#(around the same time in the year too it was weird)

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. What you’re supposed to see him as. What you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi! can you do a post prison spencer x reader where they were kind of a thing before he went in and then prison happened, then he gets out and he finally makes a move since he thinks he should lose more time. Dont know if I explained it well. Love your writing!

time — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader wears a dress a/n: hii thanks for your request !! <33 i hope this is what you asked for

Was it weird to sleep in the same bed as Spencer Reid? Maybe. But then again, he had asked you to. And who were you to deny him that request, especially after everything he had been through? After he had just gotten out of prison, after the nightmares, the isolation —how could you say no? 

Right now, he was practically draped over you, his head resting heavily on your shoulder, his breathing slow and steady. You hadn’t fallen asleep yet, but he had, and you weren’t surprised.

The exhaustion was etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the toll the past few months had taken on him.

But here, in this moment, he looked peaceful. Content.

And so were you. 

It had been a couple of days since he’d been home, and every single one of those days, he had called you over. He didn’t want to let you out of his sight, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away for too long. You didn’t mind.

You never minded when it came to Spencer. 

Your fingers absentmindedly played with his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers as you listened to the rhythm of his breathing. His warm breath brushed against your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

You didn’t know what you were to him—or what he was to you, for that matter. Even before he went to prison, the two of you had been… something. Not quite defined, not quite labeled.

Just something.

Friends, maybe. But then again friends didn’t make your heart race the way he did.

You glanced down at his sleeping form, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, his face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in months. Your heart fluttered, just like it always did when you looked at him. It was ridiculous, really.

You had known him for years, had seen him at his best and his worst, had laughed with him, cried with him, argued with him.

And yet, every time you looked at him, it felt like the first time all over again.

You had missed him. God, you had missed him so much it hurt. It wasn’t just the kind of missing that made your chest ache—it was the kind that left a physical void, a hollow space that only he could fill.

And now that he was here, now that he was real and solid and warm in your arms, it still felt like a dream. Like if you blinked too hard or breathed too loudly, he’d vanish, and you’d wake up alone again. 

You felt him stir, and you immediately stilled your fingers in his hair, not wanting to wake him. He’d only been asleep for an hour or two, and he needed the rest more than anything.

Spencer shifted slightly, his head nuzzling deeper into your shoulder, his hair now brushing against your face. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, as if even in his sleep, he was afraid to let you go. 

You waited a moment, holding your breath, before slowly resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks.

You loved looking at him—more than anything in this world

Suddenly, his voice broke the silence, soft and sleep-roughened. “I like it when you play with my hair.” 

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw him crack one eye open, peering up at you with a drowsy, half-awake expression. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

He loosened his hold on you, shifting slightly as he lifted his head from your shoulder. You immediately missed the weight of him, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and you followed suit, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

“You didn’t wake me,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?” 

You reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand, the screen lighting up as you checked the time. “5 p.m.,” you replied, setting the phone back down. 

Spencer blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed the information.  

“I didn’t mean to sleep that long,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearingly rumpled he looked. 

“You need the rest,” you said softly, noticing how he scooted closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. The small, almost unconscious gesture made you smile.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, his voice still a little rough from sleep as he shifted toward the edge of the bed. He stood up, reaching out his hand to you almost instinctively. You took it without hesitation, your fingers curling around his as he led you out of the room and towards the kitchen. 

“No, I was being suffocated by someone,” you teased, shooting him a playful grin. 

 Spencer glanced back at you, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, but he didn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightened just a little.

He opened the fridge, still holding onto your hand, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way your fingers were intertwined.

Even before Spencer went to prison, he had always been touchy with you—more so than with anyone else. A hand on your shoulder, a brush of his fingers against yours, a casual arm slung around you during movie nights.

But since he’d been back, it seemed like that habit had intensified.

“There’s nothing in here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you, as he absently began tracing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

The gesture was so natural, so unconscious, that it made your heart skip a beat. 

“We can go out and get some food,” you suggested, glancing up at him. You also thought it would be good for him to get out of the house.

Since he’d been back, the two of you had barely left, and Spencer had spent most of his time catching up on sleep.

A change of scenery might do him some good. 

Spencer turned to look at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. 

He had spent so much time in prison, so much time away from you, and now that he was back, he didn’t want to waste another second.

Sure, he was holding your hand. Sure, he had just spent the last hour curled up with you in bed, his head on your shoulder, your fingers in his hair.

But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He wanted more. He wanted to take you out, to show you how much you meant to him, to make up for all the time he had lost.

The idea popped into his head suddenly.

A date. 

He wanted to take you on a real date. Not just this—not just quiet moments in his apartment or yours, as much as he loved those.

He wanted to take you somewhere nice, somewhere special.

You raised your eyebrows, trying to decipher the unreadable expression on his face. “What?” you asked when the silence stretched a little too long.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, finally looking away, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Nothing except the fact that I’m going to take you on the best date you’ve ever been on, he thought.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he just squeezed your hand gently and said, “But yes, we can do that.”

A couple of days later, you were sitting in your own apartment, trying to convince yourself that everything was fine. But the truth was, you missed Spencer. You missed him so much it felt like a physical ache.

Over the past few weeks, you had spent so much time at his place that being back in your own apartment felt… wrong. It didn’t feel like home without him.

Your couch felt too empty, the silence too loud, the space too big. 

To distract yourself, you picked up one of the books he had given you for your birthday.

It was a thick, well-loved novel with a note scribbled in the margin in his familiar handwriting.

You smiled faintly as you traced the words with your finger, remembering the way his eyes had lit up when he handed it to you.

“You’ll love this one,” he had said, his voice brimming with excitement.

You sat comfortably on the couch, the book open in your lap, while the TV played softly in the background for some noise.

But your mind kept wandering, drifting back to Spencer.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, breaking you out of your thoughts. You glanced at it immediately, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Spencer’s name on the screen.

A smile tugged at your lips as you opened the message. 

"I was thinking… perhaps you could wear something nice tonight? I’ll be there at 7. If that’s alright with you, of course."

You stared at the message for a moment, your smile widening as you typed out your reply: "Okay, sure. I’ll see you then :)"

You hesitated for a second, your thumb hovering over the send button. Then, before you could overthink it, you added: "But just so you know, you’re being weirdly mysterious right now. I’m intrigued."

Slowly, you set the book and your phone aside as you stood up, making your way to your bedroom.

You stood in front of your closet, staring at the rows of clothes.

What exactly did “nice” mean? A dress? Something casual but elegant? You hesitated for a moment before grabbing a simple dress from the hook, deciding it was your safest bet. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of your dress before opening it.

And there he was—Spencer Reid, standing on your doorstep in a suit. Your mouth fell open slightly as your eyes raked over him. Sure, you had seen him in a suit before, but this… this was different.

He looked good. Too good. So good that your brain short-circuited for a moment, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

He looked at you with wide eyes, his breath catching as he took in your appearance. “You look… beautiful,” he said, his voice soft.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you glanced down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Thank you,” you said shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept looking at you as if he was memorizing every detail.

Finally, you broke the silence. “So… what exactly am I dressed up for?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves before he took a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose any more time,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “I want to take you on a date. A real one.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. A date.

Spencer Reid wanted to take you on a date. 

“A date?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yes. A date. I’ve wasted too much time already, and I don’t want to waste any more. Not when it comes to you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But then you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made his eyes light up in return.

“Okay,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as you gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go on a date.”

[tusswrites]

The Pursuit Of Love (c.sc)

“Because stupid, you’re my best friend. You don’t slow dance with best friends."

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x fem! Reader

WORD COUNT: 21k

GENRE: angst, fluff, crack, childhood best friends to lovers, romcom, idiots in love

RATING: 18+ MDNI

WARNING: it gets angsty at some parts, the reader is high-key delusional and possesses probably one brain cell, mentions of depression, mentions of school bullying, profanity, over usage of hyphens and dots my forever allies , complete abuse of art jargon since the author refused to research for lack of time(pardon in advance), mentions of sexual acts, MDNI

SYNOPSIS : a heart’s relentless quest for love, fueled by the perfect visions of romance etched into the world around you, woven through the bittersweet tapestry of rejections, heartbreaks, and long-buried secrets. along the way, you uncover that perhaps the love you've been chasing has been quietly waiting, right beneath your nose all this time.

CREDITS: a big big shoutout to my darling eunha @svtiddiess who was with me every step of the way, cheering me on, reading through what once started out as just a thought, devolved to whatever this is and just being the best person overall, this fic wouldn't have happened had it not been for her .. so insanely grateful for you my little bugger ; bennie @miniseokminnies for the pretty banner, chee-chee darling @nothoughtsjustfic, and lovely asteria @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me with the fic! You were both like the angel and devil on my shoulder, encouraging and critiquing me at the perfect times when I needed it best.

A .N. : this is part of the 'lonely hearts cafe' collab by @camandemstudios. check out the other works !

masterlist here. please comment or reblog with thoughts if you enjoyed it ♥️

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥

I

In a small town, away from the suburbs and nestled among gossiping aunts and children who ran around it with war cries, protecting the honor of their dwelling place, masked in the attire they wore for the games they had in mind, dwelled the Chois. Barricaded by a fence that had once been put up, your family lived just across from them.

You cannot imagine a moment when you were not joined to Cheol at the hip. Your grandfathers were best friends, and your mothers were best friends, leading to you and Cheol becoming best friends. It was dictated by the law of science after all. They joke that your mothers were resigned to having their children be best friends, to continue the tradition that they conceived at the same time, a joke your father very much likes not to take part in, thank you very much. You’ll find him bringing up the nine-month age gap between you and Cheol at every intervention. The little town you both grew up in had its fair share of weird quirks and eccentric people, as most towns do. One outlandish custom that ran in your town was the law of intermarriage between its townsfolk. You see, the prom king marries the prom queen, the gardener marries the florist, the town mayor marries the best baker in Myeongdong, and the town doctor marries the town nurse. For as long as you can remember, the quaint town of Myeongdong was shrouded with devotion and harmony among the people. Naturally, you hunger for love too. 

Which is why, one Christmas day, you wake up excited, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, decked out in your Christmas pajamas, on stealthy feet hoping to catch Santa putting the presents in your gigantic stockings at least this time. Instead, you are greeted by the sight of your father kissing your mother. Disgust should have made you crawl back, hoping to burn that image to the ground, but that day at five years old, you crave such love. A love where your parents are so disgustingly in love, that they failed to notice the kerosene in Eomma’s hand steadily pouring out from the bottle, onto the fireplace furnace, and causing the flames to be bigger than they could be contained.

 But that’s a story for another day!

What matters is that, on that day, you made a firm oath: one day, you would find a love like theirs.  ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ II

“Close your eyes, no peeking, I better not see a - Hannie, stop peeking!” you shout, stomping your foot on the ground to drive your point across to your mischievous best friend. Your best friend just giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. Doesn’t he know this is super important?

“Y/N-iee” Jeonghan draws out the last vowel, completely tired of all your shenanigans by now. “Can we stop this already? I do not want to be a prince anymore.I wanna play tag”

"Just give me one second Jeonghan, it will be over after a second.”

“Alright, that’s one second.” “What! No, it isn’t. A second is over only when the grandfather clock dings. Appa said so”

“That’s an hour you silly goose. Your Appa lied to you” Jeonghan argues, sticking out his tongue. “Hey- Don’t call me silly!” you pout, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol pipes up, ever the peacemaker, raising his hands. “We’re closing our eyes now, okay? No peeking, Hannie.” He gives Jeonghan a look, who rolls his eyes but obediently covers his face with his hands.

Appa’s were a sore topic ever since Hannie’s father woke up one day to buy granolas and never came back. Cheol had to maintain decorum within the cardboard box the three of you were currently sitting in, the one you got with the new refrigerator your parents bought recently. The two princes, Hannie and Cheol, fought for your hand in marriage. A story made completely up by you, dragging your poor best friends who wanted nothing to do with fairy tales and just wanted to play tag. Now they were forced into this game of having to close their eyes and get kissed by you? While you decide who your future husband will be? At five years old? Barnacles!

“What are we even doing?” Jeonghan mumbles under his breath. “I just wanna run around”

“This is important!” you huff, hands on your hips. “How else am I supposed to know who my future husband is?”

Seungcheol peeks through his fingers and grins. “Isn’t five a little too young to get married, Y/N-ie?”

“Nu-uh! My Eomma said people find love at all ages!” you insist. “And you two are princes in the castle!” You gesture dramatically at the castle. It’s now a castle, complete with crayon scribbles and stickers to prove it.

“But we’re not princes!” Jeonghan groans. “I just wanna play tag!”

“You’ll play tag later!” you declare with all the authority a five-year-old can muster. “First, you have to close your eyes so I can choose who to kiss!”

“Y/N-ie I have a better idea” Hannie calls out, never one to be a slave to all your demands, unlike Cheol, your best friend who complied with everything you said.

“Why don’t you close your eyes, and whoever kisses you becomes your true love?”

‘Yeah okay.” you agreed simply. And there you sat, promptly closed eyes, eagerly waiting for the one kiss that seals your future husband.

You feel it, the slight brush, the aggressive push, the faint smell of Kool-Aid hitting your nose, all at once. It happened within a matter of milliseconds. And before you could so much as think, it was all over. You opened your eyes promptly, not heeding the instruction to wait a bit, and there you see it at five. Clear as the sun. Yoon Jeonghan, your first kiss right in front of you. 

You have it in your heart that you will marry him one day. 

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥

Tragedy strikes on the day you find out that Yoon Jeonghan is leaving this town with his mother and baby sister. “But you can’t leave! We have to marry each other.” This was an emergency meeting held at Cheol’s house, in the dining room, your coven for emergencies for the “Triple Devils’, a name dubbed on you three by his hyung.

“I have to go Y/N. Eomma said it's best for us if we leave this town and start in in Daegu. She said there is a fountain of chocolate milk there and I have to see that. When I come back to marry you, I will take you there Y/N.”

And so you and Cheol bid farewell to Jeonghan, waving until the last trace of his hand was completely out of sight. As soon as he was gone, your tender heart shattered, and you sobbed in the arms of Choi Seungcheol. Your ‘true love’ had left, and all you could do was mourn the loss, comforted only by Cheol. He stood there, holding you as close as his little arms could manage, gently stroking your back and cooing soothing words, trying to calm you down.

At the tender age of five, you had your first kiss, found love, and experienced heartbreak, and your comrade-in-arms was none other than Choi Seungcheol. ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ III

You were bigger (not by Dad’s standards) and wiser (not by the big red letters on your test papers). You were going to come through and find love. At eight, you had a strategy-invite the whole class. If you had a plan to entice Kwan Daniel and get him to notice you and put an end to your restless heart around him, then that’s between you and God. If your parents agreed to your wishes, although begrudgingly, to have a giant bounce house on top of a five-layered cake, then that’s none of your business too. 

So there you sat in a pristine Chanel dress—a gift from Halmeoni herself, your quirky grandmother from the town up north—poised and ready for the onslaught of guests who would soon flood this rented venue. Today, you would propose to Kwan Daniel.

The clock struck three; the clock struck four, the sun slowly lost its yellow vigor, casting an orange hue, reminding you quietly that the day was soon to set.

And when all the minutes unraveled into dusk, when the grandest birthday party your town had ever seen was reduced to scattered decorations, an untouched cake, and silence,save for the murmurs of your worried parents; you came to a gut-wrenching realization.

No one was coming.

Ignoring your parents’ concerned looks of pity, you upturn the table you were slumped against and dive headlong into the arms of Choi Seungcheol,the only other friend who had attended the party, who once again looks a little unprepared for the way you tackle him in a hug. He now has longer arms and wraps them around you, squeezing your back and soothing the agonizing wails erupting from your throat.

Heartbroken at eight years old.

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IV

There is a hierarchy that is followed in middle school- one that consists of you sitting and dining with the ‘classic weirdo’ from middle school’ Lee Hyungwon.

Kids at school avoided him, choosing to run away if he dared to make an appearance or come close to talking to him. He was a loner, but a loner that enjoyed his own presence. He didn’t mind the hushed whispers, the open disdain on his face, his tattered clothes, his rat’s nest hair, or the stinky smell that came from near him. He had no problem eating blue cheese, the odor of which will unfortunately be ingrained in your brain forever. But you, you needed him. On days like this, only he could save you. “Dude I told you Julian can be nasty about things like this,” he says, plucking the banana peel from your head.

Lee Julian, Hyungwon’s stepbrother, and the school bully, had thrown you into the trash once again. It seemed like fate had it out for you. You’d read enough Wattpad to know how this worked. ‘The boys who bully you are secretly the ones who love you,’ you had declared confidently to Hyungwon, who was still fussing over the odd pieces of dirt stuck to your clothes.

“Here”, he reaches into his cargo pants, the bulgy pocket deflating at the retrieval of an expensive bottle of cologne.

“Hyungwon, why do you have an expensive bottle of cologne in your pocket, but you never use it?”

“The same way you have the option to call Seungcheol to stop Lee Julian  from bullying  but you never do it anyway.” He deadpans.

He’s got a point there.

At the start of middle school, you and Seungcheol agreed that this time, at least, you’d separate and make new friends. You were tired of being stuck together, suffocated by the assumption that you two were a couple. You wanted more—more friends, and secretly, you wanted to find love. With Cheol always by your side, that would never happen. Everyone thought you two were a thing, and honestly, that was disgusting to you.

Except, you didn’t consider how unpopular you would be in middle school and how popular Cheol would be. While you resided at the bottom of the middle school food chain, he reigned supreme in school- a local celebrity in his own rights.

Cheol knew about the last time Julian dumped you into the trash. You heard this when the news of Cheol’s parents meeting their principal over the infamous incident of Julian being hung on the door by a wedgie spread like wildfire. But you had threatened Cheol, insisting he leave Julian alone. ‘It’s all in the name of love. He’ll come around and see me one day,’ you told him, ignoring your best friend’s accusations that you were ‘crazy��.

As Cheol's best friend, you didn’t want more attention to yourself. You were fine with the fame you would eventually get, being Julien’s girlfriend and all that. This way you get a head start on the marriage plans you have in sight. You need to ask Julien about where he wants to have his honeymoon. Your Halmeoni has told you that Bali is best enjoyed during winter.

It didn’t look like this new setup was any difficult on Cheol, who seemed to do just fine with his new clique. On the days that Hyungwon skipped school, Cheol would come in and sit next to you, hating the sight of you lonely when you were scarfing down your cheeseburger. ‘Cheol go away. I will be fine.”

“Shut up Y/N”

Well, you can’t always be the boss.

But then Cheol’s visits to the lunch table dwindled with the arrival of a girl latched onto his arm- Saerom Burner, his new girlfriend. An absolute doll face, and an absolute bitch to you. For no reason at all.

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ “Y/N, why is the necklace Halmeoni gave you broken?” Your mother stood in the doorway of your room, completely ignoring your warnings of ‘knock before you enter’ privacy. She held a string of beads in her hand, looking at you with concern.

Well, oops. You hadn’t meant for your mom to find out just yet.

Your mom had better things to worry about right now, though, especially seeing your hasty attempts to rub away the tear stains on your face. She quickly wrapped you in a tight hug, her movements careful not to wrinkle her perfectly ironed outfit. No questions asked, she just pulled you in close.

“Sh-she’s just so mean,” you managed to stutter out, still wiping at your face.

“Who is, little chica?”

“S-Saerom B-Burner.”

“Burner? You mean Jieun’s daughter, Saerom Burner?”

You nodded quietly, watching your mom carefully. Her immediate questions made it seem like she already knew something.

“Do you know her mom?” You were sitting up now, hands on your knees, eager to hear any tidbit of information your mom might have about this situation. Your parents were never shy about gossiping about the townsfolk in front of you—although they tended to forget you were just fourteen and probably didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every drama in Myeongdong.

“You know your dad is a handsome stud don’t you?” Your mom gave a little smirk. Your dad was balding faster than a speeding bullet, but back in the day, he was a heartthrob. At least according to the proof in the many prom king photos that lined the mantelpiece, all of which your dad loved to reminisce over.

“Well, back then, your father and Jieun Burner were the couple of this town—Prom King and Queen, the perfect pair. That was until I moved here. Your dad fell for me, and we became the new hot couple. But the town never forgot. They gave your dad—and mostly me—hell for messing up their perfect little plan. They called me the city witch who bewitched your father. I learned to live as an outsider, hated by a town that’s supposed to be so warm and welcoming. Your dad always told me to ignore their stares, but it was easy for him to say. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would’ve left. Jieun still hasn’t let go of that grudge against me.”

Your mom’s voice faltered, as though this memory still stung after all these years.

“I think she might have—”

“Wait a minute!” You interrupted, your eyes lighting up as everything suddenly clicked. You shot up from your spot on the bed, excitement bubbling in your chest. “So, Appa dated Jieun Burner?”

Your mom hesitated, then sighed. “Yes. And before the town could convince your Appa to marry Jieun, I was already pregnant with you. They didn’t have a choice but to marry us.”

“Wait, you were pregnant with me? Was I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Your mom’s voice was stern, though there was a soft edge to it. “You’ll always be our darling child. Always.”

You quickly held up your hands in mock surrender. “No, Ma, I’m not upset. I just want to know.”

She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable but eventually confirmed what you’d pieced together.

“So, that’s why Saerom Burner is mad at me!” Your glee was so obvious it might’ve been a little disturbing for your mom to watch, but you couldn’t help yourself. “She’s not mad at me. She’s mad at you! The whole town probably thought you and Appa cheated on her mom, but I was born before that. Your marriage was kept a secret so no one knew! I have to tell Saerom about this. Oh, Ma, this makes so much sense now! I must tell Saerom about this. I must ma”

You bounced on your feet, practically bursting with excitement.

“No, you foolish child,” your mom called after you, her voice heavy with concern. “You don’t understand how malicious Jieun can be when she wants to be.”

But your mother’s warning fell on deaf ears as you dashed into your closet, grabbed your camouflage jacket to match your new mismatched ensemble, and rushed out the door to the café where you knew Cheol was meeting Saerom Burner.

Your mother sighed, crossing her heart as she sat down on your unmade bed. “Bless that silly child’s heart,” she muttered to herself, hoping you wouldn’t stir up too much trouble.

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“Saerom” you shriek out. You had run a mile a minute, wanting to clear up all the confusion you could before it got any further. Running in the cold with no ear muffs had knocked some sense into you. You had to clear everything up before this misunderstanding spiraled any further. You could feel the sharp sting of realization hit you as you ran, remembering how Saerom had gotten the whole class to skip your birthday party back in elementary school. Now it made sense—her mom must have poisoned her against you, and you were determined to fix it.

“Y/N, what are you doing here,?’ Cheol looks concerned, navigating the perimeter of the cafe shop, rushing to you and immediately placing his warm palms on your cheeks. You look flushed, with the exertion you placed on your body and the cold biting at your skin. 

His touch was bringing some warmth, giving you that momentary relief from the cold that had seeped into your bones. You closed your eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of his hands against your flushed skin. 

Oh right, you were here for a different purpose. “Saerom!” You called out again, more urgently this time. Saerom was sitting at a table with her friends, and as soon as she spotted you, the look of disdain that crossed her face was unmistakable. You figured you’d interrupted some sort of date, but when you scanned the table, you realized there were three of her friends with her.

Weird idea for a date, you mused, before shaking your head. This was no time for distractions.

“Saerom, my mom was married to Appa before I was pregnant. Appa didn’t cheat on your mom- “Y/N where the hell are you going with this? Cheol had placed his full palm around your wrist, locking you in before you took any more steps toward Saerom, who looked baffled at the information coming out of your mouth. You shrug his hand away, ignoring the tight grip he had, and continue to further your advances, not reading the room despite all that education Cheol has bestowed on you.

“Saerom,” you continued, undeterred. “Your mom must have told you that my parents—”

Saerom Burner, thoroughly and utterly disgusted by your strange propositions and your ungraceful manner at which you whirred into the room with so much less of a courteous gesture to enter the room, sent you one last disgusted look before leaving the scene, hand in hand with her two best friends side by side.

Cheol’s palm landed more firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/N, let’s go. Come with me.”

“No wait I-:”

“I said, let’s go.” The tone in his voice left no room for argument, not that you had any, this was the first time Cheol had ever raised his voice at you, he was always the calm soul to play along with all your whims and goofs.

And just like that, your one chance to reconcile with Saerom Burner or anyone at all in high school, was gone. Freshman year had barely started, and you’d already managed to make a complete mess of it.

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V

Not to be dismayed, you reminded yourself that this was your senior year of high school—the final stretch. The year when everything should come together, even if it didn't always feel like it was. You could sense the eagerness of your teachers, waiting for you to finally graduate and leave school behind. If only they knew how much you were dreading that moment.

School has never been your strong suit. Academia was hard for you—English grammar confused you, math made your brain ache, and you could never quite remember formulae. You scraped by with summer school to make up for what you couldn’t grasp during the regular school year, with Cheol always by your side, patiently guiding you through the labyrinth of equations and essays.

Unlike the teachers who shook their heads and called you ‘too slow’ , Cheol was a pretty patient teacher. He took his time before every test day, to come home and help you prepare for the quizzes, otherwise you were sure to fail.

This was your final year in school, if you can’t find love you must at least find something you are good at.

So you try hard.

You try your hand at running for student president but with terrible grades such as yours, you have no option but to give up in the first leg. You were not the sharpest tool in the shed, and that was alright by your parent's standards. As long as you were ‘trying your best’, which again, you weren't. 

Then, you tried volleyball. But it wasn’t your sport. Instead of passing the ball, you kept instinctively catching it in your hands—totally not the point. You tried soccer next, but an unfortunate incident where you accidentally tripped Haewon during a game ended your hopes there. The glee club seemed like the perfect fit until the music teacher begged you not to sing. And dance? Well, you got kicked out after a week, not from lack of enthusiasm, but from knocking into people and causing chaos during every practice. You might’ve been bad at sports and singing and dancing, but you weren’t one to give up.

There was one thing you were sure of, though: art. You may not have been the best at academics or extracurriculars, but you had a knack for art. When you picked up a pencil or paintbrush, everything else faded away. Your creativity was your escape, and even if it wasn’t something that made you the most popular kid in school, it was something that grounded you.

But beyond your art, your greatest strength was your spirit. No matter how many times you failed, you always got back up, even if it was awkward and clumsy. Your resilience was something no one could take away from you, and you were grateful for it. Little did you know, someone else was incredibly proud of your determination too.

Choi Seungcheol, the captain of the football team, has never been prouder than when his biggest cheerleader shows up decked out in clown clothes, mismatched socks, and a megaphone hanging around their neck, carrying the biggest banners ever seen at a school soccer game—his most dedicated trooper- you.

Everyone is confused as to how Cheol and you are best friends, the logic always seemed puzzling,

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥

“Did you see the way he smiled at me?”

“No, but I saw a grimace in your direction.” “Cheollie! He was totally smiling at me. Okay, let’s do this scene by scene. When I asked him out for the Prom dance, he said yes. He’s too shy; he’s not going to tell me directly! You have to read it from his face! There was genuine excitement on his face.Real excitement, Cheol!”

“Y/N, the only expression I saw on his face was relief. When you left. “

“What are you a mind reader these days?”

“Not so much a mind reader as someone who listens with their ears and can recognize contempt when it’s practically blaring from someone’s eyes.

“Okay, you are very cranky today. What’s wrong? Are you gassy? I know we all need to let a - “Y/N, I am begging you, do not finish that sentence, I am trying to eat these twisters!”

“Cheol, these are bad for you! It’s going to cause you more issues than what you-” “I am leaving Y/N.”

“Wait, no! Don’t leave me alone here.” 

“Y/N, this is a girl's locker room. You texted me our safeword, and I ran here expecting the worst. Not to fangirl over your delusions.”

“They are not delusions, Cheollie. He’s just playing hard to get. It’s obvious!”

“Y/N, I am leaving, I am late for practice. Coach Johnson is going to make me do extra laps today. I’d love to stay and chat but I have to leave right now.”

‘Wait, before you leave.”

‘Y/N, you better have a bloody good reason as to why you are holding me back.”

“Just unhook my bra. This new one has too many hooks, and I can’t reach back to get them all. I hurt my hand Cheollie.”

“Y/N, are you for real? Just ask some girl love”

You look down at the ground, a deep flush on your face. “Oh no, I don't like that face! Y/N what did you do?”

‘Look, it was a mistake, alright? “

“Uh Huh. I believe you. Out with it”

“Coach had us pick partners again. As usual, I was the last one picked. I got paired with Saerom, and she was not happy about it. You know how she is.”

“Wait, how did you get paired with Saerom? No offense, but after last time? I didn’t think she’d be caught dead near you.”

“You’d think that, right? Yeah well, she came late. I saw her giving head to Cameron by the bleachers, it seems to me she lost track of time.”

“Y/N, you can’t just say that out aloud.” Cheol was sputtering, embarrassed at your uncouth mouth, blabbering shit for no reason at all. “Yeah well, by the time she came, I was on the bench, and she got paired up with me. We had to do stretches together, and you know my body is not that flexible. I accidentally kicked her right in the eye, she screamed bloody murder, Coach had to call off practice because now Saerom Burner has a black eye. And they are all mad at me and no one wants to talk to me. So will you please unhook my bra? “That is a lot of information to take in one go! But also not surprised coming from your mouth. Turn around. Let me help you”

“Yes, but close your eyes, please, I don’t want you to be the first man to see my boobs. It’s sacred peaks for my first time.”

“I am going to pretend you did not just say that.”

“Can you close your eyes, please Cheollie?” “Y/N, realistically, how can I help you with my eyes closed.”

“You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Aren’t you supposed to be educated enough to do all this blindly?”

“Correction, I have an ex. An ex that seems to hate you very much by now. And no, I did not practice the art of unhooking bras with zero vision. Now will you please turn around? You are landing me in hot waters”

“Fine, but don’t be turned on by seeing my naked back, I can’t give you a ‘Saerom special.’”

“Y/N, please. Stop talking. For the love of all that is good in this world, stop talking.”

“Fine. Wait, you did it! You genius! Now, can you scratch my shoulder too? The straps are driving me crazy.”

For the sake of his sanity, Cheol does as commanded, unperturbed by your weird demands. “I knew it! Knew Cheol was cheating on me with this chick. I feel so sick!” You hear a sickly voice call out and a small part of you is frightened at the shrillness of it. 

“Saerom what are you-”

“Save it Cheol. All you men bleed the same blood, chasing behind any living thing with legs”

“Saerom, wai-” you begin. And before you can so much as explain, Saerom struts out of the locker room, looking a little silly with that weird patch in her eye.

“Please don’t go behind her.” Cheol has a tight hold against your hip, preventing you from running behind her and ruining things again. 

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You knew this wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of Saerom’s hatred. She’d forever be mad at you, probably for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend, or for somehow being the reason they broke up, although that happened well before she saw him unhook your bra. Cheol had refused to give you any explanation then , insisting it was "none of your business" despite your constant nagging.

“It really is none of your business, Aegi,” your mother had sharply chided when you tried to pry information from Cheol’s mother. So, you let it go.

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Maybe Byun Michael had openly rejected you, turning down your invitation to prom without hesitation. No worries. You still had time to ask someone else. You figured they were just too shy to ask you first anyway.

Inspired by To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, you had a plan.

Up in the treehouse, you worked diligently, letters neatly stacked, paperweights keeping them from flying away.

“What are you doing up here?”

You shrieked, nearly toppling over in your rush to cover the evidence.

“Cheol! You’re not supposed to be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your flimsy excuse. “Last I checked, this is my treehouse too.”

You huffed, still trying to block his view. “How’d you even climb up here?”

“The same way you did. Up those rickety stairs.” He smirked. “Now, scoot. Let me see what you’re being so secretive about.”

Reluctantly, you moved aside, revealing a pile of carefully written letters, waiting to be tucked into envelopes and sent to every boy you had ever crushed on.

“Y/N, love… what is this?”

You stayed quiet, hoping your eyes could explain for you.

Cheol picked up a letter, flipping through it. His disbelief grew with every word.

“You wrote love letters? For what?”

“I wanted to send them to Jungwoo, Nick, and Max. Hoping they’d, you know… see my invitation and ask me to prom.”

He blinked. “So you… what, wrote two-page essays? Front and back?”

“Shit’s romantic,” you countered.

“Says who?”

“Lara Jean”

He let out a low hum, dripping with sarcasm. “Mhmm.”

You decided to ignore him.

“What are you doing, Cheol?”

He smirked, mischief sparking in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know the combination to Nick’s locker, would you? Let me help you send this to him.”

“Cheol—”

“Now, move. I’ll be inserting this letter into the purple envelope titled ‘Nick, My Love.’”

You stared at your best friend in awe. He caught your silence and turned to stare right back.

“Quit drooling, perv. Get back to work.”

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“Hey there, sexy.”

You cringed at the sleazy voice slithering into your ear, too close for comfort.

“What do you want, JJ?” you muttered, rubbing your ears as if you could erase the sound of his voice.

“I heard you’re looking for a prom date,” he said, grinning. “Your letter to Jungwoo was found in the dumpster. Figures if he can’t take you, I can. There’s a price though”

Your stomach twisted. “And what, may I ask, is the price?”

His smirk deepened.

“Flash me.”

Your blood ran cold.

Without a word, you turned and walked away, disgusted and dejected. Now you knew exactly where your third letter had ended up, after the first two were sent back to you with rejection. 

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The eve of prom week, you stared longingly at the dress you had picked out at sixteen. This was supposed to be the night—the night you’d be wooed, twirled under sparkling lights, and dance until your feet ached. But with no date, the magic had faded.

You sighed, sinking deeper into your bed.

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“Psst. I know you can hear me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good. Can you also see that I’ve been trying to ignore you?”

Jin, your annoyingly nosy neighbor—home from college for reasons unknown—leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed. “What are you doing here moping when you should be at prom?”

You stiffened. He must have noticed because his voice softened as he stepped closer, squeezing your shoulder lightly.

“Why are you even back? It’s not summer yet.”you complained at his sudden unwelcome appearance in your room. 

“Got kicked out.”

Your head snapped up. “You are a straight-A student.”

He gave you a humorless smile. “Well, this straight-A student is also very depressed and very nosy. So, tell me—why is my chatterbox neighbor, who wouldn’t shut up about prom, still in her pajamas when she should be having the night of her life? Making babies or something.”

You groaned. “That was disgusting.”

“Potato, patootie. Now, spill.”

You inhaled sharply before mumbling under your breath, “No one asked me out.”

Jin blinked. “Seriously, speak a little softer, the ghost of Myeongdong shivered at the timber of your voice. ”, he states sarcastically.

“No one asked me out for prom,” you repeated, louder this time.

“So what? Since when do you wait for other people to ask you?”

“Yeah, well… the ones I asked rejected me.”

Jin let out a low whistle. “Even Seungcheol? Now that’s a shocker.”

“I didn’t ask Cheol,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “He already has a date.”

Silence. Then—“Wait. You’re telling me 'The Seungcheol' asked someone else out before asking you?”

"Why does your tone sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a pipsqueak?"

"Is this your way of trying to avoid the subject? By hurling knives at me? This poor soul who became an outcast? Is someone a little mad their diaper buddy has a date and they don't?"

“No, that’s not—” You fidget, hoping to dodge whatever conclusion he was about to reach.

Jin wasn’t having it. “Unbelievable. Alright, how about this—I’ll take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“One condition.” He pointed a finger at you. “You go out and have fun. If no one dances with you, you dance by yourself. But you’re going to have a good time. You won’t get another night like this.”

You stared at him, squinting hard, trying to detect a trap. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just some good ol’ friendly behavior.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Liar. Jin never does favors for free. You have an ulterior motive.” Then, a thought struck you. “Oh my God—you're hoping to see your ex, aren’t you? Miss Ronalds?”

Jin immediately turned pink.

“I KNEW IT! I got played again by a conniving little—”

“Hey, hey, no need to throw hands. Let’s all calm down.”

“Calm down? You literally used me as a ploy to get back with your ex! How do you stoop that low?”

Jin scratched the back of his head. “Okay, in hindsight, this looks bad—”

“It is bad!”

“But,” he interjected, “hear me out. I will drive you to prom. I will escort you to the dance floor. I will sit there the whole night like a damn chaperone. No advances toward Maggie. None at all. Cross my heart.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Look, I—see?”

And then, in one swoop, he pulled off his hoodie.

You shrieked, covering your eyes. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Relax, drama queen. I just took my hoodie off. No one is going to dance with me wearing just this.” He smirked, showing you his baby pink tee. “Here’s a deal—I take you to prom, and you treat me to a seafood boil tomorrow. There’s this new place I’ve been eyeing, but my parents cut me off for dropping out of uni.”

You gawked. “So you ask a high schooler? Wow.”

“Correction—a loaded high schooler.” He grinned. “Besides, a deal is a deal.”

You sighed. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, about to go get dressed.”

He’s got you there.

"Also Y/N?"

"What now?"

"You are paying for gas."

You couldn’t believe it. Your eternal pursuit of love, on a night that was supposed to be magical, was now reduced to paying your annoying neighbor gas money just so he could talk to your art teacher—who just so happened to be his ex.

So much for that bucket list.

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So maybe you don’t get asked out for Prom, but that’s okay. You’re still here, you show up and that’s all that matters for now. 

Or things could go a little differently. 

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You hadn’t seen Cheol all night, but true to his word, Jin remained on his best behavior. No sneaking off to find his ex, no sleazy antics,just snapping embarrassing pictures of you mid-bite while you stuffed your face with appetizers.

Halfway through a fast song, a hurried “There you are!” breaks through the noise.

You barely have time to turn before you’re met with the sight of a breathless Seungcheol, his hands gripping your shoulders as if you were seconds from vanishing into thin air.

“Where were you?!” he demands, shaking you slightly as if the answer will fall out of you.

You scoff. “Where was I? Where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past hour!”

“I was at your house! Trying to pick you up for prom!”

You blink. “Why were you trying to pick me up? Don’t you have a date? Where’s Yunjin?”

Cheol shrugs, unbothered. “I canceled on her.”

Your jaw drops. “You what?”

“She’s going out with JJ anyway.”

Your horror intensifies. “And you let that happen?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He wooed her with those movie lines copied from your letter.”

You gasp. “What?! And you didn’t tell her that??!”

“It's not my fault she fell for it.” He shrugs again. “Besides, why does it matter? We get to be each other’s date now.”

Before you can protest, he grabs your wrist, pulling you onto the dance floor—cracker still half-eaten in your mouth. You barely register the moment before the upbeat track fades, replaced by the slow, familiar melody of All of Me.

Uh-oh.

“This is awkward,” you state, chewing hastily.

Cheol tilts his head, a pout forming. “Why is it awkward?”

“Because, stupid, how can I slow dance with you? You’re my best friend. Best friends don’t slow dance together.”

He rolls his eyes. “Throw your stubborn beliefs out the window and just dance.”

Before you can react, his hands find your waist, pulling you in close. Then—without any warning—he dips you.

You gasp, clutching onto him for dear life, heart racing.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?!” you ask breathlessly, still in shock.

A smirk tugs at his lips, a dimple appearing. “You’re not the only one who attempted a dance major.”

You narrow your eyes before reaching up and poking his dimple.

Cheol laughs, swaying with you gently. “I got kicked out, though.” You supply. 

He snorts. “I can tell. Also… can you tell I stuffed cotton in my shoes?”

You blink. “Wait. That’s the soft, pudgy thing I’ve been stepping on?”

“Yes. And thank God for that.”

This time, when he dips you again, your hands instinctively go around his neck. You’re still a little scared but fully reassured that he won’t let you fall. As if to reward you for your full trust, he leans a little and pecks your forehead.

“What was that for?” 

Cheol shrugs, his grip on your waist steady as he sways you both to the rhythm. "Felt like it," he says simply, a teasing glint in his eye.

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VI

Two semesters into college, you called your parents to inform them that you were quitting. There was no way you could make it through another day, not with the constant stress pressing down on you. Every class felt like a foreign language, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t grasp the material as effortlessly as everyone else seemed to. It was exhausting, frustrating, and, worst of all, demoralizing.

To compensate for your sudden lack of education, you threw yourself into the workforce, picking up not one but two daytime jobs.

Your first attempt was at a front desk at a restaurant,‘Meogeulle’ but that didn’t last long. Your tendency to chat up customers and “waste company time,” as your boss put it, quickly earned you a demotion. Instead of greeting guests with a bright smile, you were sent to the back, where your words wouldn’t slow down business.

And so, you became a dishwasher.

But if your boss thought exile to the kitchen would dull your spirit, he was sorely mistaken. You became the jolliest dishwasher ‘Meogeulle’ had ever seen. You hummed through every shift, cheerfully tackling the greasiest plates, and scrubbed even the dirtiest surfaces with the enthusiasm of someone discovering hidden treasure. Your energy was infectious, and before long, the entire kitchen staff had grown fond of you.

Old Ralph, the head chef, took a particular liking to you. He often snuck you free meals, much to your delight—and Cheol’s. The two of you practically survived on those meals, stretching your modest incomes to cover rent in a far-too-luxurious apartment complex that neither of you had any business affording.

Looking back, maybe telling your parents that you could fend for yourself hadn’t been your brightest idea. But somehow, you made it work. The dimes you earned, the laughter shared over steaming bowls of ramen topped with every extra ingredient you could get your hands on—it was enough. More than enough.

You were happy. Content with your life and your job.

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VII

“Cheollie, be honest. Does this make me look fat?”

“Oh no, babe. You look fantastic as always!”

“Cheol, you haven’t even looked up for one second. How can you tell?”

He sighs. “Y/N, this is the fifth dress you’ve tried on. How different can this one really be?”

“What if I’m naked?”

“Then you’re naked.”

“Arrgh! You are so frustrating, Cheol!”

Finally, he shuts his laptop with an exaggerated sigh and looks up at you. “Fine. Hit me. Show me what you got. Parade around. Let’s make you the princess of the evening, okay?”

This was your seventh date in two months. Ever since your discovery of Tinder, you had been speed-running through men like it was a game.

So maybe you didn’t have the best track record with relationships—or dates in general—but your Halmeoni always told you to try men of every flavor.

“The one,” she’d say, “is either right around the corner or has been under your nose all this time.”

Cheol watches with an amused grin as you do a slow spin in front of the mirror, arms crossed. “Well?” you demand, hands on your hips.

He tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “I think,”

You hold your breath.

“I think you look like someone who’s about to make another poor life decision.”

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Cheol!”

He cackles, dodging with ease. “What? Am I wrong?”

“You don’t know that!” You huff, turning back to the mirror. “This one’s different.”

Cheol raises an eyebrow. “You said that about the guy who tried to split the bill when he invited you to dinner.”

You glare at him through the reflection. “It’s called equality, Cheol.”

He snorts. “It’s called being broke.”

You roll your eyes but bite back a smile. “Whatever. I’m going, and you’re going to hype me up properly before I leave.”

He sighs dramatically before pushing himself off the bed. “Fine.”

He opens your chaotic wardrobe and starts fine-tuning it with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. After a few moments of rummaging, his hand stops on a sundress—something he’d picked out for you last summer when you decided to take an impromptu vacation.

“Aha!”

Stepping behind you, he rests his chin on your shoulder, placing the floral dress over your current outfit, meeting your gaze in the mirror. “You look stunning.”

You blink. His tone is… sincere.

Before you can say anything, he flicks your forehead. “Now go, little Casanova. Go ruin another man’s life.”

Laughing, you shove him away. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he calls after you as you rush into the washroom to run and change.

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Cheol sinks onto the bed with a sigh, tossing aside his laptop, ready to mourn the night away. He knows fully well that no studying is going to happen tonight—not after he gave you the blessing to go on this date and even picked out a dress for you.

Every time you go on a date, a little part of his heart sinks, hoping that just once, you’d turn around and see him, instead of all the men you were speed dating.

“What do they have that I don’t, Y/N? Why won’t you just look at me?”The thought lingers as he watches your peaceful face. When all he’s met with is the quiet sound of your snores, he runs a gentle hand over your face, brushing the baby bangs from your eyes. It’s then that he realizes—he’s talking to a sleeping form, rambling out his feelings after long hours at the library. He must be losing it.

But just as his woeful flashback drags him deeper into his stupor, he feels the sting of a powerful flick to his forehead.

“Ow,” he winces, clutching his forehead and pouting at you. You’re standing there,dressed in the outfit he picked out back in a record two minutes. “Why are you lookin at me like that?”

You don’t say anything, just fluttering your eyelashes and dramatically kneeling on the floor, clasping your arms together as though begging.

He jumps up in alarm. “No. What are you doing? Get up. Why are you on the floor? Get back up.”

With surprising strength, he pulls you up, not liking the image of you kneeling before him. “Stop looking at me like that, tell me what you want” he mutters, his voice a little unsteady, nerves prickling.

“Please, Cheol. Take me to McDonald’s.”

“What? Your date is supposed to take you there, Y/N.”

“I know, but he’s new to the city, and he doesn’t have a car yet. Please, Cheol, just this one time. I’ll owe you.”

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And so, there sits Cheol in the car, at the parking lot of Mcdonald's, his hand tapping uncontrollably against the steering wheel as his thoughts race. 

He’s usually a lot better at controlling his urges around you whenever you are consumed by your current hookup. But tonight, seeing you in a dress he gifted you, in a hairstyle he likes best on you, on a day that marks significant importance to him, he has the all-consuming urge to just get out of the car, pull you close, and keep you with him all for himself.

Joshua, his best friend from uni, had grown tired of hearing him constantly name-drop you. So, in a rare moment of frustration, Joshua had begged him—in fact , offered him money—to ask you out.

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Cheol had protested.

“And whose problem is that? Look, from what little I know about her, she sounds daft-.”

“Hey, careful there,” Cheol had growled.

Joshua didn’t back down. “See? Right there. You’re this possessive over a girl you say is just your best friend. She’s not going to know how you feel until you tell her, Cheol.”

Cheol shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t, Shua. You should see the way she looks at couples—always moping about her lack of a boyfriend. Yet, she never sees me.” He could feel his voice cracking as the weight of his emotions surged. He was close to tears, overwhelmed by everything that had been building up.

“Hey, don ’t cry, alright? She’ll come around,” Joshua had said, trying to console him. “Why don’t you just ask her? The worst she can say is no. Maybe try being open about your feelings, don’t beat around the bush. Lay it out for her, plain and simple.”

“Alright, I will,” Cheol had said, determination settling over him.

This was a conversation he had three months back. If Joshua saw him now, he would not be proud. But here he was, still sitting in the car, the weight of Joshua’s words fresh in his mind. He knew he had to do something—something bold, something decisive. But the nerves, the fear of rejection, they still had him frozen.

And now, watching you through the windshield as you make your way toward the restaurant , a small part of him wonders if it’s already too late.

Xxxxxxxxxx

‘Couprang” 

His world froze seeing the safeword text from you. All it took him was five seconds before he was out of the car and rushing into the restaurant trying to locate you.  Unimaginable red blinds his vision when you were crying softly, trying to reduce your tears to your napkin. 

“Y/N-ie?”

When he sees you look at him with your red rimmed eyes, he ignores all the questions in his mind and flies to bring you close to him, letting you cry once again on his shoulder.

Your date was a lucky man that Cheol didn't know his name. 

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VIII

Maybe your last failed date with a man who physically harassed you at McDonald's—because you refused to put out on the first date—had slowed your interest in dating for a while. Something about the constant chasing love, the rush, and the way everything kept slipping through your fingers every time you thought you’d finally attained it, had worn you out. Maybe friends were all you needed right now. Thank God for Cheol, your best friend, who was lying on your lap, his head resting there as you sleeplessly drifted away, drowning in the white noise of Singles Inferno.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a minute?”

“Me? I’ve always got a minute. You’re the one busy with college.”

Cheol sighed deeply. “How I wish I had a trust fund that could promise me a lifetime of staying away from calculus. Every day, I hate myself a little more for thinking I could do this.”

“You can do this, Cheollie. You’re so smart. I believe in you.” You give him a soft smile, your fingers gently brushing through his hair. “Besides, you're always welcome to take me up on my offer to stay with me whenever you need a break. Bet my future kids would love to have you as their uncle.”

When you’re met with silence, you glance down at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t. Instead, he was staring intently at the leg of the sofa, his face lost in thought.

“Cheollie?” you prod again.

“Hmmm?”

“What were you going to tell me again?”

“Oh. Never mind. It can wait another day.”

“Fine by me,” you reply, settling back into the couch, feeling the weight of the quiet moment between you both.

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After the phone call with your grandma, you had your slow revelation moment.

“Where’s grandpa?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice.

“He’s just driven to the pharmacy to get my medications for this month,” grandma answered, the usual warmth in her tone.

“But I thought the doctor said he needed bed rest for at least another month, with his back injury?” you pressed, concern growing inside you.

“Hush, child,” she chuckled softly. “You know how the old man is. He doesn’t trust anyone else to get my medicine. He believes it’s his right as my husband. No matter how much I scold him, he insists he’ll be in and out in no time.”

The image of your elderly grandfather, frail from his injuries but still determined to fulfill a task so simple, so mundane in your eyes, made something inside you freeze. There was something incredibly beautiful about his unwavering devotion to your halmeoni—a love that had lasted decades, built on shared memories and routine, something he couldn’t entrust to anyone else, even in his weakened state.

That thought made you stop, your mind quieting as you sat there, blankly staring at the wall in front of you, long after the call ended. The longing in your chest grew, and the ache of wanting to find that kind of love—the kind that would last a lifetime—began to blossom. Your eyes drifted to the opened  drawer, where you caught sight of a small, old journal buried among other forgotten things. The little lock that once felt so important was still intact, and the key was nestled on your charm bracelet. With trembling hands, you unlocked the journal and flipped it open. The pages were yellowed with age, but your handwriting—clumsy and childish—was still legible. The words on the first page were familiar, words you hadn’t thought about in years.

"To Yn-ie from the future, I am so curious to find out who he is, your lover. Is he as funny and charming, and does he steal your breath away like we had imagined? Does he know your insecurity over being called dumb? Does he know your fear of being quizzed on the spot? Does he scold you for eating too much candy but sneak in your favorite Twizzlers? Does he entertain your idea of ten children and settling on a farm with Beth the cow and Rony the moose? Does he pick you up and carry you around the house, the way we secretly hoped? Does he sneak up on you and kiss you dizzy, ignoring the world around you? Is he making you smile? Oh, I am so curious, but I know you’ll be okay, because you have your lover by your side. Give him a kiss from little me."

You stopped reading, the block in your throat getting heavier by the second until you found yourself unable to swallow at all. The slow sinking feeling that maybe you’d die alone, with regrets on your mind, terrified you. Before you could calm yourself down, the tears began to cascade, streaming down your face as you bawled uncontrollably.

Cheol found you in the closet after a frantic five-minute search around the apartment, tears drying on your puffed-up cheeks. Quietly, without a single question, he placed you against his chest and rubbed your back, soothing your sadness away, rocking you side to side.

“I just don’t understand, Coupsie,” you whispered, calling him by the nickname you used as a child, “It’s so silly, it’s childish, I know.” You paused, a sharp breath catching in your throat. “I just want to feel butterflies, want to feel wanted, needed, in a way that’s not linked by blood. In a way someone other than the people who have to want me back. I am a good person, Coupsie, all I—” Your voice breaks, cutting your words short, but his steady back rubs comfort you, urging you to continue.“All I need is to just have someone for me. Someone to be my person. To love me. Someone like Mom has Dad, and you have Iseul. Someone for me, worthy of love." 

You look up at him, an see earnest doe eyes looking back at you, closed with sadness perhaps the echoing the one you have etched in your face.You are happy for Iseul, his new fling that gets to have a boyfriend who loves so passionately that he cares for everyone around him. 

“Right. Iseul.” He finally repeats after a shared minute of silence. 

“Is everything alright?” His voice was shaky, like he is hiding something from you.

“Nothing, everything is perfect!”

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IX

As the months passed, your once burning desire to get married slowly dwindled. The weight of adulthood was becoming heavier, and the pressure to figure things out seemed to increase by the day. You made the decision to find another job, anything to ease the growing strain. But somewhere between job hunting and adjusting to the grind, over a simple stroll to get a hot dog, you got distracted by a street musician. His saxophone echoed through the air, pulling a crowd around him. The way the notes flowed effortlessly from the instrument, the smooth cadence of his playing—it was mesmerizing and one odd conversation later, you found yourself becoming a street artist. 

To Choi Seungcheol's chagrin, of course.

He had warned you countless times about befriending strangers, especially the ones with shady jobs.

“Don’t be so snooty, Cheol,” you’d said when he expressed disapproval.

“I’m not being snooty! Haven’t your parents taught you anything about stranger danger?”

“Relax, Cheol. Not everyone catches the virus!” You waved your hand dismissively. “Besides, Brenda offered me a way to kill time during the long hours you spend at the library. I get to draw people’s faces, something I love doing, and no one’s going to file charges against me for staring long enough. Plus, the better I get at it, the higher the tips.”

“Aha. And why is it that I’ve never seen you bring any cash back here?”

You said nothing, your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Exactly. Stop letting people misuse your kindness, Y/N. Don’t let that be your weakness.”

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“Will you please stop twitching?” “You’re taking too long!” Mingyu whines from across your sketchpad. One more movement, and you're tempted to throw the entire paper at his face. You have no patience for a model who can’t sit still for more than five minutes.

“Are you done, Noona?”

“Mingyu, I haven’t even properly started because you keep moving too much and ruining the angle I have set in place. I am a sketch artist not a magician!”

“Fine,” he drawls. “But make sure you get my good side.”

“Mingyu, I promise I will. If you could just—” You stand up with great discomfort, your body stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, and walk over to him. You tie his arms together, fixing him in place. “There, sit like that for some time now.”

For the better part of an hour, you sketch his features, including the smile lines on his face and the creases by his eyes. Some men were crafted so beautifully, it almost made you jealous.

A small break to stretch your neck and shoulders has you catching sight of him again. You can’t miss it, his telltale knowing smirk—one that could lure you in and lead you into his deceptive ways, even if it was just child’s play. His hair, black and magnificent, was now trimmed short since the last time you saw him—over two decades ago. It had been too long, yet you couldn’t escape his mischievous glinting eyes that screamed at you: it was indeed Yoon Jeonghan himself.

Ignoring all common sense about traffic ingrained on you by Cheollie, you dive headfirst into the crowd, weaving through a thick mass of busybodies. It’s difficult to navigate, but you follow his luscious hair like a beacon.

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan!” you scream.

The man turns around. Without warning, he’s suddenly caught in an armful of a woman he’s never seen in his life—someone clinging to him, screaming, “Happy to see you again!”

“Who the hell are you?” He shoves you away from him, a valid reaction considering the situation. What person wouldn’t be confused at such an abrupt embrace?

You ignore all societal cues, clutching tightly to his arm and jumping up and down with excitement. In one firm grip, he pulls you along, and you gasp at the tightness of his hold as he leads you into a nearby bar, dim and quiet in the midday. His beady eyes flicker with irritation, narrowing as he glances at you.

"Lady," he says, voice strained, "I am one second away from calling the cops if you don’t—

“Hannie, it’s me! Y/N-ie, I am from Myeongdong, you me and Cheollie were best friends, remember?

Somewhere, a flicker of recognition started to show in his eyes, and you could see the slow struggle as he tried to piece everything together.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice tentative.

Excitement surged through you, and you couldn’t help but grin widely, your heart racing. “Yes! It’s me, Y/N-ie! From Myeongdong!

I’m sorry… I know I’m supposed to remember, but I… only remember bits and parts. The only thing I remember is the town and Daddu?” His words stung,knowing he remembered Cheol more than you but you tried to hide the hurt. You three were inseparable as kids, but even back then, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Cheol and Hannie’s families hung out more than yours ever did. It took you time to understand why your parents were never included in those cookouts, and while you had come to terms with it, it still hurt to realize that Hannie seemed to remember Cheol—the one he called ‘Daddu’—more than you.

“Is Daddu around? Do you know where he is? Maybe I can get in touch with him?” He asked, hopeful.

Pushing the jealousy down, you nodded eagerly, eager to make him feel welcome. You grabbed his hand, guiding him out the door.

“Yes, yes, follow me. Daddu—I mean, Cheollie and I are roommates now. He’s probably home, unless he’s busy kissing Iseul, which… let me tell you, Hannie, I love them both to death, but watching them make out is, like, a very disgusting sight to see. I had to establish the red sock on the doorknob after the last time I caught them on the carpet Hannie. The carpet! Who does it on the carpet? "Like animals, they are going back to caveman times, I think . Well anyway like I—". You stop mid-sentence when he halts, suddenly still.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Jeonghan is staring at you in horror, his eyes wide as he watches the woman who just jumped on him in the middle of a crowd, declaring herself his past best friend and promising to take him to see his old best friend. A woman who speaks a mile a minute. This is surely one of the craziest days he's ever had.

"Why is there a tall man running over to us screaming ‘Noona,’ and why is he looking at you?" he asks, another burning question clouding his mind.

You glance over and see Mingyu sprinting toward you with urgency, and without hesitation, you pull Jeonghan’s arm, directing him to ‘ignore him’. 

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Cheol is taken aback when he opens the door. Instead of your face, there's a very beautiful man standing next to you.

“Hi, I’m Cheol. You must be—?”

“Daddu?” Jeonghan interrupts, his voice almost a whisper.

“Hannie?” Cheol responds, his surprise evident.

Maybe you shed a tear, watching the joyful reunion between two best friends who embraced each other like they hadn't seen one another in ages—and, in truth, they hadn’t. But of course, you know it's Cheol's right to embrace any happiness he finds, and you can’t help but be pulled into the moment.

 He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into the hug, sharing the warmth between you, Jeonghan, and him. For a moment, you feel Jeonghan stiffen, but just as quickly, he relaxes, his arm wrapping around you as he squeezes you tightly. A bit of your heart warms at the gesture.

"I can’t believe it! The Triple Devils have reunited! Where did you find him, Y/N?" Cheol exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

Jeonghan gulps, looking at you, unsure if he should recount the chaos of his day with the crazy woman. Instead, his eyes wander around, and he notices—

“Is this the sock you show to signal sexiling?”

Cheol looks mortified, narrowing his eyes at you. “You can’t just spring that on people, Y/N!Also I just got off the phone with Mingyu.You definitely can’t walk out on Mingyu in the middle of drawing a subject. It's your job!”

“It’s a side job!” you defend, shrugging casually.

“Still, Y/N! And Mingyu is my cousin, I owe him this!”

“Wait, is M-Mingyu the tall man who came charging at us, yelling ‘Noona,’ and you grabbed my hand and told me to run? I was going to call the cops on him!”

“Y/N,” Cheol calls out, exasperated.

“I’m sorry! I’ll call him, apologize, and reschedule a meeting tomorrow.”

“Do it now, Y/N.”

“B-b-but—”

“No excuses. Now.”

“Fine!” you huff, grabbing the phone Cheol pulls out of your pocket. You opt to text Mingyu instead.

“No, call him. Put him on speaker. I need to ensure you’re not distracted.”

“I’m enjoying this,” says a third voice from the corner.

Both you and Cheol turn to look at the silent accomplice, who’s standing there with a smug grin on his face. If you had any doubts before, you can firmly conclude now that indeed —that’s Jeonghan.

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How you ended up on a double date with Cheol, Iseul, and Jeonghan still baffles you. Iseul had made reservations with her best friend and boyfriend, who canceled at the last minute, giving you the perfect opportunity to try the new spot. Cheol, ever the orchestrator, invited Jeonghan as your date. A part of you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the universe is finally making things right. Perhaps Jeonghan’s return to your life isn’t just coincidence, but a reminder that the boy who once promised to be your husband and gave you your first kiss could one day come back into your life, not just as a memory, but as a lover in the present.

“I love your outfit, Y/N. Really brings out your eyes. Where did you get it from?” Iseul asks, placing a serving of pickled onions on Cheol’s plate.

“You do? Cheollie got it for me last Christmas. We have an ugly sweater competition every year, but last year, the doofus thought it’d be funny if he outsmarted me and got me this instead.”

“Remember when your mom scolded you for getting me that hideous jumper with the ‘dank memes’ slogan on it?” Cheol interjects, slapping his knee in the middle of a fit of laughter.

“You were always her favorite, and you knowingly took advantage of it.”

“Oh, yes, I did! Remember that time you broke the stairway to the treehouse and blamed it on me so you'd escape Eomma’s wrath?”

“And did she scold you?”

“No,” he says smugly.

As Cheol absentmindedly picks at his plate, you reach for the pickled onions he always complains about. "Oh, Cheollie," you tease, grinning as you scoop them off his plate and onto yours. “You know you hate these.”

“Show off! Hey, remember that time—?”

“Ready to order?” The waiter interrupts, and the sudden break in the banter catches you off guard.

Jeonghan watches with quiet amusement, faint memories sparking to life as he observes his childhood best friends laughing, reminiscing over their mischief. They’re so caught up in it that they forget Cheol’s date and you’re startled by the waiter’s interruption. For someone like you, who claims to want to find love, you sure are blind to the obvious kind.

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XI

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister. One month of dating later you had asked him to be your boyfriend, something he had gladly accepted. 

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Enraged, visions of red cloud Cheol’s periphery. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister.

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Fury coursed through Cheol, his vision tinged with red as his anger flared. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

"You will what?" Jeonghan interrupts smoothly. "Kill me? For breaking up with your girl?"

"She is not my—she’s—"

"Maybe not yet," Jeonghan smirks. "But we’ve all seen it, Daddu."

Cheol’s jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

"I don’t like that stupid smile on your face," he finally whispers, voice low, dangerous. "Take it off."

Jeonghan chuckles, tilting his head. "Seems like you’ve finally calmed down. Want to come in?"

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“Cheol, does she know?” Jeonghan asks, looking at him with knowing eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cheol replies, trying to brush it off.

“You know,” Jeonghan smirks, “you don’t make a good liar. Neither you nor Y/N. You’re too prim and proper to lie about the small things. Maybe you can fool Y/N for decades, but not me. I see right through you.”

Cheol sighs, not meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“You’re in love with Y/N,” Jeonghan continues. “It’s time to come clean. Stop holding back. Just tell her.”

Cheol shakes his head. “It’s not easy, Hannie.”

“It is,” Jeonghan insists. “It’s very easy, Daddu. This is Y/N, your best friend. There’s no malice in her. She’ll either say yes or no—that’s her call. But for the most part? She’s in love with you too. She just doesn’t know it yet. You have to be the one to break it to her.”

Cheol stumbles over his words. “I-I—”

Jeonghan cuts him off. “You know, Daddu, being in love with one girl and leading another one on? You’re breaking three hearts—yours, Y/N’s, and Iseul’s.”

“Iseul?”

“Yes. Your girlfriend. The one whose name you haven’t said once since you’ve been here. But you didn’t avoid Y/N’s name.”

Cheol freezes, his mind racing. "Iseul. I forgot she has an interview scheduled today at 9, and I have to drop her off—"

“Well, if you leave now, like actually fly down the elevator, you might have a shot. Go,” Jeonghan says, a slight grin on his face.

Cheol doesn’t waste another second, dashing off in a panic, muttering apologies under his breath, as if he were the one wronged in the situation.

Jeonghan watches him go, shaking his head. “The lovesick idiot,” he mutters to himself, amused by the chaos.

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You were stuck working the big pots tonight.

Meoguelle had a big party pull up to the restaurant, which meant twice the usual number of dishes to wash. So there you sat, hair tied up, sweat lining your forehead, a small trickle of tears mixing with the steam rising from the sink. Your hands were elbow-deep in a greasy, murky mixture—just the perfect way to end the night after your breakup fiasco.

"L/N F/N, is that you?"

Truthfully, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. Not with a stranger, not with a friend—no one. But after the fifth attempt at scrubbing stubborn gunk off a caked-up pot, you figured now was as good a time as any for a break.

You turned toward the voice, your brain scrambling to put a name to that oh-so-familiar face.

"Jun? Wen Junhui? Is that you?"

"In the flesh and blood," he said proudly, confirmed.

“It’s good to see you! What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay my compliments to the chef, which I’m assuming is—"

"Oh, no, that’s him out by the back door, filling his lungs with smoke. I’m just a mere dishwasher."

Jun blinked. "Oh. Is that why you’re c-crying?"

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "Huh? Oh. No. I, uh— I got dumped."

Jun’s brows furrowed. "Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. But honestly, I’m also really surprised. I never thought Se—Seungcheol would be the type to dump someone over text. Aren’t you two closer than that?"

"Seungcheol?" You frowned. "What? No. He’s my best friend. My roommate. We never dated. Why would you assume that Cheol was my boyfriend? I could never date him—"

"Could’ve fooled me."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Huh? What did I say?" Jun repeated, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting around guiltily, looking for anything—anything—to distract himself from this suddenly very awkward conversation.

"Look, I gotta scoot," he rushed out. "Please pass on my compliments to the chef. And Y/N? Talk to Cheol."

Your eyes narrowed. "Jun—"

"I know you were mad at me when I bailed on our date, but I also thought I was just a rebound for—"

"A rebound? Jun, you were the only guy I was seeing at that time."

He winced. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"What favor?" You scoffed. "Texting me for nights in a row only to bail out on a date?"

Jun’s eyes widened slightly. Then he took a step back. Then another. "Shit’s escalated so far. I gotta go—keep in touch?"

And before you could respond, he jogged out of the kitchen the same way he came in—leaving you behind, confused in more ways than one

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Your conversation with Cheol about your weird encounter with Jun goes in a different direction than you had honestly anticipated.

"I saw Jun at the restaurant today."

"Who's Jun?" Cheol calls out from the couch, eyes glued to a rerun of Single’s Inferno while you blend ingredients for dinner.

"Wen Junhui. The guy Shua introduced me to?"

Cheol perks up slightly. "Oh, the anime-looking hottie?"

You roll your eyes, walking over to the couch with both dinner plates in hand. "Yes, that one. When I told him my boyfriend broke up with me, he assumed it was you. How weird is that?"

There’s a brief pause.

"Why is that weird?"

You glance at him. His hand is clenched tightly around the remote, knuckles paling. Like he has something to explain.

"You and me," he continues casually. "You’re a girl. I’m a boy. A very handsome boy, might I add." He throws in a cheeky grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You scoff. "But Cheol, we’re best friends. We can’t date."

"Why not?" His response is immediate, almost defensive. The sharpness in his tone irks you.

"What are you even saying right now, Coupsie?" You frown. "I can never tell what’s going on in that head of yours. And you’re acting weird."

He exhales sharply. "Oh, good. So you’re not totally dumb after all."

Your blood runs cold."...What did you just say to me?"

Cheol's face falls. His panic is instant. "Y/N—shit—no. No, I didn’t mean that, I—please, don’t be mad, love." He rushes toward you as you push off the couch, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. "I was just— I don’t even know why I said that— Y/N,I am sorry  please, just look at me."

But you don’t.

You turn on your heel, marching straight to your room, fully intending to hole yourself in there for the rest of the night.

"No, no—" His grip catches your wrist just before you can slam the door. Before you know it, he’s pulling you back out, standing in the threshold of your room, looking like a man pleading for salvation.

"Please," he whispers, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing away the tears threatening to spill. "Please, love, just listen to me. If you want to shut me out after, I won’t stop you. But please. Just hear me out."

You exhale shakily. "Fine. But one condition."

"Anything," he answers without hesitation.

"You need to tell me what went down at Jeonghan’s." Your voice is firm now. "Ever since you ran out of here that morning, you’ve been avoiding me. And don’t give me some crap excuse about being busy. I know your schedule by heart, Cheol. You have nothing coming up that’s remotely important."

Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.

Slowly, his hands shift, thumbs gliding up to smooth your furrowed brows. The back of his fingers ghost over your cheeks, his touch light, tracing over your features like he’s memorizing them.You don’t move away. His gaze locks onto yours, wide and searching his fingers running over. Your eyes. Your nose. Your lips.

"Ch-Cheol, what are you—"

"Shh." His breath is warm as he leans closer, lips parting, barely a sliver of space between you.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

And then—The doorbell rings.

Both of you jolt back, like the universe itself just yanked you out of whatever that moment was.

For a beat, neither of you speak. Your breathing is uneven, adrenaline rushing through you like you’ve just run a marathon.

Cheol is the first to break the silence. He looks down, almost ashamed. "It’s Iseul," he mutters. "She’s crashing here for the night."

 Iseul. His girlfriend.

"Right," you echo weakly, stepping back into your room and shutting the door behind you.

You lean against it, exhaling slowly, trying to steady your racing heart.

Even as you hear Cheol’s footsteps retreating, hear the front door opening, hear his soft voice greeting Iseul—you don’t move.

Instead, you replay the last few seconds over and over in your head.

Grateful the doorbell rang when it did.

Or were you grateful?

Weird.

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You never talk about that day.

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Two weeks after the almost kiss—Cheol moves out.

“We both knew we were delaying this,” he says, rolling his suitcase toward the door. “I got a new apartment closer to work. I’ll save on transportation.”

His voice is light, casual. But there’s something else beneath it. Something heavier.

“Besides,” he adds with a small smirk, “you can finally have that guest bedroom all to yourself. You know, in case you feel noble and want to take in another one of your homeless buddies for the night.”

It’s a weak joke. His dimple is in place, flashing his usual pearly whites, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“See you, love,” he says.

And as always, he steps forward to give you a forehead kiss—just like he’s done a thousand times before. A simple, familiar gesture.

But this time, you flinch.

Like his presence is suddenly too much.

“Oh.”

His voice is quiet. Almost hurt.

He hesitates, then pinches your cheek lightly—just for a second—before turning away and walking out of the apartment.

“Don’t be a stranger love”

And just like that, he’s gone.

And you—standing in the middle of your now too-big apartment, in a too-cold city—are left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest.

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It’s been three months since the incident.

Three months since you last saw him.

Time has given you some clarity. Some distance. But on days like today—when the loneliness creeps in, when the silence in your apartment feels deafening—you sit and wonder.

What once was.

What could have been.And whether or not you made the right choice at all. To ignore what happened that night before and keep living it didn’t just happen. 

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“Noona?”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Mingyu, why are you here? Don’t you have a girlfriend to nail down?”

“First of all, hurtful. I don’t have a girlfriend. Secondly, I came here to thank you, Noona.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” he insists, huffing with a stubborn pout. “Your sketches are the reason I got to add something to my portfolio. The ones you drew of me, all the photos you took—you helped me put together a solid submission for ‘Hayfer’ magazine. It meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Gyu,” you say, shaking your head. “But again, like I said, it’s literally your face that did all the work. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you didn’t go around looking the way you do.”

“Are you saying I’m handsome? Is this Noona’s way of flirting with me? I can’t believe it,” he teases with a charming smile.

“Stop fishing for compliments. Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”

“Once again, to clarify—I am bitchless.” He places a hand on his chest in mock sincerity before grinning. “However, if you’re down to—”

A year ago, you’d have gasped in disbelief that a tall, dashing man with a heart-stopping smile would be openly flirting with you—more so, inviting you on a date. You probably would have jumped at the first opportunity, said yes, and sealed the deal. Maybe even called your grandparents and let all six of your cousins know.

But you’ve grown.

The childishness hasn’t completely dissipated, but a part of you knows that to a man like Mingyu, you’d be just another passing fling. So you shake your head, slowly, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

Guys like him will always have a second chance.

Not with you, though.

“That’s okay,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda knew you’d say no. Just wanted to dip my toes in.” Then, as if remembering something, he fishes out a card from his wallet and hands it to you. “Here—this is for you.”

“What is this, Gyu?” you ask, flipping the card between your fingers, reading the name printed on it.

Xu Minghao.

It rings a bell.

“Who is this? If this is another attempt to set me up with someone, I swear to God, Mingyu—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, laughing. “I would never set you up with someone else. I know who you belong with.”

Your stomach twists in questioning knots. Before you can respond, he continues.

“This is my friend from uni, Hao. He’s opening a new gallery downtown, and he wants to showcase underrated classics—graffiti artists, doodlers, glorified vandalizers apparently. He saw your sketches of me and was impressed. He asked if I could pass his number to you so he could call and discuss featuring your art in his gallery.”

Your heart stutters.

Xu Minghao.

Why does that name sound so familiar?

Mingyu smirks. “You might know him as The8.”

“Shut up. No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” He looks all too pleased with himself.

“You’re telling me ‘The8’ saw my sketches and wants to showcase my artwork?”

Mingyu barely gets to nod before you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his broad frame. He chuckles but holds you just as firmly, his warmth grounding you in this unreal moment.

For so long, you’ve grasped at mediocrity, believing—like your teachers always warned—you’d never amount to anything. School and college have failed you. Your lack of focus, your inability to stay interested in one job for too long, had always made you feel like you were wilting.

You knew you were lucky. The money from your grandparents has secured your future. But beyond that? You had nothing.At least, that’s what you thought.But this—this moment, this opportunity—someone actually wants to see more of your art.

You.

And for the first time in your life, it feels like you’re winning at something. Like you’re not a total disaster. And in the midst of your overwhelming joy, your thoughts drift—back to Cheol.

For so long, his victories had felt like your own.

When he won class valedictorian, you were the first to scream his name in the crowd, your voice hoarse from cheering too loudly. When he made football team captain, you stayed up late helping him tape up his bruised ankles, lecturing him about overexertion while he only grinned, too proud to care. When he got accepted into his dream university, you decorated his house with fairy lights and posters, making it feel like home before he even unpacked his bags. And when his first girlfriend asked him out, you teased him relentlessly, calling him a blushing mess, even as you secretly watched from the sidelines, unsure why your heart twisted at the sight.

For every milestone, every achievement, every moment of happiness—you were there.

And now, finally, when the universe decides to deal you a good hand, when something extraordinary happens for you, you find yourself alone in your joy. There is no Cheol grinning beside you, no knowing glance exchanged between you both, no shared celebration where he lifts you off the ground in a tight hug and says, See, love? I always knew you were meant for more. The realization strikes you like a gut punch.

For so long, his triumphs had been yours, but now, yours don’t seem to be his.

And the thought sobers you much quicker than you would have imagined.

Before Mingyu walks away completely, you ask him the burning question that has been eating away at your brain. “Gyu?”

“Yes Noona?”

“What did you mean when you said you knew I was meant for someone else anyway?”

“I think it’s up to you to figure that out Noona” he says with a wink and a smirk and leaves. 

The questions in your heart don't settle down.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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The study room had always been Cheol’s sanctuary.

On nights before exams, when he wasn’t holed up in the library, this was where he spent his time—books open, highlighters scattered, and an energy drink within reach. And since you were practically allergic to textbooks and anything resembling academic effort, you never once bothered to step foot inside. Apparently, he knew that.

Because when you finally open the door, stepping inside for the first time since he left, you are shocked at what you find.

The room is covered—inch to inch—in your artwork. Your heart lurches violently in your chest.

Every doodle, every absentminded scribble, every torn-out sketch that you had long forgotten was here. Pinned up on the walls, carefully arranged, like a private gallery curated for no one but himself. Your hands shake as you step forward. Some of these sketches were from years ago—random doodles of cartoons, silly little portraits of him, even rough, messy charcoal attempts at landscapes you had made out of boredom. You had discarded them without a second thought, but he had kept them all. Your throat tightens.

Then, your eyes land on the lone easel in the center of the room.

It’s covered by a large cloth, dust collecting on the edges. Something about it makes your pulse quicken, a thrumming sense of anticipation running through your veins. With trembling fingers, you grip the cloth and pull.

And your heart stops beating.

There, pinned on a massive canvas, are twenty-three years worth of tradition.

When Cheol turned six, he had demanded something special for his birthday—something unique, something made with your own two hands, your custom gift for him. 

You had been stumped then.

For days, you had scoured the house, pestered your parents for ideas, and even sulked on the couch in frustration. Eventually, you had stared so long at the framed wedding portrait above the fireplace that inspiration had struck.

With unpracticed, wobbly hands, you had drawn a simple stick figure doodle—of you and Cheol. Two little figures, standing side by side, holding hands, smiling wide enough to split their faces.

Cheol had loved it. He had squealed, hugged you tight, and thanked you over and over again, clutching the tiny drawing like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

And from that moment on, a tradition had begun.

Every year, on his birthday, you drew a new one.

At first, they remained simple, just stick figures with slightly better proportions. Then, slowly, they evolved—features becoming clearer, the lines steadier, expressions more detailed.

By the time you turned eighteen, they weren’t just doodles anymore. They were art.

And now, staring at the canvas before you, you realize—He never lost a single one.

All twenty-three drawings, pinned carefully in chronological order. Each crease, each faded line, each awkwardly drawn hand—it was all there.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps.All your life, you had thought of yourself as forgettable. A mediocre student. A directionless dreamer. A girl who hopped from one hobby to another, unsure if she’d ever be good at something.

Yet, here was proof that he had never once forgotten you.

Every drawing, no matter how childish or ridiculous, was a testament to the fact that Choi Seungcheol had cherished every piece of you. Your heart aches.

Is that why he had warned you never to touch this room? Had he planned to show you this someday? Had he sent Mingyu to deliver the gallery invitation because he knew you would come here and find this? But if that was true, then why wasn’t he here now?

Why wasn’t he here to help you carry this canvas—to celebrate with you, to tell you he was proud of you? Why was he gone?

A sob catches in your throat as you reach out, fingers tracing the lines of your own childhood artwork. The weight of twenty-three years presses down on your shoulders, heavy and bittersweet. As if sensing the despair you were feeling, you hear a doorbell ring and your heart leaps with joy. Maybe he had come after all. 

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He hadn’t. Mingyu had sent Soonyoung and Jihoon, apparently, to pick up your artwork and drive it to the gallery for tomorrow. Serves you right for getting your hopes up after all.

“Where’s Cheol?” you finally ask, just as they’re about to bid their farewells at the threshold. You knew they all knew each other, being friends from university days. All these boys had hounded your shared apartment at night for drinking sessions back in the day.

“Oh, haven’t you heard—Che—”

“Soonyoung!” Jihoon warns, cutting him off before Soonyoung can continue. Soonyoung now looks guilty for almost blurting it out.

“No, what happened? What don’t I know? There’s something you’re not telling me, and I want in.” You sound frantic, anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N. Cheol’s alright. Mingyu sent us to pick this up and drop it off. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay? Now, if you don’t need us for anything else, we’re going to take our leave.” Jihoon gives you a quick, reassuring smile. “And Y/N? Congratulations.” He tips his head at you, then waves goodbye, leaving with Soonyoung.

But Soon still wears that guilty look, and your nerves start to spike.

You try calling him, texting him, but to no avail. Finally, you send a text to Mingyu, who assures you that Cheol is sleeping after a football match. You know it’s a lie, but it’s probably the best you’ll get. Cheol clearly doesn’t want you to know something, and he’s put up boundaries, and all you can do is respect that. Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Maybe he’s hiding that from you.

Whatever it is, you know the days of being his top priority are long gone. All you can do now is get ready for tomorrow. You’ve got a long day ahead, and no one—not even Cheol—can take that away from you.

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“So, you must be L/N Y/N, the one I’ve heard so much about,” Xu Minghao says, his voice smooth and confident. You try not to gasp at the sight of him, standing before you in the flesh. He’s dressed immaculately, a well-tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly, a tie adding a touch of refinement to his coat. His dark hair is styled just right, and his eyes—sharp, calculating, yet inviting—scan you carefully.

You inhale a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn’t been prepared for how to interact with a man so stunning, let alone one you’ve admired from afar. It seems he understands the sudden shift in your demeanor, offering you a small, reassuring smile to let you gather your thoughts. In the past, you would’ve slapped your hand to your forehead at your sudden shyness, but with him, it feels different—something about his presence seems to elicit butterflies in your stomach. You nod slowly, trying to regain composure.

“Ah, well then, shall we?” He gestures to the canvas paper, where a new cloth is draped over it. It’s just two hours away from the gallery’s opening, a small exhibit showcasing the works of budding artists—people like you, who’ve never had the opportunity to display their artwork to the public. It might not be a grand affair, but it means everything to you.

He steps forward, his eyes scanning each of the drawings. They’re neatly arranged, pinned chronologically, and you notice the way his eyes soften as he takes them in. "This is all your doing?" he asks, genuinely impressed.

“Well, yes and no," you respond, a little shy. "I drew these, but um… I did it for my bes–" You cut yourself off, correcting your words. "For a friend," you finish. "Apparently, he collected all of them and had them stored up like this. I had no idea until yesterday."

Minghao’s eyes widen as he examines your work. "Well, he should. Look at the detailing on some of this. I can’t believe you’ve never been to art school. Look at the precision with which you drew his eyes. He must be a stunner, this 'friend' of yours." He wags his finger in disbelief, and you can tell he’s not convinced that the situation is as simple as it seems.

“What did you do on your 16th birthday?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you.

“How can you tell that?” you ask, confused, but your eyes instinctively flicker to Cheol, who’s standing a little further off. He does look a bit annoyed, his brow furrowed at you, but you can't quite remember why. Maybe you’d finished his favorite juice or something.

“Wait, are these pinned?” Minghao asks, bending down to get a closer look.

“Yeah, they are. I told you, my friend had all these pinned to a canvas.”

"Hmm." Minghao hums thoughtfully. “So, does that mean—” Before you can ask him what he means, he pulls the pin from one of the drawings, the second-to-last sketch you’d done of him. He takes the paper in his hands, examining it carefully.

“Oh, what’s this?” You stand on your tiptoes, trying to get a better look at what’s written behind the sketch. You hadn’t even realized there was anything written on the back—your contribution had only been the drawings, not the words.

You recognize those scribbles anywhere: the familiar curves of his handwriting.

“Age 26. The year I cried the hardest when you went on that date with Jeonghan. The night I crossed out your name from my heart when I realized you would never look at me like that.”

Your heart stops in your chest. What? You blink rapidly, disoriented, as the words on the back of the picture send a sharp, unsettling ripple through your thoughts

Urgently, you tug down another picture, your hands trembling as you uncover another heart-wrenching note, written in the same familiar handwriting.

“My 19th birthday. As per my demand, you drew this picture based on the photo we both took together at the beach. When you laid your head on mine, my heart stopped still, Y/N. Don’t know if you could tell that over your loud snores, but I sat still for all six minutes, scared that if I moved for one second, the moment would burst.”

The words feel like a punch to your chest, and before you can even process what you’ve just read, your eyes begin to sting, your breath faltering as tears stream silently down your face. You reach to unpin yet another drawing, your hands shaking from the weight of it all.

“Year 9. The year I dared to hope. We both sat in the garden, planning our future lives, our kids, and our dogs and cats. You asked me why I didn’t name my future wife when you had decided Bogum would be your future husband. I was too scared to show you that I left that blank open to fill it with your name.”

The realization hits like a wave, pulling you under with a force you can’t fight.For every year of his life with you, he had written down his feelings for you in that stage of life. How could you not have seen it? How could you have missed everything he was giving you, how he had loved you, from the very start?

Desperately, you unpin yet another drawing.

“Year 24. When you got bored and asked me if you could draw on me, I gave you my hands and pretended to fall asleep. But I couldn’t. My thudding heart would not let me rest because the feel of your hands on my skin, drawing on me, grazing my hands, made me yearn. For you.”

A sob catches in your throat, and you clutch the drawing to your chest as if it can somehow absorb all the emotions you’re trying to hold inside. But the dam is breaking. The weight of his unspoken love, of everything you never saw, is crashing over you like an unstoppable force.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice cracking with a mixture of pain and longing. You look to Minghao, who stands quietly beside you, watching you with deep concern etched into his features. “I—I need to go. I need to see him. I need to tell him…”

You trail off, your mind spinning, your heart thrumming with the urgency of it all. How had you been so blind? How could you have let all of this slip through your fingers for so long?

Minghao’s gaze softens, his expression serious, but his voice is gentle when he speaks. “You have my word. But before you leave, tell me, Y/N, what would you title this?”

You blink, still reeling, but the question lingers in your mind. What could you even call this? This painful, beautiful mess of emotions, tangled, raw truth that had been hiding in front of you all this time You take one final, steadying breath as you turn to the artwork, your gaze falling on the scattered drawings before you.

And then it comes to you—the answer so simple, yet so profoundly fitting for everything you’ve just uncovered.

You meet Minghao’s eyes, your voice quiet but steady.

“The Pursuit of Love.” 

It’s perfect. A pursuit that has no end, a love that’s been waiting for you all along.”

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“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Why isn’t he picking up?” you mutter to yourself, panic rising in your chest as you hold your phone, dialing Cheol’s number again. Your fingers are trembling. Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You had hailed a cab and rushed straight to Cheol’s apartment, but there was no sign of him. No one was home, and the door remained stubbornly closed. You tried calling both Cheol and Mingyu, but neither responded. Your worry started to morph into something much darker, and you knew something was wrong.

Without giving it a second thought, you dialed the one person who might know what’s going on—Jeonghan.

"Y/N?" His voice comes through the phone, calm but confused.

“Where is Cheol?” you ask, your voice breaking as sobs catch in your throat. The bad feeling you’d been fighting all morning is growing rapidly, an overwhelming sense of dread that something had happened to Cheol, something he was keeping from you, something his friends were also hiding from you.

"Y/N—" Jeonghan begins, his voice soft, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. But you're too far gone, too scared, and you can't bear to listen.

"Please, Jeonghan, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much." You can barely hold back the tears now, your voice shaking.

There’s a long pause on the other end before Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice filled with quiet concern. “Cheol’s at the hospital.”

You freeze, your heart stopping for a moment as the words sink in.

♡

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“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Room 317, ma’am. Down the corner and to the left—MISS, NO RUNNING IN THE HALLWAY!” The nurse’s warning falls on deaf ears as you rush past her, your heart pounding harder with every step.

You don't care about the rules right now. All you care about is seeing Cheol.

You turn the corner, practically flying down the hallway, your breath coming in short bursts as you approach the door. And then you see him.

Cheol, lying in the hospital bed, looking pale, with a slightly annoyed Mingyu sitting next to him. You come to a halt in the doorway, chest tight with the realization that he’s hurt.

“Y/N?” Cheol’s voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen in surprise as he sees you standing there, tears streaming down your face.

“Love, please don’t cry,” Cheol says, his voice soft and comforting. He lifts a hand, wincing slightly, but you’re already at his side, leaning over to wrap your arms around him, your sobs muffled against his hospital gown. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your voice shaking with anger and relief. “Damn right, you’re sorry, Choi. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I knew you had your art gallery today,” he says, his voice apologetic. He gestures vaguely at his bandaged body. “Sorry I couldn’t come with my ruptured appendix and all.” He tries to make light of it, but his sheepish smile only makes your heart ache more. “But I wanted to be there for you so badly, Y/N. I’m really sorry.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as tears still slip down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for a surgery you didn’t cause.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks at you, and you can't help but smile despite yourself, the weight in your chest easing just a little.

You look at him again, really look at him—his tired eyes, the way his face looks a little drawn, the exhaustion evident in every line. He might be joking around, but you can see that he’s been through a lot.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, Y/N,” he says, almost like he can read your mind. He’s always known how to ease your worries, even when it’s not about him.

“I will always worry about you, Cheol. Always.”

A beat of silence stretches between you both, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. Then, you hear the door creak open and Mingyu’s voice drifting away as he leaves to give you both some privacy.

“Y/N—” Cheol starts, but you beat him to it.

“Cheol—” you both speak at the same time, then laugh awkwardly.

“Please let me? I’m the coward who didn’t have the guts to tell it to your face all these years, choosing instead to pour my heart out into bits of paper.”

“And I’m the dumb idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of me all this time, choosing to chase other men, when all I had ever wanted was under my nose. I named the artwork, you know. ‘The Pursuit of Love.’” You blink, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words. “Aching for a love that was always right there, and all I had to do was just accept that. It’s you, Cheol. I—”

“I love you,” he blurts out quickly, cutting you off. He looks sheepish as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry. I kinda had to say it before you did,” he says with a small, sheepish smile, dodging your playful hits on his uninjured shoulder.

“OW! Don’t hit the injured man!” He laughs, though it’s slightly strained.

“You are such a dork. And for the record, your shoulder seems fine. It can handle one or two beatings.”

There’s another awkward silence, one that feels comfortable despite the tension. You both sit there for a moment, not knowing quite how to move forward, but both knowing something has shifted.

“Come here?” He silently calls out, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He pats the space beside him on the bed, his eyes searching yours.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you,” you murmur, hesitant.

“Relax, you won’t. I should be good to go by tonight,” he lies, his voice trying to convince both you and himself. But you can tell that he’s not quite as okay as he wants you to think. Still, you slide down onto the edge of the bed, cautiously scooting closer until there’s a small space between you, enough to give him space .

Very slowly, you slide your hands up to his chest, travelling upward till you rest on his face. Curiously he leans a little forward, angling himself in a way that makes it easier for you to continue your ministrations across his body. His patience wears out after nearly ten seconds because he quickly cups your face and smashes his lips to your face, his naturally dominant self taking over, you gasping into his mouth with a sudden yelp. Urged on by your little mewls, his tongue takes over inhaling your every whimper and moan you were trying to speak out. All too soon,you give up, fully submitting to let him do whatever he wants with you, as he devours you wholly, in ways that make your brain turn into mush.

His hands descend down onto your fisted palms, that were clutching on the bed sheet, slowly unlocking them from their tight grip and instead slowly rubbing your knuckles in gradual touches. Not wanting to be upped by him, your hands quickly perch onto his hair grabbing a fistful of hair, eliciting a low grunt from his mouth, making you smirk in victory.

When you pull a little harder, Cheol understandingly pulls away, knowing your need for space, giving you a sliver of space to finally breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours.

You see his doe eyes watching your every move, like he couldn’t believe you were right there. But you also notice the slight lethargy in his gaze, a subtle sign that he could really use some rest. You know the nurses will come in any second, and you’re sure they’ll give you an earful about staying too long, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him just yet.

With a gentle hand on his chest—one he immediately grasps—you push him back down into the pillows, surprised when he falls back with the sudden shove.

“No,” he murmurs petulantly, his grip tightening as he tugs you down with him.

“Coupsie, there’s no space—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a small pout.

“I don’t care. We’ll make space,” he mutters, sticking his lower lip out like a child. His fingers wave at you, a silent plea for you to come closer.

You have no choice but to follow, falling into his arms as he pulls you in. His hands are warm and steady as he gently guides you into position, placing your head on his tricep like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You settle there, the softness of his arm the perfect pillow, as his chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own breaths.

“So,” Cheol starts, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as he looks down at you. “Was this kiss better than last time?”

You blink in disbelief, pulling back just slightly to stare at him, utterly confused. “Last time? Dude, this was my first kiss! Are you high?”

Cheol’s goofy smile only deepens, like he knew a hidden secret

“Remember when you were five and got us to play prince and princess?” he teases, the grin still plastered across his face.

“Yeah, when I had my first kiss and—wait, that was you?” The memory hits you like a ton of bricks, slowly coming back as Cheol continues to look at you, enjoying your turmoil.

“Aha,” he replies, smugly satisfied that he has finally cracked your mind open with that one detail.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, now almost feeling betrayed by your past self. “All my life, I believed Jeonghan was my first kiss, and he’d be my forever-first kiss!”

Cheol’s expression falters slightly, his eyes dropping as a soft sadness creeps into his voice. “This might sound stupid, but I wanted you to come to me. You had all these ideas about love, these superstitions about it—that it had to be your first kiss, or the guy who teased you, or the one who asked you to prom. You believed in love the way fate sets it up, like a fairy tale. And I wanted you to fall for me, not because it was meant to be, but because you wanted it to be.”

His words hit you hard, and you can feel the weight of everything he’s said. He continues, voice low and steady. “That day, a long time ago, I begged Jeonghan to let me kiss you. I wanted you to open your eyes and see me. But you opened them too soon, and all you saw was Jeonghan. All you pined for was him, after that kiss you thought you shared with him. Which, now, you know, was me all along.”

You hold your breath, the sudden clarity overwhelming you. He goes on, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You had it in your head that he was going to be your husband after just one kiss. But I- I wanted you to see me. The things I’ve done for you. How I’ve always been there, showing you that it was me, loving you all these years. It took over two decades for you to finally see it. But you did, even if it came at the cost of me lying here, in this hospital bed, after surgery.”

Cheol chuckles bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s why Jeonghan’s been up my ass all this time. He knew from day one that I loved you, and he didn’t want to get in the way of it. Though it was a dick move to break up with you over a text,” he adds with a small wince.

You’re speechless, unable to find the right words to express how overwhelmed you feel, how everything suddenly makes sense. “I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“Say you love me,” Cheol jokes, his voice playful again, but there’s a vulnerability.

“I do love you, Cheol,” you confess, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I can finally see it now. I can finally piece it all together. You were always there for me. The birthday where no one showed up, and a few years later, when you found out what Sally’s mom did, so you broke up with her. You punched Julian for me, ditched your date to be with me, and even broke up with Iseul after you almost kissed me—yes, Mingyu told me. All this time, everything you did was to show me you loved me.”

You’re rendered speechless by the look in his eyes, the deep love and warmth that radiates from him. This is the man who has watched you fall for so many others and stayed loyal to you. 

Cheol doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes glistening as they stay fixed on you. “Say it again” he softly demands

“Coupsie,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing those words for so long that I- I can’t believe you said them. Please, say it again.”

“I love you, Cheol,” you say, your voice a little steadier now.

Cheol’s face crumples at the sound of your words, and before you know it, tears are streaming down his face. He sniffles, clearly overwhelmed, and you see the moment his dam breaks. His tears flow freely, and he lets go of everything he’s been holding in for so long.

“Again,” he pleads, his voice trembling.

“Cheol, what—” you begin, but he interrupts.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of Cheol’s tears against your chest. This time, it’s your turn to hold him tight. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him cry freely into you.

It feels strangely comforting to be the one providing the solace for him, after all the years he’s been the one to offer his shoulder for your tears. The roles have reversed, and yet it feels so natural, so right. You let him pour out all his emotions, feeling the quiet tremors in his body as he lets go of everything he’s held in for so long.

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One day, long ago, sitting high on the roof of your house overlooking the town you grew up in, you wrote a few words in your journal to your future self about who you wished your future lover would be.

When you get back home, you can write to your younger self, letting her know that the man you love is none other than Choi Seungcheol. He surpasses all the expectations set by your aching heart.

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A.N: I am gonna sleep now.. i'll wake up and fix the tags and edits out the space. this fic killed me

tagging : @skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

teaser interactions @bobathi @sailorsoons

[libraford]

I've been following you for years, and I leave and come back and you're still trucking along. I know for sure I was following when you were still starting at the flower shop, and I think maybe before (Craft Store may have been before or after, time is not my strong suit). And I'm just feeling really emotional about how all that shit happened over years and now really cool things are happening for you, and you're healing -literally physically-, and maybe I can make it through too. Thank you for sharing along the way.

idk I think it's neat and also it's like 1am so maybe I'm being silly about it.

Shhh nooo, I'm constantly looking back at this and being like... 'holy shit I used to be miserable.'

And its like... there are still parts of my life that suck for sure. There's some stuff that's difficult to navigate. I'm still not getting paid near enough, but the work is not killing me and I have time for my weird hobbies and I have time for friends and family.

I understand feeling stuck, though. Truth be told, one of the tipping points in all of this was that several people in my life died around the same time and gave me enough money to quit my job. And along the way I found MORE shit jobs!

And I thought that parks and rec was going to be a shit job. And it is! But they pay alright and it turns out that picking up trash around the city isn't all that bad. And they make you take your full lunch and they don't want you pushing yourself so hard that you throw out your back. And they let you take a break and there's no customers to yell at you. And sometimes the people on the trails thank you for picking up trash.

And people don't try to steal your flowers and people don't call you a 'flunkie' and people don't try to scam you with fake dollars, and people don't say you could be replaced with a self-scanner and people don't reward you with a scratch-off ticket and people don't blame you for high insurance premiums and people don't make orders you can't fulfill in the time frame they want it and they don't argue colors with you and they don't say that you're being disrespectful and they don't say that your photo make their son look gay and they don't look at your work over your shoulder and they don't say you're difficult to work with and they don't say that they can't allow simple self-started accomodations for your disability and they don't say that you're working too fast and you make the other photographers look bad and they don't yell at you about your body language or put you in a hot gym for 8 hours and then complain that you smell bad and they don't tell you that you're being insubordinate when you ask why you can't work at your own pace and they don't make you teach classes and they don't stalk you on the internet and they don't blame you for their marriage failing and your van doesn't catch fire and maybe you do find someone sleeping in the bushes but its not your coworker this time its just a guy who needs shelter and so you tell him about the shelter down the road and he says thank you and maybe your coworkers say some weird racist shit sometimes but you can just tell them to shut the hell up and sometimes you get to see a creature...

Anyways.

I hope that some good, even if bittersweet, stuff happens to you soon and you have opportunities to change things around, even a little bit.

Life can be good-ish.

[luvnanako]

Heartstrings ♡⊹ ࣪ ˖

(Valentine's special) Vi x F! Reader (fluff, wlw)

------------------⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺-----------------------

Hiii, since it's the Valentine's dayyy I wanted to write a cutesy fanfic (it's definitely not because I have no one to spend this day with hehe) Sooo I hope you all enjoy!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The streets of Piltover were alive with color, bustling with people carrying bouquets of roses and boxes of chocolates tied with silky red ribbons. The air smelled of caramelized sugar and fresh pastries from the vendors lining the streets, and laughter echoed from couples walking hand in hand, lost in their own little worlds.

Vi had never really cared much for Valentine’s Day. Too many expectations, too much pressure to be romantic in a way that never felt natural to her. She was more of a "punch first, ask questions later" kind of girl—feelings had always been messier than a good brawl.

But this year was different.

This year, she had you.

And that changed everything.

Vi stood outside your apartment, shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. A small velvet box pressed against her palm, and in her other hand was a bouquet of flowers—slightly crumpled from a minor scuffle she’d had with some loudmouth at the market. Still, she figured they were intact enough to be presentable.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders.

"Alright, Vi. Don't make this weird," she muttered under her breath before knocking on your door.

When you opened it, you blinked in surprise, then broke into a slow, appreciative smile.

Vi had dressed up.

And not just in her usual button-up and suspenders—no, tonight, she had gone all out. A tailored black suit hugged her frame perfectly, accentuating her broad shoulders and strong form. The deep red dress shirt underneath complemented the sharp lines of the jacket, the top button undone just enough to give her that effortlessly confident look. A black tie sat neatly at her collar, though slightly loosened, as if she couldn’t help but maintain a bit of her signature rough-around-the-edges charm.

Her hair was styled with more care than usual, the pink locks tousled in a way that somehow made her look both elegant and mischievous at the same time. The gloved hand gripping the bouquet flexed slightly, betraying a hint of nerves beneath her cool exterior.

Your eyes traced over her, taking in every detail, before you finally spoke.

"Vi, you—" You swallowed, tilting your head as you fought a smile. "You look incredible."

A light dusting of pink crawled up Vi’s neck, disappearing under her collar. "Yeah, well," she said, trying for nonchalance, "figured I'd try somethin’ different. Special occasion, y’know?" She held out the bouquet toward you, awkwardly. "And, uh… these are for you."

You took them, pressing them close to your chest, your grin widening. "You’re cute when you're nervous, y’know that?"

Vi scoffed, stuffing her free hand back into her pocket, but she couldn’t fight the small, lopsided smirk pulling at her lips.

"I´m taking you out," she cut in, smirking in that way that was meant to be confident but betrayed just a hint of nervousness. "Put on something warm, sweetheart."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

She led you through the winding streets of Piltover, past the usual Valentine’s rush and into the quieter parts of the city, where the golden glow of lanterns flickered gently in the crisp night air. Eventually, she guided you up a hidden staircase, one she’d found while patrolling, until you reached the rooftop of an old building.

The sight stole your breath.

A hidden rooftop garden stretched before you, strung with soft fairy lights, overlooking the glimmering city below. The vastness of Zaun’s undercity was visible in the distance, its neon glow mixing with Piltover’s refined shine, creating a breathtaking tapestry of light. At the center of the rooftop, a small table was set up, complete with food Vi had (somewhat messily) packed from Jericho’s diner.

"You did all this for me?" you asked, voice tinged with awe.

Vi shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… you deserve nice things. And, uh… I kinda like seeing you smile."

Your heart swelled, warmth blooming in your chest as you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together. "I love it, Vi. Thank you."

She swallowed hard, her usual bravado faltering for just a second before she took a deep breath. "I got you something else."

Pulling the small box from her pocket, she flipped it open, revealing a simple silver ring, the metal catching the glow of the lanterns above.

"It’s not— I mean, it’s not like that. Unless you want it to be," she added quickly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "But I figured… something to remind you of me, even when I’m not around."

Your fingers trembled slightly as you took the ring, your eyes softening as you slid it onto your finger. "I love it," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. Then, meeting her gaze, you added, "I love you."

Vi froze for a fraction of a second, her tough-girl exterior cracking in a way that made your heart ache with affection. Then, a slow, breathtaking grin spread across her face.

"Yeah?" she murmured, voice low, eyes locked onto yours.

You barely had time to nod before she pulled you in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and full of every unspoken word she couldn’t quite say out loud.

The city faded away—the noise, the lights, the rush of people below. It was just you and Vi, wrapped in each other beneath the lantern-lit sky.

Vi pulled you closer, her fingers tracing slow circles against your back as the night stretched on. Neither of you spoke for a while, content in the quiet warmth of the moment. The city below bustled on, unaware of the little pocket of peace you had carved out for yourselves above it all.

Eventually, Vi exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Y’know, I never really cared about this whole Valentine’s thing.”

You smiled, tilting your head to look up at her. “Oh? And what changed?”

She smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You did.”

Your heart fluttered at the simplicity of her words, at the way she said them like they were the most obvious truth in the world. You squeezed her hand, your new ring cool against her calloused fingers.

"Well," you whispered, leaning into her, "then I guess you'll just have to get used to celebrating it every year."

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah. But only if it means more nights like this."

She kissed you again, softer this time, like she was savoring the moment—like she already couldn’t wait for the next one.

And as the lanterns flickered above and the city stretched endlessly below, you knew one thing for certain:

With Vi, every day felt a little like falling in love all over again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

^^ I love these cuties :(

[brothersfuck]

hi me again, double dipping in your asks 🚬 would love to hear more about your girl!sam hcs if u have any 🙏 🎀

OHHHMYGOD I've been waiting for someone to ask me this thank you thank you THANK YOU❤️ For these specific hcs, I'll be using cisgender girl!Sam so if that's not up to anyone's liking, you're allowed to click off<3!!

Sam, even as a girl, hated the thought of wearing girlish things when she was younger. Hell, she was surrounded by her overprotective older brother and even more overprotective Dad, it was better for all of them if Sam didn't wear any skirts or crop tops. You know. Because it would be too revealing

And because both John and Dean would never stop thinking about it

The thing is, Sam is in her rebellious teenager phase now. Not that Dean never got to that point where he'd do whatever he wanted and sneaked out late at night, but it was different because Sam was a girl!! Dean reasoned.

(Sam--14, Dean--18) Dean never got to focus in school. Never. Any time John would drop them off in a different part of town and tell the teachers they'll only be here as temporary transfer students plus bullshit excuse, Dean watched Sam saunter off practically vibrating towards any group of nerdy boys who had the same interests as her. She wears her jacket (that was Dean's before) and her too big socks (those were John's before)(even now, they're still laying claim on her)

It gets Dean mad. Logically mad. Like how every brother glares at the boys their sister talks to, or beats them until they get the message, in a logical and normal and not weird at all way.

Dean and John actually agree on some things this time, like how Sam shouldn't even be allowed out of their line of sight, how Sam should never wear skirts (Lest it tempt one of them, or worse, both), how Sam should never grow ever again so they both could keep her under their thumb. Forever.

Sam, of course, the cheeky rat, starts wearing skirts just to piss them both off. She makes it obvious too, actually puts in boys numbers when they ask, bats her eyelashes at any nearby man (hell, sure, she could go for someone older...maybe illegally older? No, scratch that--) and whenever one of them asks if she wants to talk, they do.

She's in knee high socks, cute knitted skirts (even though she hated the feeling, she knew it was to rebel against her brother and her dad), and those sweaters that made her look sweet and delicious and, oh, Sammy.

John doesn't even ward the thoughts away this time when they start trailing off from the happy moments of his wife to bending his little girl over the counter and making her take it rough. Dean doesn't even try to hide the glares he gives to bar men trying to approach or too skinny nerdy boys wanting a hit of the good life. In fact, he starts more bar fights, more just because he can, and more because the cuter Sam got, the worse the feelings deepened.

Come on. John and Dean are fucking suffering here.

Years pass and Sam is finally out of that phase (it lasted maybe a year. Or half a year), she's all quiet now, reading, always trying to focus on actually studying rather than researching for what could kill a supernatural monster number 101 and Dean just knows they're losing Sam, just knows that sooner or later she'll do her own things without even asking for permission or a glance

...so when Dean saw the Stanford acceptance letter, he went to John.

And that's how Sam ended up forcibly doped on pills every day, barely remembering anything except for "must be a good wife for my brother<3 must be a good wife for my dad<3". Dean swore he didn't mean to do it this way, but he's cooing at Sam in sundresses barefoot cleaning around the house that they bought (it wasn't easy when the seller saw Sam tied up in the backseat)

And John won't stop moaning Mary's name whenever he's deep inside his baby daughter

[wanderingblindly]

okay okay okay so first of all prospective aspect has completely fried my brain like I'm gonna need 6-8 workdays to recover at LEAST jesus h fucking christttt.

I know, logically the future past and prospective aspect universes are and must be separate because otherwise older lando and oscar not knowing about their respective time loops makes no sense but. BUT. the universe, ominescent and clairvoyant as she may be, is perhaps not infallible. what I'm saying is, to me, the possibility and potential of future past younger lando and prospective aspect younger oscar getting, by some glitch in the matrix, spat back in time in the same reality (actually somewhere around the same time if I don't have their age gap horribly mixed up) is too mind-blowing to ignore.

like, imagine, both of them are well aware and actively driven insane by what they experienced. while also being completely unaware of the other's situation (younger lando also kinda unaware of oscar's existence lmao) because, obviously, their older selves had not mentioned anything about the double-timeloop to them. aka they're both individually trying to navigate life with their respectively insane knowledge (and aftermath of their frankly violent sexual awakenings) while believing that the other doesn't and cannot know about the time-loop.

so, if ex: younger future past lando would've been going insane trying to find "his oscar" imagine how freaked out he would be upon meeting younger prospective aspect oscar and realising how WEIRD he's acting, and vice-versa. lowkey this scenario would be weirder for oscar because (at least in my brain) he'd subsciously be trying to like figure out how and when and why lando turns out like THAT compared to the not-quite-virginial but still blushing mess lando is at 23 while probably having several breakdowns of his own.

the main question floating in my mind is: how and when do they figure out they've both been in a time loop? is it before they even confess? after? during? is it before they've had regular-non-time-loopy sex? after??? during????? (I'd imagine due to some freudian slips or objectively Strange behaviour or some good ol' accidental voyeurism) what do they DO with that information???? (apart from being likely even freakier than their non-double-looped counterparts. like idk if it makes sense but I for some reason can't imagine single-loop landoscar would be the exact same as double-loop landoscar.)

anyways. yeah. head full many many many thoughts I'll be stewing boiling simmering for the next. eternity. love u please don't break your brain like I just did 💖

(prospective aspect)

Oh my god N E B how the fuck did you both read that so fast AND craft and entire mindfuck about the intricacies of a dual time loop,,,,,, I fear ur powers,,,,,

But you’re actually making a point I hadn’t even realized: rookie lando from future past and f3 oscar from prospective aspect DO almost come from the same year? 2019 vs 2020? I have no clue how I didn’t realize that. All I would have to do is lightly fudge some timelines, mix up their returns back to “their world” and. Bam. The ultimate freak for freak collision. What the fuck.

“Frankly violent sexual awakenings” wasn’t the point of this ask, but I did make me wonder like…. Did I traumatize these guys? Like. Wait. Wait no did I actually traumatize them because that WASNT the goal wait —

In regards to how would they find out they’re in a time loop:

It would depend significantly on which reality they both landed back in, right? Because unless they found a dimension that broke their respective time loops, one of their experiences is gonna have to come back up. Either landoscar is gonna run into rookie lando in Japan again, or married landoscar is gonna find F3 Oscar during the off season. In which case, I’d imagine the non-affected party would… confess?

Especially when you consider that Lando and Oscar both didn’t tell the other about their experiences. Lando didn’t share bc he didn’t know when it would happen, and Oscar didn’t share bc he thought it wasn’t real — so they can’t find out they were both time looped until the event repeats!!!!!!!

Thank u for the morning brain teaser you absolute menace, I’m glad you enjoyed the (literal and metaphorical) fuckery 💖💖💖💖

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[telesodalite]

I need to be weirder about the scavengers and cannibalism...

[bunnyboy-juice]

awawawawawawa

[kuruk]

oh my god I know like it sounds weird to say this when it's just avatar but the original show has aang go back to the southern air temple to show katara and sokka his home only to find evidence of the genocide of his people and the loss of his loved ones and it's quiet until you see his grief and his rage but you just see the aftermath a hundred years later and the netflix adaptation makes it feel like they wanted it to be a cool action movie with an epic scene showing the fighting and running of the airbenders like that side by side with aang running away and it's like ??? okay it's "darker" congratulations I can see that's what the goal is based on the differences in firebending and early on screen deaths go and focus on every bit of violence for the audience's lazy sadistic pleasure instead of any of the characters personal narratives especially the women that can all be taken right out + the discovery of different places all over the world in the earth kingdom and outside of it. put everything in omashu so they don't get to meet people and see the diversity of the world and each town and SEE what life is like for them under war and have these experiences with all these people build up to something bigger at the end

[solace-seekers]

screaming into the void <3

[jinstronaut]

this is also why i stopped using my tracked tag for a while tbh

[anaalnathrakhs]

no really there is a special kind of academic grief when your classes are fascinating, they present interesting challenges, your homework is stimulating, fun to do, and you feel good when you get it done, your classmates are kind and fun and have so much interesting shit to say.

but you're wayyy busy spending your time 50% trying to be the best potted plant your parents have ever owned 50% blasting your brain with endless stimulation lest you start crying and hitting yourself because you had an unpleasant thought.

[soobvape]

heol