrassing. crying before i even flatline? have some dignity, man.”

hyunjin let out a choked, watery laugh, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “you’re—” his voice broke. he inhaled shakily. “you’re such a dick.”

suho grinned. “i know. that’s why you love me.”

hyunjin didn’t respond. couldn’t. because yeah, he did. and it fucking hurt.

suho leaned his head back against the couch, exhaling slowly. his fingers drummed absentmindedly against his thigh, and for a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the machine.

his voice cracked as he finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “how are you… okay with this?”

there was a long silence, the kind that settled in a room when words felt too heavy, too real. hyunjin’s chest felt hollow, the questions stuck in his throat, unanswered. he wanted to scream, to shake suho, to force him to feel what he was feeling.

“i do what i can to make it hurt less.” suho murmured, his voice quieter than usual, but steady. “i tell myself this was all well expected, well deserved.”

suho tilted his head slightly, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling.

“i mean, think about it. i made money off people destroying themselves. gave them poison, didn’t care as long as the cash kept coming.” suho chuckled darkly. “now my own body’s turning on me. call it karma, a punishment, whatever you want. makes sense, doesn’t it?”

hyunjin’s chest tightened all over again, but this time, it wasn’t from grief—it was anger.

“that’s so stupid,” he snapped. “you really believe that?”

suho’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “it makes me feel better. i’d rather think i earned this than accepting life’s just that cruel.”

hyunjin shook his head, eyes fierce. “you didn’t earn this. i don’t care what you did. it’s not fair.”

suho exhaled slowly, studying him. “i get why you see it that way. you’re a good person, hyunjin. you want things to make sense in a way that doesn’t hurt more than it already does.”

“and you think you’re not a good person?”

suho shrugged, shifting slightly. “good people don’t deal drugs for a living.”

hyunjin couldn’t believe what was coming out of suho’s mouth. hyunjin had always believed suho was the best person he knew. good people took care of others, took care of dogs, made sure no one was left alone. that was suho.

he swallowed hard, but the words kept coming, like a dam breaking open. “you’ve been there for me. you’ve always been there, suho. you’re not some... some monster because of the mistakes you made.” his voice cracked, but he kept going. “i’ve known you long enough to know that for sure.”

suho stared at him, something unreadable passing through his eyes. then, a small smirk. “that’s sweet,” he said. “almost makes me want to believe it.”

“then believe it.”

suho went quiet for a beat before laughing softly. “damn, you’re getting good at these motivational speeches.”

hyunjin rubbed his eyes. “shut up.”

suho grinned. “seriously. ever thought about ditching the idol thing and giving ted talks on how to gaslight your dying friends?”

hyunjin shoved his shoulder. “oh my god.”

suho snickered, then softened. “thanks, hyunjin,” he murmured.

hyunjin blinked, confused. “for what?”

“for arguing with me.”

and in that moment, hyunjin realized just how much that simple thank you meant. fighting, even if it was just over the dumbest things—was how they both kept showing up for each other. it was how they made sure they cared. they didn’t need the grand speeches or perfect gestures. they never had. maybe that was what love really was, in its rawest form.

hyunjin loved suho. he just didn’t know how to deal with it, not when it felt like time was running out, and not when everything was so damn unfair.

hyunjin exhaled. “anytime.”

admiration doesn’t always feel safe. sometimes, it’s the most terrifying thing in the world.

it starts subtly—so subtly that you convince yourself it isn’t real. a hand lingering just a second too long. a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. the way he says your name like it belongs to him.

everyone loves him. they call him charming, a legend, someone you should be grateful to work with. they praise his experience, his talent, his ability to make every scene feel real.

maybe that’s why no one notices when he blurs the lines.

the bright lights glared down, hot against your skin, but the chill running down your spine has nothing to do with temperature.

you sat at the sleek office desk, hands folded neatly in front of you, the perfect image of the polished, ambitious character you play. across from you, he leaned back in his chair, oozing effortless confidence, the same one he’s used for years to charm everyone in his path.

“you’re avoiding me,” he said, voice smooth.

“i’ve been busy, il-seong.”

“i didn’t realize you were so busy that you couldn’t spare a minute for me,” he continued, lacing his voice with an undertone of clear disappointment.

“cut!” the director’s voice rang out, sharp and impatient. you barely had time to exhale before he was waving a hand in frustration. “sangwoo, great work. you’re making it feel so natural.”

sangwoo shot you a smile, like he knew what was coming next.

the director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “y/n, loosen up. you’re too stiff.”

your throat tightened. you nodded.

"y/n, shake it off. we’ll run it again when you’re not acting like a mannequin." the director finally said, waving a hand dismissively.

you nodded again, throat dry.

as soon as you stepped off set, you made a beeline for the bathroom. the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard. the cool porcelain felt solid beneath your fingers, grounding you, but it did nothing to stop the nausea creeping up your throat.

you looked up.

the mirror reflected someone who wasn’t you. your costume—sleek, professional, pristine—felt like a second skin you couldn’t shed. your lipstick was still perfect, your hair in place, but you felt grimy, like something sticky clung to your skin no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

you turned on the faucet and let cold water run over your wrists, hoping it would wash the feeling away. it didn’t.

a sharp creak from the door made your stomach drop.

you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

sangwoo.

he leaned against the doorway like he belonged there, like this was his space too. his lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one that made everyone melt on camera—but off-screen, it made your pulse hammer in your throat.

“you okay?” he asked, voice laced with something that wasn’t quite concern.

you swallowed hard. “i’m fine.”

he hummed, stepping closer. not enough to touch, but enough that the space between you shrank, enough that his cologne curled around you, thick and suffocating.

“i know it’s hard, playing this kind of role,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “all that tension, all those emotions. it can feel… real.”

your nails dug into your palm.

sangwoo’s gaze flickered to your lips, lingering just a second too long before meeting your eyes again. “you should let me help you loosen up.” his lips curved into an innocent smile.

the words slithered down your spine, cold.

you forced a breath, forced yourself to stand tall even as every instinct screamed at you to run.

his fingers tapped against the sink beside you—just a small sound, barely there, but it made your pulse jump. “we should run lines later. in private,” he mused. “after all, chemistry isn’t something you can just fake.”

the words slithered into your ears, slick and unwelcome.

you wanted to throw up.

sangwoo let the silence stretch, watching you, waiting, drinking in the way your breath came a little sharper, the way your shoulders tensed. he liked this—pushing, pressing, testing just how much he could get away with.

he exhaled through his nose, amused. “i bet if you just relaxed a little, you’d—”

“don’t,” you said, voice quiet but firm.

sangwoo’s smile didn’t falter. if anything, it stretched wider, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. like he was enjoying this.

his tongue flicked out, wetting his lower lip as he let out a soft chuckle. “don’t?” he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. as if it amused him.

he knew he’d gotten to you. and he liked it.

just then, the door creaked open.

sangwoo moved fast—so fast it made your head spin. his smirk vanished, replaced by something softer, something concerned. in an instant, his entire posture shifted, all casual arrogance melting into the perfect image of a supportive co-star.

"hey," he murmured, voice gentle now, warm and understanding. his hand landed on your arm. “i know it can be overwhelming."

you barely had time to react before the crew member stepped inside.

"everything okay?"

sangwoo turned to them, his expression all worry. "yeah, y/n just needed a second." he shot you a reassuring smile, like he was the one steadying you. like he wasn’t the reason your stomach was twisted in knots.

the crew member nodded, glancing at you. "need more time?"

your mouth was dry. you wanted to scream, to tell them to look closer, to see past the performance. but too bad sangwoo was an actor. and a darn good one at that.

so you forced a smile, even as your pulse pounded in your ears. your response was one that you gave way too many times.

"no, i’m fine."

when hyunjin woke up, his body felt like lead, heavy and unmoving, as if the mattress had swallowed him whole overnight. his mouth was dry, his tongue rough against the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. he swallowed, but it didn’t help. his throat ached, tight and parched, like he’d been breathing in dust for hours.

the blinds were cracked just enough for a sliver of morning light to creep through, but even that felt dull. muted grey. cold. it stretched across the floor, reached toward his desk, but failed to bring any real warmth.

he knew what he needed when the world felt washed out.

with a groan, he forced himself to move, peeling away from the bed like his limbs were made of stone. his feet hit the floor, cold against his skin, but he barely felt it. his hoodie from last night lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, and he grabbed it, pulling it over his head as he trudged toward his desk.

he sniffed, rubbing his nose as he sat down. the chair creaked, the sound almost too loud in the stillness.

he needed color.

his fingers hovered over his sketchbook before flipping to a blank page. he reached for his pencils—he didn’t feel like dealing with paint, not today.

he started with blue, pressing the tip against the paper in rough, uneven strokes. then red. then yellow. the colors bled into each other, but instead of vibrancy, they just looked… dull. off. like someone had sucked the life out of them before they even reached the page.

he frowned. his grip on the pencil tightened as he tried again, layering color over color, but nothing looked right. the shading felt flat. the lines looked wrong. it was stiff, lifeless.

his chest squeezed, frustration curling hot in his throat.

hyunjin exhaled sharply and dropped the pencil, running a hand across his head before gripping the back of his neck. he stared at the half-colored page in front of him, a mess of shapes and lines that failed to form anything meaningful. his fingers twitched, the urge to crumple the paper into his palm almost unbearable, but he let out another slow breath instead.

with another sigh, he let the pencil clatter against the desk and wiped his fingers on his sweatpants. when he leaned over to grab his phone from the nightstand, the screen lit up instantly, illuminating his face in the dim room.

and then—a flood.

[12 missed calls]

[50+ unread messages]

a sharp pull in his stomach.

his thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he clicked on felix’s name. out of everyone, felix felt the safest. the least likely to send him into a full-blown paragraph before he was even awake enough to process it.

the chat opened instantly.

[8 am] felix 🐥:

i don’t know if you’ve seen it yet, but i figured you should.

i’m here, okay? whatever happens.

below his messages was a link to a social media app. hyunjin’s throat went even drier than before.

he hesitated, fingers tightening around his phone before finally tapping it.

the app loaded sluggishly, his wi-fi dragging just enough to prolong the dread curling in his chest. and then, the post filled his screen.

three pictures.

all of him.

different nights, but the same place—right outside suho’s building.

hyunjin’s stomach turned to stone. he recognized each one instantly. the first was from last week. the second, three days ago. the most recent, just last night—his cap tilted low, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

the pictures alone were bad enough. but beneath them, a long blog-style post stretched down the screen.

his eyes darted over it, catching pieces in a haze.

“i walk along this path every night on my way home from work. it’s usually quiet, just office workers or the occasional resident.”

“the first time i saw him, i wasn’t sure. hwang hyunjin? from stray kids? leaving that luxury apartment building? but then it happened again. and again.”

“i wasn’t going to say anything at first. i needed more proof, more pattern. no one goes to the same high-end building this often without a reason.”

“private clubs exist in places like that. so do exclusive parties. you know what i mean.”

“thoughts?”

the last word made his skin prickle.

his lips parted, but no sound came out. his fingers were ice cold, gripping the phone so hard his knuckles ached.

it wasn’t just speculation anymore. this was the kind of post that spiraled. the kind people latched onto, twisting into something bigger, uglier.

and it was working.

his breath came shallow, heart hammering against his ribs as he scrolled back to his notifications.

chan’s messages. the company chat.

he swallowed hard and opened chan’s first.

[6:50 am] chan hyung 🐺:

call me asap

it’s already everywhere

people are eating this shit up

we’ll fix this, don’t panic ok??

his stomach churned, a slow, sickly twist, like the moment right before a rollercoaster drop—except this wasn’t thrilling. it was just nausea.

they didn’t know about suho. they didn’t know about the sterile hospital-grade scent clinging to his apartment, the way he laughed a little softer these days—like he was already halfway gone. they didn’t know how hyunjin had to pretend everything was fine because suho hated pity. they didn’t know that every visit felt heavier than the last.

they didn’t know anything.

and yet, here they were. guessing. assuming. branding him guilty of something he hadn’t even done.

then—something snapped.

he shot up from his chair, heart slamming against his ribs. his hands moved before he could think, grabbing the glass jar he used to rinse his paintbrushes. his breath came sharp through his teeth, and then—

crash.

the jar shattered against the wall, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. water seeped into the cracks of the floor, staining the base of the wall in slow, creeping lines.

his chest heaved. his hands clenched into his hair. he barely felt the sting in his palm from a stray shard. he’d have to clean it later. he’d have to deal with the mess. but right now—

a knock.

“hyunjin? what the hell was that?”

changbin.

the voice was steady, but hyunjin could hear the concern behind it. a beat passed, then the sound of careful footsteps just outside the door.

“you good?”

hyunjin dragged a shaky hand across his hair, blinking at the mess. his chest heaved, his pulse still erratic. fuck. he let his head fall back, swallowing hard before forcing something—anything—out of his throat.

“…yeah.”

his voice was hoarse, unconvincing. he knew changbin wouldn’t buy it.

another pause.

“…i’m coming in.”

the door creaked open, and changbin stepped inside.

his eyes flicked around the room—first to hyunjin, then to the shattered glass by the wall, the water bleeding into the floorboards, the mess of art supplies strewn across the desk.

changbin’s jaw tightened. “holy shit.”

hyunjin’s mind was just as much of a wreck as his room. shattered thoughts, seeping panic, a mess he couldn’t shove back into place no matter how hard he tried. his head felt like it had been cracked open, thoughts spilling out in incoherent colors, smearing together into something ugly.

changbin’s voice came out quieter this time, but sharp. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

hyunjin’s fingers twitched. he could feel the tension rolling off changbin in waves, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. he stared instead at the paint-stained floor, at the streaks of color on his ruined sketchbook.

“you gonna answer me, or should i just assume you’ve lost your mind?” changbin pressed, his patience wearing thin.

a slow inhale. hyunjin dragged a hand down his face before finally speaking, voice low, scratchy. “just leave it.”

changbin scoffed. “leave it? you trashed your room, you’re breaking shit, and you want me to just—” he cut himself off with a harsh exhale, gripping the bridge of his nose.

but then, instead of continuing, he sighed and walked past him, stepping carefully over the broken glass. changbin crouched down, grabbing a rag from hyunjin’s desk, and started wiping up the water without a word.

hyunjin swallowed, his throat dry again.

changbin wrung out the rag, water dripping into the trash can with quiet splashes. his movements were slow, deliberate, like he was choosing his words as carefully as he was cleaning up hyunjin’s mess.

“you’ve been all over the place these past few days,” he said finally, voice steady but laced with something firm.

hyunjin inhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. he knew. he knew, but hearing it out loud made something sharp press against his ribs.

“i know,” he muttered.

changbin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “no, i don’t think you do.” he glanced up then, meeting hyunjin’s eyes with a look that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t soft either. “you’ve been like this for a while. before the scandal. before this whole mess. you think no one noticed?”

hyunjin stayed silent. the words pressed against his ribs, heavy and unrelenting, but he didn’t push them out. didn’t defend himself. didn’t argue. what was there to say?

changbin sighed, shifting slightly against the desk. “we’ve noticed everything.”

hyunjin’s breath hitched. just for a second. just enough for changbin to catch it. he finally looked up, and changbin met his gaze head-on.

“you know you can talk to us, right? about suho.” changbin’s voice was quieter now. “you can talk to me.”

hyunjin swallowed. his throat still felt raw, his chest too tight, but something in changbin’s words settled in the space between them. but thankfully, he didn’t push.

instead, changbin stood up, brushing his hands against his sweats before jerking his chin toward the door. “come on. we’ll go to the company together.”

hyunjin hesitated.

“hyunjin.”

something about the way changbin said his name, like he wasn’t giving him a choice, made him sigh.

“yeah.” hyunjin pushed himself up, shaking out his hoodie. “let me change first.”

changbin nodded once, waiting outside the door. not leaving. not giving him space to back out. hyunjin exhaled, turning toward his closet. it didn’t matter what he wore. it wouldn’t change the fact that he was about to walk into hell.

you tipped the last capsule into your palm, the plastic bottle cool against your fingers.

the water on your kitchen counter had gone room temperature, but you took a sip anyway, swallowing the pills one after the other. collagen. iron. some herbal mix that promised better sleep. things for your skin, for your body, for your health.

the dim glow from the streetlights barely cut through your curtains, painting the walls in streaks of cold orange. the apartment was silent, too silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the other room. you should have left the tv on. should have played some music.

the doorbell rang, its chime cutting through the thick silence like a blade.

you froze.

for a second, you wondered if you’d imagined it, if your mind was playing tricks on you in the quiet. but then it rang again, longer this time, pressing, insistent.

a strange pulse ran through your body. no one ever visited this late.

pushing yourself up, you padded toward the door, fingers stiff as you reached for the security monitor. the screen flickered to life, grainy in the dim hallway lighting, and your stomach dropped.

a man stood there, head tilted slightly, his face obscured by a black mask. he held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, stark against the dark hoodie he was wearing.

you swallowed. hard.

you knew who it was.

even with the mask, even with the hood—there was no mistaking him.

your heart thumped against your ribs as your fingers hovered over the lock. your pulse screamed at you to leave it alone, to pretend you weren’t home, to wait until he gave up and left. but you knew he wouldn’t.

with a slow inhale, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. sangwoo’s eyes met yours over the mask, then he pulled it down, revealing a familiar smile.

your voice came out quieter than you intended. “how do you know where i live?”

he let out a small chuckle, casual, like you’d just asked something silly. “some of the crew members told me. they were thrilled to hear we were connecting off set.”

that didn’t make you feel any better. if anything, it made the discomfort sink deeper into your bones.

you didn’t move.

his smile faltered just slightly, his fingers tightening around the bouquet.

you stepped aside, the movement stiff, unnatural. “uh…come in.”

he handed you the flowers as he stepped in, eyes flickering around your apartment. “beautiful home you’ve got here, y/n.”

“thanks,” you murmured, fingers tightening around the bouquet.

you turned away, heading toward the kitchen. the flowers smelled sweet, too sweet, almost suffocating as you pulled a vase from the cabinet. the water ran cold over your fingers as you filled it, the sound echoing in the too-quiet space.

sangwoo moved leisurely, his presence filling the room like he belonged there. “you live alone?”

you hesitated, then nodded. “yeah.”

you focused on trimming the stems, placing each flower into the vase carefully, precisely. your hands were steady, but your chest felt tight.

“must get lonely.”

the scissors in your hand stilled.

“you know,” he murmured, “i never really thought about it before, but… someone like you, living alone—it’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”

you blinked, your fingers tightening around the scissors. “like me?”

sangwoo smiled, slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. “yeah.” he leaned against the counter, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. “i mean, you’re…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he was searching for the right words. “you’re soft, y/n.”

your stomach turned. “soft.”

he hummed in confirmation. “you know. gentle. fragile, even.” his gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of your wrist as you held the scissors. “delicate hands. pretty face.” a small pause, then a light chuckle. “the kind of person people just… gravitate toward. the kind of person who should be careful.”

you carefully snipped another stem, the sharp sound of the blades cutting through the silence.

sangwoo exhaled a soft chuckle. “you trust people too much, y/n. you never know who might be thinking about walking right through that door when you least expect it.”

your fingers twitched. the scissors pressed into your palm.

you swallowed. “is that supposed to be a joke?”

he tilted his head, watching you. “do you think it is?”

sangwoo took a step forward. the soft sound of his shoes against the floor felt deafening in the silence. closer. slow, deliberate steps. he wasn’t in a hurry—like he already knew how this would end.

you held your ground, barely.

“sangwoo,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even.

he reached out, fingertips barely grazing your wrist, featherlight. your heartbeat thumped in your ears, drowning out every rational thought. sangwoo’s fingers lingered, just barely touching your wrist. a ghost of a touch, like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could push.

“you always this tense.” he asked, head tilting slightly. “maybe you’re just nervous because we’re alone.”

you exhaled, forcing yourself to focus on anything but his fingers on your skin. the scissors in your other hand. the steady drip of the faucet behind you. the cold air seeping in from the slightly open window.

“i’m not nervous,” you muttered.

he chuckled, low and knowing. “then why do you look like you’re waiting to stab me with those scissors?”

your jaw clenched.

he was enjoying this. pushing, pressing, inching closer and closer just to watch you react.

you could feel his breath now, warm against your cheek, his presence sinking into your space like oil spreading over water.

“why?” he mused.

you swallowed. “sangwoo—”

“you’re acting like i’m some kind of threat.”

“sangwoo,” you said, voice steady now. you needed to think of something to get yourself out of this suffocating situation. urgently. “i’m seeing someone.”

silence.

his expression didn’t change drastically. but you saw it—the slightest twitch of his eye. the smallest shift in his posture.

“really?” he leaned back slightly. “since when?”

your grip on the scissors didn’t ease, even as you forced your expression to stay neutral. “a few weeks,” you said, voice even.

sangwoo let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head like you’d just told him something funny. “a few weeks?” he dragged out the words, eyes glinting with amusement. “that’s funny. you never mentioned seeing anyone before.”

you didn’t respond.

he let out another short laugh, shaking his head. “y/n, the flowers were just a friendly gesture. that’s all. no need to get so defensive and worked up.”

worked up. like you were being ridiculous. like he hadn’t spent the past ten minutes making your skin crawl. you said nothing. just placed the scissors down, carefully, deliberately, like you weren’t afraid. like your heart wasn’t still pounding in your chest.

sangwoo smiled, taking a step back toward the door. “i’ll see you on monday, yeah?” he gave you one last look. “maybe have your boyfriend stop by some time on set.”

the words sent ice down your spine.

a test. a warning.

he held your gaze for a beat longer, then turned on his heel, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled out of your apartment.

you didn’t catch the way his face dropped the second he turned away.

the scent of expensive cleaning products lingered in the air, faint but noticeable. suho’s cleaners had been here earlier—probably scrubbing every surface until it gleamed.

they were in his bedroom now. hyunjin sat beside him, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor, restless. suho was lying there, thinner than before, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.

hyunjin sighed, dragging a hand down his face as his phone buzzed again. he barely needed to check—he already knew what it would say.

“the company’s pissed at me for coming here.”

suho huffed a laugh, but it came out more like a breath. “yeah? what else is new?”

“no, like really pissed. they already are, ever since this morning,” hyunjin muttered. “because i told them i wanted to release a statement telling the truth.”

suho finally turned his head fully to look at him, brow lifting slightly. “the truth?”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “that i was coming here to see you. but they refused”

suho stared at him for a long second before scoffing. “just leave out the drug dealer part.”

hyunjin let out a bitter chuckle. “you think i didn’t try that?” he leaned back, pressing his fingers into his temple. “i could’ve said ‘i’ve been visiting my sick friend.’ that’s it. just that. and they still shot it down immediately.”

suho didn’t look surprised. “why?”

hyunjin inhaled sharply through his nose. “you know how the public is. either they don’t believe it or they dig and find all your personal stuff.” hyunjin muttered. “an exec said there was no way to spin it in my favor.

suho let out a slow breath, leaning his head back against the couch. “so what’s your plan?”

hyunjin didn’t answer right away. because that was the problem—he didn’t have one. the company would handle it, sure, but what the hell could they even do? he’d been seen too many times. the evidence was too clear. it wasn’t just some baseless rumor that would die in a week.

he dropped his hands, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know.”

suho exhaled, tilting his head toward hyunjin with a lazy smirk. “then you need a story.”

hyunjin rolled his eyes. “no shit.”

“i mean a real one.” suho stretched out his legs, looking entirely unbothered despite the mess hyunjin’s life had just become. “something that makes sense.”

hyunjin sighed. “like what?”

suho hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he said, “tell them you were visiting someone else.”

hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “who?”

suho shrugged. “i don’t know. you got options. a girlfriend, maybe?” he grinned. “turn it into a scandal people actually like.”

hyunjin scoffed, sitting up. “that’s a horrible idea.”

suho laughed, shaking his head. “come on, think about it. this building’s got a lot of good people. doctors, actors, idols, trust fund kids—hell, there’s probably an old chaebol heir rotting away in here somewhere. pick one. say you’ve been sneaking around because you’re dating someone.”

hyunjin gave him a flat look. “that’s literally the worst thing i could do.”

suho held up his hands, still smirking. “alright, alright. just a suggestion.”

hyunjin slumped back into the chair in deep thought.

suho tilted his head, then snapped his fingers. “what about charity work?”

hyunjin blinked. “what?”

“yeah. say you’ve been working with some outreach program,” suho said. “something private. helping underprivileged kids or some shit. people eat that up. they’ll think you were hiding it out of humility.”

hyunjin hesitated. it wasn’t the worst idea. but it also wasn’t something he could pull off overnight.

suho grinned at the look on his face. “what? better than saying you’re dating some woman, isn’t it?”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t know… it still sounds fake.”

suho shrugged. “everything in your industry is fake. just make it believable.” he coughed into his sleeve, his smirk dimming slightly. “besides, your company’s probably already spinning something. if you don’t pick someone, they will.”

hyunjin dragged a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted. “i’ll figure something out.”

suho studied him for a moment, then sighed, shifting to lean against the headboard. “well, whatever you do, make sure you do it fast. you know how these things go—one day it’s just rumors, the next your face is on every damn news site.”

hyunjin knew. too well.

his phone buzzed again, another message from the company. he ignored it, staring at the screen like it had personally wronged him.

fake dating was stupid.

charity work was unrealistic.

and yet, somehow, those were his best options.

the restaurant was the kind that smelled like overpriced coffee and imported truffle oil, with white marble tables and floor-to-ceiling windows that let the morning sun spill in just right. you stepped inside the private room, adjusting your sunglasses, scanning the room until your eyes landed on her. you slid into the cushioned seat across from mina, who was already stirring her iced americano, gold bracelets clinking.

“finally,” she sighed dramatically. “i was starting to think you stood me up.”

the waitress took your orders—something light, fancy, and overpriced—before disappearing with a polite smile.

she sighed dramatically. “i’ve been dying to catch up. you’ve been, like, impossible to reach lately.”

you grinned, resting your chin in your hand. “you say that like i’m not literally one call away.”

she snorted, flipping the page. “oh, please. you’ve been busier than the president. it’s, ‘let’s do brunch!’ and then radio silence for a week.”

you laughed, bumping your knee against hers under the table. “i missed you too.”

the conversation flowed effortlessly, slipping into the usual rhythm of playful teasing and casual updates. she told you about the disaster of a date she went on last weekend—some guy who spent the entire dinner talking about his "investment portfolio". you winced, shaking your head.

“brutal,” you muttered.

“right? i should’ve left halfway through, but then i thought, ‘no, let me be mature about this.’” she sighed dramatically. “never again.”

but eventually, the small talk lost its charm.

mina leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity, stirring her drink lazily. “okay, enough of this. i’m bored.”

you raised a brow, amused. “what?”

“did you hear about hwang hyunjin?”

you blinked, the name slamming into you like a brick to the back of the head. your brain lagged for a second, trying to process it. hwang hyunjin.

then the name hit you like a slap.

you hadn't heard it in ages—hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t let yourself think about it. not since milan fashion week. not since that night in the dimly lit hotel room, the balcony doors cracked open just enough to let the cool italian air slip in.

the second the memory hit, you inhaled sharply—too sharply—almost choking on your water. you grabbed your napkin, dabbing at your mouth as mina burst into laughter, smacking the table.

“oh my god,” she cackled. “i love you.”

you swallowed, composing yourself as best as you could. “i forgot about him,” you said, waving a dismissive hand.

mina raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh.” she tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “so, does that mean you haven’t seen the news?”

that made you pause. you set your glass down. “what news?”

mina lowered her voice, making it sound like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “well, people are saying he’s been—how do i put this—spending time with some, uh, questionable company. like, prostitutes, you know? it’s all over the internet.” she practically grinned, waiting for your reaction.

you felt your stomach drop. “goodness,” was all you could manage to say. the thought of anyone—especially someone you’d been around—being connected to something like that was just… disturbing.

mina continued, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “and you may ask why this is all so important to you. but get this—it’s all happening in the building you live in.”

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “you’re joking.”

mina just raised a brow.

“no, really.” you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “prostitutes? underground clubs? in my building?” you huffed a dry laugh. “damn, and here i was thinking the wildest thing happening there was my neighbor blasting trot music at 2 am.”

mina stayed serious. “i just wanna check—have you, you know, seen anything weird?”

you rolled your eyes, still half-smiling. “what, like a stripper pole in the lobby? no. nothing like that.”

mina shrugged, sipping her drink. “well, you never know.”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “mina, i really don’t think it’s true. these kinds of rumors get blown way out of proportion. he’s an idol. people love making up the most insane stuff about them.”

mina tilted her head, her smirk widening like she’d just caught you slipping. “okay, okay. but just because he’s your ex-fling doesn’t mean you have to be defensive about it.”

you nearly choked on air this time. “i’m not—mina, please.”

she laughed, waving a hand. “i’m just saying! you sound kinda invested.”

you gave her a look. “i’m invested because you’re telling me my building is apparently hosting a mob-run escort service, not because i once made out with the guy.”

mina leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “well… more than just that.”

you groaned. “ugh, please don’t remind me.”

she gasped, clutching her chest like you’d personally offended her. “you don’t just hook up with hwang hyunjin and pretend it didn’t happen.” mina wiggled her eyebrows. “which reminds me—your fucking co-star is kang sangwoo. y/n, do you realize how disgustingly lucky you are right now?”

mina didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed once you heard his name. how you suddenly felt like your throat was closing up.

you forced a laugh, picking at the napkin in your lap.

“i mean, come on. first hyunjin, now kang sangwoo? the man beloved by this entire nation?” she let out a dramatic sigh. “some girls just have it all.”

you shook your head immediately. “it’s not like that with sangwoo.”

mina scoffed, propping her chin in her hand. “oh, please. you’re basically with him five days a week. come on, y/n.”

you exhaled, trying not to let your frustration show. “yeah, for work. it’s not like we’re hanging out in our free time.”

she smirked, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her glass. “still. that’s a lot of time for things to, you know… develop.”

you just nodded, biting your lip, not trusting yourself to answer properly.

she sighed dramatically, flopping back into her chair.

“god, if i had your problems…”

the conference room was suffocatingly silent now, the last echoes of shuffling papers and closing doors fading into nothing. hyunjin sat slouched in his chair, fingers digging into his temples, exhaustion pressing against his skull. the meeting had been hell—hour-long discussions, half-baked solutions, and a constant reminder that his name was currently the worst thing on the internet.

chan hadn’t left.

hyunjin could feel his stare, heavy and unwavering, but he didn’t look up. he didn’t want to. not when he already knew what was coming.

“hyunjin.”

his shoulders stiffened. he exhaled sharply, finally glancing up. “what?”

chan frowned. “i know this is a lot, but—”

“don’t.” hyunjin rubbed at his jaw, eyes on the table.

a pause. chan laced his fingers together, resting them on the table. “i just want you to talk to me.”

silence.

chan ran a hand through his hair, biting down on whatever response he wanted to throw back. instead, he just exhaled. “you’ve been shutting us out.” chan’s voice softened, barely above a murmur. “we’re losing you, hyunjin.”

hyunjin stared at the table. his jaw clenched.

“...you know that, right?”

hyunjin didn’t move. he didn’t speak.

“i just…” chan hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “i want you back, hyunjin, we want you back.” his voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something much heavier.

hyunjin still didn’t speak, but something flickered in his eyes.

chan watched him, pressing his lips together before continuing. “i know it’s because of suho,” he admitted. “i know why you’re like this right now.” he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t prying. just stating a fact.

hyunjin’s jaw tensed.

chan sighed. “i get it. i do. if it were me…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “i don’t even know what i’d do. but, hyunjin, killing yourself over this?”

hyunjin’s fingers twitched. but he still didn’t look up.

chan exhaled again, softer this time. “ this isn’t sustainable. and i’m scared that one day, you’re gonna wake up and realize you have nothing left to give.”

hyunjin shut his eyes for a long moment. then, finally, he muttered, “i don’t know what to do.”

chan’s heart ached at how small his voice sounded.

“then let us help you,” he said gently. “you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

hyunjin didn’t say anything. but this time, he didn’t push chan away.

after a while of silence, a memory came to hyunjin, making him let out a short, dry chuckle, finally leaning back in his chair. “suho actually had an idea for me.” hyunjin exhaled, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “he said i should just tell people i was sneaking around because i’m dating someone. can you imagine? me, suddenly in a whole-ass relationship out of nowhere?”

chan didn’t laugh.

“like that wouldn’t explode in my face instantly.”

still, chan was silent.

the amusement in hyunjin’s face wavered. “what?”

chan was staring at him, lips pressed together. his fingers tapped lightly against the table, and there was something calculating in his eyes, something hyunjin didn’t like.

hyunjin sat up straighter. “oh, hell no.”

chan hummed, tilting his head.

“no.”

“it’s not the worst idea.”

hyunjin gaped at him. “you have got to be kidding me.”

chan shrugged, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “you said it yourself. people already believe you’re sneaking around. what better reason than love?”

“don’t say it like that,” hyunjin muttered, disgusted.

chan ignored him, sitting up fully. “it would explain why you were seen there so often. and more importantly, it would push the scandal out of the narrative.”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “i hate that you’re actually thinking about this.”

chan grinned. “that’s because it’s a solid plan.”

hyunjin groaned, head dropping back against the chair. “you’re insane.”

“no, no—think about it.” chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “if we came to an agreement with someone, you two could just hang tight for a while. keep up appearances, and then, when everything dies down, you break it off.”

hyunjin let out a slow breath through his nose. “you mean when suho dies and i no longer need a reason to visit him?”

silence.

chan stiffened. his expression went blank, but not in a way that suggested neutrality—it was the kind of blankness that came when someone didn’t know how to respond. his fingers, which had been lightly tapping the table moments ago, stilled completely.

hyunjin felt the shift immediately.

he shut his eyes, shaking his head once before exhaling. “that was—” he paused, then muttered, “that was a shitty thing to say. i’m sorry.”

chan swallowed and looked down. for a while, neither of them spoke. he exhaled slowly, rubbing his palm over his face.

hyunjin didn’t respond. he just kept staring at his hands, fingers twitching slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“look,” chan said carefully. “i know you hate this. i know you don’t wanna fake some stupid relationship, but if it keeps you out of trouble, buys you time—” he hesitated. “wouldn’t that be worth it?”

hyunjin shook his head, leaning back. “this is insane.”

“what’s insane is letting this whole thing get worse when we have an out.”

hyunjin sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “even if i agreed—which, by the way, i haven’t—who the hell would even do it?”

chan hesitated. “do you have anyone in mind?”

hyunjin scoffed. “oh, yeah, loads. my phone’s just bursting with women waiting for me to ask them to fake date me.”

chan stared.

hyunjin sighed. “no, chan. i don’t have anyone in mind.”

chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “look, if you really wanna go in that direction, i actually think it’d be a good idea.”

hyunjin shot him a dry look. “a good idea?”

chan nodded, completely serious. “you need a solution. this is one. if we do it right, it actually helps you.”

hyunjin exhaled, rubbing his temples. “we’re lying to the whole world. it’s fake dating, hyung.”

“and?” chan shrugged. “it’s not like you actually have to like the person. we just need to put a name and face to the label”

hyunjin muttered something under his breath and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

chan tapped his fingers against the wood. “once you’ve made your decision, we bring it up in the next meeting. boom—there’s your solution. we can figure out the who part later.”

hyunjin looked at him, unamused. “boom?”

chan ignored him. “this isn’t a bad move, hyun.”

hyunjin sighed. he knew that. that was the worst part.

chan leaned forward. “so?”

hyunjin stared at the table, fingers drumming against it.

“...i’ll think about it.”

the city at night was a dream—silver lights blinking against the dark sky, buildings glowing like constellations, streets humming with life but not too loud, just the perfect kind of alive.

as you neared your building, the familiar skyline framed itself perfectly against the deep indigo night. you flicked your blinker, turning smoothly onto the quieter street behind the building. the entrance to the underground garage came into view, between polished concrete walls. swiping your access card, you waited as the heavy gate hummed, slowly rolling upward.

the moment you slipped inside, the noise of the city softened, replaced by the low hum of overhead lights and the occasional drip of water somewhere in the distance. you drove through the near-empty space, your tires making a soft sound against the smooth pavement, before pulling into your reserved spot.

shutting off the engine, you sat there for a second, the warmth of the drive still clinging to you. the gym had let your body feel loose, the post-workout high still buzzing faintly in your limbs. you reached for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before stepping out, the sound of your car door closing echoing faintly through the empty garage.

you made your way toward the elevators, the soft click of your sneakers against the smooth garage floor the only sound in the stillness. the overhead lights cast long, sharp-edged shadows, stretching and bending as you walked.

reaching out, you grabbed the cool metal handle of the elevator lobby door and pulled it open. the hinges gave a quiet creak as you stepped inside. the space was softly lit, washed in a muted golden glow that made everything feel just a little more intimate, a little more hushed.

and then you noticed you weren’t alone.

a man stood near the elevators, his hands tucked into the pockets of a sleek black coat. his cap was on backward, dark fabric disappearing into the studs of his blond hair. a mask rested just beneath his chin, exposing the sharp cut of his jawline.

tall. unmistakably so. his frame, his posture—something about him was too familiar.

the stranger shifted, finally looking up.

and the moment your eyes met, your breath caught.

because he wasn’t a stranger.

not at all.

“hyunjin?”

“y/n?”

hearing your name in his voice—slightly raspy, laced with surprise—was like flipping a switch.

the world around you blurred, folding into itself, swallowed by the rush of memory.

suddenly, the elevator lobby was gone. the scent of clean concrete replaced by something warmer—cologne, faint wine, the crisp linen of a hotel bed.

you weren’t standing in a garage late at night. you were in milan.

in a hotel room washed in golden lamplight, the air thick with heat, his hands gripping your skin like he couldn’t get enough. his lips dragging over your throat, breath ragged, voice desperate as he whispered your name against your skin. his body pressing into yours, fitting against you so perfectly it felt unreal.

you could still taste the liquor on your tongue, feel the dizzy warmth in your veins. everything had been hazy, edges softened by alcohol and adrenaline, by the way milan pulsed beneath you like a dream you never wanted to wake from.

a breath hitched in your throat.

and then it was gone.

the present snapped back into place, harsh and real. the elevator doors chimed softly behind you, but you couldn’t move.

hyunjin was looking at you now, eyes warm despite the obvious exhaustion shadowing his face. he looked different, but there was still something about him that was undeniably the same.

then, to your absolute horror, he smiled.

“wow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “didn’t think i’d run into you here.”

his voice was the same. beautiful, with that smooth cadence that always made everything he said feel effortless. he shifted his weight slightly, hands still tucked in his pockets, eyes scanning your face.

the hyunjin you met in milan had been wild and reckless, grinning against your skin like he had nothing to lose. this hyunjin was something else entirely. he was so tired—you could see it in the way his eyes drooped just a little, in the way his breath left him in something like a sigh. but he was still cute. still unfairly pretty.

and still standing in front of you, in your building, like the universe was playing some kind of joke.

the elevator doors slid open, but neither of you stepped in immediately.

you blinked at him, still trying to process the fact that he was even here, in your building, standing in front of you like a half-forgotten memory brought back to life.

“didn’t think i’d run into you either,” you finally said, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.

hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. you huffed a small laugh as well, stepping into the elevator. he followed, moving with that same effortless grace he always had, but now, it was weighed down by something heavier. something quieter.

the doors shut behind you, sealing you both in.

“so…” hyunjin turned slightly toward you, hands still in his pockets as he pressed for suho’s floor, then silently gestured to you. “you live here?”

you glanced at him. “yeah. 30.”

he nodded once, pressing the button, only a few floors under suho’s. “nice place.”

you let out a breathy laugh. “i like it.”

another silence. the kind that felt full, not empty.

the elevator lurched into motion, the hum of it filling the silence between you.

you were still too stunned by the fact that he was here—by the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he carried himself now—until your brain caught up with reality.

and then it hit you.

hyunjin. in your building.

hyunjin. the center of a scandal about sneaking around this exact place.

you blinked, your stomach dropping. oh, my god. you had literally just caught him red-handed.

“so,” he said casually, like he read your mind. “have you heard?”

you turned toward him fully, expression unreadable. “about you?”

he nodded once, tilting his head like he was gauging your reaction.

you hesitated, inhaling slowly before admitting, “i don’t wanna believe it. i mean, first of all, this building is the least likely for those sorts of things to happen.” you lowered your voice. “and second of all, i don’t think you’re that type of person, hyunjin.”

that made him smile a little—just a small, knowing curve of his lips. “don’t worry, the whole thing is bullshit.” he said. “i’ve been coming here to visit somebody, that’s why.”

your first thought was that he was here to visit a girlfriend.

you shifted your weight slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back against the cool elevator wall. “yeah, well… your type of fans get pretty worked up over dating,” you said, watching his reaction. “you're in a hard situation right now, then.”

hyunjin let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “oh, no, no,” he said quickly, lifting a hand. “i’m not dating.” he hesitated, glancing at you before scratching the back of his neck. “i’m visiting my friend. he’s, um… he’s very sick.”

your brows furrowed slightly, and you shifted your stance, watching him carefully. “oh,” you said softly. “i’m sorry.”

hyunjin shook his head, offering a small, tired smile. “it’s okay.”

“it must be a lot,” you said gently. “worrying about him while also dealing with… all of this.” you gestured vaguely, meaning the scandal.

hyunjin let out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but not quite. “yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “tell me about it.”

the elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open to your floor. you hesitated, glancing at hyunjin once more.

“for what it’s worth,” you said, voice soft, “i hope it gets better.”

hyunjin’s gaze lifted to yours.

“all of it.” you offered him a small smile, something reassuring. then, without thinking much about it, you reached out, fingers grazing his forearm in a light squeeze. “take care, okay?”

hyunjin didn’t move. he just watched as you stepped out.

the doors started to slide shut, and you expected that to be it. a strange, unexpected meeting with someone from your past. a memory to shake off by the time you reached your apartment.

but then, just before the doors could close completely, hyunjin moved.

his arm shot out, palm pressing against the door sensors. the panels jolted, beeping before sliding open again.

you turned back, surprised. the doors closed behind him, leaving him standing on your floor.

hyunjin exhaled before meeting your eyes.

“y/n,” he said, almost like it was something he hadn’t meant to say aloud. he hesitated, shifting his weight before finally sighing. “i don’t know when i’ll ever see you again.”

you blinked, caught completely off guard. “what?”

hyunjin let out a breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself either. then he laughed—just a little, under his breath, barely there. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “everything’s been... chaotic lately. it’s like i’m trying to hold everything together, but it just keeps slipping.”

you stared at him, your heart suddenly feeling too heavy in your chest. he was unraveling. right in front of you.

his voice dropped lower, raw with something you couldn’t place. “and now i’m here, standing in front of you, and i don’t even know why i stopped the elevator.”

you didn’t know either.

your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. hyunjin just looked at you, like he was waiting for something—like even he wasn’t sure what. then, hesitantly, he spoke again.

“i need help.”

your brows pulled together. his voice was quiet, careful, like he already expected you to say no.

“you don’t have to.” he added quickly, shaking his head. “i—i just need to ask.”

you swallowed. “what is it?”

hyunjin exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight like he was bracing himself. “i thought the idea was stupid at first,” he admitted, gaze flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. “but my friend—the one who’s sick—he brought it up.”

a short, humorless laugh left his lips.

“and then my bandmate actually thought it was a good idea…” he trailed off for a second, like he was trying to find the right words. “and then when you assumed i was dating someone. and it made me realize… maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing for people to believe”

you blinked.

your heart was beating too fast now, thoughts racing in a direction you weren’t sure you understood. “what do you need from me?”

hyunjin hesitated, glancing away for a brief moment before exhaling through his nose. “something to get people off my back. a distraction.” his voice was quieter now, almost careful. “something that makes all of this… easier.”

your heart skipped.

hyunjin was talking about fake dating.

“hyunjin… me?” your voice came out softer than you expected, laced with hesitation.

“i know,” he said quickly, nodding like he was already expecting you to refuse. “it’s crazy. i completely understand if this doesn’t work for you.” he let out a breath, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “i just—i need something to steer this in another direction. and if that’s not you, that’s okay.”

the idea was crazy.

it had been years since you last saw hyunjin. years since milan, since that night, since the two of you were anything more than strangers passing through each other’s lives. fake dating him now—while he was knee-deep in a scandal, while you had your own career to protect—was out of the question.

you swallowed, shaking your head slightly. “i’m sorry,” you said, voice gentle. “i just… i don’t think i can.”

hyunjin nodded immediately, offering a small, easy smile—like he was making sure you knew he wasn’t upset. “it’s okay,” he assured you, waving a hand.

“but…” you started, and his eyes flicked back to yours instantly. you hesitated, the words sitting strange on your tongue. “maybe i could find someone else. in this building.”

his brows rose, not in shock exactly, but something close—like hope trying to disguise itself as confusion. “what?”

you shrugged, arms crossing over your chest, more out of self-preservation than defensiveness. “i mean… it’s a big place. lots of people. actors, influencers, whatever trust fund kid lives above me who walks like he’s stomping grapes.” you glanced at him. “if all you need is a name and a face to make this go away…”

he blinked. “you’d… do that?”

“i said i’d help,” you said simply. “just not by throwing myself into the middle of a press storm. but maybe i could talk to someone. convince them to play along. someone who doesn’t have as much riding on their image as i do.”

hyunjin went quiet for a moment, jaw flexing like he was trying to figure out how to respond without sounding ungrateful.

“that’d mean a lot,” he said finally, voice softer now. “i know this is already too much to ask.”

you shook your head before speaking. “give me your phone.”

hyunjin blinked, reaching into his pocket and handing it over unlocked.

you quickly typed in your number, saving it under just your name, before handing it back. “i’ll do what i can,” you said simply, meeting his eyes.

hyunjin stared at the screen for a second, lips parting slightly before he looked back at you. something flickered behind his gaze—something unreadable, something deep. then, just barely, he smiled.

and in that moment, you realized how much this meant to him.

“thank you, y/n,”

hyunjin had been on your mind ever since that night.

at first, you told yourself it was just because of the shock—running into him after all these years, hearing his voice again, watching him stand in front of you, so vulnerable. but it wasn’t just that. it was what he’d said. it was what he needed. and it was what you needed, too.

because sangwoo was still a problem.

you remembered that night in your apartment, when he had dropped you off uninvited, standing too close, speaking too softly, looking at you like he already had what he wanted. you had panicked. and in that moment, out of pure fear and self-defense, you had told him you had a boyfriend.

you hadn’t.

but if you had hyunjin… maybe it wouldn’t have been a total lie.

so you thought about it. really thought about it.

would it be that bad?

you weren’t hated by the public. you had never been caught in a controversy, never had to deal with antis tearing you apart online. hyunjin’s fans were passionate, yes, but maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. maybe they’d even be nice.

and maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as crazy as it first seemed.

and that was why your fingers were hovering over your phone screen, your thumb grazing the call button for hyunjin.

you were sitting in the makeup chair between filming, the soft hum of conversation around you barely registering in your ears. your reflection in the mirror stared back at you—calm, composed—but inside, your mind was racing.

was this really the right move? would hyunjin even say yes?

you exhaled, lips pressing together as your hand tensed slightly around your phone. you just needed to do it. just press call. just—

“y/n.”

your heart stilled. you immediately locked your phone and lowered it onto your lap just as sangwoo stepped into view.

you noticed it immediately—the way he didn’t lean in too close, didn’t lower his voice to that sickly sweet tone that always made your skin crawl. he was keeping his distance, standing a respectful length away, his hands tucked casually in his pockets.

it was strange.

you swallowed. “hi, sangwoo.”

for a second, you could only blink at him, waiting for the usual discomfort to creep in. but instead of anything suggestive, he just cleared his throat and gestured with his hand.

“about the next scene,” he started, his voice even, professional. “i was thinking—when you turn toward the window, maybe hold that beat a little longer before delivering your line? just for effect. it gives the moment more weight.”

sangwoo was a good actor with good feedback—you could never deny that—but he had never been this straightforward before. no unnecessary comments, no lingering stares, just an actual note on the scene.

you nodded, still a little cautious. “yeah, i can do that.”

and then, just like that, he walked off. you stared after him, your brain struggling to process whatever the hell that just was.

as soon as sangwoo disappeared past the set doors, it clicked.

your lips parted slightly in realization, a quiet breath leaving you as the pieces fell into place. it was because of what you told him that night in your apartment.

that you were taken.

that you were seeing someone.

your fingers curled around your phone, mind replaying the way he had backed off that night, the way he had barely even looked at you just now. the way he had spoken to you like a coworker—like a normal human being, without any of the usual tension or veiled insinuations.

it had to be that.

something about the idea of you being with someone had gotten to him, had actually made him keep his distance.

and god, you loved it.

you weren’t naïve enough to believe he had given up completely, but for now, this was enough. it was proof that the idea of a boyfriend had worked.

your fingers tapped against the back of your phone, mind racing.

if sangwoo was buying this whole boyfriend thing, then maybe… maybe you could take it further.

and just like that, an idea hit you.

your agency’s private event was nearing. a semi-exclusive event—actors, directors, executives, all gathering under one roof for an evening of networking and performances.

and sangwoo would be there.

you knew it, because he never missed a chance to be seen, to shake hands, to remind everyone in the industry that he was the kang sangwoo.

what better place to show him?

your grip on your phone tightened, your thumb barely brushing over hyunjin’s name. this wasn’t about just scaring sangwoo off for the night—this was about cementing the idea in his head. if you showed up with someone—if it looked convincing—then maybe, just maybe, he’d finally stop pushing the boundaries with you.

your thumb hovered over hyunjin’s contact again.

he needed someone. you needed someone.

and for the first time, the idea of fake dating didn’t seem like such a bad one after all.

that night, you curled up on your couch, legs tucked under you, fingers resting lightly against your phone screen. the city lights outside cast a dim glow through your windows, flickering softly against the walls.

you were gonna do it.

after an entire day of thinking—of weighing every single risk, every possible consequence—you’d made up your mind.

your thumb hovered over hyunjin’s contact for only a second before you pressed down, bringing the phone to your ear.

it rang once. twice.

you bit your lip, heart pounding.

then—

“hello?”

his voice was smooth, low, like honey warmed over. a little breathless, like he hadn’t expected your call but was already settling into it. you could hear the faint rustling of fabric, the soft click of something being set down.

you inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sound normal. “hi, hyunjin. are you in the building?”

there was a pause. then the quiet rustling of movement, like he was getting comfortable. “not tonight, sorry,” he murmured. “what’s up? you wanna talk?”

you exhaled slowly. “i’ve been thinking about it. what you asked me the other night.”

another pause.

“mhm.”

your lips parted slightly, nervousness creeping up your throat. “i couldn’t find you someone to help you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

silence.

hyunjin didn’t respond, but you could feel him listening. waiting.

so you swallowed, pushed past the last bit of doubt, and finally said it.

“but i could.”

hyunjin was quiet for a moment, and for a second, you almost thought you’d imagined the whole conversation.

“yeah? you could?”

his voice was soft, tired, but there was something else underneath it. hope. a quiet, careful kind of hope.

you swallowed. “yeah.”

a breath left him, barely audible through the speaker. “y/n,” he said slowly, “you don’t have to. i mean it.” his tone was gentle, careful. “don’t feel pressured. you know that, right?”

you nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see you.

“i mean, you’ve got your own life. your career. i don’t want to—” he exhaled, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, brows furrowed in thought. “i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

you took a breath, steadying yourself. “i know, hyunjin. but i have my reasons too.”

he was quiet, letting you continue.

“if we do this… i might need something as well,” you admitted, gripping the edge of your couch.

he spoke again almost immediately. “y/n, i would do anything to give back to you.”

your breath caught. your eyes widened slightly, your stomach tightening at his words. the way he said it sent something warm rushing through you.

his voice softened, barely a whisper, as if to coax you. “tell me, y/n.”

you hesitated, nerves fluttering in your chest. you were suddenly aware of how much you were about to share with him—something raw, something you'd never told anyone before. his words, though, made you trust him in a way you hadn’t expected.

“you felt comfortable enough to tell me about... everything," you began, your voice quiet and unsure, "so i think it’s time i tell you something too.”

there was a pause on the other end. he didn’t interrupt, just waited.

you swallowed hard, the weight of what you were about to say pressing against your chest. “but, you need to promise me something first. you have to keep this quiet, hyunjin. i’ve never told anyone before.”

his response was immediate, earnest. “i promise, y/n. whatever it is, i’ll keep it between us.”

your heart beat faster, a lump forming in your throat. you could feel the words struggling to come out, the truth, the vulnerability that would finally be shared with someone else.

“there’s someone on set,” you started, voice wavering. “a coworker and i...”

the words caught in your throat. you hadn’t even realized how much you needed to say this out loud to someone until now.

“i’ve been dealing with him for a while now," you took a deep breath and tried again. “and the worst part is, no one sees it. everything thinks it’s just normal workplace tension, but it’s not. not for me."

hyunjin stayed silent on the other end, giving you the space to speak, but you could feel him listening intently, like every word mattered.

"he doesn’t do anything... bad enough to report. not in a way that’s obvious to everyone. it’s the little things and that’s what makes it so hard to deal with."

you took a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried to keep your composure.

“and i—” you paused, swallowing hard. “i’m lying to him right now, hyunjin. to keep him away. i told him i’m seeing someone. and for now, it seems to be working, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you could say it aloud. “i don’t know how long it’ll last before he figures out i’m not.”

“so you need me.” it wasn’t a question, but a statement. hyunjin’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

you nodded slowly, trying to keep your thoughts straight. "yeah,”

“listen, i’ve got you, okay?” he said, his voice unwavering. “if you want me to talk to someone, i can. whatever you need, y/n.”

you paused for a moment before speaking again. “well, there's an event coming up, and he'll be there. just me showing up with someone might be enough to get him off my back."

“of course,” hyunjin responded.

you let out a small breath, looking down. “i know my situation isn’t as serious as yours. my career’s safe, with or without your help. i could still help you, though—without expecting anything in return.”

hyunjin was quiet for a moment. then his voice came through, soft but strong, cutting through the doubt that was building inside you. “no, y/n. this is serious. it’s personal, and it matters. your peace of mind matters. what you’re dealing with is important too.” there was a sharpness to his words, a protective edge. “don’t diminish it, okay? ”

you didn’t know what to say to that, but hearing him say it felt like the weight of everything had been lifted just a little bit. you hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear those words until now.

you closed your eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. “thank you, hyunjin,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his reassurance settle in your chest.

there was a pause before he spoke again, his voice quiet but sincere. “no,” he said softly, “thank you. for helping me, for trusting me with this.”

you took a deep breath, the nerves creeping back in. “so... are we doing this?” you asked, your voice hopeful.

hyunjin let out a light laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “i guess so,” he replied, his voice more relaxed now. “i’ll bring it up when i meet with my company again.”

there was a slight pause before he added, his tone turning more serious, “you should really tell your company about your coworker, y/n. even if you think it won’t help, it might. you deserve to be heard.”

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, silently agreeing with him. the weight of the situation felt a little less heavy.

you let out a quiet breath, rolling your lips together as you mulled over his words. “i’ll think about it,” you murmured. it wasn’t a promise, but it was something.

hyunjin hummed in response, and you could hear the faint smile in his voice. “that’s all i ask.”

for a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of the city outside your window, the warmth of his presence lingering through the phone. then, out of nowhere, he let out a small chuckle—low, amused.

your brows furrowed. “what?”

his laughter deepened slightly, rich and familiar, like he was suddenly remembering something fond. “nothing,” he said, but the teasing lilt in his voice betrayed him.

you narrowed your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. “hyunjin.”

he exhaled through his nose, clearly holding back another laugh. “it’s just…” he trailed off for a second before finally saying it. “donatella’s gonna flip the fuck out.”

heat rushed to your face instantly. “stop, hyunjin.” you groaned.

he just kept laughing, and despite yourself, despite the absolute chaos of both your lives, a giggle bubbled up in your chest. before you knew it, you were both laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like forever. for just a second, you weren’t two people desperately trying to fix the mess around you—you were just hyunjin and y/n again.

and maybe, just maybe, this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

for something that was supposed to be a last resort, a desperate attempt to save his ass, the company sure took the fake dating idea and ran with it like it was their best plan since debuting him in the first place.

the meeting had barely started before someone clapped his hands together and went, “brilliant. let’s do it.” no hesitation. no deliberation.

“you mean… that’s it?” hyunjin had asked, blinking across the table at the team of executives who were already drafting up pr statements like this was just another tuesday.

one of them looked up from his notes. “would you like it to be more difficult?”

well. no.

now everything was out. the plan was in motion. and the most ridiculous part? it was actually working.

for what?

for a scandal that wasn’t even his fault? for a rumor that had spiraled so far out of control that even he was starting to think maybe he had secret business with prostitutes?

but it didn’t matter anymore, when the hashtags switched overnight from #hyunjin to #hyunyn. creative, truly.

and now, instead of dealing with conspiracy theories about his alleged involvement in illegal activities, hyunjin’s biggest problem was that people were debating whether you two had secretly been together for months or weeks. ironically, some said since milan fashion week. others thought you two were secretly cousins (what did that even mean?).

frankly, he didn’t care.

because at the end of the day, the narrative had shifted, and he could finally breathe.

which was why he had just been able to spend the afternoon with suho without sneaking in through some underground garage like he was smuggling state secrets.

it almost felt too easy. and he had you to thank for that.

hyunjin exhaled as he leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers drop. a few floors down. that was all it took to go from suho’s penthouse to your apartment.

he hadn’t talked to you much since everything blew up. you were on set when it happened, and the one short call you managed was mostly just: wow, that was fast. okay, i have to go, but we’ll talk later.

except “later” never really came, and now he felt kind of bad about it.

so here he was. standing outside your door, clutching a small bag with a necklace he wasn’t even sure you’d like. which, honestly, was his own fault. he had almost bought one from versace—one of those statement pieces with the huge, flashy charms. it felt right at the time. you were an ambassador for the brand, after all. it made sense.

but then, mid-purchase, his brain caught up.

you probably already had this. he could literally picture it—your jewelry drawer stacked with versace pieces you got for free while he was out here about gift you something that would be redundant at best and embarrassing at worst.

so, in a rare moment of good decision-making, he backtracked and went for something else. a van cleef & arpels necklace. dainty, understated.

it felt more you.

…or at least, he hoped it did.

he didn’t know why he got a necklace. maybe as a thank you. maybe because he thought it’d suit you. maybe because he was a little in over his head with whatever this was, and buying pretty things for you felt… normal.

either way, it was too late to back out now.

hyunjin raised a hand and knocked. and then, because his brain worked after his body, he noticed the doorbell.

oh.

his hand hovered toward it before he realized how weird that was. what kind of psycho knocks and then rings the doorbell immediately after?

so he just stood there, wondering if you heard him at all. or if you were even home.

he was just about to start overthinking again when the door swung open, cutting off his spiral entirely.

“hi, hyunjin,” you greeted with a small smile.

and for a second, he just stared. because—god, you were so pretty. the kind of pretty that looked effortless, like you had just stepped out of a movie. which was a stupid thought because, well, you were literally an actress. of course, you looked like that.

still. it didn’t make it any less unfair.

“hi, y/n,” he said, clearing his throat a little, hoping he wasn’t visibly dazed.

you tilted your head slightly. “what are you doing here?” before he could answer, you stepped aside, gesturing him in. “come in.”

he did, stepping into your apartment as you closed the door behind him. the space was cozy, warmer than he expected, even though he didn’t know what exactly he had expected.

“i was just, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words. “visiting my friend again. and i figured i’d stop by.”

your lips curled slightly, amused. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he exhaled a small laugh. “i’ve actually been coming quite often now—thanks to you.”

“i’m glad it’s working out for you,” you said, leaning against the back of your couch as you watched him.

hyunjin studied you for a second before tilting his head. “how about you?”

he already knew the answer before you even spoke. he could see it. you looked lighter—your shoulders weren’t as tense, your smile wasn’t as forced. you were beaming so much more than the last time he saw you, and it was obvious. the change suited you.

and maybe you noticed the same about him, too.

you exhaled, shaking your head slightly as if you couldn’t believe it yourself. “it’s been… great. a lot better.”

hyunjin raised an eyebrow, wordlessly urging you to continue.

you smiled a little. “for a second, i thought i was starting to lose my edge. i almost lost my love for being on set. but now it’s good. i feel like i can actually breathe now.”

hyunjin nodded, his expression softening. he knew that feeling all too well.

“that’s great, y/n.” his voice was genuine, warm, and maybe even a little proud. “really.”

his eyes were softer than usual, and the way he was looking at you made your stomach do a little flip.

“i got you something.” he lifted it slightly before handing it over.

“what is it?” you asked, taking the bag and gently pulling out the box. your fingers brushed against the smooth material as you lifted the lid, and inside was something that made your breath catch.

it was a necklace—elegant and so you. the delicate chain had a small pendant that caught the light, the kind of subtle beauty that you would have picked out for yourself. you looked up at him, surprised. “hyunjin, you really didn’t have to…”

but he was already smiling. “i thought you’d like it.”

your fingers lightly traced the necklace, and your eyes caught his again. “i love it.”

his brain suddenly snapped into action—that’s your cue to put it on for her, you dumb nut. hyunjin cleared his throat, raising his hand in a small gesture. with a small smile, you pulled the necklace from the box and held it out to him.

his fingers brushed against yours as he took it—light, barely there, but enough to send something weird and electric shooting through his chest. he ignored it. he wasn’t about to turn this into some rom-com slow-motion moment.

…except that’s exactly what it felt like when you turned around, exposing the curve of your neck.

hyunjin swallowed, hard.

he carefully brought the necklace over your head, moving so gently you almost didn’t feel it. hyunjin’s fingers barely brushed against your skin as he adjusted the chain, careful, deliberate. he was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, close enough that if you turned your head even slightly, you’d—nope. not going there.

his voice, low and smooth, broke through the charged silence. “so… when’s this event i’m going to?”

you swallowed, willing yourself to sound normal. “um. next week. friday night.”

he hummed, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck as he fastened the clasp. “dress code?”

your lips parted slightly, mind blank for a second before you forced out, “formal.”

hyunjin chuckled, the sound barely above a whisper but somehow sending a ripple through you. “good to know.”

the necklace was secured, but neither of you moved just yet.

your fingers curled around the edge of the counter, trying to focus on anything other than how close he still was. “you don’t have to stay the whole time. just showing up with me should be enough.”

hyunjin didn’t step back.

not yet.

“i don’t mind staying,” he murmured, his voice softer now, like he wasn’t just talking about the event anymore.

his hand lingered near your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he stayed just a little too close. and then—suddenly, like the thought had just hit him—he exhaled, like he was trying to shake something off.

“sorry, i’m just—” hyunjin stopped himself, his hand now resting on the back of his neck, fingers gripping at the studs of his hair like he was trying to physically ground himself.

your heart stuttered.

he had moved back, but the air between you was still thick, charged with something neither of you wanted to name. you turned your head slightly, eyes flickering up to meet his.

you swallowed. “it’s fine.”

fine? how could you tell yourself this was fine?

you should’ve wanted to step back. you should’ve felt that creeping discomfort, that instinct to put space between you the way you always did when sangwoo leaned in too close.

but with hyunjin, you didn’t move. you didn’t want to move.

your breath was still uneven, but not from fear. just from him. you didn’t know what to make of that. all you knew was that there was something about hyunjin—something that felt different, that felt safe.

hyunjin’s gaze flickered to your lips for a split second—so fast, so fleeting, you might have imagined it. but you knew you didn’t. hyunjin didn’t move, but his eyes were asking something. and you answered. a small nod, barely there, but enough.

hyunjin’s hand was already moving before you could fully process it. it was slow, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t. his palm cupped your cheek, thumb grazing the soft skin beneath your eye.

you could feel the air thinning between you two. and then, just as he leaned in, as the space between your lips and his vanished—

rrrring.

the shrill sound of his phone shattered everything.

hyunjin froze, lips barely an inch away from yours, his breath hitching before he pulled back, looking utterly frustrated. his hand quickly fell away from your face, and his lips twisted into a tight grimace.

he muttered, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “it’s my dorm mate.”

your chest tightened as you blinked, still in shock. what the hell just happened? you almost kissed the guy you swore you would never see again. the one-night stand that was supposed to be just that—one night. and your fake boyfriend who was meant to be fake.

hyunjin cleared his throat, pressing the phone to his ear. “hey, changbin.”

you tried not to look too relieved, even as your heart pounded.

“yeah, i’m at… y/n’s place,” he continued, avoiding your gaze. “just talking. about stuff.”

silence. you could practically feel changbin narrowing his eyes through the phone.

hyunjin scratched the back of his neck, finally glancing at you. “yeah, i’ll be over in a bit.”

another pause, then a clipped, “alright, take care.”

hyunjin exhaled, rubbing his forehead. he stood there, tense, like he’d been caught in something he wasn’t supposed to be part of. “sorry about that,” he muttered. “i have to go.”

you nodded, pretending the air between you wasn’t still charged.

hyunjin hesitated, then sighed. “i—look, i’m sorry. about this. about almost—” he stopped, shaking his head. “we probably need to set some boundaries. you’re… you know. and i’m… yeah. we’ll talk about it, okay?”

your lips pressed together, but you nodded again. “of course,” you repeated, even though neither of you were really sure what this was, or what those so-called boundaries even meant.

he stood there for a second longer, like he wanted to say something else. like maybe he was about to change his mind about leaving altogether. but then he straightened up, pushing a hand through his hair before muttering, “i’ll come pick you up tomorrow for the meeting.”

you stood up, moving on autopilot as you walked to the door and pulled it open for him. hyunjin hesitated for just a second, but then he gave you a small nod and stepped out.

the door clicked shut behind him.

silence.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, before leaning back against the door, your head lightly thudding against the wood. your fingers drifted up, brushing over the delicate pendant resting against your collarbone.

what the hell just happened?

the wind tugged at your hair as you stood outside, waiting. you weren’t even sure why you were nervous—it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen hyunjin since the moment. it had been two days, a few texts exchanged here and there, but nothing significant. nothing that acknowledged that charged, almost-mistake hanging between you.

but then, a sleek black car rolled up in front of you, all polished edges and tinted windows, and your stomach did this stupid little flip. the door swung open, and there he was. hyunjin stepped out, in a black sweater that had been handcrafted by versace herself, and a pair of shades. he didn’t say anything at first, just opened the car door for you.

you blinked up at him. “oh, so we’re being all fancy now?”

he barely fought off a smirk, tilting his head toward the car like, get in already.

so you did, sliding into the backseat. before you could even get comfortable, he followed, shutting the door behind him. the car settled into a quiet hum as the driver pulled away.

hyunjin cleared his throat. “how’ve you been?”

“good,” you said, nodding like this wasn’t a little awkward. “busy with filming.”

he nodded back, and then his gaze dropped slightly, his lips curling up into a tiny, knowing smile.

you frowned. “what?”

he pointed lazily at your collarbone. “you’re still wearing it.”

you blinked, looking down—and oh. the four-leaf clover pendant sat against your collarbone, resting against your skin like it had never left.

you smiled, twirling it between your fingers. “i’m not allowed to have it on set, but i always put it on after.”

hyunjin didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his smile softening as he bit his lower lip. his whole expression warmed like the sun had just come out.

you shifted in your seat, trying to push down the nervous energy buzzing in your stomach. “so, should i be nervous about this?” you asked, your gaze flickering to the tinted windows as if the city outside could distract you from the fact that you were headed to a meeting with his company.

hyunjin chuckled, leaning back a little in his seat. “no, don’t be. you’ll be fine. and i’ll be there the whole time.”

he gave you a reassuring smile, but there was an extra twinkle in his eyes that made you wonder if he was being just a little bit too relaxed about all of this.

the meeting passed quicker than you expected, and before you knew it, the room was filled with the soft shuffle of papers and the clink of laptops being closed.

hyunjin immediately turned toward you with a grin, clearly pleased with how things had gone. “so, now that that’s over, how about a tour of the building?” he asked, his tone light but genuine. “i can show you where i spent most of my time while i was a teenager.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious. “alright, lead the way.”

hyunjin’s grin widened as he gestured for you to follow him, his steps light as he led you through the building. the halls were lined with sleek, modern design—clean lines, glass walls, and an almost intimidating level of organization. he seemed at ease in the space, walking with purpose as if he had done it a thousand times.

every so often, he would point out something—a particular room or area—and share little anecdotes about his time there.

“you know, back in the day, trainees used to hang around the hallways, hoping to bump into an idol passing by. i definitely did that way too many times.”

“have you seen it happen?” you teased.

he raised an eyebrow, smirking. “maybe once or twice. but i always knew when they were lurking around. i had my own tricks too.” he winked before leading you toward a door at the end of the hall.

“this is the room i spent most of my time in,” he said, swinging open the door to reveal a simple but spacious practice room. the lights flickered on automatically as he entered, casting the room in a soft glow.

you stepped inside, looking around. the mirrors lined the wall, the floor clear for dancing, and there was a large couch shoved in the corner. you moved toward the couch, sitting down with a small sigh.

hyunjin stood there for a moment, watching you with a smile before he joined you. he sat down beside you, but his leg was just barely touching yours, and for some reason, it made the room feel even smaller.

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small grin on his face. “so, what do you think? not bad, right?”

you looked around again, the walls still covered in reminders of his hard work. "i like it," you said, smiling back at him. "it feels like the kind of space where countless dreams have been shaped."

hyunjin nodded, his eyes lighting up. "and what about you? what was it like trying to be an actress?"

“i’ve always known what i wanted. i started quite young actually,” you leaned back slightly, hands resting on your lap as you considered his question. "and it’s…different cause i mean, i don’t have to perform on stage or anything. but you’re always expected to bring the character to life, make it feel real."

he nodded, clearly interested. "so, you go off-script a lot?"

"all the time," you said, shrugging. "you can’t always stick to the lines. sometimes i have to adapt, improvise when the scene goes in a direction i didn’t expect."

hyunjin smiled. "that sounds pretty hard. i mean, we don’t get much room to improvise in the same way—everything’s planned out down to the smallest detail in a performance."

"yeah, it’s definitely different," you said, smiling softly. "but i like it.”

he nodded again, his gaze still on you, but this time, there was something else there—something like admiration.

your heart skipped a beat, your chest tight with that familiar, fluttery feeling that seemed to hit you every time he got too close, every time his eyes stayed on you a little too long. you caught yourself thinking how ridiculously pretty he was, his lips too perfect. you hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until you exhaled slowly, like your lungs couldn’t handle this much hyunjin in one go.

he was sitting next to you, his knee just barely touching yours, and every time he smiled, you felt a new pang in your chest. you could feel his gaze on you, the way his eyes were tracing the line of your lips like he was somehow as transfixed as you were.

"what?" you asked, your voice coming out a little more flustered than you meant it to.

he blinked, a slight shift in his expression before his lips curled into a small, sheepish smile. "nothing," he said, but his voice was too soft, too warm for it to feel like an empty response.

and then, it happened. the moment where it all clicked. hyunjin's eyes flickered down to your lips again, that damn glimmer in his eyes making your pulse spike. it was like a game at this point, a silent back-and-forth where he wasn’t backing down, and neither were you.

he’s asking for it.

the thought echoed in your brain before you even realized it was happening. your body moved before you could think, leaning in just the slightest inch... and there it was.

you kissed him.

his lips were so soft, so warm against yours, and you felt your heart race as he kissed you back instantly, as though he’d been waiting for that moment just as much as you had. hyunjin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

everything in you craved more. you shouldn’t want this. you shouldn’t be here, in this moment, with him so close that you could practically feel every inch of his body against yours. but you did. and you couldn’t help it.

your hands moved on their own, sliding up his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. his fingers dug lightly into the small of your back, urging you even closer. it wasn’t okay, not by any standard. it was just him, and you, and the undeniable pull that seemed to have existed between you two since the very first second he stepped into your life.

your breath hitched as you finally pulled away, but he didn’t let go. his lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth, the soft brush of them against your skin as his breath mingled with yours.

“does this feel familiar to you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the words almost a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

you could feel the question reverberating in your chest. italy. that night. the one you hadn’t been able to forget, the one that haunted the back of your mind every time you saw him. you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too exposed.

he didn’t kiss you again. instead, his nose gently bumped against yours, his breath warm and soft against your lips. he was hovering there, touching but not pressing, and it was driving you mad. every time his lips ghosted over yours, it felt like an electric jolt, like he was pulling something out of you, some kind of desperation you’d been hiding deep down.

you closed your eyes for a second, trying to control your thoughts, but it was impossible. he was so close. you didn’t know how to pull back when everything inside you was pushing you closer to him.

your chest felt too tight, like you couldn’t get enough air, like you were drowning in him. the warmth of his body, the way his lips barely ghosted over yours—it was too much, he was too much. you wanted him so badly it was dizzying, overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

but this wasn’t real. it wasn’t supposed to be real.

this was a fake relationship. a cover-up. you weren’t catching feelings. you weren’t.

one kiss couldn’t do that to you. it was just heat, just tension, just a mistake waiting to happen. and if you let yourself sink into it, if you let yourself forget the boundaries, you were going to screw everything up.

you forced yourself to swallow, to push down the lump rising in your throat, but it must have shown on your face because hyunjin suddenly pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning yours.

“what’s wrong, y/n?” his voice was soft. his hands were still resting on you, still holding you close, but his grip had loosened, giving you space to breathe.

and that was the problem. you didn’t want space. but you needed it.

you exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting your head against his shoulder. the moment you did, his body relaxed beneath you, and his hand came up, settling gently against your back.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t move. he just held you there, warm and patient, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in the smallest, most grounding motion.

and maybe you needed that more than you realized.

74 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 10 days ago

Text

#crying #this is so beautiful i want a chan

𐔌 방찬 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ stay a little longer

BANG CHAN! ⓘ when you're in the quiet of midnight, tangled in music, moonlight, and a love worth fighting for.

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ idol𝑏f!chan ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff, angst, comfort, emotional ! 6600wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, slight crying, intimacy, family pressure, some jokes, lightly forbidden love? ┆ 🍡 ⋮ drabble, timestamps .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ christopher... my baby, my love, my everything. :[ i love this man so much. i love love so much (2). i genuinely teared the fuck up while drafting this. i feel like this may be one of my favorite fics i've written, ever, honestly. sucker for channie, angst, and love !!!! happy reading <3

skz studio, jype building. 12:41 am. tick, tick, tick..

the room is dim, lit only by the soft amber of the desk lamp and the dull blue glow from two computer screens, their pixels dancing in sound waves. the speakers hum low, a heartbeat of synths and snare, looping a melody that hasn’t been named yet. it’s slow. dreamy. a little unfinished—just like the two of you.

the air smells faintly like fabric softener and coffee from hours ago, now cold in the cup beside his keyboard. you’re curled up on the studio couch, legs tucked beneath you, wearing one of chan’s crewnecks that swallows your hands. the cotton is worn soft from too many washes, oversized and comforting, and it still holds the ghost of his cologne—cedar, musk, the kind of scent that lingers long after he leaves a room.

he’s quiet.

not in the brooding way, not in the overthinking-every-note kind of way either. just… quiet. his fingers tap lightly against the desk as he listens to the loop again and again. his chair is tilted back just enough to see you in his periphery, and you know, because he’s been stealing glances between each pass.

you pretend not to notice.

instead, you let your fingers trace invisible patterns into your thigh, resting your cheek on your hand as you watch him from under your lashes. the way his black hoodie bunches at the elbows. the curve of his jaw when he’s focused. his mouth, slightly parted. the tip of his tongue resting in the corner, a habit. the faintest scruff on his chin from a day he forgot to shave. or didn’t care to.

you sigh, almost smiling. “you’re squinting again.”

chan’s head tilts. “huh?”

you point lazily at him. “your eyes. when you concentrate. you look like a suspicious grandpa decoding secret messages in morse code.”

a laugh bubbles out of him—short, breathy, surprised. “wow. thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, smug, leaning into the armrest. “you should really consider reading glasses.”

he narrows his eyes at you on purpose now, making a dramatic point. “i will literally end this song right now.”

“you won’t.”

“no, but i’ll pretend i did and pout about it for forty-five minutes.”

“pouting’s a great look on you,” you hum.

you expect him to roll his eyes. maybe throw a crumpled napkin at you. but instead, he just leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest—and looks at you.

fully.

the studio is quiet except for the looped track. and chan’s gaze? it softens. like the way light filters through curtains. gentle, warm, and far too much.

“what?” you whisper, feeling your face heat.

he shrugs, lips twitching into a small, sleepy smile. “nothing. you’re just really pretty when you’re bullying me.”

you squint back at him. “you’re not even trying to win this argument.”

“that’s ‘cause i like losing to you.”

your heart stumbles. you mask it by pretending to cough into your sleeve. he sees right through it. smirks wider. turns back to the screen like he didn’t just ruin your entire nervous system.

“asshole,” you mumble.

“mmhm.”

he slides his headphones on again, adjusts a few sliders, then clicks the spacebar. the track starts over. he listens. edits. rewinds. rests his chin on his palm.

you let yourself stare a little longer this time.

there’s something about watching chan work that feels like worship. he’s quiet with it—not boastful, not performative. just intensely focused, endlessly curious. you can see him thinking—layers of intention behind every adjustment, like he’s shaping sound into something that can hold meaning.

you never feel more drawn to him than in moments like this.

“c’mere,” he says suddenly, pulling one side of his headphones off.

you blink. “why?”

“just for a second.”

you raise an eyebrow. “this is how you trap me.”

“yup.” he doesn’t even deny it.

still, you rise, stretching your arms over your head with a small yawn, then pad over to his chair. he grabs your wrist lightly and tugs you down, guiding you gently into his lap like he’s done this a hundred times before. like your body fits there. like it’s second nature.

his arms wrap around your waist automatically.

you settle back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin, your legs slotted between his. the sound from the speakers is low now—background music to the quiet closeness you’ve both fallen into.

“this part’s new,” he murmurs near your ear, hitting play again. “i wrote it thinking of you.”

you freeze just a little. then slowly glance up at him.

he’s looking at the screen like he didn’t just casually say that.

“…chan.”

“mhm?”

“you wrote the chorus with me in mind?”

“pre-chorus, actually,” he says, lips twitching. “the chorus is about ramen. but the pre-chorus? that one’s you.”

you lightly smack his chest, laughing. “you suck.”

“do not.”

“you literally labeled the file ‘yn_ver2_emotionsfix.wav,’” you accuse, voice barely hiding your grin.

chan gives a dramatic sigh. “it was either that or ‘track_56_final_final_real_final_edit.wav.’ i went with art.”

you shake your head, settling into him again. he smells like warmth—like cotton, and hours of focus, and something softer beneath it all. his hands splay against your hips. secure. careful.

you close your eyes.

“you tired?” he asks quietly.

you nod against him. “but i don’t want to sleep yet.”

“why?”

“‘cause you’re not done loving me tonight.”

that catches him off guard. you feel it in the pause of his breath.

then—arms tighter around you. his chin tucks into your shoulder, and his voice is low. honest.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be done, y/n.”

the song loops again. a soft echo in the dark.

and neither of you move.

“something like home.” (12:59 am. still just the two of you.)

your feet are bare.

there’s a stray thread at the hem of your sleeve, and chan’s fingers have been absentmindedly twirling it between his thumb and forefinger for minutes now. the song plays in soft loops, fading into the walls like wallpaper music. you’ve stopped noticing it. or maybe it’s become a part of this moment.

you’re still in his lap, curled into his chest like the world forgot to pull you apart. he doesn’t seem to mind. his chin rests on your shoulder, and his hands are warm on your sides. his thumb strokes lazy, back-and-forth shapes over the fabric—like a lullaby with no melody.

you yawn. then mumble something.

“what?” he whispers.

“i said… i think i’m starting to melt.”

he chuckles, the sound low against your back. “melt?”

“mhm.” you nudge your nose into his hoodie. “i’m too comfortable. i might dissolve. evaporate. just… become one with the hoodie.”

chan hums, tilting his head to press a small kiss into your hair. “then i’ll carry you in my pocket.”

you pause, smiling into his chest. “you’re such a sap.”

“you love it.”

you twist just enough to look at him. “you say that like you’re not the clingy one.”

“i’m not clingy,” he says, indignant. “i just… like you close.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he holds up a finger, serious. “okay, hear me out. i didn’t ask you to stay over because i’m clingy. i asked because—”

“you missed me,” you cut in, sing-song.

he scoffs. “no—well, yes—but—listen. i knew you’d be annoying about it. that’s the real reason.”

“wow. you invited me over just to be bullied?”

“you’re better than caffeine.”

you blink.

he grins, smug. “and cuter.”

your chest does that thing again—that quiet, involuntary ache. like your ribs are expanding too fast for your heart to keep up.

you try to hide your face in his hoodie. “stop it.”

“no,” he says softly. “not when you look at me like that.”

you glance up. “like what?”

“like i’m the whole night sky.”

there’s a beat. long enough for your throat to close around it. you laugh, a soft, shaky breath. “that was corny.”

he kisses your temple. “did it work?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the way your fingers curl into his sleeve is loud enough.

you eventually slip off his lap, legs stiff, your body slow with sleepiness. but you don’t go far. just settle beside him again, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

chan shifts, pulls the blanket from the couch, and drapes it over your legs without a word. then he leans forward and clicks a few keys. the track pauses.

“what happened?” you ask, voice small.

he shrugs, adjusting the volume. “nothing. just wanted to sit here.”

you smile. “is the genius producer taking a break?”

“genius producer,” he echoes, a grin playing at his lips. “i like how that sounds.”

“it’s true,” you say, poking his cheek. “you’re brilliant. even when you forget to eat dinner.”

“someone’s trying to soften me up,” he teases.

you lean closer, your voice a playful whisper. “is it working?”

he turns his face toward you—slow, like the moment stretches around the movement. his eyes flicker between yours, soft and unreadable.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “too well.”

you don’t kiss him yet. but the space between your faces is small enough to feel the promise of it.

“can i tell you something weird?” he asks a little while later.

you nod, half-drowsy, eyes fluttering shut.

“i think…” he hesitates, then laughs under his breath. “god, this sounds stupid.”

you look up at him. “nothing you say to me is stupid.”

he’s quiet for a beat. then-

“i think my heart memorized you before my brain did.”

it’s barely a whisper.

but it slices through the quiet, delicate and sure. your breath catches.

“i don’t even mean that in a romantic movie kind of way,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “just… every time i see you, even if i’m tired, even if the day sucked, something in me just—relaxes. like it knows. like you’re what it was waiting for.”

you don’t respond with words.

you just reach out—touch his face gently, like he’s something precious. your thumb runs along his cheekbone. then down to his lips.

chan closes his eyes under the touch.

“you always say these things like you don’t realize what they do to me,” you murmur.

he opens them again. they’re deeper now. fuller with something unspoken. “what do they do?”

“you make it really hard to breathe.”

“then hold on to me,” he whispers.

so you do.

“in the quiet, i love you” (1:17 am. again, just the two of you.)

it’s late. but that kind of late where the world feels paused. no ringing phones. no outside noise. just the low hum of equipment, a single dim lamp in the corner, and chan’s hand resting over yours like he’s scared the moment will slip away if he lets go.

your head is against his shoulder again. his hoodie sleeve is bunched between your fingers, and you’ve long since stopped trying to pretend you’re not holding on like he’s your anchor.

“wanna know something?” you say softly, tracing small shapes into his palm.

“always.”

“i used to think love would feel loud.”

he doesn’t speak. just waits.

you smile at the ceiling. “like fireworks. or movie kisses in the rain. or fighting, dramatic, over-the-top things. but this—” your hand squeezes his. “this feels like… the space between notes in a song. quiet. but there. and if it were gone, you’d hear the difference.”

chan swallows, his voice a hush. “you’re gonna make me cry in my own studio.”

you giggle, turning toward him, noses almost brushing. “no tears allowed. you’re the genius producer.”

he fake-sobs dramatically. “the genius producer is in shambles.”

you cover his mouth with your hand, laughing now. “stop. you’re gonna ruin the mood.”

he grins under your palm. then kisses it. soft. warm. so soft it makes your throat catch.

“wanna hear a line i wrote today?” he asks, voice lower now, fingers lacing between yours.

you nod.

he glances at the monitor like he’s nervous, then looks back at you. “it’s not for the track, just… a thing i wrote.”

he clears his throat.

“if i could fold myself into your pockets i’d live there quietly, beside your pulse where your heartbeat becomes my soundtrack and time forgets how to hurt.”

your eyes sting.

“chris…”

“it’s dumb,” he says quickly, eyes darting away. “just a line. you don’t have to—”

you cut him off with a kiss. it’s soft. barely there. just the press of lips against lips, the kind of kiss that says, i understand you even when you think you don’t make sense.

when you pull back, you’re both blinking too much.

“was that okay?” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he speaks. “i don’t think i’ll ever forget it.”

the next hour passes in fragments.

you try on his headphones and gasp when you hear how clear the track sounds. he records you saying random phrases to sample your voice—half of them silly, the other half secretly tender.

“say something sexy,” he grins, mic already on.

you squint at him. “like what?”

“i don’t know. just say whatever comes to your mind.”

you lean in close to the mic, lips parted. “christopher, i swear to god, if you don’t drink water within the next ten minutes i’m turning off your computer.”

he throws his head back, laughing so hard it shakes his shoulders.

“you menace,” he wheezes.

“you asked for it.”

“not the hydration threats—oh my god.”

you’re both giggling too much to care what time it is. he turns the mic off, pulls you back to him, and presses his forehead to yours like it’s instinct.

“hey,” he whispers.

“yeah?”

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt like this before.”

you meet his eyes.

“i think…” he pauses. “i think i trust you with parts of me i didn’t even know i had.”

you nod, tears threatening again.

“you can keep them,” you whisper back.

later, he reaches over and grabs his phone, unlocking it with one hand, still holding you with the other.

“what are you doing?” you murmur, sleepy now, blinking slowly.

“i want a picture.”

“no,” you groan. “my face is puffy. i’m tired.”

“you’re beautiful,” he says immediately, no hesitation.

you glare. “you can’t say things like that so easily.”

“but they’re true.”

“still.”

he snaps one anyway—your face buried in his hoodie, his hand covering half your cheek, both of you in soft shadows. when he looks at it, he smiles like he’s looking at the beginning of something.

“can i post it someday?” he asks gently. “not now. but when it’s not just ours anymore.”

you nod.

but neither of you say when that might be. because for now, the secrecy is sacred. the studio is a sanctuary. and this—this hush, this touch, this late-night wonder—belongs to you both.

right?

“we talk about everything, and nothing, and it all matters.”(01:58 am. the world is asleep, but you’re still here.)

you’re half on the couch, half on chris. the blanket has migrated around both your shoulders now, pooled at your waists like it’s tucking you in on behalf of the moon.

the studio lights are dim. the glow from the monitors is faint and flickering. the music is paused. you aren’t.

chan’s fingers are threaded through yours again, resting on your stomach, your hands fitting like they’ve known each other longer than you’ve been alive. his head is tilted back. yours is on his chest, listening.

every so often, his heartbeat skips. you never point it out.

“do you think,” he says suddenly, voice hushed like he’s afraid to wake the air, “that people always end up where they’re meant to be?”

you pause. “you mean, like fate?”

he nods, slowly. “yeah. or something like it.”

you think for a second.

“i don’t know. i think maybe we end up in the neighborhood of where we’re meant to be,” you say softly. “but the exact house? the one with the red door, or the one with the leaky ceiling? i think we choose those.”

he hums. “i like that.”

“why’d you ask?”

he’s quiet for a moment. “i just keep thinking.. if i hadn’t chosen this path—music, the hours, the pressure—i don’t know if we’d be here. but sometimes i wonder… if it’s too much. if i’ll burn out.”

you lift your head slightly to look at him.

his gaze is on the ceiling. like he’s asking the stars above the insulation to answer for him.

“i think about it too,” you admit.

his eyes flick down to you. “you do?”

you nod. “not just about you. about me. about everything. what i want. what i’m allowed to want.”

the way you say allowed makes him tense just slightly, but you don’t dwell.

you rest your cheek back on his chest. his hand finds your shoulder, slow and soothing. “tell me,” he says gently.

you take a breath.

“i used to think i had to be perfect,” you say, voice low. “or at least harmless. make everything easy for everyone. be sweet. be smart. never ask for too much. never make things complicated.”

chan’s hold on you tightens almost imperceptibly.

you keep going.

“but i’m learning that love… real love… lets you take up space. even the messy parts. even the loud parts. i’m still trying to believe i’m allowed to ask for things. to say ‘i want this.’ even when it’s scary.”

he’s silent, but you can feel the emotion rising in him. his fingers brush your hair back from your temple with a kind of reverence.

“i’m glad you said that,” he whispers. “because i want you to ask. always. for anything.”

you nod, eyes stinging again.

after a pause, you murmur, “what about you?”

he exhales. “i think… i used to believe i had to earn love. like, i had to constantly do something to deserve it. be productive. be valuable. make music. fix things. be strong.”

you shift slightly to see his face. his eyes are unfocused, turned somewhere inward.

“but lately…” he goes on, “with you, i’m starting to believe that maybe i don’t have to prove anything. that maybe i can just be. and that’s enough.”

you press your lips to his jaw, a soft silent thank you for letting you see that part of him.

you stay like that for a while.

just breathing.

just existing.

“i want to grow old with you,” he says suddenly.

you blink.

“like—not in a cliché way. not just the cute stuff. i mean i want to still know you when we’re tired and wrinkly and grumpy and our backs hurt when we laugh too hard.”

you smile against his hoodie.

“i want that too.”

he looks down at you. “you do?”

you lift your chin just enough to meet his gaze. “i want to see what kind of old man you become. i bet you’ll still wear these black hoodies and cry when the guys bully you for actually being old.”

he groans. “don’t expose me.”

you giggle, tucking back into his chest. “you’re adorable.”

you both fall into a comfortable silence again. the kind where the silence isn’t empty—it’s full. of safety. of things you don’t have to say.

and then…

“hey,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“if we ever get a dog, can we name it something stupid like toast?”

he snorts, nearly choking. “why toast?”

“i don’t know, it’s cute. imagine yelling ‘toast! come back here!’ in the park. it even matches with berry. like.. berry toast.”

he’s laughing now, full and quiet and real. “okay. so berry can bond with a new sibling then. over names. well.. toast it is. but only if i get to name the next one pancake.”

“deal.”

eventually, you both go quiet again.

there’s a weight to the room now—but not heavy. just… full. like the whole place is holding its breath around you, content to let you exist in each other.

you listen to his breathing. he listens to yours.

you both listen to the invisible thing being written between your hearts— soft and slow and definitely.. real.

“the song you weren’t supposed to hear.”(it’s still the middle of the night. and his heart is ready.)

the night has settled into the kind of stillness that only exists between 2 and 3 am—where the world outside is paused, like it’s holding its breath just for you.

you’re both now completely on the studio couch, your legs lazily tangled over his, the blanket from earlier now messily draped across your laps. the air smells faintly like jasmine from his candle stash and whatever conditioner he uses that clings to the collar of his hoodie. you’ve been tracing little nothing shapes on his arm, neither of you talking for a while—not because there’s nothing to say, but because being this close is already saying enough.

chan’s fingers have been fidgeting. not nervously, just… thinking. tapping little beats into the fabric of the couch like he’s composing something in his head he doesn’t want to forget.

you’re the first to break the silence.

“your brain’s loud again,” you murmur, smiling without opening your eyes.

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “always is, when you’re around.”

you lift your head, eyebrow raised. “is that a compliment or are you blaming me for your overworked neurons?”

chan grins. “little bit of both.”

you roll your eyes affectionately and nudge his shoulder. he watches you for a moment—eyes soft, dimple barely showing—and then he shifts. gently untangles himself from you and gets up, barefoot steps soundless on the floor.

you sit up slowly, watching as he walks over to the computer, clicking something open with a hesitance that’s uncharacteristic of him.

he hesitates a second longer, one hand on the mouse, the other in his curly hair.

“can i show you something?” he asks, voice low, unusually careful.

you straighten. “of course.”

he doesn’t look at you when he speaks next. “i wasn’t gonna. i wasn’t ever going to, honestly. but i feel like… if i don’t now, i’ll never get the courage again.”

your heart stirs—soft, curious.

he opens a folder.

one you’ve never seen.

the name of it is just a single word: "maybe."

he clicks on a file. the project loads slowly. your eyes flick over the screen. it’s dated from almost two years ago.

the first out of a gazillion track's name? “she’ll never know (demo)”

he doesn’t look at you. just presses play.

the room fills with the sound of chan’s voice. not the polished, practiced version. not the stage-ready delivery. this is raw.

the acoustic guitar is gentle, almost sleepy. like the song was written late one night, maybe one just like this, with him hunched over his desk and the words falling out of him before he could stop them.

and then— the first line.

"she walks in like the sky turned soft just for her—""doesn’t notice the way she makes silence feel warm."

your breath catches. your boyfriend doesn’t turn around. he’s sitting at his chair now, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if it held answers to his shower thoughts.

the song continues—delicate, bare-boned. there’s a melody that rises like a question and falls like an answer. his voice cracks a little in the second verse. not from poor singing. from too much truth.

"she calls my name like it was made for her mouth—and i swear, i’d give her every version of me she asks for."

you bring your hand to your chest without realizing it.

your throat is dry. your eyes aren’t.

and then— the bridge.

it’s not perfect. the production cuts slightly. but the lyrics?

"if she knew i wrote her into every song i couldn’t finish,would she stay long enough to hear the chorus?"

you don’t breathe.

he lets the track end without speaking. the silence that follows is thick and tender.

and finally, finally, he turns to look at you.

you’re still holding your hand to your chest. you can’t find words.

“i wrote that before,” he says, quietly, “before i knew if you’d ever… look at me like that. before i thought i’d get to call you mine. i wasn’t gonna play it. felt like—it was too much.”

you shake your head, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “no, chris. it’s not too much. it’s—god. it’s beautiful, channie.”

you cross the room slowly and kneel beside his chair, hands reaching for his. “you loved me then, didn’t you?”

he nods. “i think i always did.”

the air feels like it might break from the softness.

you press your forehead to his. close your eyes. he does the same. his hands slide around your back, pulling you into him like he needs to feel you breathing.

“can i ask you something?” you whisper.

“anything.”

“when you wrote it… did you ever think i’d hear it?”

his voice is almost inaudible. “no. but i wanted you to feel it. even if you never knew.”

you kiss him. not rushed. not fiery. just… full. full of every quiet word you’ve ever shared, every moment your bodies spoke before your mouths did. full of everything that’s always been there.

when you pull back, you whispered.

“thank you for writing me into your world.”

he smiles, presses his lips to your hair.

“you are my world.”

“you and me, in a song.” (almost 3am. but none of you seem to care.. because it's just you two.)

your knees are folded up on the studio couch now, hoodie sleeves past your hands, hair a little messy from where he’d had his fingers in it. chan’s laptop is dimming from inactivity. that song—the one he never meant to play for anyone—is still echoing in your chest.

there’s something quiet between you two now, but it’s not tension. it’s the kind of silence that follows honesty. like the air has finally settled after a truth landed and made its home here.

he’s lying on the floor now, one arm tucked behind his head, the other outstretched, hand palm-up like he’s waiting for you to hold it. you do. of course you do.

“you’re still thinking too much,” you say, squeezing his fingers gently.

he gives a tired smile, turning his head toward you. “i know, baby. i can’t help it. my brain doesn’t have an off switch, y'know.”

you glance down at him, at the boy you love who writes heartbreak into bridges and hides confessions in chord progressions.

“wanna distract it?” you ask softly.

he raises an eyebrow. “you got something in mind?”

“let’s write something,” you say, voice picking up in excitement. “together. something stupid and sweet. corny. cheesy. but something that sounds like us.”

he sits up, instantly intrigued. his eyes are sleepy but alive now, warm like melted chocolate in low light. “you sure you’re not tired?”

“i’m very tired,” you say, already reaching for a notebook, “but i’m also in love, and this feels like something we’ll remember.”

he exhales a quiet laugh. “okay,” he murmurs. “let’s make it ours.”

the guitar is perched on his knee now, and you’re tucked beside him, the notebook resting across both your legs. you can barely see the lines under the yellowish desk lamp glow, but that somehow makes it feel even more intimate.

“okay,” he says, strumming a slow, dreamy chord. “tone check. what are we going for?”

“something soft,” you say. “not too polished. something that sounds like—like a sleepy love letter or something?”

he nods, repeating the chord progression, slower this time. “mmm.. like this?”

you hum in approval. “wait, yeah. genius! that feels like us. okay, first line.”

he laughs at the page. “you go.”

you pause, chewing your lip. then, with a grin..

“you looked like a dream at 3 a.m., with sleep in your eyes and my name on your lips.”

your boyfriend's pen freezes.

he blinks.

then he gives you the kind of look that belongs in poems—stunned, a little helpless, a lot in love.

“that’s not fair,” he mutters, writing it down. “you’re gonna make me fall harder than i already have.”

you smirk. “your turn, loverboy.”

he strums a chord and speaks more than sings.

“you whispered forever in the way you laughed, and i started believing it might be real.”

your heart flutters.

you grab the pen and underline that line twice. “you’re disgusting,” you whisper with a grin.

“i learned from the best,” he grins back.

you spend the next hour like that—passing the pen, trading verses, scribbling out and rewriting lines until your fingers are smudged with graphite and the paper is creased from how many times you’ve folded it to your chest in giddy disbelief.

at some point, chan turns the mic on. just to catch what you’re doing. just in case.

he doesn’t warn you when he starts singing.

you’re halfway through doodling stars and hearts in the corner of the page when his voice fills the air again, soft and sleepy and devastatingly sweet.

he sings the first verse.

your verse.

you look up at him, startled.

his eyes are on you, and he doesn’t look away when he reaches your line:

“…with sleep in your eyes and my name on your lips.”

you smile, caught.

when he finishes the chorus—messy and still incomplete—you exhale slowly. “you made it sound beautiful.”

chan shrugs, pretending to be casual. “t'was already beautiful. i just put a melody on it.”

you reach for his hand again. he lets you take it, always lets you take it.

“is this the first song you’ve written with someone you’re in love with?” you ask quietly.

he pauses.

then smiles, shy and soft. “yeah. and i hope it’s the only one.”

you press your forehead to his shoulder.

“i think we just made a cheesy memory,” you whisper.

he turns slightly to kiss the top of your head. “then let’s keep making them. cheesy and all.”

the clock reads 4:12 a.m. now. the first version of the song is saved in a folder called “us.” it’s not finished. it might never be. but it doesn’t need to be perfect. it just needs to be yours.

you curl into the corner of the couch again, eyes fluttering shut- not to sleep, but maybe to rest them. chan hums the chorus under his breath beside you, fingers mindlessly playing the chords like he’s serenading the night itself.

before you drift off, you mumble one last thing:

“you’re my favorite song, chris.”

and he whispers back. he always does.

“you’re my reason for every one of them.”

“the part i never said out loud.”(a still hour. 4:41 a.m. the quiet isn’t peaceful anymore—it’s holding its breath.)

he doesn’t notice it at first. the way you’ve gone quiet. maybe you were asleep.

but it was not like before. not sleepily. not wrapped in awe from a new lyric or his voice in your ear. this silence is different. it’s sitting heavy on your chest. and he only realizes when he reaches out to run his thumb gently over your knuckles and you flinch—barely, but enough for him to notice.

he turns to you slowly.

“hey,” he says softly. “hun, you okay?”

you blink at him. you were looking at the studio wall—at the sound panels, the gold record in the frame, the corner where your folded lyric sheet sits untouched. you weren’t really seeing any of it.

“yeah,” you say. but your voice betrays you. too thin. too quiet.

he sets down the guitar and shifts closer. his brows furrow, but not in frustration. it’s concern. that same warm, earnest gaze he’s always given you.

“you can tell me anything,” he says. “you know that, right?”

you nod. and then you nod again. because it’s true. you know it’s true. you believe him with your whole heart.

that’s exactly why it’s so hard.

“i didn’t want to ruin tonight,” you whisper, “but i… i think i’ve been avoiding saying something.”

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t press. just waits. lets the silence expand around you until you’re ready.

you take a breath. and then another.

“it’s my family,” you say finally. “they don’t… they don’t like that i’m with you.”

chan’s head tips slightly, like he didn’t hear right. “what?”

you wince.

“they think it’s unstable. unrealistic. that… that i shouldn’t be dating someone in the industry. that i’m just a phase to you. or that it’ll always be long-distance and lonely and that i’ll be the one waiting while you live a life i can’t be part of.”

you can’t look at him.

“they think loving you is… irresponsible,” you say, voice cracking.

for a moment, there’s nothing but the soft buzz of equipment around you. the hum of the silent studio. the absence of sound.

and then—his voice. low. steady.

“do you think that?” he asks, gentle but serious.

your eyes snap to him.

“no,” you say immediately, like it physically hurts to even have him wonder that. “no, god, never. i love you. i love you more than i even know how to explain. i just—”

you break off, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“i hate that i feel like i’m betraying them just by choosing my own heart.”

he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t get defensive. he doesn’t ask for promises or ask you to pick sides. he just reaches out and cups your face in his hand, thumb resting softly against your cheekbone.

“you’re not betraying anyone by being honest about what you want,” he says. “and if that’s not me, i’ll understand.”

you finally cry.

not hard. not dramatic. but silent tears spill, and you don’t even try to stop them.

“but it is you,” you whisper. “it’s always been you. that’s the whole problem.”

chan pulls you into him then, holds you so close it feels like maybe you can hide there for a while. maybe forever.

his chin rests on top of your head as your hands grip the fabric of his hoodie. you can feel his heart against your cheek.

“then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “whatever it takes. i don’t care what the world says. you’re my home.”

your breath stutters.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you say.

“you won’t,” he replies, like it’s fact. “even if the world ends. even if i’m across the globe and you’re under a hundred rules, i will still be yours.”

you don’t realize how hard you’re clinging until his arms tighten in response.

“i’m so scared, channie,” you whisper.

“i know, baby. i know.”

and then, quieter.

“but i’m not scared. not if i’ve got you.”

somewhere between the crying and the quiet, you fall asleep against him.

your dreams are a blur of chords and warmth, of light through a studio window that doesn’t exist. you dream of melodies that sound like safety.

and even though the world outside might never fully understand it—might never fully approve—you wake up knowing.. this.

your heart knows where it belongs.

and it’s right here, in the quiet thrum of a boy who wrote your name into every note before he ever said it out loud.

“no matter the ending, it’s you.”(the sky is beginning to lighten, barely. that liminal hour between night and morning. somewhere between dream and day, where truth feels soft enough to hold.)

you wake up first.

chan’s head is tilted toward you on the couch, cheek pillowed in the mess of your hair. he’s asleep — properly this time, breath slow, mouth just barely parted, hoodie slightly askew around his collarbone where you clung to him in your sleep.

the studio is still quiet. the monitors are off now, the soft blue light from the mixing board the only thing illuminating the room. your bodies are half-covered by the denim blanket he keeps for emergencies, the air conditioner humming gently in the background.

and your heart — somehow — is steady.

not because the fear is gone. not because the world has changed overnight. but because you’re still here.

and so is he.

you lift your hand and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. his lashes flutter. then, without opening his eyes, he whispers, still half-asleep:

“are you leaving me?”

you smile, sad and sweet, your thumb tracing the shell of his ear.

“never,” you say softly. “even if i have to pretend in front of everyone else. even if i have to keep you a secret just a little longer. i’m not leaving you.”

his brows twitch — a quiet expression of protest even in sleep.

“you shouldn’t have to pretend,” he murmurs. “you deserve to be loved out loud.”

you press your forehead against his.

“i am loved out loud,” you reply. “by you.”

that makes him stir. he opens his eyes now, sleepy and glassy and gold in the low light.

“you’re sure?” he says.

you nod, then softly: “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

he sits up slightly, blinking, hair a ruffled halo.

“you don’t have to protect me from your world, y/n,” he says, voice gravelly. “i’m strong. i’ll stand there with you. whatever people say. whatever your family thinks. i’ll wait however long you need. i’ll earn every inch of your life.”

your throat tightens.

“i don’t want you to wait,” you say. “i want you in it. not waiting at the edges. just… just give me time to show them. that it’s you. that it was always you.”

he leans forward and presses the softest kiss to your temple.

then, he says the same thing he whispered into your hair the first night you ever stayed this long in the studio, months ago, when he was shy to admit how badly he wanted you to stay:

“i’ve got all the time in the world.”

you let out a breath. a small one. a real one. and for the first time in days, the ache in your chest eases.

you end up sitting side by side on the studio floor with mugs of tea he brewed on the tiny electric kettle under his desk. you drink in silence for a few moments, legs pressed together, heads leaning against the wall.

then you speak, softly, barely louder than the hum of the outside wind through the sealed windows.

“do you think this lasts?”

he doesn’t ask what “this” means.

he just looks at you. and smiles.

“i don’t think love ends,” he says. “not the real kind.”

you swallow, slow.

“even if it changes?”

“it might change,” he nods. “it might grow, or shrink, or stretch itself around the seasons of our lives. but it doesn’t disappear. and mine for you… isn’t going anywhere.”

you close your eyes.

“i want forever,” you say, and you mean it. not in the dramatic, fairy tale way. not as a fantasy. but as a promise. as something simple and raw and real.

and he reaches out and takes your hand like it’s instinct. like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you have it,” he says.

outside, the world begins to stir. trains groan in the distance. the city starts to wake.

but in here, in the little universe you’ve made with him under dim lights and scattered lyrics and the leftover scent of jasmine tea, everything is still. everything is soft.

and maybe the world still won’t understand.

maybe your family will take time.

maybe you’ll both carry the weight of being two people in love who don’t fit the boxes you were given.

but you’ll carry it together.

and that’s all you need.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3

889 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 22 days ago

Text

Kim Seungmin for W Korea

I am NOT okay. I can NOT breathe. Check on your fucking Seungmin stans today cause we need emergency attention. What the fuck.

275 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 23 days ago

Text

a series of phone calls with increasing time zones, proving that not even distance can break true love

idol!seungmin x reader, 5k words, fluff, long-distance au (seungmin on tour), angst, one argument, suggestive themes but not graphic!! (implied masturbation, sexual intercourse)

you both knew tour was going to be a challenge. the time zones, the silence between texts, being apart for too long. the kind of distance that makes you wonder if it’s still as warm on the other side.

but real love sticks. real love dials in the middle of the night with a sleepy voice and a hotel duvet pulled up to his chin. seungmin is in australia. one hour ahead of you.

“hey, baby” seungmin whispers, the sound barely above the static. “you still awake?”

you roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling like it might answer for you. “yeah.”

“did you cry?” he asks gently. not mocking. just—curious, like he’s asking about the weather.

“a little,” you admit, voice barely holding. “why are you so hard to sleep without?”

he exhales, soft and slow. “i don’t know,” he says, “maybe i cursed you.”

“maybe,” you whisper back.

there’s silence for a while. not awkward. just full.

then, “han jisung is asleep like two feet away, and if he hears me say sappy shit he’s gonna roast me into another dimension.”

you smile a little.

“but,” seungmin adds, quieter now, “i miss you too. like. a lot.”

you close your eyes. “don’t whisper like that. it makes it worse.”

“oh? does it?” his voice dips lower, playful. “what, like this?”

“seungmin.”

“i can picture your face right now” he says with a light chuckle.

you groan into your pillow. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” you sigh. “i don’t.”

“i’ll call you again tomorrow night,” he murmurs, yawn crawling into his voice. “maybe i’ll read you the hotel shampoo ingredients like poetry.”

“that’s so romantic.”

"i know. i’m basically shakespeare,” he whispers, smug and sleepy.

you let out a soft laugh. “then what’s your sonnet about tonight, romeo?”

“hm.” there's a pause. you hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts, the soft creak of the bed frame. “ode to the cotton bed sheets that smell like lavender.”

you snort. “beautiful. truly moving.”

“i try,” he hums. “for you.”

your throat tightens at that. it’s so quiet on the other end, and you can almost picture him—eyes half-lidded, phone pressed to his cheek, hair messy from the long day, the glow of the hallway light slipping through the crack under the hotel door.

“you should sleep,” you murmur.

“you should stop sounding like you’re about to cry again,” he says.

you blink fast. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says. “i miss you too. more than i wanna say out loud because jisung has ears like a bat.”

“tell him i said hi.”

“i will. in the morning. right now, i’m all yours.”

you smile into your pillow. “even if you’re like... thousands of miles away?”

“distance isn’t real,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you’re in my phone, in my head, and in my stupid heart.”

you murmur, fingers curling in the sheets. "i love you."

you can hear him smile. not the smug kind. the quiet one—the one he saves for you.

"i know," he whispers. "i know, baby. i love you too."

your eyes sting again.

“i wanna hear you say goodnight, before i go,” he says softly. “like i’m still right there.”

you tuck your face into your pillow, pretending he is.

you whisper, “goodnight, seungmin.”

he exhales, long and slow. “again.”

“goodnight, minnie.”

“one more time,” he murmurs, voice already halfway to sleep.

you grin, heart squeezing. “goodnight, love.”

“mmm,” he hums, already slipping under. “that one’s my favorite.”

the call doesn’t end. he never hangs up first. not when he’s on tour. not when you’re the only quiet thing that feels like home.

seungmin was always your plumber. doing it alone felt harder than it should’ve.

"okay, okay—stop. stop touching it. you're gonna break it."

"i have to touch it, kim seungmin.” you huff in frustration.

“not when you’re doing it like that.”

“how would you know? you’re in a limousine.”

on the other end of the call, there’s a soft rustling of leather seats, then a distant snort of laughter—probably changbin. then hyunjin’s unmistakable voice, teasing in the background.

you roll your eyes and crouch down by the sink again. “just walk me through it.”

you hear him sigh dramatically. “you're gonna need both of your hands. you’re holding the flashlight with your mouth, right?”

“yeah.” you say, slightly muffled

“cute,” he says, like it’s automatic.

you smile.

“okay, now reach in with your left hand—gently—and find the little hex socket.”

“the what?”

“the six-sided bolt, babe.”

you find it. “got it.”

“good. now take the wrench— the L-shaped one. the baby wrench.”

you laugh around the flashlight. “you mean the allen key?”

“i said what i said.”

you fit it into place, and it clicks. "what now?"

“turn it slowly. coax it back to life.”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re smiling.”

he’s right. you are.

the background laughter comes again, through your phone. you take the flashlight out of your mouth and furrow your eyebrows, now glaring at the phone.

seungmin huffs. “ignore them. they’re just mad no one calls them to fix things with love and precision.”

you grin and go back to work. “why love?”

“you think i’d be guiding you through garbage disposal in a limousine if i wasn’t in love with you?”

you pause. heart full. “i love you too, minnie.”

“i know,” he murmurs. “now finish the job, so you can text me a picture when it works and i can brag to those idiots about how you’re the best mechanic alive.”

“deal,” you grin.

"and hey?"

"yeah?"

“don’t go getting too good at this independent thing without me, alright? you’ll end up not needing me anymore.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “bye, seungmin.”

“bye, love.”

your phone buzzes unexpectedly—no text, no facetime request, just a straight-up call. that never happens unless something’s wrong.

“hello?”

there’s a beat. then a shaky inhale on the other end of the line. not panicked, but definitely not seungmin’s usual snarky hello either.

“minnie?” you answer, sitting up straighter. “everything okay?”

he exhales again, this time more controlled, like he’s trying to reset himself mid-breath. “yeah, sorry, i just—sorry, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

“are you okay?” you ask again, softer this time.

“yeah. yeah, i just—” he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “we were walking into this venue, right? and i wasn’t thinking, just messing around with jeongin, and suddenly…”

he trails off.

“suddenly?” you prompt.

“i caught this scent. like perfume. i don’t know who it was, just someone walking by, but it—” he lets out a shaky breath. “it smelled so much like you.”

your heart clenches. “me?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s embarrassed. “and i just—god, i didn't know i could recognize it so easily, y’know? i never paid attention to that stuff before. but it hit me so fast. like my brain was like, oh, she’s here, and i looked around like an idiot.”

you’re quiet, lips curling into something helpless and warm. “you’re so cute.”

“shut up,” he mutters, and it sounds half-defensive, half-melting. “i was just—i don’t know, kind of spiraling.”

“i should’ve given you the bottle before you left,” you murmur. “you could’ve sprayed it on your pillow or something. maybe your hoodie. made it easier.”

“okay well, actually,” he says, suddenly brisk. “i’m in a fragrance store right now.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “what?”

“i literally walked away from the guys and came in here. i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “so you called me to ask what perfume i use?”

“maybe,” he says quietly. “maybe i just wanted to hear your voice while i looked for you in a bottle.”

you bury your face in your hand. “seungmin.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he grumbles, but his voice is soft again. “just tell me what it is. i wanna spray it on my wrist or my hoodie or something, and maybe then i won’t look around every time i smell it.”

you tell him, and he repeats it back softly, twice—like he’s memorizing it.

“okay,” he says, “i found it.”

you smile into the phone. “go on then, give it a try. you gotta confirm it’s really me.”

there’s a little silence. the soft pop of the sample nozzle. then—

he gets quiet.

too quiet.

you wait, lips parted, holding your breath like the silence might break if you exhale too hard.

“minnie?” you say gently.

on the other end of the line, there’s a small rustle—like he’s pulling the test strip closer—and then a faint breath, nearly soundless.

“...yeah,” he says, but it’s barely there. hushed. careful.

“is it the right one?” you ask, smiling even though you can’t see him.

another pause.

“it feels like you’re right here.”

you chest tightens.

another rustle—probably him turning away from the counter, footsteps echoing as he walks deeper into the store.

“i need to hang up.”

you blink. “wait, what? why—”

“just—thank you,” he says, quickly, like it hurts. “seriously. thank you.”

“min—”

but the line clicks before you can finish.

your phone rings just as you're brushing your teeth, screen lighting up with minnie calling. it’s early—too early for your brain to do much thinking—but your heart wakes up faster than the rest of you.

you swipe the call and press it to your ear, foam still in your mouth.

“hi, seungmin,” you mumble around your toothbrush, voice muffled and lazy.

he doesn't answer right away. just… breathes.

low. slow. deliberate.

you pause mid-brush. “...minnie?”

“baby,” he says, and something about his voice makes your hand freeze midair. deeper than usual. lower. like he’s under the covers, talking into the pillow.

“what time is it over there?”

“past midnight.”

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

a quiet chuckle. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

your cheeks warm instantly as you flicked the light switch and made your way to your bedroom.

“earlier today, your scent,” he adds, voice dragging a little now, like he’s letting each word settle before moving on. “you really messed me up with that.”

you sit down on the edge of your bed, heart pounding. “what are you doing?”

he inhales, slow—like he’s giving you a hint without actually saying anything.

“mm… i'm in bed,” he says, voice velvety. “lights are off. window’s open a little.”

you smile, because he’s playing. “and?”

he’s silent for a beat. then—softly, “jisung’s not here.” his designated hotel roommate.

you lean back into your pillow, a little breath catching in your throat. “where is he?”

“went to see chan. they’re doing a livestream in his room.” a pause. “won’t be back for a while.”

you don’t say anything—can’t, really—but the line’s quiet in that loaded kind of way. your breath hitches just enough.

he hears it.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t know what i’m doing?” he says, voice dipping into something firmer, smoother. “or are you gonna be good and ask me what i want you to do?”

your legs press together on instinct, pulse suddenly very loud in your ears.

“we haven’t had a call like this yet,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i know, baby. for now just stay with me.”

distance could do terrible things to people who loved each other. it stretched silence into assumptions, turned waiting into resentment, made every little misstep feel like betrayal.

and tonight, it was doing its worst.

“i just don’t get why you didn’t say anything,” you snap, hands gripping the steering wheel. “you waited until now to bring this up?”

“because i knew you’d react like this,” seungmin fires back, voice tight, like he’s trying not to be overheard.

“like what? like i have a problem with you being honest?”

“no,” he says, “like you twist it into something about you. like you always do.”

“wow.” you pause. blink. “you’re backstage, aren’t you?”

“yes.”

“then why the hell did you call me now if you don’t even have time to talk about this properly?”

“because it’s been eating me alive and i didn’t want to go on stage feeling like this, okay?” his voice wavers. not loud. just frayed.

you exhale, eyes stinging. “i’m not your emotional dumping ground.”

you suck in a shaky breath, throat tight.

“and you could’ve talked about this without raising your voice at me,” you say, quieter now.

there’s silence on the line.

you hear him shift, maybe press his palm over the phone. muffled voices in the background—staff calling him.

“anyway,” you continue, forcing the tremble out of your voice. “i don’t want to bring you down before your show.”

he’s still silent.

“i’m sorry, seungmin. i really am.” your voice softens further. “i love you. are we good?”

a beat. then—

“yeah. we’re good.”

your heart clenches.

you wait.

just for a second.

just long enough to hope he says it back.

but he doesn’t.

the line goes dead.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing.

it’s been hours. half a day, maybe more.

you haven’t heard from him since.

you’re at your desk, legs curled under your chair, coffee cold, unread emails glowing in tabs you haven’t touched.

your phone buzzes.

seungmin: just got back. wanna call?

you stare at the message, thumb hovering.

you: it’s past midnight over there.

a few seconds later:

seungmin: it’s alright. are you busy?

you glance around your office—empty, quiet, dim with the afternoon light pooling through the blinds. the answer’s obvious.

you: no.

the typing bubble appears. disappears. Then your screen lights up.

incoming call: seungmin

your heart skips.

you hesitate just a moment but you answer anyway.

“hey,” he says softly, voice scratchy, tired. like he’s been sitting in silence just waiting to hear you.

you don’t say anything right away.

he waits.

“you should be asleep,” you murmur.

he chuckles faintly. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

you exhale, shoulders dropping just a little. “me too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you rest your chin on your hand, eyes tracing the little scratches on your desk, voice still quiet. “how was the concert?”

he breathes out a small laugh. “we did well. it was great.”

“were you tired during the dance sets?” you ask gently, genuinely. “you didn’t sound winded, but i know you’ve been pushing your knee too hard.”

there’s a pause.

he says, voice low with something like awe. “yeah, it was sore. but i iced it after. chan made me”

you laugh.

then, soft again, he says, “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “me too.”

and it’s not everything, not the whole conversation. but it’s enough for now.

“I love you,” you whisper, trying again.

you can hear him smiling, even through the static.

“i love you too,” he says. “so much.”

you smile back, cheeks warm and aching in the best way.

but then—softly, almost before you mean to say it.

“i don’t wanna get used to this.”

there’s a pause. the kind that makes your throat tighten.

“used to what?” he asks gently.

you swallow. “being apart from you.”

he breathes in through his nose. slowly. “you think that’s happening?”

you shrug, even though he can’t see you. “some days it’s easier. and i hate that. like… am i supposed to be okay with not hearing your voice until midnight? with seeing you through screens more than in person?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just listens.

so you go on, voice smaller now. “are we starting to miss each other less?”

and then he says it, soft but sure.

“no.”

“i’m scared i’m gonna,” you admit, a little too quietly.

he exhales. “you won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’m still here,” he says. “and every time you call, every time you say my name, it still feels like the first time. i’m never gonna be something you forget how to want.”

you blink fast, throat thick.

“even if it gets easier,” he adds, “it doesn’t mean it means less. it just means we’re learning how to carry it better.”

you nod, tears prickling—but this time, they feel okay.

safe.

like love you can live inside of.

“you’re still the first thing i think about,” you whisper.

“good,” he murmurs. “same.”

you pick up and immediately the screen is sideways, showing a very blurry Jisung laughing so hard he’s bent over the hotel bed.

"hellooooo," jisung yells directly into the phone.

you blink. "uh… hi?"

the screen rights itself. seungmin appears—barefaced, hair messy, eyes way too shiny to be sober. he’s lying on his stomach, chin squished into a pillow, voice soft and dangerously sweet.

“hi, baby,” he says, all low and slurred and dangerous.

“oh no,” you whisper. “how drunk are you two?”

“not drunk,” he insists.

“he’s drunk,” jisung confirms helpfully, popping into frame again and waving.

“shut up,” seungmin mumbles, blindly swatting at him.

you snort. “what’s happening over there?”

“he has something to tell you,” jisung says smugly.

seungmin groans, burying half his face in the blanket. “jisung…”

“tell her what you told me,” jisung insists.

“han jisung, shut your entire mouth.”

“too late. he said—” jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘if she were here right now I’d let her ruin my life.’”

a beat of silence.

then seungmin smacks him off camera with a pillow.

seungmin flips back into frame, completely disheveled and pouty. “seriously, come over sweetpea.”

“i’m in a different country.”

“weak excuse,” he grumbles, already rolling over onto his side like the call’s exhausting him.

jisung peeks in again, holding up a half-eaten macaron. “if you were here, we’d give you one of these.”

you laugh, full and warm, cheeks sore from smiling.

“save some for me then,” you say, voice soft but playful.

seungmin doesn’t hear it—he’s already buried back into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent about what the bed smells like.

but jisung hears it.

he freezes, mid-bite, eyes snapping to the screen.

you meet his gaze.

he widens his eyes, mouthing: really?

you bite back a smile and give the tiniest, most deliberate nod.

his entire face lights up, but then he clamps his mouth shut, physically slaps a hand over it, and glances at Seungmin, who’s currently face down and humming the mario kart theme into the blanket.

“oh my god,” Jisung mouths again, silently losing it.

you put a finger to your lips, shhh.

he nods rapidly, then mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key.

seungmin groans. “why is it so quiet now? what—are you guys passing notes like it’s high school?”

“no,” jisung says, biting into his macaron and struggling not to beam. “just studying. real academic vibes over here.”

seungmin rolls over again, squinting. “weirdos.”

you just smile.

“see you soon,” you whisper, quiet enough that only jisung catches it.

and he grins like he’s holding the world’s best secret. because he is.

the screen lights up with a familiar facetime ring.

you answer, already smiling. “hi.”

his face appears—dim lighting, hoodie up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. he’s lying on his side in bed, camera slightly tilted. there’s a stillness to him tonight. the kind that feels heavier than silence.

“hey,” he says, voice low. a little tired. a little distant.

you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch. “how long’s it been now?”

he doesn’t even pause to think. “five months.”

you nod. “we’re halfway.”

“only halfway.”

your breath catches at that. you weren’t expecting him to say it like that—like it’s a sentence.

you sigh, fingers tightening around your phone. “yeah.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

“i know you’re tired,” you say gently.

“i’m fine,” he replies, but there’s no weight behind it. like he’s used to pretending. “it just… feels really far tonight.”

you nod slowly, throat tight. “i know. it feels far for me too.”

he looks at you for a second longer—eyes a little glassy, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

but he does.

“i miss you, sweetheart.”

your breath catches in your chest.

he rarely calls you that. only when he means it. when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to explain in full sentences.

you swallow hard. “soon.”

he nods, slow. “yeah. soon.”

he has no idea just how soon.

no idea that your suitcase is already packed. that your flight lands tomorrow morning. that the hotel front desk already has your name and a keycard.

and as he murmurs, “i wish i could hold your hand right now,”

you smile.

“you will,” you say softly.

you keep replaying it in your head—seungmin’s face when he saw you in the crowd. that second of shock, then the dumbest grin as he stumbled over a lyric and tried to play it off like he meant to do that. you’d almost cried. almost.

and now it’s past midnight, the concert hours behind you, and you know he’s taken his time wiping off the sweat and glitter of it all, probably still tangled in post-show chaos and crew goodbyes.

which is why, when you hear the knock at your hotel room door, your heart does that annoying fluttery thing. you don’t even hesitate—you’re off the bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor, and you already know who it is before you check the peephole.

you open the door.

and there he is.

hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder. tired eyes—but shining. always shining when they’re on you.

most of his face is hidden in the shadows of the hood, just the curve of his cheekbone catching the hallway light. you can’t really see him, not fully. but you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

you don’t even get a word out. he drops his bag, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him like you’re the only thing holding him up. you let out a small squeal, laughing, your arms looping around his neck just as he lifts you straight off the ground.

“seungmin—!” you giggle as he spins you in a circle, your feet kicking in the air.

“i missed you,” he breathes into your shoulder before setting you down slowly. “i missed you so bad.”

once your feet touch the carpet, you're grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him inside. the door swings shut behind him with a soft click, and before he can blink, you’re kissing him.

he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all night for this because he has. his hands slide back around your waist, pulling you in tighter and you giggle into it—completely overwhelmed and completely in love.

he stumbles forward a little, still kissing you, until your back hits the wall with a muted thud. you gasp softly into his mouth, grinning now as he presses into you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, dazed.

“what…” he breathes, his lips brushing yours, “…what are you doing here?”

you blink at him, still catching your breath, still grinning. “i wanted to come surprise you.”

he just stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real. then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “you’re a crazy, crazy girl, you know right?”

“you think i’d let you go out of the country for ten months and not visit you?” you say, voice light, teasing, warm. “you really thought i could go that long without seeing your dumb face?”

he doesn’t answer. just lets out this soft, wrecked little sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—as he wraps his arms around you again, tighter this time. he buries his face into your hoodie, right against your collarbone, his breath warm through the fabric. you hug him back instantly, arms wrapping under his and holding him close. he clings. like he’s cold and you’re the only source of warmth he’ll ever need.

“come on,” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head gently. “let me see you, now.”

he shakes his head against you, just the tiniest movement. doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t lift his head.

“seungmin,” you whisper again, a little firmer, leaning back slightly so you can reach up and tug his hood down.

the fabric falls away. his hair’s tousled, still a little damp from a shower or maybe the rain outside, and his face is hidden—tilted down, eyes trained on the floor. he still hasn’t looked at you properly.

all he does is lift his hand up to his face. wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. you catch the tremble in his fingers.

a sniffle.

“oh, minnie…” you whisper, your heart cracking wide open.

despite the way he towers over you, his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed low like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

you coo softly, barely a sound.

that does it.

he lets out this weak, shaky sigh like he’s been holding it in since the moment he saw you at the concert, maybe longer—and your chest seizes with it. he turns his face just slightly, burying it into your shoulder again, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he's scared you'll vanish if he lets go.

your hands are already moving—one smoothing over his back, the other stroking his hair—your body swaying with his as he starts to let out shaky, quiet gasps.

he sniffles again, shoulders still trembling, but when he finally speaks, it’s muffled into your hoodie. “the members were betting on me. on whether or not i’d cry when i saw you.”

you let out a little laugh and reach up to cup his cheeks, gently swiping away the fresh tears still clinging to his lashes. “and who said you wouldn’t cry?”

he hesitates. “me.”

you laugh again—soft and a little breathless—as your thumbs brush gently under his eyes. “of course you did,” you murmur, fingers sliding up to smooth through his damp hair.

he lets out a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. he leans into your hand for a second before straightening up a bit, pulling his shoulders back like he’s trying to regain a sliver of composure.

even now, red-eyed and sniffling, there’s still something solid about him. the way he holds you, the way he stands just a bit in front of you like he’d shield you from the world if it even looked at you wrong.

seungmin's lips part, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come. instead, he just stares at you, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to take in every inch of you he’s missed. like he’s scared you’ll be gone if he blinks too long.

“you have no idea how much i needed this,” he whispers.

you step closer, hands finding his again. “that's why i'm here.”

he shakes his head, fingers tightening around yours. “no, like—” he exhales hard, eyes shining as he glances down at your joined hands. “you don’t get it. every night, i’d come back and just... lie on the hotel bed and pretend you were next to me. i missed everything. your voice, your stupid little yawns, the way you poke me when i zone out.”

you let out a laugh, watery and soft. “i do not poke you.”

“you do,” he insists, eyes wide like it’s the most important fact in the world. “you go like this—” he imitates a dramatic jab to your side, making you laugh and swat his arm. he chuckles, bright and breathless, and then quiets.

your heart flutters and you don’t even try to hide how it shows on your face. you tug his hand and backpedal toward the bed, flopping onto it with a gentle bounce. propped up on your elbows, you tilt your head at him. “c’mere.”

seungmin shrugs off his backpack, then tugs his hoodie off by the back—grabbing it near the collar and pulling it over in one smooth, practiced motion. he holds it in front of him for a second, then slips out of the sleeves with the opposite hand.

his t-shirt clings in places and hangs loose in others, fabric soft and worn and framing the lean lines of his torso in a way that’s criminally distracting. your eyes fall on the way it shifts with every movement—subtle dips of collarbone, the slight curve of his waist.

your fingers curl slightly in the blanket beneath you as he steps closer, and your breath hitches without permission. god, you missed him. not just his face or his voice, but all of him—how he moves, how he fills the space around you like no one else can.

seungmin crawls onto the bed, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. the mattress dips under his weight and the second he's close enough, your hands reach up instinctively—fingertips grazing his forearm, his side, like you’re checking if he’s really here.

he smells like his body wash, clean and warm with something a little woodsy. familiar. comforting. so him.

then he leans in, arms bracketing either side of your body, and your whole world narrows to just the space between you, until finally—finally—his lips brush against yours.

it’s soft. barely even a kiss at first, more like the ghost of one, like he’s still afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. but you kiss him back, and then he presses in more fully, and it’s everything. warm and slow and full of all the things you’ve both been trying not to say out loud.

he kisses you again, and again, each one a little deeper than the last—like he’s making up for every single day you were apart. one hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping tender over your cheek.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. like it still stuns him just how badly he felt it.

you nod, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, and then he kisses you once more—slow, full of longing—and you swear you feel the world right itself a little, just because he’s here.

he pulls away, just slightly, and rests his forehead against yours. your noses bump, and he closes his eyes, smiling so softly it barely lifts the corners of his mouth. “i was scared you’d forget about me.”

you shake your head, hand settling over his heart. “you’re impossible to forget. trust me, i tried.”

“i know,” he breathes. “me too. it was unbearable sometimes.”

you tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, slow and lingering. his skin is warm under your lips, and you feel him exhale shakily, his body softening against yours like your touch is the thing holding him together.

his hands wander a little now, like he can’t help it—tracing slow lines along your back, the dip of your waist, smoothing down your arm and back up again. his hand slips beneath the shirt under your hoodie, smoothing over bare skin, and your breath catches.

you let him pull the layers of fabric over your head. let him take his time. he kisses down your neck, your chest, soft and focused, every press of his lips asking, are you sure?

and every answer you give is yes.

you wake up slowly, warm and hazy, the kind of rest that only comes after feeling completely safe. the curtains are still drawn, soft light peeking through just enough to glow against the sheets.

and then you feel it—his hand, resting on your waist. his thumb tracing little circles on your skin, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

you blink your eyes open.

he’s already awake, head propped on one arm, looking at you with the calmest expression you’ve ever seen on him. the kind that makes your heart ache just a little because you know how much he doesn’t show easily.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

“you’re pretty when you’re confused and squinty,” he says, lips curving just barely.

you smile, still half-asleep, but it turns real fast when he leans in and kisses you—soft and unhurried, his fingers brushing your cheek like he’s still making sure you’re real.

“good morning,” you whisper.

“technically almost noon,” he teases. “but yeah. it’s good now.”

he pulls back, just enough to give you room as you sit up, blanket tugged up to cover your chest. your fingers instinctively rake through your tangled hair, and he watches you with a little too much amusement.

then he shifts, reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his bag.

“i have something for you,” he says casually.

and then he turns back around—with a box of macarons in his hand.

you gasp, grinning instantly. “you didn’t.”

he takes one out, leans in with the smuggest little grin, and holds it to your lips.

“if you were here,” he says, softly now, “you’d be eating one of these. and you are. so.”

you roll your eyes, but open your mouth anyway, taking a bite—and he watches you like he just won the lottery.

“sweet enough?” he murmurs.

you swallow, cheeks warm. “almost.”

he leans in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“now?” he asks.

“perfect,” you whisper.

and he smiles like he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

1K notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 24 days ago

Text

this is so beautiful i wanna cry. you write so well!!

no please, allow me

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: both you and chris are at battle in enforcing that chivalry has yet to die. but who will win?

tags: just short n sweet. pure fluff. slight suggestive part in the middle but not really graphic. enjoy!

It began, as so many sacred things do, in the quiet.

Sunlight had spilled through the gauzy curtains in soft, golden threads, dressing the apartment in the gentle hue of morning. The air had been still, reverent, and drowsy with warmth. From the kitchen, a kettle had begun to hum—a low, comforting sound that wrapped itself around the wooden beams and the breathing walls of your shared home.

Chris had risen before you. He always had.

You never asked him to. You had attempted, several times, to wake before him—to sneak past him with sleepy eyes and unbrushed hair in your valiant bid to prepare breakfast first—but somehow, without fail, he had always beaten you to it.

This morning had been no different. When you opened your eyes, the slippers by your bedside had already been placed neatly in reach, their interiors warm as if his hands had cradled them before setting them down. There had been toast on the table, buttered with absolute precision to every edge, and eggs that had clearly been coaxed into the shape of tiny hearts. He had insisted that he had “just thrown something together.”—his artistry betrayed him.

You had leaned in the doorway in silence, observing him in his natural state—humming under his breath, sleeves pushed up to the elbows of a threadbare sweater, hair tousled from sleep. There had been a peace to the way he moved, as though he was precisely where he had always meant to be.

You had stepped forward quietly, opened the drawer, and retrieved his favorite mug. He had noticed. His eyes had flicked toward you, a lazy, knowing smile curving at the corners of his mouth.

“Trying to steal my charm again?” he had teased, amusement tucked beneath his words like silk under lace.

“Trying to?” you had echoed, pouring the coffee before he could move, “More like succeeding to.”

His fingers had brushed yours as you passed the mug to him. He had not let go immediately. His thumb had traced a quiet path over your knuckles. The gesture had been small, nearly invisible to anyone else. But you had felt it—like a whisper to the soul.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured, his dark eyes lingering on you as you turned to eat his meal.

With Chris, there had always been this—this delicate, unspoken duel. A ceaseless, affectionate sparring of tenderness. The two of you had existed in a continuous loop of care and quiet one-upmanship, each desperate to out-love the other with gestures so gentle they might have been missed by anyone not paying attention.

But you had always been paying attention.

At dinner, you had sat across from him in a quiet, amber-lit restaurant, your glasses of water catching the candlelight. He had lifted his, sipped once, eyes flickering to yours. You had done the same. He had placed his glass down deliberately, watching, waiting. So had you.

It had become a silent standoff—two stubborn hearts locked in a battle of generosity. Who would finish their water first? Who would have the honor of refilling the other’s glass?

You had taken a strategic sip.

He had taken two.

You had set your glass down, crossed your arms, and narrowed your eyes at him, a smile ghosting over your lips.

“Don’t even think about it,” you had warned.

“Too late,” he grinned, reaching for the glass bottle.

Alas, he was not fast enough. You had effectively snatched it before he could, and victory had never tasted as sweet as the smugness in your second sip of water.

Later, the bedroom light had been dimmed to a golden hush, casting slow-moving shadows across the duvet, and Chris had looked at you the way he always did when his kindness slipped into something heavier, needier—more deliberate.

He had not reached for you in hunger, but in worship.

His hands, calloused in places and gentle in others, had moved over you with the same reverence he reserved for delicate things. Every touch had spoken of intention. He had kissed your skin as though it were scripture, learning and reciting it all at once.

“You don't have to—” you had begun, already breathless from the way his lips had barely brushed along your inner thigh, a feathering of heat and desire.

“I want to,” he murmured, looking up through his lashes, voice wrapped in velvet. “Let me take care of you.”

And you had. Who were you to deny such a generous offer?

You had surrendered to him the way one might surrender to music or moonlight—utterly, quietly, without resistance. Because with Chris, giving had never been a transaction. It had been a language. One he had spoken fluently, eagerly, like it was instinct carved into him.

He had taken his time.

He always did.

As if every sigh that slipped from your lips was something he wanted to commit to memory. As if your pleasure was something holy, and he was the only worshipper needed.

He had never rushed you. He had watched you fall apart like it was the greatest honor he had ever known. His fingers had curled just right, his mouth patient and unrelenting, his name drawn from your throat like a prayer too long withheld.

And even when your body trembled from the force of it, when you reached down to pull him up, to offer him something in return, he had only kissed your wrist and smiled into your palm.

“Later,” he had whispered, voice low and rich with promise. “Let me give first.”

Because to Chris, love had always been an act of offering.

And in moments like these, he gave without restraint.

Later that week, in the entrance of a cozy bookstore, the two of you had stopped beneath the awning as soft rain had laced the sky. You had reached for the door handle.

But so had he.

Your hands had collided, and the moment had sparked into one of those ridiculous, lovely battles neither of you had intended but both of you had welcomed.

“Allow me,” he had said, bowing theatrically.

“Not a chance,” you had replied, already reaching again.

A breathless scuffle had ensued—one hand sliding above the other, elbows gently bumping, the door handle twisting back and forth like a prize sought by two laughing children. In the end, he had managed to open the door for you, and planted a swift, warm kiss on your temple and slid a hand on your waist, guiding you inside.

Every day with Chris had been filled with this kind of love. A thousand tiny wars of kindness. Disguised battles fought with umbrellas opened over the other’s head first, dinners cooked when the other insisted they were too tired, shoulders offered in silence during long subway rides home. You had discovered joy in hiding love notes in his coat pockets. He had retaliated by memorizing your favorite tea for every mood, ready with a steaming cup before you even spoke.

Once, on a particularly bitter evening, you had returned to find him wrapped in a blanket he had clearly meant for you. You had fallen asleep on the couch, curled around a cushion like something delicate. Rather than wake you, he had covered your frame with the second throw and cocooned himself into the smallest shape beside you, as if shrinking could somehow preserve the warmth meant for your comfort.

“Chris,” you had murmured upon waking, shifting to tug your blanket toward him. “You're shivering.”

“I didn't want you to be cold,” he had replied, voice softened by the remnants of sleep. “You always curl into a ball when you shiver. Like a cat.”

“You need warmth too.”

A pause. A snort.

“I like when you purr.”

That night, you had fallen in love with him again. Quietly, deeply, as if for the very first time.

And again the next morning, when he had offered you the first pancake with the slightly burned edge—your favorite. Again, when he had let you win the battle of who would carry the groceries, only to slip snacks into your pocket while your back was turned.

Every day, the war had continued. But it had never been one of damage—it had been a quiet revolution of softness. You would offer him the best looking and tasting pieces of fruit. He had tucked your charger into your bag before you noticed. You had pretended not to be tired so he could fall asleep first. He had feigned deep sleep, just to ensure you had the blanket.

There had been no laurels, no grand confessions proclaimed beneath fireworks or starlit stages. Only two hearts, steadfast and unspoken, engaged in a quiet contest where the scoreboard was marked not by triumph, but by tenderness—and the only victory was found in the curve of the other’s smile.

This had been your love story. Not carved into monuments or inked into timeless sonnets, but embroidered into the fabric of ordinary days. In the hum of the kettle, the warmth of a second blanket, the way he remembered how you liked your tea on weary evenings.

No matter how mundane a day turned out, not a single moment had ever felt small.

Even silence had a heartbeat. Each act—a dish dried, a door held open, a glass refilled—had spoken volumes. And beneath every gesture, a message lay nestled, gentle as breath:

I see you. I cherish you. Let me hold this life with you, in all the quiet ways that matter. For as long as you will let me.

And in return, you had spoken your answer without needing words—through folded laundry, kisses pressed softly to his shoulder when he least expected them.

Because in this tender, ceaseless war of kindness, you had both surrendered long ago.

And in that surrender, you both had found something far greater than victory.

You both had found home.

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo

#bang chan fluff

275 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 24 days ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CIAO SERIES MASTERLIST

Ciao means goodbye. Hyunjin says ciao to Suho, his closest friend, again and again—knowing one day, it’ll be the last. You say ciao to safety the moment Sangwoo steps on set, praying it’ll be the last time you have to. After Milan, you and Hyunjin were never supposed to meet again—not beyond magazine spreads or fashion week after parties draped in Versace. But when your carefully curated life starts to unravel and his public image crashes in real time, fate—or maybe just cruel timing—throws you back into each other’s orbit. It also means hello. And somehow, in the wreckage of everything else, you and Hyunjin say ciao. Again.

pairing: idol!hyunjin x actress!reader warnings: ex-flings to lovers, fake dating au, angst, fluff, low's are LOW and high's are HIGH, hurt/comfort, slow burn, suggestive themes, extra characters, themes of predatory behavior (sangwoo), terminal illness (suho), mentions of drug-dealing, references to past sexual intercourse important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

ahhh i’m so so excited to finally be posting this!!! this little series has been sitting in my drafts for way too long and it means a lot to me 🥹 it’s a bit different from what i usually write but that just made it even more fun to work on. can’t wait for you guys to read it <3 first chapter will be coming out shortly!!

ongoing...

CHAPTERS (~10k words each)

chap. 1

chap. 2

chap. 3

119 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 24 days ago

Text

hes so cool

MINHO ⋮ MEXICO CITY SOUNDCHECK — 250413 (© rojizas.room on tiktok)

2K notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 25 days ago

Text

i've honestly been writing so many oneshots i forgot how fun it is to write for a series :(( i have a short hyunjin series in my drafts with already 20k words and im gonna about post the masterlist when i feel committed enough to it. its honestly so different from what i usually write so im very excited to show what i have in store for you guys!!

#hyunjin series

6 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 29 days ago

Text

╰┈➤ THE SEAMS BETWEEN US

: ̗̀➛ pairing — idol!leeknow x stylist!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 2.3k : ̗̀➛ content — angst, fluff, comfort, established relationship, minor conflict, soft minho!!

minho wonders if you still see him at all. maybe you just forgot how to say it.

the door clicked shut behind him.

you didn’t even look up. your hands were busy smoothing the jacket across your lap, fingers twitching at every seam, checking for the tiniest pull, any imperfection.

minho had just stepped out of the stall in the dressing room, clad in the base layers you'd selected—sleek, fitted, dark against his skin like shadows caught in motion. it looked good on him. you knew it. objectively, you knew. the tailoring was sharp, the proportions exactly how you’d envisioned them in your sketchbook. you’d gone through at least five versions of the concept, drawing and redrawing until the image in your head finally aligned with what you could create with your hands.

you rose to your feet, gripping the jacket by the shoulders, stepping toward him. the fabric was heavy, structured, custom-fit to frame him like armor. you weren’t sure if it would all come together. not really. there was no rehearsal for this moment. just instinct, vision, and the last few seconds before he stepped into the spotlight.

minho said nothing. he stood there, watching you. hands still at his sides. as if he could feel the tension threading through your spine and knew better than to disturb it.

you held the jacket up, arms steady despite the quiet tremble in your chest. minho stepped forward without a word, sliding his arms in one at a time. the fabric folded perfectly along his shoulders, clinging to him like it belonged there, like it had always been meant for this exact moment—on him, right here, right now.

you smoothed the lapels down and stepped back just enough to take him in fully. relief swept through you in a warm rush, and you leaned in, resting your forehead gently against his shoulder, eyes closed for a moment like the world could pause here with you.

“i wasn’t sure it’d all come together,” you mumbled, words tumbling out in a low rush “i knew what i wanted, but i wasn’t there when they fitted it, and i just kept thinking maybe the silhouette would be off or the hem would ride weird or the layering would flatten on stage lighting or—”

minho shifted slightly under your weight, his head tilted just enough that you felt the side of his face brush against your hair. “hey,” he said, voice quiet but sure. “it’s okay.”

you nodded against his shoulder, the fabric cool under your skin, and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“you should get your makeup done,” you murmured, stepping back, your fingers giving one last brush against the jacket’s collar. “bring changbin in here if he’s ready. i’ll clear out.”

minho didn’t move at first. just looked at you.

there was something in his eyes—soft, searching, a flicker of something you couldn’t place—but you were already half-turned toward the wardrobe rack, busying yourself with a stray hanger and pretending not to notice the way silence dragged.

“go,” you said gently, giving him a little nod over your shoulder.

he furrowed his brows slightly, lips parting like he wanted to say something else. but instead, he gave a small nod, eyes lingering on you for a second too long before he turned and walked out.

by the time he reached the other dressing room, brushes clinked softly against palettes, low music played from someone’s phone, and staff flitted between the boys like bees around a hive.

he sat down in the chair like always, spine straight, arms folded. the makeup artist greeted him gently, already reaching for the primer.

“you look tired,” she said, more fond than concerned.

minho just nodded once, eyes forward.

just then, the door swung open with a familiar thud.

“dude,” chan groaned, dragging his feet inside like the hallway had just tried to kill him. “i swear, i thought i was gonna break my spine when i tripped over that damn cable. the ground moved, i’m telling you.”

from the other corner, hyunjin snickered behind the rim of his iced coffee. “please tell me someone filmed that.”

“i think the camera guy caught it. you’ll have to bribe him later.” chan turned to minho as he spun a chair under him. “anyway—oh, about the cue timing for the last chorus, we’re holding it half a second longer. just so the drop doesn’t feel too cut off. we’re syncing it with the overhead lights, so when you—”

“i know,” minho snapped.

chan blinked, startled, hand still mid-air in explanation. the makeup artist froze for just a second before continuing, eyes flicking nervously between the two. even hyunjin looked up now, eyebrow raised.

minho didn’t say anything else.

chan stepped back slowly, glancing once at hyunjin like what the hell was that.

hyunjin just gave a slow shrug.

the members knew better than to ask when minho got snappy.

when it was finally time for stage call, minho moved like he always did—efficient, composed, letting staff hook his mic pack in place, tug at the hem of his jacket, adjust the in-ear cable down his back. one of the interns clipped a final detail onto his collar, another checked his monitor settings. he stood still through all of it, nodding when prompted, body present—but his head was a world away.

he was used to chaos. the rush of backstage. the flood of adrenaline before stepping into the lights. but lately, the noise didn’t distract him the way it used to. not like before.

because in the quiet moments in between—like now—his thoughts went straight to you.

you’d both known what dating in this world meant. the long hours, the tight schedules, the time zone gaps. but you were a stylist. he was an idol. you’d be around each other, constantly. it was supposed to be the one thing that wouldn’t be hard.

and in the beginning, it wasn’t. stealing glances behind clothing racks, whispering jokes during rehearsals, grabbing coffee during fittings. it was fun. effortless. you were both so in it—wrapped up in each other and in the work. being near you never got old.

but now, all your words were about fabric, fitting issues, hemlines. your eyes were always scanning the clothes on his body, not him. and he didn’t blame you. it was your passion, the thing you loved most. you were good at it. watching you pour everything into it was part of why he fell for you.

still, he missed you.

not the sharp, laser-focused stylist.

just you. the y/n who laughed into his hoodie on the tour bus.

now, he’d never felt further from you.

out on stage, minho moved like water—sharp lines, perfect timing, every beat hit with that signature intensity that came from years of muscle memory. the lights made everything glow, catching the sheen of his jacket just right, shadows and shine sculpting him into the exact vision you'd spent weeks piecing together.

back in the dressing room, you sat on the edge of a fold-up table, eyes locked on the large monitor on the wall, watching the recording in real time. your hands had finally stilled. no more last-minute threads, no shifting pins, no tugging sleeves. the job was done.

and it had worked.

everything you’d designed came together exactly the way you hoped it would—the movement, the textures, the color harmony across all eight of them. it looked even better under the stage lights than you’d imagined. you should’ve been proud. relieved.

you were.

but your eyes stayed on him.

the colors danced across the monitor—seungmin’s brushed rose tones, felix’s cold shimmer, the gold dust on chan’s collar. it all blended, the eight of them like a moving canvas. but even with the symmetry, your gaze kept drifting back to minho.

“y/n?”

the voice pulled you gently from your thoughts. you blinked, turning to see the makeup artist peeking in through the door with her usual soft eyes.

“yeah?” you asked, offering her a tired smile.

she walked over and leaned against the table beside you, glancing at the screen. “i didn’t wanna be too nosy, but… minho seemed a bit off earlier.”

you nodded lightly, gaze still half-glued to the monitor.

she was one of the sweetest people you’d met on staff—warm, always checking in on everyone, offering granola bars and backup concealer. you liked her instantly. the two of you had grown close fast, little conversations while setting up or packing down. it was easy with her.

“i mean, he wasn’t rude,” she continued, “just… quiet. i don’t know. different.”

you finally turned fully toward her. “he’s tired.”

that was only part of it. you knew the rest.

it had hit you the moment the last person left the prep room, when it finally got quiet and you realized—you hadn’t really spoken to him lately. not him, not your minho. just lee know the performer, the hanger for your designs, the client you were supposed to help get camera-ready. every word had been about clothes.

he was still your boyfriend. and somehow, you’ve been forgetting to see him as one lately.

on the screen, minho hit his final pose before the lights dimmed. the crowd roared. you sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding—not with nerves this time, but with something sharper. something urgent.

you had to go to him. now. before another moment passed. before another day of missed chances and half-conversations slipped through your fingers.

you stood up so quickly the makeup artist looked up, startled. “where are you—?”

“i just— i have to go,” you said, already halfway to the door.

the hall beyond the dressing rooms was buzzing again, the post-performance adrenaline crackling through the air. some of the camera crew trickled in from the side entrance, earpieces in, trailing cables. the first few members rounded the corner soon after—chan first, sweat glistening at his temple, grinning wide. you lifted your hand and fist-bumped him as he passed.

“good right?” he joked breathlessly, and you smiled, but your eyes were already scanning for someone else.

hyunjin followed, still catching his breath, laughing at something han was saying. you offered them the same greeting, light and casual, like your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs.

then you saw him.

minho stepped into the hallway last—slow, a towel draped around his neck, chest rising and falling steadily, lips parted from the effort of the stage. his jacket hung slightly off one shoulder, hair damp with sweat. and in that instant, you didn’t even think—your feet just moved. you crossed the distance and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his neck before he could even react.

he stiffened for a second—so shocked he didn’t move at all. you could feel the hesitation in his arms, how he wasn’t sure what to do. but then—gently, slowly—he folded into you. his arms wrapped around your waist, warm and steady, and he pressed his nose into your hair like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“you did such a good job,” you whispered, voice trembling against him. “i watched you dancing. you were amazing.”

and for the first time in what felt like days, minho exhaled—long and quiet—like finally, finally, something had clicked back into place.

he let out a small laugh—real, breathy, the kind that crinkled his eyes. “yeah? jacket didn’t crumple weird or anything?”

you swatted lightly at his chest. “shut up, you were perfect.”

minho just looked at you then—really looked at you—and in that crowded hallway with noise and bodies moving all around you, it was like you were the only thing he saw. like nothing else mattered now that you were here, arms around him, seeing him—not as a client, but as minho. your minho.

“i missed you,” he said finally, almost like it surprised him to say it out loud.

you leaned in again, the noise around you fading into nothing as you tucked your face back against his shoulder. your voice came out small, barely a whisper against the fabric of his shirt.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed.

it was soft—so soft he almost didn’t catch it. but he did. he pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands gently holding your sides, grounding you.

“no, no, ” he said, his voice soft, shaking his head. “none of that.”

your throat tightened, but his hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“we’re okay,” he said again, more gently now. “yeah?”

you nodded, lips pressing together, teary-eyed.

and when he leaned in and kissed your forehead, it felt like home.

“i love you, lee know,” you whispered, exaggerating his stage name like you always did when you were trying to get a smile out of him.

it worked.

he let out a low chuckle, the kind that started in his chest and made its way to his eyes. “you’re so annoying,” he said affectionately, grinning now. “i love you too,” he murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

580 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 1 month ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ THINKING 'BOUT YOU, THINKING 'BOUT YOU

: ̗̀➛ pairing — nonidol!felix x fem!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 2.8k : ̗̀➛ content — fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, drinking, did i say fluff

hi guys!! its been a while since ive posted so in honour of spring finally being here, here's a little something ♡

listen while you read 🎧

you didn’t really know what to call it—this thing with felix.

you weren't dating—at least, not officially. but there had been late-night calls that bled into 3 a.m. giggles, inside jokes only the two of you understood, lingering looks, and “thinkin bout you” texts. there were shared secrets beneath shared clothes, hands that sometimes brushed against yours like it meant something, and a thousand almost-kisses.

you step back out into the yard, cold drink in hand, and the whole place practically buzzes with life. fairy lights are strung overhead like stars trying to compete with the real ones, glowing warm against the inky sky. there’s a group crowded around the lawn chairs, someone’s half-passed out on a beanbag, and rocky is thumping through the speakers like the heartbeat of the night. the bass pulses through the grass, the kind you can feel in your chest.

your red cup is already slick with condensation, and you wipe your hand on your jeans shorts as you weave back through the party. you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip—immediate regret. you grimace, jaw clenching slightly at the mess you dared to call a drink. who told you beer and liquor was a fun mix? oh right, you did, thirty minutes ago when you thought you were some sort of backyard bartender.

you’re shaking your head to yourself, when a voice cuts through the music.

“there you are,” it says, and you already know who it is before you even look up.

felix.

your heart does that stupid little flutter like it always does, even though you try to play it cool. he’s got that knowing smirk, the kind that’s equal parts trouble and charm, and he's dressed in all black like the night wrapped itself around him and called it fashion. his pants hang just right on his frame, and his blonde hair’s all messy in that on-purpose kind of way. there's a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, soft but sharp, like he’s been watching you this whole time and finally decided to make his move.

“hey, stranger,” you say, with that smile he always put on your face.

“hey, hotshot,” he shoots back, his own grin spreading. before you can blink, he plucks the red cup right out of your hand, holding it up between you two like he’s inspecting it for poison. “what's this?”

“you're gonna hate it” you say, biting your lip, already bracing for his reaction.

but of course he drinks it. because he’s felix. one hand holding his own drink, the other bringing yours to his lips like it's nothing.

you giggle as you watch him tilt it back, just a small sip, and then bam. instant regret written all over his face.

his eyes squeeze shut, and he kind of recoils, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his chest. “oh my goodness,” he says, voice half-hoarse, half-laughing. “that’s horrible. what did you do?”

you’re already cracking up. “i told you!”

he’s still looking at the cup like it just insulted his family. you reach for it, but he holds it away from you. “i am not letting you go back to this. here, take mine.” he offers you his own cup, and his tone softens, eyes a little gentler now.

you pause for a second, the switch in his voice catching you off guard. he’s watching you carefully, like he’s been paying attention, like he already knows what you’d like. and not just the drink.

“you sure?” you ask, voice a little smaller now.

“positive,” he says, pressing it gently into your hand.

you smile, soft and a little shy despite everything, and then—without thinking too hard about it—you lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

it’s quick. barely there. but it leaves behind something electric.

felix’s smile freezes for half a second, like his brain short-circuited, and then it stretches wider, softer. his eyes crinkle a bit, and those dimples—those stupid dimples—make an appearance as he looks at you like you just handed him the stars.

he tilts his head just a little, eyes still locked on you like nothing else at this party exists—not the music, not the lights, not the dozens of people laughing and dancing around you. just you. his thumb brushes the edge of his own cup absentmindedly, but his focus is all yours.

“if you keep doing stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.” he says, voice low and velvety,

“maybe i do,” you say, your voice playful, but your heart is thudding hard enough you wonder if he can hear it over the music.

he grins, eyes flickering to your lips just for a split second before he looks back up. “good. ‘cause i’ve been thinking about kissing you for, like… a really long time.”

you blink at him, momentarily stunned, because he says it so casually, so sincerely, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue or the stars are pretty tonight. and yet it lands right in your chest.

his fingers brush against your elbow, featherlight. “can i?”

your breath hitches.

it’s like the world slows down for a second—the music fades into the background, the laughter becomes a distant hum, and all you can hear is your own pulse thudding in your ears. your skin feels too tight, too hot, like your heart has pushed up into your throat and your body’s forgotten how to be normal.

he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile and precious, like he doesn’t want to spook you—but also like he knows. knows how much you want this. knows how long you’ve been dancing around it. knows you’re nervous, and he’s not in any rush to push past that.

you nod. barely. just enough.

and he moves in slow.

one hand comes up to brush a piece of hair away from your face, his fingers so gentle you almost shiver. then, finally, his lips meet yours—soft and warm and careful, like he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into something that barely even needs words.

it’s not rushed. it’s not messy. it’s just perfect.

his lips part just slightly, inviting but not demanding, and you follow instinct more than thought, leaning in a little bit closer. you taste the faint tang of beer on his tongue, cold and bitter and so distinctly him. it lingers for a second before it’s swallowed by the heat curling between you, the way his mouth fits against yours like it was always meant to.

you both pull away, slowly, reluctantly—like neither of you really want to, but you need a second to breathe, to process what just happened. your eyes meet his, and it’s like something clicks. like some invisible tension that had been stretched tight for so long finally snaps in the gentlest way.

his lips are still curved in the softest smile, his cheeks a little pink, and you can tell he's feeling just as dazed as you are. but then—you both lose it.

you burst into laughter at the exact same time, this messy, giddy kind of laughter that bubbles up out of nowhere and shakes your shoulders. the kind that makes your heart feel so full it almost aches.

out of sheer embarrassment, you lean forward and press your forehead to his chest. he smells like cologne and spring and something a little smoky, like the fire pit still burning a few feet away. his arms come around you instinctively, wrapping you up like he’s been waiting to do it for ages.

you stay like that for a moment—pressed into his chest, tucked into the safety of his arms, giggling softly like the two of you are in on some secret the rest of the world hasn’t figured out yet. his fingers rub slow circles into your back, and his chin dips to rest lightly on the top of your head. neither of you say anything, and you don’t need to.

it just feels right.

around you, the party continues, but it’s gone a little hazy now—like someone turned the dial down just enough to let the moment breathe. the fairy lights overhead glow in a soft gold haze, muted like candlelight behind frosted glass. smoke drifts lazily from the fire pit, curling through the air like it’s dancing to the beat of the music.

shadows flicker across the lawn. people are lounging around now, sprawled in chairs or slow dancing in the grass, voices hushed and blurred together like a watercolor painting. everything feels dreamlike, like you’ve slipped into a different world just slightly off from this one—a little quieter, a little warmer, a little softer.

felix’s fingers tighten gently around your waist, and he leans down, voice brushing your ear like velvet. “wanna sneak off?” he says. then, with a mischievous curl to his lips,

you don’t even hesitate.

you look up at him, eyes wide and nod.

he grins—giddy and boyish—and immediately reaches for your hand. you lace your fingers with his, and together you start weaving your way back through the crowd, ducking past conversations and the trailing edge of someone’s scarf, stepping over a half-empty bottle on the grass.

inside the house, there’s a group crowded around the kitchen island shouting over each other, someone sitting on the counter peeling an orange like it’s the most important thing in the world. someone else is singing way too dramatically into a tv remote. the lights inside are warmer, buzzing, a little dizzying.

you quickly tilt back the drink felix gave you, finishing it in a few smooth gulps. you toss the empty cup into the flooded garbage by the hallway door, turning just in time to see felix standing behind you, holding your old red cup—the one with the infamous death mix.

without a word, he raises an eyebrow at it dramatically, like it personally wronged him. then he throws it straight into the garbage can without giving it a last sip.

you and felix exchange a look—wide-eyed and stifling laughter—and quicken your pace, dodging between people and whispered excuse me’s and the occasional sticky beer puddle on the tile floor.

the second you step out the front door and onto the road, the night wraps around you like a breath of fresh air.

cool, quiet, and soft with the kind of calm that only shows up when everything else has faded. the street is dim and empty, lit only by the faint glow of porch lights and the hazy orange halo of a streetlamp down the block.

you and felix cross the road, sneakers scuffing quietly against the pavement, hands still intertwined like muscle memory. the houses across the street are asleep—lights off, windows shut, the occasional curtain fluttering with the breeze. it's the kind of silence that feels sacred, like the world paused just for you.

a little farther down, you spot it—a small building tucked between two tall hedges, maybe a community hall or some long-closed shop. it’s plain and quiet, its brick wall catching the dim glow from the streetlamp above. you tug felix’s hand, moving toward it without saying a word, drawn to the way it just feels still.

you reach it first, and as soon as your back touches the cool wall, you slide down with a soft sigh, knees folding up to your chest. the grass is damp and smells like spring. you pat the spot next to you, eyes flicking up at him.

felix doesn’t hesitate.

he drops down beside you with a soft thud, stretching his legs out and leaning just close enough that your shoulders brush. the second you rest your head on his shoulder, he exhales—like maybe he’s been holding that breath since the kiss.

you sigh again, softer this time, letting yourself melt into the moment.

his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, slow and absent like it’s second nature. you watch his hand in yours for a beat before turning your eyes to the quiet road, the stars barely peeking through the haze above.

no words. just warmth. just stillness.

and the slow realization that maybe, just maybe, this night has only just started.

then, his voice breaks the silence, soft and low, like he’s afraid of disturbing the calm.

“you know…” he starts, eyes still trained on the road in front of you. “i don’t think i’ve ever really said this. not like this.”

you glance up at him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze just yet. his fingers squeeze yours just slightly before he goes on.

“you mean a lot to me,” he says. “like… a lot. and not just in the ‘i think you’re cool’ kind of way. it’s more than that. you make things feel lighter when they’re heavy. you make me feel like i don’t have to try so hard to be anything other than… me.”

your heart stumbles over itself, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. you smile, small and unsure, warmth flickering in your chest—but there’s something else too. something tugging at the edges of your comfort.

you don’t know why he’s being so sappy. it’s not that you don’t like hearing it—it’s sweet, it’s felix—but something about the weight in his voice, the way he’s looking at you now, finally meeting your eyes like he’s bracing for something.

and that realization settles in your stomach like a drop of cold water.

you try to keep the smile, to hold onto the sweetness of the moment, but your fingers tense in his just slightly. “why are you saying this now?” you ask, your voice quiet, cautious.

he hesitates.

felix goes quiet for a beat, eyes flicking back down to your intertwined hands. his thumb is still tracing slow circles against your skin, but now it feels more deliberate—like he’s trying to steady himself.

you feel the breath he pulls in before he speaks again.

“and i keep thinking… what even are we?” he says, voice low, like he’s afraid of saying it too loud might make it feel less real. “we’re not nothing. we never were. but we’re also not—” he cuts himself off with a breath, shaking his head again, softer this time.

“i don’t want to keep pretending like i’m okay with the in-between. because i’m not.” he glances down, then back up at you, his expression gentler now—like he’s not just saying it, but feeling every word. “and tonight… i don’t know. being with you like this—it makes everything else feel so far away. and it hit me.”

he looks at you then, full-on, no flicker of nerves this time. just him. honest and open and so felix.

“i want to be yours,” he says, steady. “and i want you to be mine. for real.”

your breath catches again, and you’re too stunned to look away.

he leans in just a little closer, like he needs you to hear it perfectly, no confusion, no room for misreading.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he says, voice soft but certain,

and just like that, all the air in your lungs evaporates. your heart feels like it’s trying to climb its way into your throat. you weren’t wrong—he was building to something big.

just not in the way you feared.

you blink, a slow smile spreading across your face despite the shock. “you absolute dork,” you whisper, eyes stinging a little with the pressure of how full you suddenly feel.

felix grins, sheepish. “that a yes?”

you squeeze his hand, lean in, and kiss him again—soft and sure, the kind that says yes a hundred different ways. you feel him smile into the kiss—just the smallest curve of his lips against yours, and somehow, it makes everything feel even more real.

you pull away slowly, your noses still brushing, breath mingling in the soft space between. his eyes flutter open, hazy and full of something gentle and glowing.

you stay close, forehead resting lightly against his, both of you quiet for a second. just listening to the soft rustle of the grass and the low thrum of the music still floating from the house in the distance.

“no take backs, lix.” you say, playful but breathless, like you just made the best kind of deal with the universe.

his eyes sparkle. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

406 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 2 months ago

Text

𓆝..°°𓈒 ⋆ (필릭스) : REMEMBER THIS SUMMER "SUMMER DAYS"

𓆉 °°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ synopsis felix is living the summer every teenager dreams of, with a perfect beach house on the east coast of australia and an even more perfect girlfriend. by taking the best of both worlds, felix invites her to experience the world he grew up in to make this the best summer ever. amidst bonfires, romantic sunsets, and seagulls, felix has one goal this summer: to finally tell her he loves her. with just one week to do so, felix is met with a challenge to make his feelings known before time runs out.

pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader, series warnings: this work is explicit and NSFW so minors do not interact!, established relationship, fluff, smut, injury mentioned (jellyfish sting) important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior, especially among minors, that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

wow, i can’t believe this is over. writing this story was such an experience. these characters feel like a part of me now, and it’s honestly kinda heartbreaking to say goodbye. but i just wanna say thank you for reading! this series will always stay with me, and i hope it stays with you too. i’m really gonna miss this. 💙

series masterlist

nsfw warnings and chapter under the cut ~16k words

warnings: a lot of you wanted another smut chapter so here ya go loves!!, underaged sex, non-penetrative, making out, handjob (m. receiving), MDNI!!!

day 8 - 6:40

your knuckles hovered over the door, your fingers curling, then loosening again. the weight in your chest hadn’t budged since you left the apartment, and standing here now, it only grew heavier.

it was early. too early. the sun had barely started its climb into the sky, casting long, sleepy shadows over the quiet street. felix was still curled up in bed when you slipped out of the room. you hadn't left a note. you’d be back before he woke up.

hopefully.

you’d texted chris earlier, needing to talk, and he’d responded quickly. already up, he said. and so, you found yourself standing here, not entirely sure why, but knowing that this moment was unavoidable.

chris answered faster than you expected. he ran a hand down his face, blinking against the dim light, his curls a chaotic mess like he’d just tumbled out of bed. his t-shirt was wrinkled, the fabric twisted against his shoulder, and the drawstring of his sweatpants hung unevenly—proof that he had, in fact, not really been fully awake when he texted you back.

“hey,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. his gaze flickered over your face, slow and assessing.

you exhaled, some of the nerves tightening in your chest easing at the sight of him. “so much for already being up when i texted,” you said, eyes flicking to his mussed hair.

chris made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, stepping back to let you in. “i was up,” he grumbled, rubbing at his face again. “just—laid back down for a second.” he stretched his arms over his head, joints popping as he yawned. “i have to go to the boat shop with my dad soon anyways.”

you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you, and immediately, the house’s quiet warmth settled over you. the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixed with something softer—fabric softener, maybe, or the remnants of last night’s rain slipping in through the open kitchen window.

“am i bothering?” you asked, glancing at him as he wandered toward the kitchen.

chris shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “no, no, you’re fine,” he assured you.

his house smelled like coffee, faint but warm, like it had been brewed hours ago and left to linger. the quiet hum of the fridge filled the silence as you stepped into the kitchen, chris trailing behind you.

chris lifted the milk frother slightly, raising an eyebrow in silent question. you nodded, murmuring a quiet “thanks,” and he nodded back, turning his attention to making you a cappuccino. the soft whir of the machine filled the space between you, the early morning quiet settling in comfortably.

a moment passed. then, casually, chris said, “so, i take it things are good with you and felix now? considering you didn’t ditch us yesterday.”

a quiet breath of laughter left you, your fingers curling over the edge of the counter. “yeah,” you admitted. “we figured it out.”

chris snorted. “so the idiot finally told you how he feels.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the way your lips twitched into a smile. “yeah,” you murmured. “he did.”

chris snorted, shaking his head as he slid the finished cappuccino toward you. “’bout time.”

you curled your hands around the warm cup, inhaling the soft scent of espresso and steamed milk. chris watched you, the teasing amusement in his gaze fading as he took in the way you hesitated. his arms crossed over his chest, brows pinching just slightly.

“so,” he said, quieter now. “what’s wrong?”

you wrapped your hands around the warm cup, watching the steam curl into the air before meeting his gaze. and for a moment, you weren’t entirely sure how to answer.

“i’ll just get straight to the point.”

“go ahead”

“it’s about mabel.”

chris stilled.

it wasn’t dramatic. he didn’t flinch. he didn’t jolt back like you had struck him. it was smaller than that—quieter. the barest flicker of something in his face, so brief you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching so closely.

but you were.

and it was enough.

you were right.

“i know what happened to her.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips together. he didn’t ask how you knew, but he didn’t have to.

“and no, felix didn’t tell me,” you said before he could assume otherwise. “i found out myself.”

chris dragged a hand over his face again, but this time, it wasn’t just frustration—it was something deeper, heavier, something tangled up in the years he had spent standing by felix’s side, watching him unravel and piece himself back together.

“i feel terrible about it,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “not just about what happened, but about—about everything. about how young she was. about how young he was when it happened.” you swallowed, trying to press down the tightness in your throat, but it didn’t budge.

“i don’t feel right, chris.”

his brows furrowed immediately. “y/n—”

“i mean it.” you let out a breath, staring down at the cappuccino, watching the way the foam swirled with each subtle movement of your hands. “i keep thinking about how i’ve been waiting for him to just say it. to tell me he loves me. and i was so caught up in wondering why he wouldn’t, why it was taking so long—” your throat tightened. “and the whole time, it was her.”

chris inhaled sharply, arms tightening across his chest. his jaw twitched, like he was holding something back, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

your grip on the cup tightened. “and felix…” you hesitated, your voice threatening to waver. you clenched your fingers around the warm ceramic, grounding yourself. “he must have felt so horrible. losing her like that. it must have been—god, i can’t even imagine how hard it was for him to find someone else after that.” a slow exhale left your lips, shaking at the edges. “to trust someone else. to let himself feel for someone else.”

the silence between you grew heavier, pressing into your ribs, wrapping around your lungs like a vice. chris still hadn’t spoken, but the way he looked at you—carefully, calculatingly, like he was waiting for the moment you’d either break or pull yourself together—made your stomach twist.

you let out a sharp, uneven breath, shaking your head. “and chris, it’s different.”

his brows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“they didn’t break up,” you continued, your voice raw. “she didn’t leave him. she didn’t hurt him. she just… died.” the word felt ugly, brutal, but there was no use softening it. “she was taken from him, and if she hadn’t been—” you swallowed hard. “who’s to say he wouldn’t still be in love with her?”

chris’s lips parted slightly, like he might argue, but you kept going before he had the chance.

“and that’s probably why he couldn’t tell me he loves me.” your voice cracked, and you hated the way it did, but you couldn’t stop now.

chris exhaled slowly through his nose, tilting his head back slightly as if the weight of your words had struck him harder than he’d expected. he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze steady and focused, but there was a shift in the air now, a tension that you couldn’t ignore.

“you’ve got it all wrong,” chris said, his voice low but firm. his tone was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

you blinked, the words hanging in the air like an unsolved puzzle. “what?”

the question came out before you even had a chance to stop it, but you couldn’t help yourself. this wasn’t how you thought it would go. you had said it—you had put it out there—and yet, now chris was looking at you like you didn’t understand anything.

“you really don’t know anything, y/n.” his voice was quiet, almost like he felt bad for you—for the fact that felix never gave you the explanation you deserved.

he took a step toward you, his posture stiff, like he was trying to steady himself, trying to keep his own emotions in check. but you could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched like he was about to burst with something unsaid.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. the pieces in your mind were starting to shift, but you couldn’t make sense of them.

chris looked like he was struggling with something, like he wanted to tell you more, but was holding back—like he was protecting something that wasn’t his to protect anymore.

you finally whispered, your voice small. “what are you talking about?”

he met your gaze again, the conflict in his eyes still there, but now there was something else—a flicker of anger, a flash of something you couldn’t place.

“mabel was not some angel.” he stopped, swallowing, and for a second, you thought he might say more, but he didn’t.

you shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your brain, trying to understand. “but chris, i—”

“no,” he interrupted, his voice low but urgent. “felix and mabel had a very… interesting relationship. and when i told you before that she screwed him over, i meant she actually did.”

your stomach twisted.

chris wasn’t one for exaggeration. he joked, sure. he teased, he made sarcastic remarks. but when it came to things like this—things that mattered—he didn’t just say things for the sake of saying them.

“what do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

chris sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “look, i never liked mabel. i tolerated her because felix liked her, and that was enough for me. but she was…” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “complicated.”

complicated.

it felt too mild, too neutral, like it didn’t fully capture the weight behind his words.

chris exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “no, scratch that—she was the most manipulative, condescending bitch you’d ever meet.” his voice was colder now, edged with something raw. he let out another laugh—bitter, laced with old memories.

“i can’t tell you how many times i watched him second-guess himself because of her. how many times she’d say something—just the right way, just sharp enough—to make him think he was the problem.” his jaw clenched, his fingers tapping restlessly against his bicep. “she knew how to make him feel small. and he let her do it.”

your throat felt tight.

“he thought he loved her,” chris continued, quieter now. “and maybe he did, in his own way. but mabel? she never loved him the way he did.” his jaw tightened, his voice growing rougher. “she loved the thrill of making him insecure.”

a cold, sinking feeling settled in your stomach.

chris sighed, rubbing at his temples. “felix doesn’t talk about her for a reason, y/n. not because he’s heartbroken. not because he’s still in love with her.” he leveled you with a look—one that was heavy, serious. “because she left scars he’s still trying to cover up.”

and suddenly, everything—the hesitation, the fear, the way felix had held back from you for so long—it all made sense.

you stared at him, your pulse suddenly loud in your ears.

“listen to me.” his voice was firm, serious in a way that left no room for argument. “felix loves you. and don’t go thinking you’re some replacement. if anything, you’re the exact opposite of what she was. and that’s why he’s scared.”

your brows furrowed.

chris let out a humorless chuckle, pushing off the counter. “because you actually love him, y/n. you make him feel safe. you don’t make him question himself every second of the day. you don’t treat his love like it’s something he has to earn.” he leaned back against the sink, exhaling heavily. “you think he doesn’t realize that? that it doesn’t terrify him?”

a lump formed in your throat. “god,” you whispered. “i feel like an idiot.”

chris shook his head immediately. “don’t,” he said, his voice firm. “felix doesn’t make this easy. and honestly?” he let out a breath, raking a hand through his curls. “i don’t think he even fully understands it himself.”

you stared at the coffee in your hands, watching the way the foam swirled. your heart pounded in your chest, a storm of emotions crashing against your ribs.

“y/n.”

you looked up.

chris watched you for a moment longer, then exhaled, shaking his head slightly. his arms uncrossed, and without hesitation, he said, “come here.”

your throat tightened.

you hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, and as soon as you did, chris pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you in a firm, grounding embrace.

his warmth was immediate, solid. his chin rested lightly against the top of your head, and his hands pressed against your back, steady and sure. you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead lightly against his chest.

chris sighed, his voice quieter now. “i know it’s a lot,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “but you don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

you swallowed, nodding slightly against him.

the front door creaked softly as it swung open. felix stepped inside, shaking off the cold from the outside air. chris’s place had always been like a second home to him—he never knocked, never needed to. the lights were on, a quiet warmth filling the space, and he figured chris was here.

felix shut the door behind him and took a few steps in, about to call out when he stopped short. his gaze landed on the living room.

there, standing in the soft glow of the lamp, was chris—his arms wrapped tightly around you.

felix stilled.

chris’s arms loosened around you the moment you turned, your breath catching slightly when you saw felix standing there.

his eyes flickered up to chris’s, confusion flitting across his face like a shadow before he quickly masked it. his brows furrowed for only a second, but the moment you stepped away from chris, moving toward him, his expression shifted. the second you reached felix, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into him.

felix exhaled sharply, his arms coming around you almost instantly, holding you tight. his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he needed to feel you, to make sure you were really there.

“i was wondering where you were, i got so scared.” felix buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like he needed the reassurance that you were here, with him.

your arms tightened around felix, your fingers gripping onto him as if trying to anchor him, to reassure him. his warmth, his scent—everything about him was familiar, safe. his heart pounded against your cheek, and you could feel the way he held onto you, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

felix exhaled shakily, his hand sliding up your back before his gaze flickered past you, landing on chris. “what are you doing at chris’s house?”

you hesitated, your fingers curling slightly into the back of his hoodie. you could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the subtle shift in his breathing.

“i wanted to talk to you about something,” you admitted, keeping your voice gentle. “and i needed to run by it with him first.”

the warmth in his embrace didn’t disappear, but you could feel the way his body stiffened ever so slightly, the way his hands twitched against your back like he was bracing himself. he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he pulled back just enough to look at you. his brows furrowed, eyes flickering between yours, trying to read you, trying to figure out what this was—what this meant.

felix’s body stiffened against yours. his arms, still wrapped around you, tensed for just a fraction of a second—so subtle you might’ve missed it if you weren’t pressed so close to him. he swallowed, his jaw tightening, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter. “about what?”

his eyes landed to chris again, almost like he was looking for an answer before you even said it.

you let out a quiet sigh, dropping your gaze for a moment, staring at the space between you—the way your hands rested against his chest, the way his hoodie bunched slightly beneath your grip.

chris exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “you know, felix,” he said, his voice firm. “you know what this is about.”

felix’s fingers twitched against your back. you could feel the way his breath faltered, just slightly, before he took in a slow inhale through his nose. he didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel the battle going on inside him. he wasn’t dumb. he knew exactly what this was about.

his voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, something tight and strained.

“did you tell her, chris?” his jaw clenched, and he turned, pulling away from you just enough to face him fully. “i told you not to mess with this.”

your voice cut through the thick air between them.

“it wasn’t him, felix,” you said, your voice quieter now, but it held that sharp edge. you shifted just enough to look him in the eyes. “i found out on my own.”

his gaze sharpened instantly.

felix’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of frustration cross his features. he turned away from you, his body tense, like he needed space, like the walls in the room were closing in. without a word, he stepped toward the front door, his sneakers scraping lightly against the hardwood floor.

you hesitated for a moment, but your feet followed him anyway, your pulse racing. felix stopped just in front of the door, one hand on the handle, his body facing the outside world as if he needed that distance, that air, to breathe. he didn’t turn around, but you could hear the tension in his voice when he spoke.

"let's talk outside," he muttered, his words clipped, almost cold. you nodded silently and followed him out as the morning breeze hit you like a sudden breath of air, cool against your skin, rustling the leaves in the trees around you. you felt it, the shift in the atmosphere, the way it made everything feel a little more real, a little sharper. the silence between you both stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like the air was holding its breath, waiting for something to break it.

felix’s voice was low, quieter than before, and the question hung between you like a challenge, a plea for clarity. “if it wasn’t chris, then who told you?”

you looked at him then, really looked at him. the way his jaw clenched, his eyes not meeting yours directly, but somewhere past you as if he couldn’t bear to face the reality of this conversation. the guilt was there, and you could feel it—heavy and thick in the air.

“why does it matter?” you murmured instead, and to your horror, your voice cracked.

felix’s expression softened just slightly, but you weren’t done. the emotions inside you were pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken, to be heard.

“i’ve spent our whole relationship wondering about who she was,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now, but there was weight in each word. “you never talked about her. you barely mentioned her. what was i supposed to think when you’ve been so obviously hiding something?”

felix’s hands flexed at his sides, the tension in his body like a taut string, just waiting to snap. he didn’t have to say anything—you could feel it. your words were landing like daggers, each one leaving a mark on him.

“i’ll tell you right now, felix.” your voice was quieter now, but just as firm. “i could’ve found out months ago. but i told myself i could trust you. that you’d tell me yourself. that you’d tell me why you act like you’re seeing a ghost every time she’s brought up.”

the wind howled around you, the distant waves crashing against the rocks, but all you could focus on was him. felix still hadn’t moved an inch, his eyes fixed on the ground like he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. his chest heaved, shallow breaths coming in and out like he was trying to brace for the storm you were unleashing.

your heart hammered in your chest, but you pushed forward, step by step, closer to him. the air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had gone unsaid.

you took one slow, deliberate step forward, the tension between you both thickening. felix’s eyes flickered to yours for a brief second before darting away, unable to hold your gaze for more than a heartbeat. you reached out then, your hand trembling slightly, but it was more from the weight of everything hanging between you than fear.

you gripped his hand. his fingers twitched, and he instinctively curled his fingers around yours, but there was a hesitation, a wariness that you could feel in the way he held you, like he wasn’t sure if he could fully trust himself to be there.

“but i get it, felix,” you whispered, your voice softer now, but still steady, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. you squeezed his hand, your palm warm against his cold skin. “after finding out, i understand why you’d hide it. i understand why you’d keep it from me. i’m not mad at you for that. not at all.”

you met his eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. there was something different in the way he was looking at you now—something soft, something broken. you let him see it, the sincerity in your gaze, the truth of your words.

“but you can’t blame me for wanting to know,” you finished, your voice quiet. “so please,” your voice cracked. “please talk to me.”

the silence that followed felt like an eternity, thick and suffocating. you stood there, heart racing, waiting for him to say something, anything. but felix just stood frozen, his gaze dropping to the ground, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

your hand still held his, and you could feel the tremble in his fingers, the tension in his body. the world seemed to pause around you, the wind picking up and brushing past you both, but it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.

finally, he spoke, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t feel real.

“i thought i killed her.”

your heart skipped a beat, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’d just said. you blinked, the confusion on your face clear, but you couldn’t speak.

“what?” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, barely making sense to you.

felix’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, the weight of his words hanging between you like a thick fog. he looked almost... haunted. his eyes were shiny, glistening like they were holding back something more than just tears—like they were trying to contain everything he had buried deep inside. his jaw was tight, his lips barely moving as he spoke again, the words coming out in a strangled whisper.

“i hated her, y/n,” felix murmured, his voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of the words. “god, i hated her so much.” he swallowed hard, his chest heaving with a deep breath that did nothing to calm him. his face was tight with emotion, like he was still trying to wrestle with the parts of himself he didn’t want to face.

you stood frozen, feeling like the ground beneath you was shifting with every word he spoke. you had known about the past, known about mabel and the hurt she’d caused him, but hearing it like this, hearing how much hatred and confusion he carried—it felt like being punched in the chest.

felix’s eyes were distant, staring down at the ground as he continued, his words flowing in a rush now, spilling out like a dam breaking. “two summers ago... when she went back to the states. i thought i’d finally get a break. i thought i could breathe again. i was away from her. away from all her toxic bullshit.” his voice wavered, and you could hear the bitterness, the anger that had built up over the years.

“during that summer, i thought i could finally live that i didn’t have to deal with her, and i actually... i actually felt free.” he looked up at you then, his eyes pained, glistening with unshed tears. “i wished, every single day, that she wouldn’t come back to australia. i wished that i wouldn’t have to see her again. i wanted her to stay away. i wanted her gone from my life for good.”

felix’s voice cracked, trembled, as he looked at you then, his face twisting in pain. “and then she died on the way here. she was gone, and all i can think is... i wanted that. i wished for it every day. and now...” his voice faltered again, the words breaking apart before he could finish.

you could see how deeply this had cut him. how torn he was between what he thought he’d wanted, and the reality of what had actually happened. his guilt was suffocating him, drowning him in a way you had never seen before.

what does it do to a person when their biggest tormentor, their deepest wound, is suddenly gone?

there’s no closure, no way to process the years of pain and rage. instead, felix was left with an emptiness—a hollow feeling, like a part of him that he didn’t even know how to acknowledge had disappeared along with her.

you stood there, the silence stretching between you two like an endless chasm, as you tried to comprehend what felix must have been feeling.

“i know you think i’m crazy,” he said, his words fragile, like he was afraid of what you might think. “like i’m not over her. that i’m still hung up on her. but i’m not. i swear to god, i’m not in love with her anymore.”

you stepped closer to him, your fingers brushing against his hand again. “i don’t think you’re crazy,” you said, your voice steady, trying to match the calmness in your heart. “i think you’re human. and guilt is a hell of a thing. i don’t know what it’s like to carry that kind of weight with you every day... but i know it must hurt.”

felix didn’t speak at first, just let your words settle around him to know that you weren’t pushing him away, that you weren’t going to jump to conclusions.

“but i know you’re over her,” you added quietly. “you’re allowed to feel how you feel about all of this, even if it doesn’t make sense. i’m not going anywhere, okay?”

you opened your arms instinctively, and in that second, felix melted into you. his chest pressed against yours, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck, like he was seeking solace, a place to let go of everything he had been holding in for so long.

you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the tremble in his body. the weight of everything he had just revealed was still there, but in this moment, it was like you could take some of that burden off him, if only for a little while.

“i’m so glad i told you,” he murmured into your skin, his voice thick with emotion. you could feel the words vibrating through his chest, his breath warm against your neck.

you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the familiar scent of him. “i’m glad you did too,” you whispered back, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to keep things like that locked inside, felix. i’m here. always.”

for a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the quiet rustle of the breeze around you, the weight of the world seeming to shift just a little.

“i love you,” you whispered, the words so natural, so right, that you almost couldn’t believe they hadn’t been said sooner. you meant it, every syllable. you loved him—so much it was almost overwhelming. it was more than just the words; it was the depth of everything you felt for him, the way his vulnerability made your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

felix’s shoulders sagged, the last bit of tension leaving his body. “i love you too.”

day 8 - 11:00

the sun was high now, glinting off the rolling waves as they crashed lazily against the shore. the morning storm had long passed, leaving behind nothing but a crisp, salt-kissed breeze and a sky so blue like it was out of a movie.

you waded out of the water, breathless from laughing, your skin damp and glistening in the sunlight. felix was right beside you, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying in every direction.

“felix—stop,” you squealed, shielding your face with your arms, though you were already soaked.

he grinned, wicked and unrepentant, pushing his hair back from where it stuck to his forehead. “what? you’re already wet.”

you huffed, rolling your eyes, and without thinking, you shoved him—hard.

felix stumbled back a step. “oh?”

you barely had time to laugh before he was shoving you right back, his hands warm against your bare shoulders. you yelped, feet slipping slightly in the wet sand, but before you could retaliate, he was already laughing, eyes bright and boyish.

the two of you were back at the cove, water droplets clinging to your skin, the sun warming every inch of you as if trying to dry you off itself. the cove was as breathtaking as ever, tucked away from the rest of the beach like a secret only you and felix knew. the towering rock formations framed the shore, their rugged edges softened by patches of greenery that clung to the stone. the sand, fine and golden, still held the last bit of coolness from the morning, but with the way the sun hung high in the sky now, it wouldn't last much longer.

felix sighed as he plopped down onto the sand, bracing his arms behind him and tilting his face up to the sky. his skin was still damp, beads of water catching on his collarbones, trailing down his chest.

you watched him for a moment, the way the sun lit up the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his lips still stretched into an easy grin. he looked so at peace, so effortlessly golden in the afternoon light, like he belonged here—like he was part of the sun and the sea and everything warm.

then he turned his head, catching you staring. his smile softened, something playful but a little more thoughtful underneath it. without a word, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your thigh before settling there, warm and steady. his thumb traced absent circles over your skin, and it sent a tiny thrill up your spine.

“you gonna stand there all day?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was something else behind it, something quieter.

you smiled, sinking down onto your knees beside him, the sand soft beneath you. “maybe,” you murmured, tilting your head. “i like the view.”

felix let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, but there was a pinkish hue creeping up his neck. his fingers tightened slightly on your thigh, and when you leaned in just a little, he met you halfway.

and then he tilted his head down toward his lap. an invitation.

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

felix’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile curling at the edges. he tilted his head down again, more deliberate this time, widening his eyes.

you held his gaze for a second longer before a soft chuckle slipped past your lips. shaking your head, you lowered yourself onto your knees, the sand cool beneath them.

felix wasted no time. as soon as you settled against him, his arms slid around your waist, pulling you in close, his palms splayed over your bare skin. the heat of his touch sent a shiver up your spine, the contrast of the cool breeze against the warmth of his body making your skin prickle.

he dipped his head without hesitation, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like the salty air wasn’t enough. his lips found the spot just beneath your jaw, soft at first—just a lingering press of warmth. then, his mouth moved lower, kissing along the side of your throat, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

and then—his teeth. a light graze, barely there, but enough to send a sudden jolt through you.

you twitched, a surprised chuckle bubbling up before you could stop it. "felix," you laughed, squirming slightly in his hold.

he grinned against your skin, arms tightening around your waist as he pressed another kiss there, lips curving. "what?" he murmured, though he didn’t pull back.

"you know what," you accused, still laughing softly as he dragged his nose along your skin, slow and lazy, like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

felix hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, like he was exactly where he wanted to be. his hands traced slow, lazy circles against your sides, fingertips skimming just beneath the edge of your swimsuit, like he was testing the limits of how much he could touch before you stopped him.

but you didn’t.

"you smell good," he murmured, his lips still ghosting over your skin. "like salt and sunshine."

you huffed, but it came out breathy, your fingers curling against his shoulders. "you're so weird."

he grinned again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. but then—just when you were about to shove him for being so smug—he moved.

his hands slid up to cradle your face, and before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours. warm and firm, but unhurried, like he was savoring the feeling of you beneath him.

and he kissed like he meant it. like he’d been waiting forever.

your hand slid across his chest, fingers trailing over smooth, sun-warmed skin. he felt solid beneath your touch, every inch of him sculpted and familiar, like something you’d memorized once but were only now remembering. his abs tensed slightly under your fingertips, and a quiet, pleased hum left his throat as you explored the planes of his body, tracing the ridges of muscle like you had all the time in the world.

gosh, you had missed this. missed him.

the heat of him, the way he touched you like he didn’t want to let go, like he needed you closer. your body pressed against his, and he pulled you in tighter, chest rising and falling beneath your palm in time with his uneven breaths.

"you're driving me crazy," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, laced with something deeper.

a shiver ran through you, but you weren’t about to let him get the upper hand so easily. "then stop talking," you whispered, fingers sliding lower, nails grazing just above the waistband of his swim trunks.

felix inhaled sharply, his whole body going still. you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingertips, the slight hitch in his breath as your hand hovered just above the waistband of his swim trunks.

for a moment, he didn’t move. he just looked down at your hand—staring like he was trying to process what was happening, what it meant. then, slowly, his gaze lifted to yours.

your heart pounded. not just from the heat, not just from the way he felt under your touch, but from the weight of the moment pressing between you. this had always been something unspoken, something hanging in the air like a possibility neither of you ever dared to reach for—until now.

"do you—" your voice was quiet, careful, but steady.

felix swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. his fingers twitched against your skin, like he was holding himself back, thinking, deciding. and then, finally, his lips parted.

"yes."

it was barely a breath, but it was enough.

something in his face shifted—nervous, but sure. he let out a soft laugh, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening, and then he smiled. that smile—the one that always made your stomach flip, the one that was full of warmth, full of him.

before you could say anything, he leaned in, kissing you quickly, a little eager, a little shaky, like he just had to feel you against him again. his hands held your waist, warm and grounding, and you were already moving, already reaching for him—

then—

a noise.

a sharp rustling in the trees behind you.

felix froze. you did too, your fingers stilled, your breath caught in your throat. the sound wasn’t just the wind. it was something—or someone.

your eyes snapped to his, wide and questioning. he was already looking past you, his whole body on alert, jaw tight.

neither of you spoke. neither of you moved.

then, another rustle. closer this time.

your heart hammered. "felix…" you whispered.

he exhaled, lips pressing into a thin line. then, still holding onto you, he turned his head toward the trees, gaze sharp and searching.

the trees rustled again, the sound sharper this time—closer. your stomach twisted.

"what is that?" you whispered again, barely moving your lips.

his hand tightened on your waist, his body tense against yours. then, without hesitation, he whispered back, "hide."

your pulse jumped. he was already moving, already pulling you up with him, his grip firm but careful as he guided you toward the nearest cover—a large rock nestled against the edge of the cove, half-hidden by the curve of the arch.

you scrambled behind it together, the sand hot beneath your feet as you crouched low. felix's hand found yours in the dim shade of the rock, fingers lacing between yours. his grip was warm, steady, but you could feel the way his pulse thrummed just as fast as yours.

felix shifted slightly, just enough to peer around the edge of the rock. his jaw was tight, lips pressed together, eyes narrowed as they flicked toward the trees. he was watching. waiting.

and then—

another rustle. more deliberate this time. slow. like someone was taking careful steps through the undergrowth.

your fingers curled tighter around his. your breath hitched.

felix’s grip on your hand tightened as voices broke through the quiet.

“yeah, this whole area’s overgrown,” one of them said, his voice carrying through the trees. “too many plants blocking the view. we’ll need to clear some of it out.”

a second voice hummed in agreement. “shame, though. it’s beautiful back here. you don’t get many spots like this anymore.”

felix shot you a look, his brows lifting, and despite the pounding of your heart, you almost laughed. here you were, crouched behind a rock like fugitives, while these guys casually discussed landscaping.

but they weren’t leaving.

"let's have a look over here."

the words sent a sharp jolt down your spine. footsteps shifted—deliberate, moving toward you.

felix’s entire body went rigid. his grip on your hand became iron, his breath steady but sharp. you turned to him, eyes wide, but he wasn’t looking at you—he was looking around, scanning, calculating, his mind already racing ahead to what came next.

the space behind the rock suddenly felt too small. too exposed.

"we need to go," he whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the sound of the waves.

your stomach flipped. "how?"

his gaze flicked toward the water, then back to you.

no time.

felix exhaled sharply. then, without another word, he grabbed your wrist. “come here.”

you barely had time to react before he was moving, tugging you with him as he crept toward the water’s edge. he didn’t hesitate—just stepped in, sinking into the cool waves like it was second nature. the waves lapped at his legs as he pushed forward, the water swallowing him inch by inch until he was gliding effortlessly into its depths.

you followed, breath tight in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs. the moment you were deep enough, you let go of the earth beneath you, pushing off with a single kick, the ocean cradling your body as you drifted forward. the cool rush of the water swallowed the heat of your skin, the sound of your own pulse drowned beneath the rhythmic lull of the waves.

the sound of their voices faded behind you, muffled by the rush of the ocean in your ears. the cove stretched out ahead, and beyond it, the rocky cliffs curved around, hiding another small, empty stretch of shore.

however, there was no soft sand, no welcoming stretch of land. instead, a cluster of slick, uneven rocks jutted out from the base of the cliffs, their dark surfaces glistening under the afternoon sun. the tide rushed against them, filling the crevices with swirling foam before retreating again.

it was no beach. but it was something.

relief bubbled up in your chest, sharp and sudden, and before you could stop yourself, a breathless laugh slipped past your lips. you turned to felix, still swimming beside you, ready to joke about your great escape.

but something was wrong.

his face was tight, his jaw clenched, brows furrowed in a way that sent an instant jolt of unease through you. his strokes were still strong, still pushing him forward, but there was a stiffness to them, a strain in the way he moved.

your stomach dipped. “felix?”

his breath came out shakier than before. he hesitated, like he didn’t want to say it.

“i got stung.”

the words hit you like a wave, cold and sudden. your laughter died on your lips.

your face dropped. “what?”

felix winced, his movements faltering just slightly. “something in the water.” his voice was tight, but controlled, like he was trying not to make a big deal of it.

panic flared in your chest. without thinking, you surged toward him, cutting through the water with quick, urgent strokes.

“don’t,” he said quickly, his voice strained. “it might still be here.”

you ignored him, reaching for him anyway.

“y/n,” felix warned, but his voice wavered, the edges fraying with something dangerously close to pain.

you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.

the moment your hands found him, his body tensed beneath your touch, his muscles drawn tight like a bowstring. his skin was warm—too warm—beneath the cool embrace of the water, and as you gripped his arm, he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply through his nose.

your stomach twisted. “felix,” you breathed, scanning him in a rush, eyes darting over his chest, his arms, the expanse of his stomach just beneath the surface. “where?”

he shook his head slightly, jaw locked, his breath coming out in controlled, shallow pulls. “i don’t—” a sharp inhale cut him off.

without thinking, you moved, your hands ghosting over his side. the moment your fingers brushed just beneath his ribs, felix flinched—his entire body jerking at the contact.

“shit—” his hand shot out, gripping your wrist, his eyes squeezing shut even tighter, a pained hiss slipping past his teeth. “there. there.” another shudder ran through him, his head dipping forward.

panic surged in you like a wave. your mind raced, trying to remember anything—anything—you knew about marine stings. jellyfish? stingray? something else? you had no idea. you had no clue what the hell had just sunk its venom into your boyfriend’s skin, but you did know that every second spent floating here was another second wasted.

his muscles tensed beneath your touch as he moved, as if forcing himself to keep going, to push forward despite whatever fire was searing beneath his skin. he cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

the jagged rocks were only a few strokes away. the waves crashed against them in a steady rhythm, white foam licking the edges like a warning. you had to time it right—wait for the moment between swells and move.

you tightened your hold on felix, heart pounding, breath quick. “we’re almost there,” you murmured, trying to sound steady, even though your chest was tight with fear.

felix just nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, his body tense against yours. and then, with a deep breath, you surged forward, dragging him with you, toward the rocks, toward safety, toward whatever came next.

the shore was close now—just a little further. the waves grew gentler as the water shallowed, the ocean floor rising beneath your feet. you could almost touch it, almost pull both of you onto solid rocks.

felix’s fingers dug into your wrist, a sharp, almost desperate pressure. it hurt—his grip like iron, like he was holding on for dear life—but you didn’t say anything. if it was grounding him, if it was giving him even the smallest bit of relief, you could take it.

his breath came in sharp bursts, his jaw clenched so tight you were sure it ached. every now and then, he let out a shaky exhale, like he was trying to work through the pain, trying to convince himself it wasn’t as bad as it clearly was.

“almost there,” you murmured, voice low, steady. “just a little more.”

he gave a weak nod, but his grip on you only tightened.

the moment your fingers found solid rock, you clung to it, bracing yourself against the slick surface as the water tugged at your legs. the tide was relentless, threatening to pull you back in, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward.

“come on,” you urged, turning to felix.

his jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, but he didn’t hesitate. with a sharp inhale, he reached for the ledge, his arms trembling slightly as he hauled himself up beside you. he gritted out another curse as his side brushed against the stone, a fresh wave of pain stiffening his movements.

the second you were both out of the water, felix collapsed back onto the rock, exhaling shakily. his head tipped back against the uneven surface, his chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled breaths.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the ocean crashing against the rocks below, the water swirling hungrily around where you had just been. the fear in your chest still hadn’t fully settled, adrenaline buzzing through your limbs, but you forced yourself to focus.

felix let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face before resting it over his ribs. his brows furrowed, and his fingers hovered just above the spot where he’d been stung, like he was afraid to touch it.

you swallowed hard. “let me see.”

he hesitated, his jaw clenching as if debating whether to brush you off. but then he exhaled, his shoulders sinking just slightly. without a word, he moved his hand away.

your stomach flipped.

a long, angry welt stretched across his ribs, already inflamed, the skin around it tinged a deep, irritated red.

he huffed out a breath—something close to a laugh, but edged with pain. “you know… i heard pee helps with this.”

you groaned, rolling your eyes as you helped lower him onto the dry sand. “felix, i swear—”

“i’m just saying,” he muttered, wincing as he shifted. “if you really care about me…”

you shot him a look. “yeah, well, if you really cared about me, you wouldn’t make me consider peeing on you, you freak.”

that actually got a laugh out of him, even if it was short-lived. he exhaled through his nose, his head tipping back slightly. the skin was already swelling, the edges a blotchy pink.

your stomach twisted. “that looks like a jellyfish sting,” you murmured.

felix peeked down at it, nose scrunching. “yeah. feels like one too.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you need something on that before it gets worse.”

he smirked again, though it was weaker this time. “not pee?”

you swatted his arm, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips. "no, you idiot. get up."

felix groaned dramatically but obeyed, pushing himself up onto his feet with a wince. “yes, ma’am,” he muttered, shaking his head as if this was all your problem to deal with. you rolled your eyes and reached for his arm to steady him, but he shot you a lopsided grin. “good thing i have an expert with me,” he said, his voice teasing despite the pain laced through it. “since, you know… you’ve had experience getting bitten by snakes.”

you blinked at him. “you mean, when i was six?”

he shrugged, barely suppressing a smirk. “still counts.”

you gawked at him for a second before groaning, dragging a hand down your face. “that was forever ago.”

“yeah, but you lived to tell the tale.” he gestured vaguely. “so i trust your survival skills.”

you shot him a flat look. “felix, i cried so hard i passed out.”

felix sighed, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the pain. “well, let’s hope i don’t,” he muttered, stepping toward the water.

he exhaled through his nose, glancing down at the angry red welt on his ribs. without another word, he crouched by the water, scooping some up in his hands and splashing it over the sting.

the reaction was immediate. his body tensed, shoulders going stiff as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. he turned his head away from you, like if he didn’t meet your eyes, he could somehow downplay just how much it hurt.

you noticed. the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers flexed slightly in the sand, like he was trying so hard not to let it show. your eyebrows furrowed, a pang of sympathy tugging at your chest.

felix inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders before pushing himself to his feet. “alright,” he said, shaking his hands free of water, forcing a smile. “i treat it properly when we get home.”

you let out a quiet sigh, watching him for a second. before he could step away, you reached up, fingers brushing through the damp strands of his hair. felix blinked, caught off guard, but he didn’t move—just let you smooth his hair back, let you touch him with that soft kind of affection that neither of you really put into words.

and then, still holding his gaze, you brought his head down, just enough to press a gentle kiss against his forehead.

felix stilled.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything, just hovered there, his breath fanning against your cheek. then, his lips curved into something small, something softer than his usual teasing smirk.

“i should get injured more often,”

day 8 - 13:00

the walk back to the beach house had been longer than expected, weaving through uneven terrain and jagged rocks, but felix had been a trooper. he never once complained, just pressed on with that quiet determination of his, even when the occasional wince betrayed the sting in his skin. you had kept an eye on him the whole way, noting every subtle twitch, every sharp inhale he tried to mask.

once inside, you wasted no time grabbing the first-aid kit. the both of you settled in the bathroom, the air warm and still, the only sounds being the soft rustle of bandages and the occasional hiss of breath when you worked out the small, stubborn stings that had lodged in his skin.

now, felix was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over his stomach, the other resting against the back of the couch. his shirt was slightly lifted, revealing the fresh bandages across his ribs—proof of the careful tending you'd just finished.

you walked over to him, the small bottle of advil in your hand rattling softly. felix barely moved at first, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, but when he caught sight of you, a slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips.

“thanks, baby,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough from fatigue. he reached up, taking the bottle from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second before he unscrewed the cap. he grabbed the glass of water you’d already set nearby and popped a couple of pills into his mouth, swallowing them down in one motion.

you watched him for a moment, the way his throat bobbed, the way his shoulders finally seemed to lose some of their earlier tension. when he was done, he let out a slow exhale and—without hesitation—leaned into you, his head settling against your shoulder like it was second nature.

you let out a quiet breath, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over the sleeve of his shirt. felix was warm against you, solid, but you couldn’t shake the worry still curling in your chest. you glanced down, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he settled deeper into your touch.

you hesitated, voice softer now. “i wish i could take your pain away.”

felix hummed, the sound low and lazy, before shifting just enough to look at you properly.

“you could kiss me better,” he said simply, tilting his head, offering up his injured side like some kind of invitation.

a soft laugh escaped you, despite yourself, despite the lingering worry in your chest. typical. he could be bruised and aching, and he’d still find a way to make you smile.

shaking your head with a small smile, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just above the bandage on his ribs. your lips barely brushed his skin, gentle and careful. felix let out a slow exhale, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment before he shifted, tilting his face toward yours.

“i love you,” he murmured, voice quiet but certain.

“i love you too,” you whispered back, your fingers instinctively smoothing over his arm, tracing slow circles against his skin.

felix smiled then, small and easy, before his eyes flicked open again, mischief creeping in at the edges. “do you remember what we were doing before those landscapers interrupted us?”

your breath hitched—just slightly. a slow, creeping heat worked its way up your neck, and you swallowed, hard.

your throat went dry. “of course,” you admitted, voice a little quieter now. you did remember—very clearly.

felix let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against your leg, like he was thinking about reaching for you but wasn’t sure if he should. “then,” he murmured, “we shouldn’t leave that hanging. should we?”

your pulse stuttered.

his eyes searched yours, open and wanting, his fingers finally curling against your skin like he needed the contact, like he needed you.

“felix,” you murmured, hesitating. “you’re injured.”

he swallowed, his hand tightening just slightly. “i know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “but this could help me take my mind off it.”

your heart did an embarrassing little flip, your resolve slipping faster than you’d like to admit. and judging by the way felix was looking at you—like he knew exactly what he was doing—you had a feeling he wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon.your fingers tightened slightly where they rested against his arm. “you’re crazy,” you murmured, but the warmth in your voice betrayed you.

felix only grinned, shifting just enough to nudge his knee against yours. “am i?”

you exhaled slowly, willing your pulse to stay steady, even as he tilted his head, watching you with those half-lidded, unreadable eyes. he wasn’t in any hurry. he had all the time in the world, and he knew you’d get there eventually.

still, you hesitated, fingers trailing absentmindedly along the band of his sweatpants, playing with the fabric. “what is it that you want, then?”

felix’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching where they rested against your leg before sliding just a little higher—not pushing, not demanding, just searching for more. his grip tightened, like he needed something to hold onto. “something slow.”

your breath caught.

felix’s lips twitched, like he’d noticed. “something that won’t, you know—” he gestured vaguely toward his bandaged ribs. “break me in half.”

you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “that’s not reassuring.”

felix shifted then, his touch drifting, his fingers brushing against your hip in a way that sent heat licking up your spine. his voice was lower when he spoke again, quieter, like it was something just for you.

“i just want to feel you,” he murmured.

your pulse jumped.

felix’s fingers flexed, just slightly, against your hip. “i don’t need much,” he said, and there was something slow, lazy, and entirely deliberate in the way his voice curled around the words. “just a little…” his knee nudged against yours again. “pressure.”

a warmth spread through your chest—hot, insistent, impossible to ignore.

felix leaned in, his nose brushing against your jaw, his lips just barely grazing your skin as he murmured, “just like the other morning. is that okay?”

it was ridiculous, really, how easily he unraveled you. how one look, one shift of his fingers against your skin, could turn your thoughts to static.

because you wanted him. you wanted what you had that morning two days ago, the way he had kissed you, touched you—unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you. you remembered how he looked at you afterward, like you were something worth worshipping, like he had never wanted anything more.

and now? now you knew he loved you. now, that pull toward him was even deeper, twisting into something undeniable, something you didn’t even want to fight.

your fingers curled slightly against his arm, your body already leaning into his without a second thought. the way he was looking at you, lazy and knowing, sent another wave of heat down your spine. you wanted him, wanted to close the space between you, to press against him and get lost in the feeling of him.

but he was injured.

you forced yourself to breathe, to ground yourself in the rise and fall of his chest against your side. his body was warm, solid, but there was still a soreness lingering in the way he moved, a tension in his muscles that told you he wasn’t fully okay yet. and as much as you wanted him, as much as you ached for the weight of him over you, you weren’t about to let him push himself just to prove a point.

but you had an idea.

your fingers traced light patterns over his arm before drifting lower, a slow, intentional path. felix’s breath hitched, just slightly, and you felt the subtle shift in his body—his muscles tensing, then relaxing under your touch.

“while you relax,” you murmured, voice soft but certain. “i’ll take care of it.”

your fingers traced along his forearm, featherlight, teasing, just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch. he was watching you, his gaze dark and lidded, but there was a flicker of surprise when you slid your hand further down, fingertips brushing just above the waistband of his sweatpants. his breath stilled.

“that’s not what i meant,” felix murmured, voice thick, but there was no protest in it. just curiosity, a slow-building heat.

you hummed, tilting your head slightly as your hand skimmed lower, playing with the edge of the fabric, slipping just beneath—just enough to feel the heat of his skin. "i know," you admitted, voice soft but certain. "but this way, you won’t have to do anything. you can just relax.”

felix’s lips parted slightly, his breath coming just a little faster now. his grip on your thigh flexed, then released, like he was fighting the urge to pull you closer. he swallowed hard, his voice quieter when he finally spoke again. “are you sure?”

your pulse jumped, but you didn’t hesitate. your hand pressed more firmly against him, the heat of him unmistakable even through the fabric of his sweatpants. “yes, felix.”

felix exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin before he finally let himself relax, sinking back against the pillows with a slow, measured breath. his eyes stayed locked onto yours, watching you, waiting. trusting.

and that—god, that—was what made the heat in your stomach coil tighter. because felix could be so damn cocky, so effortlessly teasing, always knowing exactly what to say to make you weak. but right now, with you, he wasn’t playing a game. he was just looking at you like he wanted you, like he needed you, like he’d let you do whatever you wanted to him because he knew you wanted this just as much as he did.

your fingers traced over him again, slow, deliberate, pressing just a little more firmly this time. felix let out a quiet breath, his body tensing for just a second before melting into the sensation. his head tipped back against the pillow, exposing the long line of his throat, and something about that—about the way he gave in so easily, trusting you, wanting you—made your own breath catch.

your grip tightened just slightly, the slow, deliberate drag of your touch making felix’s breath hitch, his entire body tensing beneath your hands. you felt it—the way his muscles tightened, his fingers flexing against your thigh, his breath stuttering like he was holding himself back from something.

“relax, felix,” you murmured, voice softer now, coaxing, a quiet command wrapped in warmth.

a strangled sort of laugh left him, breathless and wrecked, his head tipping forward so his forehead nearly brushed yours. his eyes were dark, hazy with something he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. “i can’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

something about the way he said it—like he was unraveling beneath your touch and there was nothing he could do to stop it—sent a fresh wave of heat through you, made your own breath come a little quicker.

felix’s hand curled against your thigh, gripping, grounding himself. “you don’t—” he exhaled sharply, his lips parting, like he was trying to string together a thought but kept losing it. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

you swallowed, your pulse skipping, because you felt it. felt the way he was barely holding himself together, felt the way his body reacted to every little touch. his breath was hot, uneven, his body taut beneath your touch, his entire being folding under the weight of whatever this was—whatever you were doing to him.

and then, in a breathless, wrecked whisper, he said it.

“i fuckin’ love you.”

your fingers tightened instinctively, the weight of his words sinking into you as heat curled low in your stomach. you felt him twitch under your palm, his body jerking slightly at the firm press of your hand, and gosh, the sound that spilled from his lips—a choked-off breath, a quiet groan, barely restrained—made you want to push him further, drag more of those noises out of him.

felix’s breath stuttered, his hips shifting just slightly, like he was trying to stay still, like he was trying not to fuck into your hand. but then you squeezed—slow, deliberate, feeling the solid heat of him through the fabric—and his entire body tensed. his fingers dug into your thigh, his grip tightening like he was holding onto you for dear life, and then he exhaled, sharp and shaky, his head tilting back against the couch.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked, like you had just knocked the air out of his lungs.

you stroked again, this time firmer, dragging your palm over him in a slow, deliberate motion, feeling every inch of him, the way he throbbed under your touch, the way his body responded instantly. the sweatpants did little to dull the sensation—he was hot and hard beneath the thin fabric, and when you squeezed again, when your fingers traced the outline of him, pressing just enough to feel him twitch against your palm, he groaned, low and needy.

his jaw went slack, lips parted, breath uneven, and you could see it—how bad he wanted this, how much he needed it.

you didn’t stop. you kept working him, your hand steady, your strokes unhurried but firm, dragging up from the base with just the right amount of pressure, and he fucking melted. his breath came quicker, his shoulders tightening, and then he let out a low, shaky curse, his head tilting back against the couch.

his voice was hoarse when he spoke again, barely held together. “i’m not gonna last if you—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his stomach tensing beneath your touch.

you kept your grip steady, your fingers tightening just enough to make his breath hitch. the way his body responded to every stroke, every slow, deliberate squeeze, sent a hot thrill through you. his hips twitched, his jaw went slack, and the muscles in his stomach tightened with every movement of your hand.

felix sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers twitching where they gripped your thigh. he was so warm, so solid beneath your touch, and fuck, the way he was falling apart for you made your pulse stutter, made your own breath come a little quicker. his head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat, and god, he looked wrecked—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation.

you let out a soft hum, tilting your head as your fingers slowed, teasing now, just enough to make him whimper—fucking whimper—before you pulled back slightly. his hips lifted instinctively, chasing your touch, and the frustration in his expression sent another wave of heat down your spine.

his breath came faster now, rough and uneven, and his grip on your thigh tightened as his eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed. he blinked up at you, his brows drawn, like he couldn’t understand why you had stopped.

a slow smirk curled at your lips. “felix,” you murmured, letting your hand rest just over him, barely applying pressure now. his body tensed beneath you, his thighs twitching, like he was fighting the urge to move, to beg. “do you want me to really touch you?”

his breath hitched, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a second, he didn’t answer—just swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his fingers flexing against your leg.

then, slowly, he nodded. “god yes.”

his voice was low, wrecked, raw with need. it sent a shiver through you, made your own body thrum with anticipation. but you didn’t move just yet. you watched him, drinking in the way he looked up at you—open, wanting, completely at your mercy.

“do you want me to touch you properly, felix?”

the muscles in his stomach clenched, his grip on your thigh tightening as if that was the only thing keeping him grounded. his jaw worked, lips parting like he wanted to speak, but all that came out was a shaky exhale. and then, finally, his voice—wrecked, breathless, desperate.

“yes, y/n. please.”

something about the way he said your name—soft, needy, like a prayer and a plea all at once—made heat coil low in your stomach. your smirk deepened, slow and wicked, and you dragged your fingers down to the waistband of his sweats, teasing the fabric between your fingertips. his hips twitched, his breath catching as anticipation crackled between you like static.

you took your time, hooking your fingers into the band, dragging it down—slow, excruciatingly slow—watching the way his cock strained against the thin cotton of his boxers. your mouth went dry, your breath hitching slightly despite yourself, because fuck—he was big.

the shape of him was thick, the fabric barely containing the way he twitched, aching for relief. you could see the way he pulsed against it, the way a damp spot had already formed at the tip, his arousal leaking through. felix let out a choked noise when you traced a single teasing finger along the outline of him, dragging from the base to the tip, feeling the heat of him through the barrier of dark fabric. his hips bucked slightly into your touch, and his hands flexed, like he was fighting the urge to grab you, to pull you closer.

“god,” you murmured, voice hushed, almost to yourself. “you’re…” you trailed off, shaking your head slightly, biting your lip as you finally—finally—slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down.

his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed a deep, needy red, the head slick with precum. it twitched under your gaze, the length of him standing proud, veined, leaking, like he’d been aching for this for so, so long. a shiver ran through you, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.

felix sucked in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “fuck,” he groaned, his voice a wrecked rasp. “fuck, y/n…”

you swallowed, eyes fixed on the way his cock throbbed in the cool air, aching for your touch. your fingers ghosted over the thick length, barely brushing, and he jolted, a low, helpless sound escaping him.

you wrapped your fingers around him, the heat of him burning against your palm, solid and thick, so much more than you had imagined. he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his thighs twitching under your touch.

you gave a slow, experimental stroke, dragging your hand from the base to the tip, feeling the way he pulsed under your palm, the way he leaked against your fingers. felix let out a shaky moan, his hips jerking slightly, like he couldn’t help it.

your grip tightened just slightly as you dragged your hand down again, taking your time, feeling the weight of him, the smooth, velvety skin stretched over iron-hard arousal. he was perfect—thick enough that your fingers didn’t quite close around him, the veins along his shaft pulsing as you traced them with a featherlight touch. his cock twitched in your grip, leaking more, smearing slick warmth over your fingers.

you had never seen anything like this before. had never touched anyone like this before. and yet, here you were, wrapped around your boyfriend’s cock, watching it throb in your grip, slick with his need.

a part of you couldn’t believe this was happening. another part of you never wanted to stop.

his gaze flicked down to where your fingers were wrapped around him, where his cock throbbed against your palm, slick with precum. “so this is what people do when they have no parents around for the week, huh?”

your stomach clenched. the weight of his words, the reality of the situation, sent a fresh wave of arousal rolling through you. his parents were gone. it was just the two of you, no one to walk in, no one to hear, no one to stop this from going further.

and everyone you knew—everyone you had ever talked to about your relationship—had assumed it was the first thing you two would do this week.

you swallowed hard, your strokes slowing as the thought settled in your mind.

your grip tightened, slick fingers gliding faster over his throbbing cock, and felix shuddered beneath you, a wrecked, desperate sound spilling from his lips. his hips jerked up into your touch, chasing the friction, chasing you. his breath came in sharp gasps, chest rising and falling unevenly, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab onto you or let himself unravel.

“fuck,” he panted, voice breaking, raw with need. “fuck, i’m—”

you cut him off by leaning in, pressing your mouth to his, swallowing the rest of his words. he moaned into the kiss, high and breathless, the sound vibrating against your lips as his whole body trembled under you. his cock throbbed in your hand, leaking slick, twitching with every firm stroke. he tried to hold himself back, tried to keep from losing it too soon, but he was falling apart, and he knew it.

“i’m not—shit—i’m not gonna last,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear how close he was. “i—fuck, fuck—”

he was babbling, barely coherent, his body tight with tension, his abs flexing with every shaky breath. you watched his face, his brows furrowed, his lips parted, his whole expression one of pure, unfiltered pleasure.

and it scared you. just for a second.

felix noticed. even through the haze of his impending orgasm, he noticed the hesitation in your touch, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. his lashes fluttered as he cracked his eyes open, pupils blown wide and dark with lust, but there was something softer there too—something grounding.

he exhaled shakily, then covered your hand with his, guiding you. his fingers laced with yours, showing you the rhythm, the grip, the pace he needed. his breath stuttered, hips stuttering up into your joined hands, and he groaned again, deep and wrecked.

“just like that,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “just—yeah, fuck, just like that—”

you leaned in, lips brushing against the curve of his neck, breathing him in—warm skin, sweat, the faintest trace of cologne. his pulse pounded beneath your mouth, a frantic, needy rhythm that matched the way his hips jerked under your joined hands.

felix let out a groan, deep and broken, his fingers tightening over yours as if to anchor himself. his body trembled, every muscle going taut, his breath hitching on a sharp inhale. you pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his throat, feeling the vibrations of his next moan as it tore from his lips.

"fuck—" his voice cracked, desperate, wrecked. his cock throbbed in your grip, twitching violently.

before you knew it, thick, hot ropes of white spilled onto his stomach, streaking his skin, each pulse met with a shuddering gasp. his whole body tensing, fingers digging into yours as if he couldn’t handle the intensity alone. you kept stroking him, slower now, working him through it, feeling every pulse, every aftershock.

felix let out a strangled whimper, hips twitching, oversensitive but unwilling to let go of your hand just yet. his head fell back against the couch, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp with sweat. his lashes fluttered, his lips parted, completely undone beneath you.

felix let out a breathy laugh, his body still twitching with the aftershocks, and murmured, "my goodness…" his voice was hoarse and it made something warm curl low in your stomach.

you kissed him before he could say anything else, soft and slow, tasting his lingering gasps on your tongue. he melted into it, groaning lightly as he kissed you back, his lips parting under yours, lazy and pliant, like he was still coming down from the high.

when you finally pulled away, you brushed your nose against his and murmured, "you feel better?"

he blinked, dazed, then dropped his gaze down to his stomach, where his release streaked his skin, before shifting slightly, wincing. his eyes flickered toward his side, the sting of his injury grounding him again. you followed his gaze, fingers ghosting over the spot instinctively.

“honestly, i forgot about it.” he grinned sheepishly. his thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and his voice was softer this time, lower. "thank you, baby."

day 8 - 15:00

the door to the beach house clicked shut behind you, the sound oddly final as you both stepped forward onto the road. something made you turn back, eyes trailing over the familiar windows, the sand-dusted porch, the memories woven into every inch of the place.

“you’re gonna miss this beautiful home,” you murmured, taking it all in. “and all the stuff that happened in it… and behind it.”

felix glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

just then, a seagull soared overhead, its wings cutting through the blue, like it had just launched from the rooftop. your gaze followed it before a thought struck you, your eyes flicking back to felix.

“let’s go see it?” you asked, tilting your head toward the house.

felix nodded. “yeah, let’s go.”

you both made your way around the back, where the slanted roof was just within reach. the nest had been there for days, nestled in a spot just out of sight from the ground. felix stopped beneath it and looked at you with an all-too-familiar glint in his eyes.

“hop on,” he said, crouching slightly.

you hesitated, eyeing his injured side. “felix—”

“i got it,” he cut in, already holding his hands out to steady you.

you sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. carefully, you placed your hands on his shoulders before swinging a leg over, trying not to think too hard about the fact that his grip on your waist was firm, steady. he lifted you with ease, and as you straightened, your head finally peeked over the edge of the roof.

and there it was—the nest, barely held together by twigs and bits of seaweed, cradling one tiny, wrinkled, pink bird. it was ugly in the most endearing way, its barely-there fuzz shifting as it moved.

you gasped, a soft coo escaping your lips.

“what is it?” felix asked from below, trying to look up without tipping you over.

still balancing on his shoulders, you fumbled in your pocket for the small digital camera you’d been carrying around. you lifted it, fingers quick as you framed the moment, the lens capturing the fragile little thing in all its awkward glory before clicking the shutter.

you brought the camera down, grinning as you glanced at the tiny screen. felix craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse.

“oh my gosh,” he blurted, eyes wide as he finally saw the picture. “it looks so ill.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “i think that’s just how they’re supposed to look.” you glanced back at the nest, then at him, still giggling. “not everyone’s born cute, you know.”

felix made a face, amused. “that’s… reassuring.”

still balanced on his shoulders, you snapped a few more photos from different angles, capturing the little bird’s ugly charm. felix stayed steady beneath you, his hands secure at your shins, making sure you didn’t wobble too much.

“okay,” you finally said, slipping the camera back into your pocket. “i think i got enough.”

felix hummed. “alright, down you go.”

slowly, his hands slid to your waist, fingers curling gently as he helped guide you down. he lowered you with ease, making sure your feet were firmly on the ground before letting go.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

you nodded, smiling up at him. “yeah. you’re a very reliable ladder.”

felix grinned, scrunching his nose. “anytime.”

as you stepped away from the house, the moment still lingered between you, like the warmth of the sun clinging to your skin. felix walked beside you, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second before he pulled away, reaching for your suitcase.

you sighed, reaching for the handle. “you’re hurt. give it to me.”

he held it tighter, grinning like he wasn’t wincing slightly. “this is nothing. i got it.”

“no, you don’t.” you stopped walking, crossing your arms.

felix huffed, but when he saw the dead-serious look on your face, he relented, letting you take the handle from him. “you’re so stubborn,” he mumbled.

“says you,” you shot back, adjusting your grip on the luggage.

the bus stop was just ahead, the blue sign swaying slightly with the breeze. you pulled your bag over your shoulder, the weight of it grounding you. felix glanced at you, then back ahead, kicking a stray rock with the toe of his shoe.

“so, how long are you alone for?” you asked.

“my parents come back tomorrow morning,” he said, stretching his arms above his head. “we’ll be here for two days after that, and then i’m heading back to sydney.”

you nodded, lips pressing together.

felix exhaled softly. “i’m gonna miss you.”

you blinked at him, tilting your head. “felix, it’s only a couple days.”

“still,” he said, bumping your arm with his. “i mean, i had so much fun.”

you smiled, nudging him back. “me too.”

and you really, really meant it.

the two of you kept walking, the bus stop coming into view at the end of the street. the air between you felt light, but there was still something lingering—like neither of you really wanted this walk to end just yet.

felix glanced over at you, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “so,” he started, swinging your suitcase slightly as he rolled it along. “what was really your favorite part of the trip?”

you let out a small chuckle, remembering the last time he’d asked you that. things had been different then—tense, uncertain, like you were both walking on eggshells around each other. now, it felt easy. natural.

still, you decided to mess with him. you tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think. “mmm… definitely bleeding in the middle of the ocean.”

felix let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back. “oh my god,” he wheezed. “that was horrifying.”

you grinned, shrugging. “hey, at least it was eventful.”

“i swear i thought you were about to be shark food,” he said, shaking his head.

“oh, i loved that night on the yacht when i started drinking,” you said suddenly, a teasing lilt in your voice.

felix groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face. “oh gosh, i’m a terrible influence. what am i doing to you?”

you laughed, bumping his arm. “relax.”

“no, seriously.” he shook his head, feigning horror. “your parents leave you with me for one week, and when you come back, they find out their daughter’s boyfriend let her drink?”

you raised an eyebrow. “well, technically, you weren’t even there when i started drinking.”

felix threw his hands up. “still!”

you giggled, watching the way he genuinely looked like he was rethinking every life choice. “felix, i wouldn’t worry about it.”

he gave you a side-eye, lips twitching. “mmm… i feel like you just saying that isn’t super reassuring.”

you grinned, shrugging. “guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

felix sighed, shaking his head like he was suffering. “great. now i have that on my conscience forever.”

“oh, please,” you teased. “we've done way worse.”

he gasped. “like what?”

you smirked. “i’m keeping a list.”

felix groaned again, but he was smiling because he knew what this was about.

by the time you reached the bus stop, the bus was already there, idling at the curb with its doors open, passengers filing in one by one. you hadn’t realized how much time you’d spent by the bird’s nest, how easily you’d gotten caught up in just being with felix. now, standing in line with him beside you, it was sinking in—this was goodbye, even if just for a little while.

you looked up at him, offering a small smile. “i'll see back in sydney?”

he nodded, but there was something reluctant about it, like it wasn’t really the distance that was bothering him. “and also back to school,” he muttered, face scrunching in dismay.

you chuckled, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “the real tragedy.”

felix huffed a soft laugh, but it faded quickly as he looked at you, his expression softening again. his fingers brushed against yours, like he wanted to hold onto you but wasn’t sure if he should. you took the decision out of his hands, shifting closer, voice dropping to something more sincere.

“i love you, felix,” you murmured. “thank you for letting me stay here.”

felix blinked, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something, but he just nodded instead. his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and then, before you could react, his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest.

you melted into him instantly, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the way his heartbeat thudded against yours. he held you so tightly, like if he just held on long enough, maybe time would slow down, maybe this moment wouldn’t have to end so soon.

his breathing was shaky, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly, and it didn’t take much to realize he was holding back tears. felix had always been soft like that, felt things so deeply.

you pretended not to notice, just holding him closer, running a soothing hand along his back.

“i love you too,” he whispered, the words barely there, but you felt them more than anything.

and then, before you could even process it, he pulled back just enough to press a quick, fleeting kiss to your lips—warm and desperate, full of everything he wasn’t saying. it was over almost as soon as it started, but the feeling lingered, the taste of salt and sunlight and felix still on your lips as he pulled away.

you were at the front of the line now. the driver glanced at you expectantly, but you barely noticed, too caught in the way felix was still holding your hand, his grip firm but unwilling.

“be safe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

you nodded, squeezing his fingers one last time before slowly pulling away. he let go like he didn’t want to, his hand lingering in the air for a second before he dropped it to his side.

you took a step forward onto the bus, glancing back at him one last time. he was still standing there, watching you with those soft, stormy eyes, lips pressed together like he was still trying not to let everything spill over.

you smiled gently. he smiled back.

inside the bus, you found a seat near the window, tucking your bag beside you as you settled in. the hum of the bus, the low murmur of other passengers, the faint smell of worn leather seats—it all felt strangely distant, like white noise in the background of something bigger, something heavier pressing against your chest.

the ride was only two hours.

it would go by fast if you just let yourself sleep.

with a soft sigh, you leaned your head against the window, watching as felix took a small step back from the curb. he was still there, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped, staring at the bus like he could still see you through the tinted glass. for a second, you almost thought he could.

the ride was only two hours.

it would go by fast if you just let yourself sleep.

you had spent the last few minutes pretending it wasn’t that bad, pretending it didn’t hurt to leave. you told yourself it was only two days. that you’d see felix again soon, that sydney wasn’t that far, that it wasn’t a big deal.

but now, as the bus gave a slight lurch forward and the distance between you stretched just a little more, something in your chest twisted.

you swallowed thickly, blinking up at the ceiling to keep it at bay, but a single tear slipped down the outer corner of your eye, trailing along your temple before disappearing into your hair. you shut your eyes tightly, inhaling slow and deep, like that might help push the ache away.

it wasn’t just about felix.

sure, not seeing him, not being with him for even a few days felt like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. but it was more than that.

you were heading straight back to the unknown.

school. the pressure. the expectations. the scary parts of it all that made your stomach knot up when you thought too hard about them.

the bus picked up speed, the scenery shifting, the ocean slipping out of view, and you curled in on yourself just a little, hugging your arms as you pressed your forehead against the cool window.

and you were gonna miss this place.

this place—this stretch of coastline, the beautiful home, the hammock beneath the shade of the trees—had become something special, because of him. it felt right to leave those words here, like they belonged in the air around you, woven into the sunlight and the sea breeze. love was in the air on the east coast.

and you had known that by now. you had felt it in the way people greeted each other in passing, always with a smile or a friendly wave. everyone seemed to know everyone else, as if the whole town was one big, extended family. it wasn’t just a place—it was a community, woven together by familiarity and kindness, where laughter drifted from front porches and children ran barefoot through the sand.

everywhere you looked, there was beauty—not just in the scenery but in the way life unfolded here, slow and steady, like the tides. the mornings brought soft fog rolling in over the water, afternoons sparkled under a brilliant sun, and evenings painted the horizon in shades of amber and violet.

felix had truly grown up in this world. not in sydney, with its bustling streets and endless noise, but here, in this quiet coastal haven. this was his home, not just because he lived here, but because it had shaped him. you could feel it in the way he moved, in the way he spoke about the sea and the sky, as though they weren’t just elements of nature but old friends. he carried the calm of the ocean within him, the steadiness of the earth beneath his feet, and the warmth of the sun in the way he smiled. he was like this place: quiet yet full of life, unassuming yet unforgettable.

this place had done something to you too. it changed the way you saw things, made you more present, more aware of life’s simplest joys. and as the horizon blurred in the distance, fading behind you, a bittersweet ache settled deep in your chest. you didn’t just love felix. you loved this world he had invited you into. it was his, and it had become a part of you.

you realized, as the wind carried the faint scent of salt and pine, that you were leaving more than just a place. you were leaving a feeling, a way of being, a piece of yourself you would carry forever. and you knew that even though you were moving forward, a part of you would always be here—where the ocean kissed the shore, where life moved slow and steady, where you first learned what it truly meant to love.

this summer would stay with you, etched into your soul like sunlight on water. the sights, the sounds, the way the air had felt heavy with promise—it would all come back to you in moments when you least expected it. and whenever you closed your eyes, you’d see it again: the endless stretch of beach, the way felix smiled at you beneath the dappled light, and the love that had taken root in your heart without you even realizing it.

you sighed, shifting in your seat as the road stretched endlessly ahead. the weight in your chest hadn’t lightened, but you forced yourself to breathe through it, to let the steady hum of the bus lull you into something close to peace.

then, almost instinctively, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone.

it had barely crossed your mind all week—not because you didn’t have it, but because you didn’t need it. there had been no urge to scroll mindlessly, no need to check for updates or messages, no impulse to fill the quiet with artificial noise. you had been there, completely and wholly, connected to everything around you—the ocean, the trees, the laughter, him.

but now, with nothing but miles of road ahead and the place you loved shrinking behind you, you unlocked the screen, feeling the strange disconnect settle in again.

then your phone vibrated.

your heart skipped a beat at the name flashing across the screen.

felix.

you barely hesitated before swiping to answer, bringing the phone up to your ear.

“hi, felix,” you murmured, a small smile already tugging at your lips.

“hi, y/n,” he sounded the same as he always did—gentle, warm, like summer.

you curled up against the window, eyes drifting over the trees blurring past. “miss me already?”

“shut up.”

this summer wasn’t just a season. it was a beginning. and you will always remember this summer.

88 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 2 months ago

Text

guys i cant believe rts is almost over. i enjoyed writing it so much idk what i'm gonna do after this last chapter 😿😿

#remember this summer #felix fic

5 notes · View notes

pixiefelixie · 3 months ago

Text

𓆝..°°𓈒 ⋆ (필릭스) : REMEMBER THIS SUMMER "SATURDAY"

pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader, series warnings: felix + reader are intended to be 17-18, established relationship, fluff, suggestive themes!!, an erection happens but nothing more, making out important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior, especially among minors, that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

series masterlist

previous / next (let me know if you would like to be added to the series taglist!)

chapter under the cut! ~14k words

day 7 - 9:00

felix was wrecked.

he woke up this morning just to see that your toothbrush had been removed from the holder—the one that had sat right beside his for the past week, like it belonged there. like you belonged there. but now, the empty space mocked him, stark and glaring.

everything was a reminder that you were leaving. your suitcase, now zipped up and sitting neatly by your door, almost ready to go. the way you had returned the borrowed hoodie he had given you on the first night, folded too perfectly, as if trying to erase the fact that you had ever worn it.

the weight in felix’s chest hadn’t lifted since the moment he woke up—it only grew heavier with every little thing that reminded him you were leaving. it was stupid, maybe. you weren’t gone yet. you were still here, still breathing the same air as him, still close enough that he could reach out and touch you. but what did that matter when you were already slipping away?

the ceramic cup felt cold in your hands as you rinsed away the last traces of coffee, watching the water swirl down the drain. you took your time, drying it off carefully before placing it back in the cupboard—exactly where it belonged, exactly where felix would expect to find it tomorrow. the thought made your chest tighten. tomorrow. you wouldn’t be here tomorrow.

you exhaled slowly, pressing your palm against the counter to steady yourself. you’d spent the morning moving quietly, tucking things away, making sure you left no mess behind.

your eyes drifted to the window. beyond the glass, the ocean stretched endlessly, its surface shimmering under the late morning sun. the tide had pulled back, exposing damp sand and scattered shells. you knew exactly where felix was, even if you couldn’t see him. the wooden steps leading down to the beach blocked your view, but you could picture him there—sitting alone by the water, head tilted toward the waves.

you sighed.

for a moment, you let yourself hesitate, fingers gripping the edge of the sink. a part of you wanted to stay inside, let the minutes slip away until it was too late to talk, too late to say anything at all. maybe it would be easier if you just left. if you let this ending remain unspoken, unfinished. but that wasn’t fair—to you, to him.

so you forced yourself to move.

the screen door creaked softly as you stepped outside, the warm breeze brushing against your skin. the wooden steps felt solid beneath your feet, each one carrying you closer to the inevitable.

felix didn’t turn when you reached the bottom. he just stood there, watching the waves roll in and out, his shoulders tense.

you swallowed the lump in your throat and took a step forward.

“felix,” you said, barely above a whisper.

he didn’t move at first, but you saw the way his back stiffened, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. and when he finally turned to look at you, his eyes were already filled with something you couldn’t bear to name.

"hey," he said, voice quiet but steady. he patted the sand beside him, an invitation.

you hesitated. just for a second. but then you moved, sinking down beside him. the sand was cool beneath your hands, grains slipping through your fingers as you exhaled slowly.

it all felt off. normally, if you and felix were sitting by this beach, you’d be leaning into him—your head on his shoulder, his arm lazily slung around your waist. normally, the space between you didn’t exist.

but now, there was a thick wall between you, invisible but unbreakable.

felix turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on you. you felt it—the quiet weight of it, the way he was searching for something in your expression. maybe he was looking for reassurance. maybe he already knew what was coming.

you couldn’t bear to look at him.

your throat tightened as you dropped your eyes to the sand, watching the fine grains slip through your fingers. your hands felt small, unsteady. you hated that. you hated feeling this fragile in front of him.

felix had always been able to read you too well. and now, sitting this close, you started to wonder if he noticed your red eyes—if he could see the exhaustion clinging to you, the proof of last night when you had buried your face in your pillow and cried so quietly it almost didn’t feel real.

you swallowed and forced yourself to say something.

"um."

it wasn’t much, but felix shifted slightly, angling his body toward you. he was listening. he always listened.

you clenched your jaw, focusing on the sand in your hands, rubbing the grains between your fingers. then, finally, you forced the words out.

"i’ve been thinking about us," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "about what would happen when we get back to sydney."

felix didn’t dare to speak.

you could feel it—the way he held his breath, the way his fingers curled just a little tighter against his knees, like he was bracing for impact. maybe if he didn’t say anything, he could pretend for just a second longer that this conversation wasn’t happening. that everything was fine. that this wasn’t the moment everything changed.

but you weren’t going to let him pretend.

you swallowed, voice quieter now. “just… just know that you won’t have to treat me differently anymore. you won’t have to do the things you normally do for me. ”

felix’s brows furrowed slightly, but he still didn’t speak.

like walking me home from school.

like keeping an extra hair tie around his wrist because he knows i always lose mine.

like waiting for my goodnight text before going to sleep, even if i take too long to send it.

like looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now.

you couldn’t say all of that. your voice would break if you tried. so instead, you just let the words sit between you, like the ocean air was carrying them away.

felix shifted beside you, and for a second, it almost seemed like he was going to reach for you. like muscle memory was kicking in, like he was about to lace your fingers together, pull you closer, keep you there.

but he didn’t.

instead, he exhaled shakily, tilting his head up toward the sky, like it hurt too much to look at you. and maybe it did.

felix’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke, but there was no mistaking the way it wavered, like he was barely holding it together.

“this is you breaking up with me, right?”

you inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around a handful of sand before letting it slip through your grasp. you looked at him then. really looked at him.

his eyes were still fixed on the sky, his jaw set, his lips pressed together like he was trying to keep himself from saying something else—something desperate, something that might make you stay. not only stay at the beach. but stay with him.

you sighed, staring down at your lap. your voice came out small, tired. “i mean… what else am i supposed to do, felix?”

felix went silent.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to keep going, even though every word felt like pressing on a bruise. "i told you last night that i loved you, and you didn’t say anything."

felix’s breath hitched just slightly, but he still didn’t look at you. his fingers curled into the sand beside him, gripping it like it could ground him, like it could hold him steady when everything else was slipping through his fingers.

you let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "and now, we’re sitting here, talking about breaking up, and you still won’t say anything."

nothing.

he just sat there, staring at the waves, like if he stayed quiet long enough, maybe the ocean would swallow this whole conversation and carry it away.

you exhaled, the sound shaky, defeated. "i get it. it’s uncomfortable for us to talk about."

you stared at him for a moment longer, waiting—hoping—for something. anything. a word. a reason. a fight. but felix stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the waves, his hands buried in the sand like he was trying to hold onto something that had already slipped away.

you exhaled, rubbing your palms over your jeans, trying to gather your thoughts. the silence between you had stretched too long, filled with everything left unsaid. maybe that was how it was always going to end—quietly, painfully, without answers.

you swallowed, gripping the fabric of your jeans between your fingers. "if i hadn’t said it… if i hadn’t told you i loved you last night… would it hurt this much to leave?"

felix blinked, taken aback. his jaw tensed. you saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard, saw the way his fingers twitched against the sand.

you forced out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “would things have just been better if i hadn’t said anything?” your voice wavered, but you pushed through.

felix’s brows knitted together, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to stop you—but the words had already slipped out, and once they started, you couldn’t hold them back.

“maybe i should’ve just kept it to myself,” you whispered, your throat tightening with every word. “maybe then, we wouldn’t be—”

your voice caught, cracking mid-sentence. you sucked in a sharp breath, pressing a hand over your mouth as if you could physically stop the sob that threatened to break free.

felix moved before he could stop himself. his hand hovered over yours for a split second—hesitant, unsure—but when he saw the way your shoulders shook, the way you refused to meet his eyes, he gave in.

his fingers curled gently around your wrist, grounding, warm.

“don’t,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “don’t say that.”

you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “but it’s true, isn’t it?”

felix’s grip on your wrist tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. to make sure you knew he was still here.

but it wasn’t enough.

you let out a shaky breath, your voice breaking as you pushed forward. “if you’re gonna deny it, then just—just tell me.”

felix inhaled sharply, but he didn’t speak. he just stared at you, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat.

you swallowed, chest rising and falling unevenly. “tell me that all you’ve done for me is for a reason,” you whispered. “tell me that yesterday morning wasn’t a mistake.”

his breath hitched.

your voice was barely more than a plea now. “tell me that you actually feel something for me. that this isn’t just—just habit, or guilt, or whatever else.” you exhaled, your grip tightening in your lap. “tell me, and i’ll stay. i won’t go home today.”

felix’s silence was the loudest thing you had ever heard.

you could see it—his struggle, the war in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled slightly even as he held onto you. and for a second, just a second, you let yourself hope. hope that maybe, maybe he’d say something that would make you stay.

but then, he exhaled, long and shaky, and his grip on your wrist loosened before he finally let go.

the absence of his touch was immediate, leaving behind nothing but cold air and an ache that settled deep in your bones.

felix ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head back toward the sky, like he was trying to find the right words. or maybe just the least painful ones. but when he finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm, steady in a way that made your stomach twist.

he hesitated, just for a second. “i don’t love you. i can’t.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t even give you time to react before he kept going, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“i never did.”

the wind howled around you, the waves crashing against the shore, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart shattering in your chest.

felix just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “you need something from me that i can’t give. you need that commitment. i was never going to be that guy for you.”

you swayed slightly where you sat, like the weight of his words was physically knocking the air out of you.

the way he said it—so detached, so certain—made your stomach twist.

every moment you had shared, every soft touch, every lingering glance—had it all been a lie?

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

felix sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, glancing away as if this conversation was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. “i don’t know what else you want me to say, y/n. i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t ask for you to fall in love with me.” he shook his head. “i was just trying to have fun. i never meant to lead you on. we weren’t supposed to be this serious”

the words knocked the air from your lungs.

felix didn’t flinch. “so if you can’t take it, go home, y/n,” he said, his voice cool, final. “go home and forget about me.”

you inhaled shakily, willing yourself not to cry again, not in front of him. but you could already feel the sting in your eyes, the lump in your throat, the way your body fought against the truth he was handing you so easily.

your relationship wasn’t real to felix.

and you were foolish to think that it ever was.

your lips parted, but no sound came out. there was nothing left to say, nothing you could say that wouldn’t make this worse.

and that was it.

no fight. no hesitation. no apology.

you forced yourself to move. slowly, you stood up, brushing the sand off your palms, off the back of your shorts.

you cleared your throat, forcing your voice to stay even. “i’m taking the 3:15 bus.”

felix’s shoulders stiffened. but all he did was nod.

and somehow, that was worse than anything he could have said.

day 7 - 12:00

“if you’d told me you two were broken up before you called me to surf, i wouldn't have come,” chris said, his tone sharp as he glanced at felix.

felix’s jaw tightened, frustration bubbling up. “i didn’t call you to talk about it, man. i called you to get out of my head for a bit.”

chris scoffed, shaking his head. “and running away from it is really helping, huh?”

felix didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the horizon, trying to push everything—you, the conversation, the mess—out of his mind. but chris wasn’t letting up.

chris let out a dry laugh. “you know, i get not wanting to deal with it, but pretending it’s not there isn’t gonna fix anything.”

felix didn’t respond. he didn’t want to talk about this—not now, not when the weight of this morning was still pressing down on him like a stone in his chest.

chris studied him for a moment, then sighed. “look, i’m not saying you have to fix it right this second, but you can’t just act like you’re fine either. you’ve been all over the place these last few days.” chris continued, undeterred.

felix exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on his board. “i’m fine, chris. we broke it off, we understood each other. everything went smoothly.”

chris snorted.“yeah? that so?” he narrowed his eyes. “how could it have gone smoothly?”

felix hesitated, just for a second, but chris caught it.

“she must’ve fought for it,” chris pushed. “she wouldn’t have just let it go.”

felix’s fingers twitched against the fiberglass. his throat felt tight.

“it was not that complicated, chris.” he said, his voice almost too steady.

chris frowned. “bullshit.”

felix’s jaw clenched. he could feel chris’s stare boring into him, searching, waiting for him to crack.

then, finally, the words slipped out, quiet, forced.

“because i told her i didn’t love her. i told her i didn’t feel anything.”

chris’s expression froze.

felix admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “so she wouldn’t fight.”

chris let out a slow breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “felix.”

felix let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “i mean, what else was i supposed to do? stay silent again? get choked on my words like last night?” his grip on the board tightened. “i didn’t want to confuse her.”

chris stared at him like he didn’t even recognize him. “so you lied?”

felix didn’t answer.

chris took a step closer, his voice lower now, sharper. “felix, she believed in you. hell, she basically lost her virginity to you.” he let the words hang there, heavy, cutting. “that’s just so fucked. you can’t just do that.”

felix flinched, but chris wasn’t done.

“you don’t get to tell someone you don’t love them after that,” chris pressed. “not if it’s not true. not if—” he exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. “god, man. do you even realize what that must’ve done to her?”

felix stared at the ground, jaw tight.

“she trusted you,” chris went on. “you don’t think she deserved the truth?”

felix let out a slow breath, eyes still fixed on the sand. “the truth wouldn’t have made it any easier.”

chris scoffed. “for who? you or her? you think she’s better off hating you, don’t you?”

felix stiffened.

chris scoffed, shaking his head. “yeah, i figured. that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard, by the way.”

felix’s grip tightened on his board, fingers pressing so hard against the fiberglass that they ached. “it’s done, chris.” his voice was flat. hollow.

chris let out a short laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “yeah? is that why you’re out here, trying to drown yourself in waves that could snap your board in half?” he took a step closer. “if you really thought she was better off, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

felix swallowed hard, his throat burning. he hated how easily chris saw through him. hated how he had to bite down on the instinct to defend himself—because chris was right.

chris hesitated, then said carefully, “and i told her, by the way. the other day.”

felix frowned, glancing over at him. “told her what?”

chris met his eyes. “that you love her.”

felix froze. his breath caught in his throat.

“you what?”

chris shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “yeah, i told her.”

felix just stared at him, his entire body going stiff. “chris—why would you do that?” his voice was quieter now, but there was something raw in it, something close to panic. “she was probably expecting me to say it back then.” his voice was tight, forced. “don’t mess with things like this, man.”

chris narrowed his eyes. “mess with what? the truth?”

felix let out a humorless laugh, running a hand down his face. “you don’t just get to drop something like that on her.” his jaw clenched. “you don’t get to—” he stopped himself, his breath uneven.

“you really think she didn’t already know?” chris sighed. “she deserved to hear it, felix. even if it wasn’t from you.”

felix’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “you don’t get to decide that for me.” his voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

chris shook his head. “and you don’t get to lie to her just because you’re scared.”

felix’s throat burned. “like i said, it’s done,” he muttered, barely audible. “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

chris watched him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. “yeah? tell that to yourself when you see her again.”

felix looked away, his jaw tight. his pulse was pounding in his ears.

“look,” chris said, his tone softer now. “you love her, yeah?”

felix exhaled slowly. “yeah,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“and you’re just gonna let her leave without knowing that?”

felix swallowed. he didn’t answer.

“i get it, man. it’s scary. saying it out loud makes it real, and that’s a lot. but… you already lost her by not saying it. what’s the worst that could happen if you just told her the truth?”

felix opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. his pulse raced. he did love her, and that terrified him. everything about it terrified him.

“you think it’s easy? you think i want this? want to lose her like this?” felix’s voice was shaking, his chest tight with all the words he hadn’t been able to say. “it’s not that i don’t care. i do. i do. but how am i supposed to just... say it when i’m not even sure what i’m doing?”

chris held his gaze, steady and unwavering. “you still have time to fix this before she leaves, felix.” his voice was calm, but there was an urgency beneath it. “but just know—once she steps on that bus, it’s over.”

felix swallowed hard, his breath uneven. his fingers curled against his palms, the weight of chris’s words pressing down on him like a vice.

“i don’t—” he stopped, shaking his head. “i don’t even know what to say to her.”

chris huffed out a short, disbelieving laugh. “you do, felix. it’s the same three words you’ve been dying to let out.”

felix clenched his jaw, looking away.

chris ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “look, i’m not saying it’s gonna be easy. but you love her, man. and if you let her leave thinking you don’t, that’s on you.”

felix pressed his lips together, staring at the sand. his hands curled into fists, then slowly relaxed. chris didn’t push him any further. he just let the silence sit between them, letting felix sit with the truth of it.

felix shifted uncomfortably, his grip tightening on his surfboard. “look... you were right,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, like saying it aloud would make it even more real.

chris blinked, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

felix exhaled sharply, staring down at the sand. his fingers drummed against the fiberglass of his board, restless, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “you were right,” he repeated, a little firmer this time. “about all of it.”

chris raised an eyebrow. “about what?”

felix’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. he couldn’t say her name, not here, not now. every time he thought about it, it was like a knot in his chest—like something he couldn’t untangle. he wanted to say something, to explain, but the words just wouldn’t come. he clenched his jaw and shook his head slightly. “you know,” he started, but his voice faltered. “the past person.”

chris blinked, his brows knitting together. then, after a beat, he let out a dry, disbelieving chuckle. “seriously? ‘the past person’?”

felix’s jaw was locked, his chest tight, and just the thought of saying her name—of letting it roll off his tongue—felt like shoving a knife into an old wound. chris’s mouth opened like he had something to say, but for once, he hesitated. he just watched felix, really watched him—the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his breath came just a little too fast, like the weight of this conversation was pressing down on his chest.

felix let out a slow, unsteady breath. “everything that happened… it’s still there. still sticking to me like it just happened yesterday.” his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “i can’t shake it, chris. and you were right.” his throat tightened. “maybe she’s the reason i can’t do this.”

chris didn’t say anything right away. he just let the words sit there, heavy and unshakable. then, gently, he said, “felix… i’m sure y/n would understand if you just explained it to her.”

felix let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “and what exactly do you want me to say?” he turned to face chris fully now, his expression twisted. “what am i supposed to tell her, huh? ‘hey, baby, i sorta killed my verbally abusive ex, so now i can’t say i love you’—is that what you think i should tell her?” his voice cracked, something raw slipping through, but he didn’t care.

chris’s jaw tightened. “why do you still think you killed her, felix?” he spoke slowly, carefully, like he was trying to keep felix from running, from shutting down completely. “after i spent a whole damn year telling you that you didn’t?”

felix paused, the words hitting him harder than expected. “my bad,” he muttered, his voice tight.

chris sighed, his expression softening, but there was still that firm edge to his voice. “you don’t have to tell her everything, not all at once.” he stepped closer, his tone steady, unwavering. “but you owe her the truth. that’s at least what she deserves.”

felix’s jaw clenched. he knew chris was right—of course he was right. but that didn’t make it any easier. the truth was a tangled mess inside him, all sharp edges and frayed ends, and the thought of putting it into words—of giving it power, of letting you see all the ugly, broken pieces of him—made his chest tighten with something close to panic.

chris must have seen it, because his voice softened even more. “felix, you love her.”

felix’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

chris sighed. “so stop making decisions for her. let her decide if she still wants you after knowing the truth.”

felix shook his head, his grip tightening around his board like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “she won’t stay, chris.” his voice was quiet, but firm—like he had already made peace with the inevitable. like he was bracing for impact before the crash even came.

chris exhaled, frustrated but patient. “felix, listen to me.” he stepped closer, waiting for felix to actually look at him. “she's not mabel.” the name alone made felix flinch, but chris didn’t stop. “she’s not going to treat you like that. you’re not going to scare her off by being honest with her.” his voice softened. “you’re just… too tangled up in the past to see it clearly right now.”

his words echoed in felix’s mind, and he couldn’t shake them. you’re not her. the more he thought about it, the more he realized how true that was. you weren’t mabel. you never had been. you hadn’t twisted his love into something toxic or used his vulnerabilities to manipulate him. you had always treated him with kindness, with respect, with an honesty that made him want to trust you—even when he was scared.

felix’s breath caught in his throat as he repeated the words in his head, over and over, trying to convince himself.

you’re not her.

day 7 - 15:15

a few hours had passed, slipping through felix’s fingers faster than he could grasp. time had a cruel way of moving like that—too slow when you wanted to forget, too fast when you weren’t ready to say goodbye.

and now, here he was. standing at the bus stop with you, watching as the reality of your leaving settled into something solid, something unavoidable. your bags were packed, your whole life for the next stretch of time condensed into a few suitcases. he’d insisted on carrying them, even when you told him not to. maybe it was just an excuse to hold onto something of yours for a little longer.

his hands were full, but that wasn’t what was weighing him down. it was everything he hadn’t said. everything still sitting heavy in his chest, pressing against his ribs, waiting.

felix shifted his weight, his grip tightening around the handles of your suitcase. the silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, almost suffocating. the bus stop was quiet, but inside his head, everything was too loud. the words chris had drilled into him hours ago still echoed, reverberating against the walls of his mind.

he looked over at you.

and there you were.

you stood with your arms crossed, your shoulders tense, your fingers curling and uncurling like you weren’t sure what to do with your hands. you weren’t looking at him. not really. your gaze was fixed somewhere near the pavement, your brows knitted together ever so slightly, lips pressed into a thin line—like you were trying your best to hold everything in, to not let anything slip.

felix knew you well enough to see it. you were uncomfortable. you were standing here with him, beside him, but there was a space between you that hadn’t always been there—one he had created.

his chest tightened.

you finally spoke, your voice quieter than usual.

“felix,” you said, still not looking at him. “you don’t have to stay.”

his throat went dry.

you let out a small breath, shifting from one foot to the other, then finally turned to face him. “i can wait here until the bus comes,” you continued, voice careful, measured. “you should go home.”

home.

felix swallowed hard. it should’ve been simple, right? you told him to leave, so he should. that was the logical thing to do.

but his feet didn’t move.

his fingers curled around the suitcase handle and his pulse was erratic, hammering against his ribs.

felix shifted on his feet. you could tell he was debating something, maybe even considering listening to you for once, but then he shook his head—just barely—and said, “no, uh… it’s okay. i’ll stay. just until you get on.”

you swallowed hard.

the air between you went silent, thick with everything unsaid. even the occasional whoosh of cars in the distance felt muted, like the world had decided to press pause just to make this moment even more unbearable.

felix exhaled, glancing down at his shoes before rubbing the back of his neck. “so, um…” he hesitated, then forced out a chuckle, as if that could make things less awkward. “what was your favorite part of the trip?”

you blinked at him. after everything, after what he said—he wanted to talk about the trip? like things were normal? mentally, you scoffed. you didn’t want to answer. didn’t want to entertain the conversation, didn’t want to let him pretend this was fine. but the weight of his stare lingered, waiting, pressing, and so you forced yourself to say the first thing that came to mind.

“maybe… paddleboarding.”

felix nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he was trying to hold onto something good. but you knew, just as well as he did, that it wasn’t the paddleboarding that had meant the most to you.

it was the quieter moments—the ones tucked away, hidden between the noise. like the time at the cove, when the sun had been just the right shade of orange as it dipped into the ocean, or the night of the storm, when the world outside had been drenched and cold, but inside, between the two of you, there had been nothing but warmth.

those moments were the ones that felt worth remembering. the ones that deserved to be written in a story, as though they were the kind of thing worth capturing in the pages of a book, where things could be real and imperfect but somehow beautiful all the same.

but felix had taken a red pen to your story.

he’d crossed out the parts that mattered.

felix simply nodded, his gaze flickering away as if he knew there was more you weren’t saying. but he didn’t press. didn’t push. just stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking slightly on his heels like this was just any other conversation.

and maybe that should’ve been the end of it. maybe you should’ve let the silence settle again, let the conversation die out like the embers of something already burnt beyond recognition.

but instead, you found yourself asking, “what was yours?”

you weren’t even sure why. maybe it was curiosity. maybe it was bitterness, a part of you waiting for him to say something ridiculous—something that would prove how little he really understood about what this trip had meant to you.

felix’s lips parted slightly, like he was just about to say something—like the words were right there, balanced on the edge of his tongue. but before he could get them out, the distant hum of an engine grew louder, and the bus pulled up to the curb with a low, shuddering groan. the brakes hissed sharply, the door swinging open with a mechanical clank.

relief flooded through you. you needed to get out of here, and the bus had arrived just in time, like some kind of escape route appearing at the last possible second.

you pushed yourself up from the bench, fingers already curling around the handle of your luggage. but when you glanced to the side, felix was standing too—like he hadn’t even thought about it, like his body had just moved on instinct to match yours.

“that’s me,” you murmured, voice quiet, steady.

felix’s breath hitched. his heart pounded, drowning out the world around him—the hiss of the bus, the low murmur of passengers, the rustling leaves caught in the wind. his fingers wouldn’t let go.

you noticed.

"felix," you murmured, your voice barely a breath, your eyes searching his face.

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back, like if he didn’t, everything he was trying to suppress would come spilling out all at once. the muscles in his forearm flexed, his grip on your luggage so tight his knuckles turned white. he was rigid, bracing for impact, as if letting go of this—of you—would take something vital with it.

then, finally, he looked at you.

and for the first time in days, he didn’t try to hide it.

the fear. the regret. the weight of everything he hadn’t said—it was all there, raw and unguarded, written in the crease of his brows, in the tight set of his mouth.

for a fraction of a second, you hesitated.

you thought about staying.

thought about what it would feel like to let yourself fall into him the way you always had, to pretend for just a little longer that you still belonged in his orbit. that gravity hadn’t shifted, that the ground beneath your feet wasn’t already gone.

but you couldn’t. not now. not like this.

someone brushed past you, muttering as they stepped onto the bus, but the world outside of this moment felt far away, blurred at the edges. all you could feel was the weight in your chest, the unbearable pull of felix’s presence, anchoring you when you knew you had to leave.

"stay," he said, voice rough, barely above a whisper. “just one more day.”

that was all it took. and just like that, something inside you cracked, splintering down the middle.

your breath caught, chest tightening like invisible hands were pressing down, squeezing until it hurt. you could hear it in his voice—the strain, the fear, the quiet desperation buried beneath the syllable. it wasn't just a request. it was a plea.

"you want me to?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

felix barely nodded. it was small, hesitant—like saying it out loud would break him. his fingers twitched around the handle of your bag, and you knew, right then, that this wasn’t about luggage. this was about letting go. about losing you.

and for a second, you almost gave in.

"one more day so you won’t have to leave like this. please, baby.”

the name—soft, aching, too easy on his tongue—sent a shiver down your spine. a ghost of something you weren’t sure you could bear to feel again.

you swallowed hard, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. the bus engine was humming, the driver barely sparing you a glance as the line of passengers shuffled forward. you were so close to leaving—so close to stepping onto that bus, to putting distance between yourself and the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

but then there was felix. his fingers still curled around your bag, his eyes locked onto yours like he was afraid that if he blinked, you’d disappear.

“i can’t stay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

his brows drew together, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if bracing himself for impact. “why not?”

your throat ached, and god, you wished he wouldn’t ask that. wished he wouldn’t make this harder than it already was.

“because you don’t get to do this,” you said, voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “you don’t get to push me away, to tell me you don’t love me, and then ask me to stay like none of that happened.”

his breath hitched, like your words physically knocked the air out of him.

“i know,” he said again, and this time, it was barely a sound. more like an admission, a confession, something raw and broken slipping between his lips.

you let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to move, to take that last step onto the bus, but you still weren’t sure if your feet would obey you.

your chest tightened as you lifted your hand, the movement slow and hesitant, as if each inch closer to him made your body ache with the weight of what was about to happen. your fingers brushed his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping through, and you almost couldn’t breathe. you let your hand linger, trembling slightly as it cupped his face fully. his skin was soft under your palm, the familiar feel of him like an echo of a time when everything between you was simpler, lighter.

the moment you touched him, felix’s breath hitched sharply, his eyes fluttering shut like your fingers were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. the way his body seemed to freeze, how every inch of him softened under your touch, sent a pang straight through your chest. for a split second, everything felt real again—like the space between you was no longer filled with distance and hurt.

in that fragile moment, he was yours. the boy who used to steal your breath with just a look. the boy whose presence was enough to make the world fall away, to make everything else fade into the background. the boy who once held your heart like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched, as if he were the only one who could hold it right.

but that boy wasn’t yours anymore.

and you weren’t his, either.

you pulled your hand back slowly, like it was being torn from him, the ache in your chest growing sharper with each second. felix’s fingers, which had been clinging to your bag, loosened reluctantly, his grip faltering as if he wasn’t ready to let go of the moment—or you. but finally, after what felt like an eternity, he did. his fingers released completely, and the absence of his touch was a cold, empty space you could feel in the marrow of your bones.

it was like a shiver ran through you, one that had nothing to do with the breeze or the chill in the air. his touch—his warmth—was gone, and that absence left you hollow.

you took a shaky step back, and the world seemed to press in closer, suffocating you with the weight of everything unsaid. your throat burned as you forced yourself to turn away. your heart was screaming to look back at him, but you didn’t. you couldn’t. because if you did, you knew that this—this goodbye—would never happen.

as you stepped away, something inside felix fractured. a deep, splintering crack that felt like it started in his ribs and spread outward, threatening to pull him apart.

he watched your back, the way your shoulders tensed—like you were holding yourself together by sheer force of will, like every instinct in you was screaming to turn around, but you wouldn’t let yourself.

and then, for the first time, a terrifying thought struck him with full force.

this was it.

his last chance.

if he let you walk away now, that was it—no rewrites, no second takes to fix what had already unraveled. no more late-night calls that stretched until sunrise. no more accidental glances across crowded rooms that felt anything but accidental. no more hope that, one day, you’d find your way back to him.

because this time, you wouldn’t.

felix felt it in his bones.

panic seized his chest, squeezing until it hurt. his heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse a roaring tide in his ears. he had spent so long telling himself there was time—that someday, somehow, he’d make things right. that you’d come back.

but there was no more time.

and if he didn’t do something—right now—he would lose you forever.

“wait.”

the word tore from his throat, raw and desperate. his feet moved before he could think, before reason could stop him, closing the space between you.

you froze.

his hands shook as he reached for you—not to hold you back, not to keep you here against your will, but just to touch. just to feel you, even for a second, to prove to himself that you were still real.

his fingers brushed your wrist, making you turn.

felix’s breath caught.

your eyes were glassy, sunlight catching on the unshed tears that lined them. your lips parted slightly, like there were words you wanted to say but couldn’t quite find. the sight of you—standing there, looking at him like that—sent a sharp, twisting ache straight through his chest.

he couldn’t keep doing this to you. couldn’t keep pulling you back when he had no right to.

his fingers twitched against your skin, and suddenly, he saw it—the exhaustion in your posture, the way your shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something heavy, something unspoken.

and he realized—he wasn’t making this easier. he was making it worse.

his throat tightened.

you glanced back at the bus. most of the passengers were already inside, the driver shifting impatiently in his seat, fingers hovering near the door controls.

the moment was slipping away.

you were slipping away.

felix panicked.

“don’t you wanna know my favorite part of the trip?” felix blurted, his voice fraying at the edges.

you hesitated. your brows pulled together—wary, guarded—but something in your stance shifted. the tension in your shoulders eased, just barely. and then, slowly, reluctantly, you turned back toward him.

felix swallowed hard. his palms were clammy, his throat dry.

you were so beautiful.

the thought hit him like a punch to the gut.

the way the sunlight softened against your skin, the way your eyes—tired, hesitant, but still on him—made him feel like he was sixteen again. back when he used to stumble over his words, back when he was desperate to make you laugh.

but this wasn’t then.

and he wasn’t sure he had anything left that could make you stay.

you exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a moment, like you were trying to steady yourself, like if you could just block out the way he was looking at you, this wouldn’t hurt so much.

felix waited.

you could feel it—the weight of his stare, the silent plea in the space between you. he wanted this moment to stretch, to last just a little longer, to mean something. but you weren’t sure if it could anymore.

still, for some reason—maybe exhaustion, maybe something deeper—you gave him a chance. one last chance.

your eyes fluttered open, and you met his gaze.

“okay,” you said, voice quiet. “what was it?”

felix’s lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to ask, like he hadn’t thought he’d get this far. he ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit, and then let out a breathy chuckle—small, shaky, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“i can’t really choose just one thing,” he admitted, voice quiet, careful. “but i don’t think… i could ever forget the night you defended me at the bonfire.”

you froze.

the memory came rushing back—griff’s careless, biting words, the way felix had stood there, caught off guard and unsure, trying to brush it off like it didn’t matter. but it did. you’d seen it in his eyes, in the way his jaw had clenched just a second too late. and you—without hesitation, without a second thought—had stood up for him.

felix swallowed hard. his breath came out unsteady. “i don’t think i’ll ever forget what you did for me,” he said, his gaze flickering down for half a second before meeting yours again, open and raw. “what it felt like to have someone care that much. to have you care that much.” his voice softened. “it meant a lot… more than i realized back then.”

silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, like a moment caught between what was and what could have been.

felix shifted, his fingers twitching at his sides. when he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. “that night… i felt so—” he exhaled sharply, like the words were catching in his throat. “i felt so loved by you.” his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “and i didn’t even know what to do with it. but it was real. and it meant more than i could ever put into words.”

your breath hitched.

then, softer, hesitant, like he was afraid of the weight of it, he said, “and later that night, when i was drunk… i told you i loved you, too.”

your stomach twisted.

“you… remember that?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

felix nodded, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. “of course i do,” he murmured. “i’ve been thinking about it all week—wondering if i could just get drunk enough again… maybe i’d finally be able to say it.” he let out a shaky breath, his lips pressing together for a beat before he added, almost helplessly, “because i don’t know how to do it sober.”

you let out a soft laugh at his choice of words, and he did too—quiet, a little breathless, like he couldn’t believe he’d just said it out loud. but the moment the laughter faded, his expression shifted. his eyes softened, filled with something deep and unspoken, something you couldn’t quite place but knew was real.

“and really…” he hesitated, just for a second, before his gaze locked onto yours with quiet certainty. “i’ve been meaning to tell you since the first night we got here.”

your breath hitched and you nodded slowly.

felix let out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face, almost like he couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud. his voice was raw, unfiltered, like he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. “the first night i kissed you, the first night i ever held you that close—i knew. i knew then.”

your heart pounded in your ears, so loud it drowned out everything else. felix let out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe he was saying any of this out loud. his voice was raw, unfiltered, stripped of all the walls he usually hid behind.

“so, y/n”

you nodded, a soft, almost hesitant motion, your eyes searching his face, desperate to read the unspoken words lingering in the curve of his lips, in the way his hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself together by a thread.

“i love you.”

the words came out raw, unpolished—nothing like the way they sounded in his head all the times he had imagined saying them. but they were real. and they were his. the words hit differently this time. not as a memory, not as a drunken slur from a night long past, but real—here, now, spoken with absolute clarity.

for a second, neither of you moved. the bus doors hissed closed, the driver glancing impatiently toward you, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was the boy in front of you, standing there like he had just handed you his entire heart and was waiting—praying—you wouldn’t drop it.

you were too stunned, too caught in the weight of what he had just given you. your fingers trembled at your sides, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shake your entire body.

his voice cracked, thick with something too big to swallow down. “so please, stay.” his hands twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to. “i’ll do anything to make sure you know it, to make sure you never have to doubt it again.”

“but what about earlier—”

felix flinched, his breath hitching like the weight of his own words was crashing down on him all at once. “i didn’t mean it,” he said quickly, his voice breaking at the edges. “god, i didn’t mean any of it.”

his hands clenched at his sides before he exhaled sharply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “i was scared, y/n. i’ve been scared this whole time. scared of screwing this up, of losing you, of feeling this much and not knowing what the hell to do with it.” his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “but losing you for real? watching you walk away just now?” his voice wavered. “that’s worse than anything i was afraid of before.”

you stared at him, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath catching somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

felix loved you.

and all this time—through the confusion, the hurt, the way he made you think you were the only one feeling this way—he had lied. he had let you believe it wasn’t real. that it was one-sided. that you had been foolish to hope.

it was too much.

your chest ached, too tight, too full, and your mind swam with everything he had said—everything he hadn't said until now. your hands trembled at your sides, and you felt the sting of tears press against your eyes, but you refused to blink them away.

your voice was barely above a whisper. “say it again.”

felix’s lips parted slightly, his brows pulling together like he hadn’t expected that. because those were the exact words mabel had said to him once.

but you weren’t mabel.

“i need to hear it again.” your voice wavered, something raw and unsteady slipping through. “because you made me think i was wrong. that i was stupid for thinking you could ever feel this way. and i believed you, felix.” your breath hitched, and you looked at him, pleading, desperate. “so say it again.”

you weren’t asking to hear it so you could tear him apart, to humiliate him, to throw it back in his face like it meant nothing.

you wanted to hear it because you cherished it. because you wanted him to know that his words weren’t wasted this time.

that showed him the difference between you two.

a slow, almost breathless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and when he spoke, his voice was steadier than before.

“i love you,” he said again, firmer this time. like if he said it enough, it would erase all the times he didn’t. “i love you so much, and i hate that it took me this long to tell you.” his voice cracked, raw and pleading. “but if there’s even the smallest part of you that still wants this, still wants me—” he exhaled shakily. “then stay.”

your breath shuddered as the weight of his words settled deep in your chest. it was stronger now, fuller. it sounded like something he believed—like something he knew he wouldn’t regret saying. and when he saw the way you nodded, the way you practically melted against him, he knew—he had never meant anything more.

your suitcase slipped from your grip, landing on the pavement with a dull thud. neither of you cared.

you stepped forward, closing the space between you in one heartbeat, then another, until your arms wrapped tightly around him. your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, holding on as if you’d lose yourself if you let go. and felix—he didn’t hesitate. his arms came around you instantly, locking you against him like he had been waiting for this, terrified it wouldn’t come.

his hand slid up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt, like he needed to feel every inch of you there, solid and real. his other hand cradled the back of your head, pressing you closer as if he could make up for every second he had spent pushing you away. his heart pounded against yours, a frantic rhythm that matched the breathless way he whispered your name.

you buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his embrace settle deep in your bones. his arms tightened around you, as if he could somehow pull you even closer, as if he needed to prove to himself that you were real, that you weren’t slipping away.

slowly, you pulled back just enough to look at him, your forehead pressing gently against his. his breath hitched. his hands slid down to cradle your waist, grounding himself in your touch. and for the first time, there was no fear in his eyes. no hesitation. just you. just this.

your fingers brushed against his jaw, tracing the way his lips parted, the way his breath mingled with yours. a soft, shaky smile played at your lips as you whispered, “oh, felix… i love you too.”

day 7 - 22:00

love is terrifying.

not in the way people talk about in books and movies, not just the fear of losing someone or the ache of longing. no, the real terror of love is in the surrender. the moment you give yourself over completely, when your heart is no longer just yours to protect. when you look at someone and realize they have the power to destroy you, to unravel you with a single word, a single choice.

and yet—you still love them.

despite the risk, despite the fear, despite the way your heart stumbles at the thought of what could go wrong, you let yourself fall. because love is also the only thing that makes the fear worth it. it is the only thing strong enough to make you stay when everything in you is screaming to run.

with felix, it felt like the easiest thing in the world.

the bathroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of the fan and the rhythmic brushing of your toothbrush against your teeth. the mirror was fogged up from the shower felix had taken before you, and the scent of his shampoo lingered in the air—clean, familiar, and grounding.

he stood beside you, shirtless, his damp hair curling at the ends. he’d already finished brushing, leaning lazily against the counter as he watched you in the mirror. without a word, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chin onto your shoulder.

"i saw how nicely you made your bed this morning," he murmured, voice slow and deliberate. his lips grazed the shell of your ear, though it was casual—like he wasn’t doing anything other than speaking. "like you knew you were leaving."

you rinsed your toothbrush and set it back in the holder, rolling your eyes. "i was leaving. that was the plan, remember?"

felix hummed, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. "right. but now you’re staying for one more night."

there was something knowing in his voice, something that made your stomach flutter just a little. he pressed his chest more firmly against your back, his breath warm against your neck. you met his gaze in the mirror, and his smile was soft—amused, teasing, and utterly confident.

"wouldn’t it be a shame," he continued, his fingertips dancing lightly across your sides, "to go through all that effort just to sleep in it again?"

you huffed a laugh, tilting your head slightly. "what are you saying, felix?"

he sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder. "i’m just thinking practically. why mess up two beds when we could… consolidate?"

you raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "consolidate?"

"mm." he shifted his hands to your hips, his thumbs pressing lightly into your skin, sending a wave of warmth through you. "efficient. environmentally friendly. and, you know, convenient. since i’d probably just end up dragging you into my bed at some point in the night anyway."

you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, despite trying to remain indifferent. his charm always got to you, no matter how hard you tried to pretend you weren’t affected. his teasing was contagious, and you found yourself grinning, the warmth from his hands on your hips settling deep into you.

"consolidate, huh?" you said, "sounds like a very felix solution."

he grinned in return, clearly pleased with himself. "it’s a genius solution," he teased, his voice low and coaxing as he leaned closer, the proximity of his body sending a shiver through you. "so, yes? you’ll sleep with me tonight?"

his question was soft but undeniably hopeful, the weight of it resting between you like a promise and a challenge all at once.

you met his eyes, trying to keep your tone playful but firm. "yes, but," you added, lifting a finger to emphasize your point, "this better not be a regular thing." you gave him a mock glare, your voice softening.

felix chuckled, eyes warm with something deeper than amusement. “i know,” he said, his voice gentle but certain.

you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. it was easy to forget, sometimes, when he looked at you like that—like you were the only thing in the world worth waiting for. but you both knew where you stood, and that mattered more than fleeting temptation.

he gave you one last grin before stepping back, stretching lazily as he turned toward his bedroom. “i’ll be good. promise.”

“mm-hmm.” you narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider his words. “you better be.”

you watched him go, shaking your head at the small bounce in his step.

the moment felix was out of sight, you let out a slow breath, pressing your palms against the bathroom counter. the mirror was still fogged, the scent of him still lingering in the air, wrapping around you like a presence you couldn’t shake.

your fingers curled slightly against the cool surface, your pulse steadying. you should be happy. you were happy. today, felix had finally told you he loved you. soft. certain. like he meant it with every part of him.

and yet.

you swallowed, staring at your reflection—at the way your expression had shifted now that he was gone. the doubt was creeping in again, just like it always did when you were alone with your thoughts.

why had it taken him so long?

it wasn’t that you doubted his feelings. you felt them in the way he looked at you, in the way he touched you like he was memorizing every inch of your skin, in the way he always found some excuse to keep you close. but love—real love—wasn’t just in the moments that felt easy. it was in the hard ones too. and felix had waited. too long.

your mind drifted back to what chris had told you yesterday, like he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up at all. the words had stuck with you, curling into the back of your mind like a whisper you couldn’t shake.

he had mentioned her offhandedly, but the way he said her name—the way his expression darkened, the way he hesitated—made it clear that she wasn’t just an ex-girlfriend. there was something heavier there, something left unsaid.

you hadn’t asked for more. maybe because you didn’t want to know.

but now, standing in this quiet bathroom, your mind wouldn't let it go.

what if there was something there?

you closed your eyes, inhaling slowly. you didn’t want to ruin this. you didn’t want to doubt him. you swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the cool porcelain of the sink.

asking him outright would be the easiest thing. the right thing.

but something inside you hesitated.

felix had never given you a reason to doubt him—not really. he had always been patient, always looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing. but this? this was the one thing he hadn’t told you, the one piece of him that felt just out of reach.

you had to do something.

your hand slipped into the pocket of your pants before you could think better of it. the smooth surface of your phone pressed against your palm as you pulled it out, staring at the screen like it might give you an answer before you even asked the question.

this felt wrong.

you told yourself that immediately. you weren’t the kind of person who did this. you weren’t the kind of person who went looking for things they weren’t meant to find.

but girls did it all the time, didn’t they?

how many times had you heard the stories—friends scrolling through messages, checking followers, searching for the proof they needed before they could believe in something? and if they found nothing, wasn’t that just as much of an answer?

so why couldn’t you?

your heart pounded in your ears as you unlocked your phone, your thumb hovering over it.

instagram. felix’s account. search bar.

mabel.

and then, there she was.

mabel whitmore.

your stomach tightened as you tapped on the profile, barely breathing as her page loaded.

her account was public. and she was stunning.

the kind of stunning that made your breath catch in your throat. golden hair cascading in soft waves over tanned shoulders, sharp cheekbones, full lips, the kind of eyes that could level a person with just one glance. a total bombshell—effortless, untouchable. the kind of girl people wrote songs about.

you scrolled down, taking in the perfectly framed snapshots of her life. beaches, city lights, sunlit selfies, arms slung around groups of friends. and felix—

your thumb froze over the screen.

you almost didn’t recognize him at first—his hair was a little shorter, falling messily over his forehead, his face slightly softer with youth. he wasn’t the focus of the picture, just sitting off to the side on some worn leather couch, arm draped lazily over the backrest, a bottle dangling from his fingers. but it was him.

and she hadn’t deleted it.

you knew how these things usually went. people erased their exes like wiping fingerprints off glass. they archived the memories, pretended they had never existed, let time do the rest.

you ignored the way your stomach twisted and kept scrolling.

her most recent post caught your eye.

it wasn’t anything flashy. just a candid shot—her sitting on a picnic blanket, sunlight spilling over her, a half-empty wine glass in her hand, laughing at something outside the frame. carefree. beautiful. alive.

the timestamp at the bottom read that it was posted two years ago. she hadn’t posted since.

your brows knit together. that didn’t make sense. a girl like this, someone who lived in front of the camera, someone so effortlessly captivating—why would she just stop?

you flicked to the comments, looking for a reason. an explanation.

"miss you every day, mabel. fly high, angel."

"thinking about you always."

"not a day goes by where i don’t wish we had more time."

your breath caught in your throat.

no.

your thumb kept scrolling, scanning through comment after comment, but they all said the same thing. miss you. love you. wish you were still here.

mabel whitmore wasn’t just felix’s ex.

she was gone.

your chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room. you should stop. you should put your phone down, walk away, pretend you never saw any of this.

but you couldn’t. because now you had to know.

you swallowed hard and did the one thing you knew you shouldn’t do. you opened your web browser.

your fingers moved on their own, typing mabel whitmore into the search bar, the letters blurring together as your vision wavered. your heart pounded, your pulse echoing in your ears as you hit search.

it loaded instantly.

her name appeared at the top of the page, bold and unmistakable. but it wasn’t an article, or a social media profile, or anything remotely normal.

it was a memorial site.

your stomach dropped.

the header at the top read in loving memory: flight 417

you stared, unable to process it.

a list of names stretched down the page, each one followed by a small candle icon, flickering gently as if trying to soften the harsh reality of what they represented.

your eyes skimmed past name after name, and then—

mabel whitmore. age 16.

the world around you seemed to tilt.

a flight. a plane crash.

your brain scrambled to catch up, trying to recall if you had ever heard about it. it must have been in the news. it must have been something people talked about. but for some reason, right now, it felt like a secret. a quiet, buried tragedy you were never meant to stumble upon.

a trembling breath left your lips.

your chest tightened as you scrolled back up, rereading the words, like maybe they would rearrange themselves and tell you a different story. but they didn’t. the truth was right there, staring back at you in flickering candlelight.

a deep breath shuddered through you, but it did nothing to settle the nausea curling in your stomach. you felt dizzy, like you’d stepped off the edge of something without realizing it.

your fingers clenched around your phone, your breath shallow and uneven.

sixteen.

she was only sixteen.

your mind reeled, the pieces snapping together too fast for you to hold onto them.

mabel whitmore had never broken up with felix. she had been taken. just gone, ripped from the world like a page torn from a book, leaving only silence where she should have been.

and felix—

oh, god.

felix.

you had completely forgotten where you were.

the bathroom was too quiet, the soft hum of the fan the only thing keeping you tethered to the present. your reflection in the mirror looked different now—your skin paler, your eyes too wide, your lips parted like you were about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

felix was out there.

just a few steps away, waiting in his bedroom, probably sprawled across the sheets like he always did, looking at his phone or staring at the ceiling, lost in some thought he’d never say out loud. he was waiting for you.

but you couldn’t go back.

because how could you look him in the eye now, knowing what you knew? knowing that you had dug into his past like it was some puzzle to be solved instead of a wound that had never fully healed? he would hate you. he would think you were awful. nosy. invasive.

and maybe he’d be right.

you squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the sink.

you weren’t supposed to know this.

you weren’t supposed to find this.

but now, you couldn’t forget it. you couldn’t erase it, couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen her name on that list, hadn’t read the comments, hadn’t imagined what it must have been like for felix to wake up in a world without her in it.

a deep breath shuddered through you.

you couldn’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain.

you glanced at the door.

you had to go back out there. you couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. but for the first time, being near felix felt terrifying.

you shoved your phone deep into your pocket like that could somehow bury everything you had just uncovered. screw it. you turned off the bathroom light and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, your heartbeat still uneven, your breath still not quite steady.

felix’s bedroom door was open.

and there he was.

he was lying back against the headboard, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting lazily across his stomach. his shirt had ridden up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, and his legs were sprawled comfortably like he owned the space.

the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

felix turned his head at the sound of you stepping inside, his eyes finding yours instantly. smiling like seeing you was the best part of his night.

“hi,” he said, voice warm.

you hesitated for just a second, but then you forced yourself to move, to push away the whirlwind of thoughts still spinning in your mind. you had to—at least for now.

felix's smile softened as he lifted a hand, beckoning you closer with a slow, lazy gesture. "come here, baby," he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. the way he said it—so easy, so sure—sent warmth curling through your chest, unraveling you before you even reached the bed.

you exhaled, pressing a small smile to your lips as you crossed the room. you couldn’t let him see the weight of what you had just learned—not yet. not when you didn’t even know what to do with it yourself.

when you reached the edge of the bed, felix reached for you. his fingers brushed against your wrist first, then slipped up to your elbow, tugging you forward. you let yourself go, let yourself sink into the space beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight.

he shifted, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his side. "much better," he sighed, content. his hand found the small of your back, tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you in the warmth of him.

your feet brushed against his legs, ice-cold against his skin, and he tensed for a second before letting out a dramatic groan.

“you’re so cold,” he grumbled, which made you chuckle.

felix huffed a laugh, but then he did something that made your heart stutter. he reached down, wrapping his fingers around your ankle, and pulled your leg over his, tangling them together under the blankets. his palm smoothed up the back of your thigh, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin.

"there," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "i'll warm you up."

your stomach flipped.

he wasn’t even trying. that was the worst part. felix had this effortless way of touching you, of making you feel wanted without even thinking about it. like it was second nature. like it had always been this easy for him.

and then—like he could still sense the tension in you, the hesitation you hadn’t quite managed to shake—he pulled back just enough to tilt his head and look at you.

his eyes were soft in the dim light, his expression open in that way that always made it impossible to hide from him. his fingers found your jaw, tracing the line of it with the lightest touch before tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"hey," he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. "what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?"

you swallowed hard. "nothing," you lied.

felix studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over the corner of your mouth, like he was committing the feel of you to memory. then, with an infuriatingly knowing look, he murmured, "liar."

your breath caught.

there were those questions lingering at the back of your mind, but you decided they could wait. for now, it was enough to be here, wrapped in his warmth, his fingers tracing over your skin like you were something precious.

"i couldn't be better, felix," you murmured.

his brows lifted slightly, like he was trying to decide if he believed you. but then his lips curled into a smile, and whatever hesitation had been there melted away.

"good," he whispered, his voice all honey and warmth.

and then, just as effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he said, "i love you."

you swallowed around the warmth rising in your throat, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"i love you too."

the words had barely left your lips before felix was kissing you. a soft, almost relieved sigh slipped from him, like he had been waiting to hear you say it, like those words had settled something deep inside him.

his lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate sweetness at first—like he was savoring the moment, letting it sink into his bones. his fingers curled at the nape of your neck, keeping you close, tilting your head just the way he wanted.

when he deepened it, the shift was subtle, but you felt it. the way his hand tightened against your back, pulling you flush against him. the way his fingers slid into your hair, his grip just firm enough to make you shiver.

your hands found his shoulders, sliding up to tangle in the fabric of his shirt as he kissed you deeper, his lips parting against yours, his tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth. heat pooled low in your stomach, making your head spin.

you kissed him back without thinking, without hesitation, matching the slow, desperate rhythm he set. each press of his lips was intoxicating, like he was drinking you in, like he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

his fingers traced your spine, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing over bare skin. the warmth of his touch sent a shiver rippling through you, a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

his hand splayed across your waist now, his palm broad and warm as he smoothed over your skin, his touch deliberate but unhurried. it was different tonight—he was different. softer in some ways, more certain in others. like something had settled between you after yesterday morning, after the way you'd lost yourselves in each other, tangled up in sheets and heat and need.

and now, that need was creeping in again, simmering just beneath the surface.

felix shifted slightly, the movement subtle, but you felt it—the press of him, firm against your thigh, unmistakable. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, and for a second, neither of you moved. the moment stretched, heavy with something unspoken, something thick in the air between you.

his lips lingered against yours, barely a breath away, his forehead brushing against you. and then, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, exactly what you were feeling, his fingers tightened against your waist.

"feel that?" he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher.

your pulse pounded. you nodded, not trusting your voice.

felix's fingers flexed against your waist, his touch grounding, steady—but your heart was anything but.

normally, you’d want this. you’d want him. you’d be pulling him closer, melting into him, aching for more. but tonight, it felt different. wrong.

not because of him.

because of what you’d learned.

the weight of it pressed into your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs, making the warmth between you feel like something you weren’t sure you were allowed to have. his ex-girlfriend was dead. and you didn’t know what that meant, not really, but it sat heavy in your stomach, twisting and knotting, making everything else feel distant.

felix kissed you again, softer this time, coaxing, like he could sense the shift in you. his thumb traced slow circles against your ribs, patient, unhurried. "hey," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes searched yours, their usual warmth still there, but now there was something else, too—concern.

"you okay?"

you swallowed, trying to find words, but your throat felt too tight. you weren’t okay. you weren’t sure how to be.

felix’s hand moved to your cheek, cradling it gently, his thumb brushing over your skin. "talk to me, baby," he coaxed, his voice so soft, so careful, like he already knew something was wrong. "what’s going on?"

your chest ached. you wanted to tell him. you didn’t want to tell him.

because once you did, it would be real.

and you weren’t ready for real. not yet.

felix’s brows knit together, the warmth in his eyes shifting into something deeper, something worried. you tried to blink back the sting in your eyes, but it was useless—the guilt was pressing down too hard, too fast, and before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

his thumb brushed over your cheek again, softer this time, like he was afraid you might break. "baby," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "did i—" he hesitated, his throat working around the words, his fingers flexing against your waist. "did i make you uncomfortable?"

you shook your head quickly, but the movement made the lump in your throat tighten, and then—

the first sob broke free.

felix inhaled sharply, his grip on you loosening, like he was afraid of holding on too tight. "shit," he whispered, his other hand coming up, hovering just over your arm, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. "hey, hey, it’s okay—just tell me what’s wrong. i—" he swallowed hard, his voice going unsteady. "do you want me to leave? i can take the couch. you can stay here, and if you don’t want this, if this feels wrong, i’ll—" his voice cracked slightly. "i’ll do anything. just tell me what you need."

you shook your head again, harder this time, and before he could pull away any further, you reached for him, your arms wrapping around him tight, desperate.

"no," you choked out, pressing your face against his shoulder. "it’s not that. it’s not you."

felix went still for half a second, like he was trying to understand—but then, without hesitation, his arms came around you. he held you close, pressing his cheek against the top of your head, his breath uneven as he tried to steady you, or maybe himself.

your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, clinging to him, like you could hold onto him tight enough to keep the guilt from swallowing you whole. "i’m sorry," you whispered, voice breaking.

felix exhaled slowly, his hands smoothing over your back, grounding. "for what?" he asked, voice careful, like he didn’t want to push too hard. "talk to me, baby."

you just shook your head, burying yourself against him, unable to find the words.

felix didn’t press. he just held you tighter, rubbing slow, soothing circles over your spine, letting you break apart in his arms, even though you knew he didn’t understand why.

even though you weren’t sure how to tell him.

felix’s arms tightened around you, as if he was anchoring you to him, trying to keep you from slipping away into the storm of thoughts you couldn’t escape. his voice was a soft murmur against your ear, the words tentative but filled with care. "do you want to stay here?"

you nodded against him, your breath shaky, the tears still hot on your cheeks. the question wasn’t a surprise—it felt like he knew you, like he understood without needing you to say the words.

his hand smoothed through your hair, gentle, almost reverent. "it’s okay," he whispered. "you can tell me about it tomorrow. just... breathe."

you squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of his voice a lifeline, grounding you in the moment, pulling you back from the edge. "i’m so sorry," you said again, almost in a whisper, your voice thick with the weight of everything you couldn’t explain.

felix shushed you softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "it’s okay," he repeated, his voice low and soothing, the words a balm for the mess of emotions you didn’t know how to deal with. "you don’t have to apologize. i’m here."

his fingers traced along your spine, slow and steady, as if giving you the space to breathe, to feel what you needed to feel. there was no pressure, no rush—just him, holding you, letting you break if you had to.

felix exhaled softly, his hand moving in slow circles over your back as you rested against him. "it’s okay," he said once more, his tone gentle, reassuring. "we’ll be okay."

and for the first time that night, you believed it.

118 notes · View notes