#2521!au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babystrcandy · 1 year ago

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the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .

But . . .

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . .

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn.

Actually . . .

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was.

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.

Did you like it?

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“

But he was already gone.

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . .

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.

It seemed he always was . . .

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .

A beat of silence.

In it more relief.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . .

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence.

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?”

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .

Wait . . .

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .

But . . .

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . .

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers.

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent.

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.

Not here.

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?

. . .

Whatever.

It didn’t mean much, right?

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.

Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . .

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . .

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He��d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . .

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.

OK, he nodded.

OK, he smiled.

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . .

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . .

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . .

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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nextchae · 4 months ago

Text

pen and point – lee heeseung

word count: 28.9k

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N is a dedicated fencing athlete whose life revolves around the sport, school, and her part-time job at a campus coffee shop. When Heeseung, a reserved journalism student with an eye for deeper stories, starts frequenting the shop, Y/N is intrigued but unsure of his intentions.

genre: 2521!modern au, slow-burn romance, college!au, fluff

You push open the heavy door to your dorm building, the familiar creak echoing in the dimly lit hallway. It's well past midnight—much later than you meant to be out—but time always seems to slip away when you’re at the gym. Practice had run long tonight. The fencing team had been working on speed drills, refining the quick, explosive movements that define saber. You stayed after, like you usually do, pushing yourself just a little harder, staying just a little longer.

The sharp scent of sweat still clings to your clothes, mingling with the cool night air as you step inside the lobby. The fluorescent lights hum softly above you, casting harsh shadows that stretch across the worn carpet. The weight of your gear bag pulls on your shoulder, a familiar and comforting burden. Your muscles ache, pleasantly tired from the evening’s exertion, and a small, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You reach your room at the end of the hall and fumble for your keys, trying to be as quiet as possible. Chaehyun, your roommate, is likely asleep by now, and you don’t want to wake her. She’s always been an early sleeper, a contrast to your habit of staying up late, either at the gym or cramming for an exam. After a moment of fumbling, the door finally gives, and you slip inside, greeted by the soft glow of fairy lights strung up on Chaehyun’s side of the room. The faint scent of lavender from her diffuser lingers in the air, instantly calming your nerves.

Chaehyun is already in bed, her back turned to you, her breathing slow and even. You’re relieved—no need to explain your late return. You quietly close the door behind you and drop your bag onto the floor by your bed, trying not to disturb the peace of the room. The day’s events replay in your mind as you start to peel off your sweat-soaked clothes, the adrenaline from practice still coursing through your veins.

You head straight for the small bathroom attached to your dorm room, craving the feel of warm water to wash away the grime and tension from your skin. The tiles are cold beneath your bare feet as you step inside, and you quickly strip out of the rest of your gear. The sight of your fencing jacket and mask, now discarded on the floor, makes you pause for a moment. You’ll have to clean and organize your equipment tomorrow; it’s important to keep everything in good condition. But for now, all you can think about is getting clean and finally crawling into bed.

The shower sputters to life, and you step under the stream of water, letting it cascade over your sore muscles. The warmth relaxes you, easing the stiffness in your shoulders and back. As you lather soap over your skin, you notice a faint bruise blossoming on your collarbone, a memento from a particularly hard hit you took during a bout earlier. You smile faintly, the pain a reminder of how far you’ve come since you first picked up a saber. You remember the early days when you could barely keep up, your reflexes too slow, your strikes too hesitant. But now, each mark on your skin feels like a badge of honor, proof of your dedication and growth.

Rinsing off, you let the water soothe you, your thoughts drifting to the upcoming match at the end of the week. It’s your first real test since joining the team—a chance to prove yourself, to show that you deserve your spot. The pressure is immense, but you thrive on it. You know that each practice, each extra hour spent honing your technique, brings you closer to your goal.

After a few more minutes, you turn off the shower and wrap yourself in a towel, the cool air hitting your damp skin as you step out. You quickly dry off and pull on your pajamas, your body feeling lighter, cleaner, as if the shower washed away more than just the sweat and grime.

When you re-enter the bedroom, Chaehyun is still fast asleep, her breathing a soft, steady rhythm in the quiet room. You move carefully, not wanting to disturb her as you gather your discarded clothes and gear, setting them aside to deal with in the morning. Sliding under the covers, you finally let yourself relax, sinking into the familiar comfort of your bed.

The room is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of Chaehyun shifting in her sleep. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you. But your mind is still buzzing, not quite ready to let go of the day’s events. You think about the footwork drills, the intense focus required to outmaneuver your opponent, the satisfaction of a well-executed strike.

As sleep begins to pull you under, your last thoughts are of the upcoming match. You’ve worked hard for this, sacrificed sleep and social time to be at your best. You tell yourself you’ll be ready, because you have to be. The competition is fierce, and there’s no room for hesitation. But as you drift off, you can’t help but feel a small surge of excitement. This is what you’ve been training for—your moment to shine.

The blaring of your alarm pulls you from the depths of sleep, but instead of waking up fully, you groggily reach out and fumble to turn it off, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to steal a few more precious minutes of rest. The warmth of your bed is too inviting, the soreness from last night's practice still lingering in your muscles. You tell yourself you’ll get up in just a moment, but the weight of exhaustion quickly pulls you back under.

A gentle but firm shake at your shoulder jerks you awake. You blink, your vision still blurry, to see Chaehyun hovering over you, her face etched with mild concern.

“Y/N, it’s already 8:30. You’re going to be late,” she whispers, careful not to startle you too much, but there’s a sense of urgency in her voice.

You bolt upright, the words sinking in like a bucket of cold water. Your first class starts at 9:00, and it’s on the opposite side of campus. Panic sets in as you scramble out of bed, the blanket tangling around your legs, nearly sending you crashing to the floor.

“Why didn’t my alarm go off?” you mumble, though you know the answer—it did, and you ignored it.

“You turned it off,” Chaehyun says, already moving to your closet to help you find something to wear. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get out the door. Hurry!”

Grabbing the first outfit you see, you throw it on without much thought, barely registering whether it matches. You run a hand through your hair, hoping it looks somewhat presentable, then grab your backpack, still half-packed from last night.

“Thanks, Chaehyun. I owe you one,” you say breathlessly as you slip on your shoes.

“You owe me more than one at this point,” she teases with a grin, but she’s already pushing you out the door. “Now go! I’ll see you after class.”

You sprint down the hallway, your heart racing not just from the exertion but from the anxiety of being late. The morning air is crisp as you step outside, and you quickly break into a jog, weaving through the throngs of students making their way to class. The campus is already alive with activity, but you barely notice, your mind focused on one thing: getting to class on time.

You make it to the lecture hall just as the clock hits 9:03. The door is slightly ajar, and you carefully push it open, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The professor is already mid-sentence, her back turned to the class as she writes on the board. Relief washes over you when you realize she hasn’t noticed your late entrance.

Moving swiftly, you make your way to your usual seat in the middle of the room, where Taehyun is already settled. He raises an eyebrow as you slide into the chair next to him, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Late night?” he whispers, leaning over so only you can hear.

“Something like that,” you mutter back, still trying to catch your breath. You pull out your notebook and pen, trying to look as though you’ve been there the whole time. The professor turns around, and you quickly avert your gaze to the front, pretending to be engrossed in her lecture.

Taehyun doesn’t let it go, though. “You’ve got bedhead,” he adds with a smirk, his voice just low enough that only you can hear.

You resist the urge to groan, running a hand through your hair again in a futile attempt to smooth it down. “I overslept. Chaehyun had to wake me up,” you admit quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

He nods knowingly, but the teasing smile doesn’t leave his face. “You should start setting two alarms. Or three.”

“Noted,” you reply, rolling your eyes at him, though you can’t help but smile a little. It’s just Taehyun’s way—lighthearted teasing that helps take the edge off your morning’s chaos.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. You try to focus on the lecture, taking notes diligently, but your mind keeps drifting back to how close you came to missing it entirely. You’re grateful to have made it, but you know you need to be more careful. You can’t afford to slip up like this, especially with everything on your plate—classes, fencing, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life.

When the lecture finally ends, you and Taehyun pack up your things and head out into the bustling hallway. The morning rush is in full swing, and you’re swept up in the tide of students moving from one class to the next.

“You heading to the dining hall?” Taehyun asks as you walk side by side.

“Yeah, I need some coffee,” you reply, still feeling the remnants of your rushed morning.

“Good call. Let’s go before it gets too crowded,” he says, steering you towards the main quad.

As you walk, you mentally make a note to set multiple alarms for tomorrow. You’re not going to risk another close call like that again—especially not with the match coming up. It’s going to take everything you’ve got to stay on top of things, and you’re determined not to let anything slip through the cracks.

The cafeteria at your university in Seoul is bustling with activity as you and Taehyun navigate through the sea of students. The air is thick with the mingling scents of breakfast—steamed rice, kimchi, and a variety of side dishes that make your stomach grumble. Despite the rush, you manage to grab a tray, your eyes immediately seeking out the coffee station. You’re still groggy from your late wake-up call, and you need something strong to shake off the remnants of sleep.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Taehyun leans in, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “Did you hear about the mess in Professor Kim’s class yesterday?”

You shake your head, more focused on not spilling your drink. “No, what happened?”

“One of the new students—Jisoo, I think—completely froze during her presentation. She just stood there for what felt like forever before she managed to say anything. Everyone was cringing.”

You wince, imagining the awkwardness of the moment. “That’s rough. First-year nerves, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you know how intense Professor Kim can be. She just stared at her until she started talking,” Taehyun says with a slight shrug, clearly unimpressed. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

You finally secure your coffee and follow Taehyun toward the seating area. You spot Chaehyun and Kai by a window, already seated with trays full of food. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a warm glow over the table as you approach. Chaehyun waves you over, a subtle smile on her face, while Kai gives a nod of acknowledgment.

“Saved you a spot,” Chaehyun says as you sit down, her tone casual but welcoming. “How was the sprint across campus?”

“Exhausting,” you reply, setting down your tray and taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks for waking me up, by the way. I would’ve missed class if it weren’t for you.”

Chaehyun shrugs, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You really should stop staying up so late. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

“Right,” Kai chimes in, leaning back in his chair. “You’re going to burn out before midterms if you keep this up.”

You roll your eyes, though you know they’re right. Between fencing practice and trying to keep up with your classes, your sleep schedule has been all over the place. “I know, I know. I’ll try to get it together.”

The conversation shifts as you start eating, the atmosphere comfortable and unhurried. You’re only a few weeks into the semester, but already the rhythm of campus life has taken hold. The mix of early mornings, long lectures, and late-night study sessions is starting to feel familiar, even if it’s still a bit overwhelming.

“So, there’s some drama going on in the dorms,” Chaehyun says, her voice lowering slightly as if she’s about to share a secret. “You know Hyewon from our floor? She’s been caught sneaking into the guys’ side after curfew.”

Kai raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “For real? What’s she doing over there?”

“Rumor has it she’s been meeting some guy,” Chaehyun continues, her tone casual but clearly enjoying the storytelling. “Apparently, he’s a junior and in the film department. They’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but it’s not exactly a secret anymore.”

Taehyun snorts, shaking his head. “People need to be more careful. The RAs are cracking down this year, and everyone knows it.”

You listen, taking it all in, but you’re not as invested in the gossip as you might have been a few months ago. The newness of it all—new city, new school, new people—has worn off a bit, leaving you more focused on getting through the day-to-day challenges.

After a pause, Kai turns to you. “How’s training going? You’ve got that match coming up soon, right?”

You nod, finishing your coffee before answering. “It’s going well. Tough, but good. I just need to stay focused and not get distracted.”

“Easier said than done,” Chaehyun comments, but there’s no judgment in her tone—just a matter-of-fact acknowledgment of how things are.

“Yeah, but you’ve got this,” Taehyun adds, more sincerely. “Just don’t overthink it.”

You appreciate the support, even if you’re not entirely sure you believe it yourself. The competition here is fierce, and you know you’re going to have to give it everything you’ve got.

As you finish your breakfast, the conversation turns to lighter topics—an upcoming festival on campus, the latest drama on some popular TV show, and plans for the weekend. The weight of the morning’s rush has eased, replaced by the steady rhythm of another day at university.

When you finally leave the cafeteria, the four of you step out into the crisp morning air, the campus already alive with students heading to their next classes. Despite the lingering stress, you feel a small sense of contentment.

The coffee shop’s warm glow spills out onto the quiet street as you lock up your bike and make your way inside. The evening air is cool, and a slight breeze carries the scent of autumn leaves. The shop is tucked away just a block from campus, a cozy retreat where students often gather to study or unwind after a long day. You’ve been working here part-time since the semester started, and while the late shifts can be exhausting, there’s something comforting about the steady hum of the espresso machine and the soft murmur of customers in the background.

As you step behind the counter, your coworker Chaeyoung, a new friend who coincidentally is in the same major as you but one year older, gives you a quick nod before she heads out for the night. “It’s been pretty quiet today,” she says, pulling her jacket on. “Just a few regulars. You should have an easy shift.”

“Thanks, Chaeyoung. See you tomorrow,” you reply, tying your apron around your waist.

The evening crowd is usually a mix of familiar faces—students with their laptops open, working on assignments, and a few locals who stop by for a coffee on their way home. You recognize most of them, but there’s one regular who stands out, not because he’s particularly loud or noticeable, but because of the way he seems to blend into the background.

He’s young, probably around your age, with dark hair that falls just slightly over his eyes. He always wears the same dark hoodie, the hood often pulled up, and he never lingers in the shop for long. He usually comes in during your late shifts, orders the same drink—a black coffee with a splash of milk—and leaves as soon as it’s ready. He’s yet to properly speak to you, other than the bare minimum required to place his order.

Tonight, as you wipe down the counter and prepare for the next wave of customers, you hear the door chime softly. You glance up and, sure enough, there he is—standing just inside the entrance, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. His eyes flicker over the shop’s interior, as if checking to see how crowded it is, before he approaches the counter.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask, slipping into your usual greeting, though you already know his answer.

“Just the usual,” he says, his voice low, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the shop.

You nod, moving to prepare his order. The shop is quiet tonight, with only a couple of other customers scattered at the tables, absorbed in their own worlds. As you work, you can’t help but wonder about him. He’s become a small mystery to you—a regular presence in your evenings, yet completely unknown.

The coffee machine hisses as you steam the milk, and within moments, his drink is ready. You place the cup on the counter, offering him a small smile as you do. “Here you go—black coffee with a splash of milk.”

He steps forward to take the cup, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but he just nods, murmuring a quick “thanks” before turning to leave.

“Hey,” you call out impulsively, surprising even yourself. He pauses, glancing back at you, his expression unreadable. “I see you in here a lot. Do you go to the university?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like you’re breaking some kind of unspoken rule. He hesitates, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment before he looks away. “Yeah,” he replies shortly. “I’m a student.”

There’s something in his tone—cautious, reserved—that makes you think he’s not used to small talk, at least not with strangers. You’re not sure if you should push further or let it go.

“Well, if you ever want to talk about classes or anything… I’m usually here during the late shifts,” you offer, keeping your tone casual, not wanting to pressure him. “It’s always nice to chat with someone who’s going through the same stuff.”

He nods again, more to himself than to you, before muttering, “Maybe next time.”

And with that, he turns and heads out the door, disappearing into the night as quickly as he arrived. You watch him go, the mystery of who he is lingering in your mind.

As the door swings shut behind him, you can’t help but wonder about the stories he carries with him—the ones he keeps locked behind that quiet demeanor. It’s strange, how someone can become a regular part of your day, yet remain so distant.

The hours stretch on quietly after your regular leaves, with only a few more customers trickling in before the shop grows still. It’s late, and the usual rush of students has dwindled down to nothing, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you go through the motions of closing up. The steady hum of the espresso machine is comforting, almost meditative, as you wipe down the counters, restock supplies, and start counting the till.

Outside, the night has fully settled in, the streets almost deserted save for the occasional car passing by. The soft jazz playing through the speakers blends with the distant sounds of the city, creating a serene atmosphere that helps the time pass. You finish the last of your tasks, grab your bag, and turn off the lights, casting the shop into darkness before locking the door behind you.

As you step outside, the cool night air greets you, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the shop. You pull your jacket tighter around you and start the short walk back to your dorm. The campus is just a block away, and though you’re used to these late-night walks, tonight feels a little different. There’s a tension lingering from your earlier conversation with the regular, a curiosity about who he is and why he always seems so guarded.

When you finally reach your dorm, you enter the code and push open the door, the familiar warmth of the hallway enveloping you. The building is quiet, most students already asleep or buried in their textbooks. As you approach your room, you notice a faint glow seeping from under the door. Chaehyun, your roommate, is usually asleep by now, especially with her early morning classes.

You unlock the door and step inside, surprised to find Chaehyun still awake, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. She’s absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on the wall as if lost in thought. A textbook lies open beside her, untouched.

“Hey,” you say softly, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag onto your chair. “Didn’t expect you to still be up.”

Chaehyun glances up, offering a small, distracted smile. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

You can tell something’s on her mind. It’s not like her to stay awake this late, especially when she has classes in the morning. You grab your towel and some comfortable clothes, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water helps wash away the fatigue from your shift, but when you return to the room, you find Chaehyun still in the same spot, her expression pensive.

As you sit down on your bed, drying your hair with the towel, you decide to ask. “What’s up? You look like something’s bothering you.”

Chaehyun sighs, her fingers still fiddling with the strand of hair. “It’s… it’s stupid, really.”

You raise an eyebrow, knowing that whatever it is, it’s clearly not stupid to her. “Doesn’t seem stupid if it’s keeping you up this late.”

She hesitates, biting her lip before finally letting out a deep breath. “It’s Minhee,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

You nod, understanding now. Minhee—he’s in your grade, a quiet guy with a gentle smile who seems to have caught Chaehyun’s eye from the very beginning. You’ve noticed the way she looks at him in class, the way her eyes light up whenever he’s around. But Chaehyun has always been a bit reserved when it comes to her feelings, hesitant to make the first move.

“What about him?” you ask gently, knowing there’s more she wants to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know,” she starts, frustration lacing her voice. “Every time I think about talking to him, really talking to him, I just… I freeze. I don’t know what to say or how to act, and I end up avoiding him instead. It’s so frustrating.”

You can see the anxiety written all over her face. Chaehyun, who’s usually so composed and confident, is clearly struggling with this. “Have you tried just… being yourself around him? I mean, he seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that.”

Chaehyun lets out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know how to be myself when I’m around him. I get so nervous, like he’s going to see right through me and realize I’m just… boring.”

“Boring?” you repeat, incredulous. “Chaehyun, you’re anything but boring. You’re smart, funny, and you care about people. If Minhee can’t see that, then he’s the one who’s missing out.”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but you can tell she’s still not convinced. “I don’t know… Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but that’s okay. It’s normal to feel nervous when you like someone. But you won’t know how he really feels unless you give him a chance to get to know the real you.”

Chaehyun nods slowly, seeming to mull over your words. “I guess you’re right… I just need to figure out how to get past this… fear, I guess.”

“You will,” you assure her. “And when you do, I bet you’ll realize it wasn’t as scary as you thought. Just take it one step at a time.”

She smiles at you, a real smile this time, though still a little uncertain. “Thanks, Y/N. I know I’m probably being silly, but it helps to talk about it.”

“Anytime,” you reply, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Chaehyun’s smile widens, and she finally seems to relax a little. “I’m just glad I have you to talk to. I’d be lost without you.”

“Same here,” you admit, lying back on your bed. “Let’s both get some sleep now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

“Good night, Y/N,” Chaehyun murmurs, snuggling under her blanket, her earlier anxiety finally starting to fade.

“Good night, Chaehyun,” you reply, turning off the light.

As the room falls into darkness, you close your eyes, hoping that tomorrow will bring some clarity for both of you. The night is still, and for the first time in a while, you feel a sense of peace as sleep begins to pull you under.

The gymnasium buzzes with energy, the air thick with anticipation as teams from various universities gather for the first fencing match of the season. The metallic clinks of swords being tested, the swish of warm-up jackets, and the low hum of conversation fill the space. You stand with your teammates, Ryujin and Gaeul, your hearts pounding in sync as the day you’ve trained so hard for finally arrives.

You can see Chaehyun, Taehyun, Kai, and the rest of your friends—Jay and Chaeyoung—up in the bleachers, waving when they catch your eye. Chaehyun looks especially excited, a wide grin on her face as she snaps a few photos with her phone, probably to send to you later with some encouraging captions. Taehyun and Kai are shouting something you can’t quite hear, but their support is clear. It’s reassuring to know they’re here, their presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos.

“Ready, Y/N?” Ryujin asks, her eyes sharp and focused, as always.

“Yeah,” you reply, adjusting your mask and gloves. “Let’s do this.”

The team match is up first. It’s a round-robin format, each of you facing off against fencers from the other school. The opposing team looks strong, their stances confident, but you know you and your teammates have been training hard. Ryujin, with her aggressive style, usually takes the lead, while Gaeul’s calm, defensive approach balances things out. Your job is to bring in the points where you can, using your speed and precision to outmaneuver your opponents.

The referee calls you to the piste, and you step forward, saluting your opponent before taking your position. The first bout begins with Ryujin, who scores several quick points, her movements fast and decisive. Gaeul follows, managing to hold her ground and earn a few more points, keeping the score close. Then it’s your turn.

You face off against a tall girl with a strong stance. She lunges first, testing your defenses, but you parry and riposte, landing a clean hit on her shoulder. The match continues, a tense back-and-forth as you try to anticipate her moves while controlling the pace. The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, the rest of the world fading as you focus solely on the bout.

When the referee calls the match, it’s close, but you’ve managed to secure the final points your team needed to edge out the win. Your teammates cheer, and you exchange high-fives with Ryujin and Gaeul as you step off the piste. There’s a brief moment of relief before you remember that your individual match is still ahead.

You catch your breath and take a swig of water, mentally preparing yourself for what’s next. The individual matches are tougher; there’s no team to back you up, and the pressure is entirely on you. You glance toward the bleachers again, seeing your friends waving and cheering, and it gives you the boost you need.

As you’re about to head to the piste for your individual match, something catches your eye. Off to the side, near where the school journalists are gathered, you spot him—the regular from the coffee shop. He’s standing slightly apart from the others, a notebook in hand, scribbling something down as he watches the matches intently.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. What’s he doing here? You’ve never seen him at any school events before, let alone at a fencing match. He’s always been a mystery, but seeing him here, in this context, only deepens your curiosity.

You shake off the distraction and refocus on the task at hand. There’s no time to wonder about him now; you have a match to win. But as you walk to the piste, you can’t help but glance in his direction one more time. He’s still taking notes, his eyes darting between the fencers and his notebook, completely absorbed in whatever he’s writing.

The referee calls your name, and you force yourself to push all thoughts of him aside. Your opponent steps up—a girl from another school, her expression serious and focused. You both salute, then take your positions, the tension palpable.

“En garde,” the referee’s voice cuts through the air. “Prêt… Allez!”

The match begins, and you spring into action, your body moving on instinct. Your opponent is quick, her attacks precise, but you match her step for step, finding openings where you can. The bout is intense, each point hard-fought, but you stay calm, remembering your training.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the regular glance up from his notebook, watching your match with what seems like more than just passing interest. You block it out, channeling all your focus into the fight.

The final exchange is a blur—a flurry of attacks and parries—until you see an opening and strike, your blade landing cleanly on her torso. The referee raises his hand, signaling the point in your favor. The match is over.

You remove your mask, breathing heavily as the adrenaline starts to fade. Your teammates rush over to congratulate you, their cheers mixing with those of your friends in the stands. You managed to win, both the team match and your individual bout, and the feeling of victory is sweet.

But even as you celebrate with Ryujin and Gaeul, your thoughts drift back to the regular. He’s no longer writing, just watching the scene unfold with an inscrutable expression. Then, almost as if he senses your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. There’s a brief moment where neither of you looks away, and then he nods slightly, almost as if in acknowledgment, before turning his attention back to his notebook.

You’re left wondering what that nod meant, if anything. But before you can dwell on it, your friends swarm around you, pulling you into their excitement. There will be time to think about him later.

The weeks following the first tournament pass in a blur, your life consumed by the relentless demands of school, fencing, and work. Every day feels like a balancing act, trying to keep everything from crashing down as you juggle your commitments. Early morning practices, late-night study sessions, and shifts at the coffee shop—it’s a grind, and there’s little time for anything else.

Fencing practices have become more intense as the team prepares for the upcoming matches. Ryujin and Gaeul push you to your limits, honing your speed and precision with grueling drills. Coach keeps a close eye on everyone, always expecting more, demanding perfection. The victories from the first tournament are already a distant memory, replaced by the constant pressure to improve, to be ready for whatever comes next.

Classes, too, are piling on the pressure. Midterms are fast approaching, and professors seem determined to cram as much information as possible into each lecture. You spend hours poring over textbooks and notes, trying to keep up with the endless stream of assignments and projects. Your mind is a whirlwind of dates, formulas, and theories, each one more complex than the last.

The coffee shop offers little respite. The late-night shifts stretch on endlessly, and by the time you finish cleaning and lock up, it’s often past midnight. The regulars who once filled the shop now seem like a blur of faces, all blending together in your memory. The only person who stands out is the mysterious guy who hasn’t shown up since the tournament. His absence lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet distraction that you can’t quite shake.

Every time you work a shift, you find yourself scanning the shop, half-expecting to see him sitting in his usual spot, notebook in hand. But he never appears. You try to convince yourself that it’s nothing, that he was just a random customer who happened to catch your eye. But the truth is, you’re curious. There was something about him—something intriguing, something you can’t quite put your finger on—that makes you wonder who he is and why he hasn’t come back.

The days blur together, one after the other, as you push through the exhaustion and the mounting pressure. There’s no time to dwell on the regular or on anything else outside the immediate demands of your schedule. Sleep becomes a luxury, something you snatch in brief intervals between studying, practicing, and working. The stress builds, creeping into every corner of your life, until it feels like you’re constantly on the edge, just trying to hold it all together.

As midterms draw closer, the tension reaches a breaking point. Every day feels like a race against the clock, with too much to do and not enough time to do it. The nights grow longer as you stay up late, cramming for exams, only to wake up a few hours later to start all over again. Coffee becomes your lifeline, the only thing keeping you awake during the endless hours of studying and practice.

Despite the chaos, the absence of the regular still nags at you. It’s been weeks since the tournament, and you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. Was he just a one-time visitor? Did he find another coffee shop? Or did something happen that caused him to stop coming? The questions swirl in your mind, surfacing at the most inconvenient times—during class, while practicing, even as you try to sleep.

Chaehyun notices your distraction, but she’s too caught up in her own worries about Minhee to say much. The two of you share a mutual understanding—there’s too much going on, too many demands, to focus on anything else. Still, she tries to cheer you up when she can, dragging you to the campus café for study sessions with Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung. But even in the midst of your friends, your thoughts drift back to the regular, wondering why he’s disappeared from your life as suddenly as he entered it.

One evening, after an especially grueling practice, you collapse onto your bed, your muscles aching and your mind racing. You know you should be studying, but the textbooks feel like they weigh a ton, and you can’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts of the regular out of your mind. But they keep creeping back, slipping past your defenses, until you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see him again.

Chaehyun glances over at you from her desk, where she’s furiously typing up a report. “You okay?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “Just tired.”

She nods, understanding. “We all are. Just a couple more weeks, and then we can relax. Or, you know, sleep for a week straight.”

You laugh, though it’s more out of exhaustion than humor. “Sounds like a plan.”

But even as you joke, the regular’s absence continues to bother you, a small, nagging feeling that something is off. You try to push it aside, to focus on the here and now—the exams, the practices, the never-ending stream of work. But it’s there, lurking in the back of your mind, a puzzle you can’t quite solve.

As the night wears on, you force yourself to get up and start studying, knowing you can’t afford to fall behind. But the thoughts of the regular linger, a quiet distraction that you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

The following week, the routine continues. Early mornings at the gym, afternoons in class, evenings at the coffee shop. The grind is relentless, each day a blur of exhaustion and effort. But you push through, knowing that you can’t afford to let up—not with midterms just around the corner.

The regular still doesn’t show up, and you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. It’s silly, you know, to be so preoccupied with someone you barely know. But there was something about him, something that made you curious, made you want to know more. And now that he’s gone, that curiosity has turned into a nagging itch, a feeling that something is missing.

The days grow shorter as autumn sets in, the air turning crisp and cool. The leaves on the trees outside the dorm begin to change color, painting the campus in shades of red, orange, and yellow. But even the beauty of the season can’t distract you from the growing pressure of midterms, or from the absence of the regular.

As the week wears on, you start to wonder if you’ll ever see him again. Maybe it’s for the best, you tell yourself. You’re too busy to be worrying about some guy you don’t even know. But the thought doesn’t bring you any comfort, and you find yourself hoping, just a little, that he’ll show up one more time.

You try to focus on your studies, on fencing, on work. But the regular’s absence looms large in your mind, a mystery you can’t quite let go of, no matter how hard you try. The routine continues, day after day, but you can’t help but feel like something is missing, something important that you can’t quite put your finger on.

And so, you push forward, determined to get through the next few weeks, to survive the grind and make it through midterms. But even as you do, you can’t shake the feeling that the regular’s absence is more than just a coincidence, that there’s something more going on beneath the surface.

The end of midterms brings a collective sigh of relief that seems to ripple across the entire campus. After weeks of cramming, late-night study sessions, and endless exams, everyone is ready to unwind. The first big party of the semester feels like a long-awaited reward, and the buzz around it is electric. You can feel the excitement in the air as you and Jay walk towards the off-campus house where the party is being held.

Jay is practically bouncing beside you, his usual energy amplified now that the weight of midterms is finally off his shoulders. "This is going to be good," he says, grinning ear to ear. "Everyone’s talking about it.”

You smile, though a part of you is still too tired to fully embrace the idea of a wild night. "I’m just looking forward to a drink and not thinking about school for a bit," you reply.

The house comes into view, its windows glowing with warm light, and the sound of music and laughter spills out onto the street. Groups of people are already gathered on the front lawn, red plastic cups in hand, talking and laughing as if the stress of the past few weeks never existed.

Inside, the house is packed, every room filled with people dancing, talking, and letting loose. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the faint sweetness of someone’s attempt at a spiked punch. You and Jay navigate through the crowd, heading toward the kitchen where you expect to find the rest of your friends.

Sure enough, Kai and Taehyun are already there, leaning against the counter, each with a drink in hand. They look more relaxed than you’ve seen them in weeks, their faces flushed from the warmth of alcohol and the relief of having survived midterms.

"Finally!" Kai exclaims when he sees you, raising his cup in greeting. "Thought you’d never get here."

"Had to drag myself off the couch," you admit with a laugh, grabbing a cup and filling it with soju. "But I made it."

Taehyun grins at you over the rim of his cup, his eyes slightly glassy. "You deserve a night off. We all do."

The four of you settle into an easy rhythm, chatting and laughing as the party continues around you. The tension of the past few weeks starts to melt away, replaced by the comfortable camaraderie of friends who’ve all been through the same things. For the first time in a while, you allow yourself to relax, to just enjoy the moment.

As the night goes on, you start to feel the effects of the alcohol—a pleasant warmth spreading through your body, making you feel lighter, more carefree. You drift through the party, talking to people you barely know, losing yourself in the music and the laughter that fills every corner of the house.

After a while, you decide to take a break from the noise and head towards the quieter hallway near the back of the house. The music is more muted here, and you find yourself grateful for the brief reprieve. As you turn a corner, though, you come to an abrupt stop, your eyes widening in surprise.

Chaehyun and Minhee are there, pressed up against the wall, completely absorbed in each other. They’re so caught up in their own world that they don’t even notice you standing there. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you realize you’ve walked in on them making out.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, unsure of what to do. You don’t want to interrupt, but you also don’t want to just stand there awkwardly. Eventually, you decide to back away slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. As you retreat, you can’t help but feel a small pang of amusement. Chaehyun has been crushing on Minhee for so long—it’s about time something happened between them.

As you make your way back to the main part of the house, you spot a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. You do a double-take, your heart skipping a beat when you realize who it is. Standing near the edge of the living room, engaged in quiet conversation with another guy, is the regular from the coffee shop.

He’s dressed more lively than you’re used to seeing him, as opposed to his dark hoodie, but there’s no mistaking him. The sight of him here, in the middle of the party, is so unexpected that you almost think you’re imagining it. The guy he’s talking to is vaguely familiar as well—it takes you a moment to place him. Sunghoon. Jay’s friend.

You watch them for a moment, your curiosity piqued. The regular seems different in this setting, more relaxed, though still maintaining that air of quiet intensity that caught your attention in the first place. The conversation between him and Sunghoon seems serious, their expressions focused.

Before you can decide whether to approach them or just slip away unnoticed, Jay appears beside you, nudging you with his elbow. "Hey, what’re you staring at?" he asks, his tone light but curious.

You quickly shake off the daze and force a smile. "Just people-watching," you say, trying to sound casual.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. "Come on," he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get another drink."

You let him lead you back towards the kitchen, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. What’s he doing here? How does he know Sunghoon? And why does he always seem to show up when you least expect it?

The night wears on, and the drinks keep coming. The atmosphere is infectious, the weight of midterms lifted, and the collective energy of the party propels you further into the evening. Kai and Taehyun are in full party mode, dragging you and Jay into a dance circle in the middle of the living room. The music thumps in your chest, the laughter and shouts of your friends blending into the rhythm, and for a while, you forget everything except the sheer joy of being free from stress.

But as the night deepens and the alcohol warms your veins, your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. He’s still there, lingering at the edge of the party, talking to Sunghoon. You steal glances at him whenever you can, your curiosity growing stronger with each passing minute. The alcohol dulls your inhibitions, and soon you find yourself wondering why you’re just watching him from afar when you could be talking to him, getting some answers.

It’s a combination of the drinks and the sense of freedom from the night that pushes you over the edge. At some point, you lose count of how many cups of soju you’ve had, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re feeling bold, more so than you have in weeks, and the next thing you know, you’re making your way across the room towards the guy who’s been occupying your thoughts for far too long.

“Come on, Jay,” you say, trying to sound confident despite the alcohol fuzzing your words. “I want to talk to that guy over there.”

Jay looks at you, a playful smirk on his face. “Oh, you mean Heeseung? Alright, let’s go.”

Heeseung. That’s his name. He looks up as you and Jay approach and there’s a faint hint of recognition in his eyes as he raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sunghoon, catching on to your intention, steps aside with a glance at Jay.

“Hey,” you say, louder than you intended, as you reach them.

Both Heeseung and Sunghoon turn to look at you, surprise flickering across their faces. You suddenly feel a bit self-conscious under their gaze, but you push through it, locking eyes with Heeseung.

“Hi,” Heeseung responds, his voice calm and even. Up close, you notice he has a gentle intensity about him, something that makes your pulse quicken. “Uh, can I help you with something?”

You swallow, suddenly unsure of what to say. What exactly did you plan on saying? You’re not entirely sure, but the alcohol gives you just enough confidence to keep going.

“I… I’ve seen you around,” you begin, your words slurring slightly. “At the coffee shop. You come in a lot.”

Heeseung’s expression softens, and you think you see a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I go there pretty often. You’re the barista, right?”

You nod, relieved that he remembers you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Sunghoon glances between the two of you, looking slightly amused, before clapping Heeseung on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go find Jake,” he says, excusing himself with a knowing look and taking Jay with him. “See you around.”

Heeseung nods at Sunghoon before turning his attention back to you. “So, what’s up?”

You shift on your feet, the alcohol making you a little bolder but also a little less coherent. “I’ve been wondering about you,” you admit, a bit embarrassed. “You don’t really talk much. You just… come in, get your coffee, and leave. But you’re always writing or taking notes. What’s that about?”

Heeseung chuckles softly, the sound low and a little shy. “I didn’t mean to be mysterious. I’m just… focused, I guess. I’m in the journalism club, and I’m usually working on articles or notes for upcoming interviews.”

“Oh,” you say, nodding as if that explains everything. “That makes sense. But why haven’t you been in the shop lately? I mean… not that I’m keeping track or anything,” you suddenly splutter, face turning even redder than you knew it already was.

Heeseung seems to consider you for a moment, his gaze steady. “I’ve been busy with a project,” he says finally. “But I didn’t mean to stop coming in. Just got caught up in things.”

You hum in understanding, feeling oddly pleased with his answer. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. You… you’re always working, huh?”

“Pretty much,” he admits, his smile widening a fraction. “What about you? I’ve seen you at the shop, but I didn’t know you were on the fencing team. That was you at the tournament. You’re, you’re good. I’m writing a piece about your team in next month’s paper.”

His compliment catches you off guard, and you feel a flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Thanks,” you say, a bit shy now. “I-I noticed you there. You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” he replies, his tone teasing.

You laugh, feeling the last bit of tension slip away. “Well, you could’ve at least waved or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Heeseung says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

There’s a brief pause, the noise of the party swirling around you as you stand there, just looking at each other. You’re not sure what to say next, but you don’t want the conversation to end. There’s something about Heeseung that draws you in, something that makes you want to know more about him.

“So… do you always just cover sports?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

“Not always,” Heeseung replies simply, leaning against a wall. “So,” Heeseung says, leaning against the wall, “do you always get this bold after a few drinks?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the ease of the conversation. “No. It’s just… it’s nice to have a break from everything, you know?”

Heeseung nods, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know what you mean.”

You agree, feeling a sense of connection with him that goes beyond the casual small talk. The night has turned into something unexpectedly pleasant, and as you continue to talk, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand the enigmatic Heeseung.

As the party begins to wind down, you notice Jay and Sunghoon making their way back toward you and Heeseung. Jay, still wearing that ever-present smirk, gives you a knowing look.

“Everything good here?” he asks, his tone more genuine than teasing.

Heeseung nods, his expression relaxed but still somewhat reserved. “Yeah, we’ve just been talking.”

Sunghoon gives Heeseung a pat on the back, and there’s a brief exchange of glances between them—something unspoken that you can’t quite decipher. Jay shifts his weight, glancing at you as if he’s debating whether to say something or just let the moment pass. Glancing at his phone, he finally speaks. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling a mix of reluctance and contentment. “It’s getting late.”

Heeseung gives you a small nod, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be back for coffee tomorrow, Y/N.” You glean that he learned your name long before you learned his, from his work in the journalism club.

“See you then,” you reply, feeling the weight of the words. There’s no need to force anything more out of the moment—it feels complete as it is.

As you and Jay walk away, you feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. And heading back to your dorm, you can’t help but wonder about Heeseung and what else you have yet to learn about him.

As promised, Heeseung returned to the coffee shop the next afternoon. You’d wondered if the conversation at the party was just a fleeting moment, something that would fade by morning. But there he was, standing in line, that familiar reserved expression on his face, though his eyes carried a hint of something playful as he scanned the menu.

You were behind the counter, finishing up an order when you noticed him. A small flutter of nerves caught you off guard, but you quickly masked it with a professional smile. It was just Heeseung, you told yourself—a regular customer, nothing more. Yet the memory of your conversation from the night before lingered, making him feel like more than just another face in the crowd.

When Heeseung reached the front of the line, he gave you a smile that was a bit wider than his usual one. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” you replied, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “Back for another round of caffeine?”

He nodded, glancing briefly at the menu before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, I think I’ll try that cappuccino you mentioned.”

“Straight up or with a flavor?” you asked, already moving to prepare the drink.

“Straight up. I trust your recommendation,” he said, leaning casually on the counter. As you started steaming the milk, he added, with a playful tone, “You seemed pretty confident about it last night, but maybe that was just the drinks talking.”

You felt your face warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up. Admittedly now, you had no recollection of recommending him the cappuccino at all. “Oh, so you’re going to tease me about that now?”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and easy. “Just a little. You were pretty bold last night, but I figured it was the liquid courage.”

“Well, maybe it was,” you admitted, focusing on the cappuccino to avoid his eyes. “But I still stand by my coffee skills, drunk or not.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Heeseung replied, watching as you finished his drink. “You’ve got a good reputation around here.”

You handed him the cup, feeling a bit of pride at the compliment. “So, what’s on your agenda today? More stories to write?” You asked, happy to change the topic from your inebriated state during your last encounter with him.

Heeseung took a sip of his cappuccino, his eyes lighting up at the taste. “This is really good,” he said, before continuing. “Actually, yeah. I’m working on a few pieces. The one about the fencing team that I mentioned.”

Your stomach flipped as you remembered him telling you this last night. You had been so overwhelmed in just actually having a conversation with him that you hadn’t given any more thought to his mention about the story covering the fencing team. “What’s the story going to be about?” you asked genuinely curiously.

Heeseung leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s a feature on student-athletes and how they balance sports with everything else. Your team’s been doing pretty well, and I thought it’d be interesting to dive into what makes you all tick. I was going to reach out to some of your teammates for interviews.”

You couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought. “That sounds cool. Are you, planning to interview me too?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re up for it. I think your perspective would be interesting—especially considering you’ve got work, fencing, and classes all juggled pretty well.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in your chest. “I’d be down for that. I mean, if you think I’d have something worth saying.”

Heeseung gave you a look that was both serious and slightly teasing. “Everyone has something worth saying. Besides, I’ve seen how focused you are at practice. There’s a story there, trust me.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, you’ve got me convinced. Let me know when you want to do the interview.”

“Will do,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, then added, “You know, you were pretty curious last night. About me, I mean.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “Was I that obvious?”

Heeseung grinned, his usual reserve giving way to something more playful. “A little. But I don’t mind. I’m used to asking questions, not answering them, so it was a nice change.”

“Well, I guess I’m just trying to figure out the guy who comes in here, gets his coffee, and disappears without saying much,” you replied, feeling a bit bolder now that the topic was out in the open.

“I’m not that mysterious,” Heeseung said with a soft laugh, though his smile suggested he enjoyed the idea. “I think I became dependent on the coffee from here. Without it at the end of last year, I genuinely don’t think I would’ve survived. But I was used to just running in and out of here.”

You nodded in understanding, gathering more information from his words that he was at least a year older than yourself. “You should try staying sometime. We’ve got other drinks besides just coffee too, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Heeseung replied, his tone lighter now. “Especially if you’re the one making them.”

Before the conversation could go any further, another customer approached the counter, pulling your attention away. Heeseung noticed and gave you a small wave.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, stepping aside. “But thanks for the coffee, Y/N. I’ll be in touch about the story.”

You smiled, waving him away and watching as he left the small café, journal in hand.

On your walk back to the dorm, you replayed his words in your mind, particularly his comment about everyone having something worth saying. It stuck with you, making you wonder if there was more to you—more to your own story—than you’d given yourself credit for.

And then there was the story Heeseung was working on, the one about your fencing team. The thought of being featured in an article made you both excited and nervous. You couldn’t help but think about what he might write, how he might see you through his lens as a journalist.

By the time you reached your dorm, the day’s events had left you with a sense of anticipation. Things were shifting, slowly but surely. Heeseung’s presence in your life, however small it might be right now, felt like the beginning of something new—something you weren’t sure how to define just yet.

But for now, you were content to let it unfold at its own pace, curious to see where it might lead.

The weeks leading into winter passed in a blur, the chill in the air growing sharper with each day. With the end of the semester looming, your schedule became a tightrope act, balancing between academics, fencing, work, and the slow but steady shifts in your social life.

Your literature project with Taehyun was one of the first things to dominate your time. The two of you had been paired up to analyze a complex, multi-layered novel that was both fascinating and exhausting. It required countless hours in the library, pouring over pages and notes, trying to piece together a coherent argument that would satisfy your professor’s exacting standards.

“Honestly, I think I’ve read this chapter five times, and I still don’t get what the author’s trying to say,” Taehyun grumbled one afternoon, his head buried in his hands. You were seated in a quiet corner of the campus library, surrounded by stacks of books and discarded drafts.

You chuckled, though you felt the same frustration. “Maybe that’s the point—ambiguity as a narrative device or something.”

Taehyun lifted his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Or maybe the author just liked to mess with his readers. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Despite the long hours and occasional confusion, working with Taehyun had its perks. His sense of humor kept things light even when the material felt heavy, and the shared struggle somehow made the project feel less daunting.

In between study sessions, you found yourself talking to Chaehyun about her new relationship with Minhee. The shift from pining to dating had happened quickly, and you could see how it had brought a new glow to her usually calm demeanor.

“So, how’s it going with Minhee?” you asked one evening, after you both returned from your respective activities. You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted from another grueling fencing practice, while Chaehyun sat at her desk, typing away on her laptop.

Chaehyun paused, a shy smile spreading across her face. “It’s... really good. Better than I expected, actually. He’s so thoughtful, you know? And sweet. It’s nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her happiness. “I’m glad. You deserve someone who treats you well.”

“Thanks,” Chaehyun said, turning to face you. “We’re still figuring things out, but I like where it’s going. It’s just... new, you know?”

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “Yeah, new can be both exciting and terrifying.”

Chaehyun laughed softly. “Exactly. But I think it’s more exciting than terrifying right now.”

As Chaehyun’s relationship with Minhee deepened, you found yourself spending more late nights with the fencing team, the team growing stronger as you all pushed yourselves harder in preparation for the upcoming winter tournaments. Ryujin and Gaeul were a constant presence and the three of you formed a tight-knit unit on and off the piste.

“Are we fencing or just trying to survive winter at this point?” Ryujin joked one evening, her breath visible in the frigid air of the training facility.

“Both, probably,” Gaeul replied, stretching her arms.

You smiled at their banter, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn’t expected when you first joined the team. The late-night practices were grueling, but they were also a refuge—a place where the stress of school and work melted away, leaving only the focus and adrenaline of the sport you loved.

And then, there was Heeseung.

Since that conversation at the party, Heeseung had become a regular fixture in your life, though in subtle ways. He continued to visit the coffee shop, usually in the afternoons when the rush had died down, and you found yourself looking forward to those moments more than you wanted to admit.

Each time he came in, you exchanged a few more words, small talk that gradually grew into something more substantial. He teased you occasionally about your drunken confidence at the party, but it was always in good humor, and you found yourself warming to his quiet, steady presence.

“You should try the caramel macchiato next,” you suggested one day, after he’d ordered his usual cappuccino.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is this you branching out from straight-up coffee recommendations?”

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning on the counter. “Or maybe I’m just trying to expand your horizons.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot next time. I trust your judgment.”

Outside the coffee shop, you occasionally saw him around campus, usually in the library or at the student center, often with his notebook in hand. He was always absorbed in his work, but he never seemed too busy to stop and chat if you crossed paths. You learned that he was a journalism major, passionate about uncovering stories that others might overlook. His feature on the fencing team was still in the works, and every so often, he’d ask you a question or two about your experiences.

“You mentioned you started fencing in elementary school,” Heeseung said one afternoon as you handed him his coffee. “What got you into it?”

You hesitated for a moment, considering how much to share. “It was kind of random, actually. I saw a demo at a school fair and thought it looked interesting. I liked the idea of a sport that was both physical and strategic, or maybe I just liked the pointy swords back then. But once I started, I just… got hooked.”

Heeseung nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. “It makes sense. Fencing isn’t just about brute strength—it’s about thinking ahead, reading your opponent. It suits you.”

You blinked, taken aback by the insight. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing up at you with a small smile. “You’ve got that kind of focus—like you’re always considering your next move.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, a bit flustered by the compliment. It wasn’t often that someone saw you that way, and it left you feeling both exposed and strangely validated.

As the weeks wore on, winter crept closer, bringing with it a sense of both urgency and anticipation. The days grew shorter, the cold biting deeper, but there was also a certain excitement in the air—an awareness that something was building, both in your life and in the lives of those around you.

Chaehyun and Minhee’s relationship was growing stronger, the fencing team was gearing up for the winter season, and your literature project with Taehyun was nearing completion, the two of you finally starting to make sense of the novel’s tangled themes.

And Heeseung as present as ever, whose stance in your life continued to grow, even if it was still undefined.

As you stood in the coffee shop one late afternoon, watching the first snowflakes of the season drift down outside, you couldn’t help but wonder where all these pieces would lead. Winter was here, and with it came the promise of change—of challenges and new beginnings, of stories waiting to be written.

The gymnasium buzzed with the collective energy of two rival teams and their supporters. The cold winter air outside contrasted sharply with the warmth inside, where anticipation hung thick. Your breath was steady, your mind focused, but you could still feel the nervous excitement humming through your veins as you tightened the grip on your saber. This was your second big match of the season, and after the hard-earned victory last time, expectations were high.

Your team was up against another strong school, but this time, things felt different. Your preparation had been intense, the extra hours you spent with Ryujin and Gaeul paying off in how smoothly you moved together on the piste. There was no hesitation in your movements, no second-guessing your strategy. Everything you’d worked for was about to be tested again.

The first part of the match was a group event, just like last time. You, Ryujin, and Gaeul faced off against your opponents with a renewed confidence. The cheers from your side of the bleachers spurred you on, each point won driving you to push harder. Chaehyun’s voice was unmistakable, rising above the crowd with her usual enthusiastic support, while you could also make out Taehyun, MInhee, Jay, and Chaeyoung joining in.

By the end of the group match, your team was ahead by a comfortable margin. The final score was a significant improvement from the previous match, a reflection of your team’s growing synergy. As the referee announced your victory, a wave of elation swept through you, a mixture of relief and pride. You and your teammates exchanged high-fives, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was amazing!” Ryujin said, her voice slightly breathless as she unhooked her mask. “We were on fire today!”

Gaeul nodded, her face flushed with the exertion and excitement. “It’s like everything just clicked. We’ll be the same for the individuals.”

You smiled, feeling the truth of their words. The victory felt earned, the product of your collective effort. But there was still the individual match to go.

As the team celebrations began to wind down, you prepared for your own one-on-one bout. This time, you were facing a different opponent—a girl with a reputation for being quick and aggressive on the piste. The kind of challenge you thrived on.

The individual match was intense, every move calculated, every strike measured. But you held your ground, matching her pace, anticipating her next move. You could feel the rhythm of the fight, the give and take, the way you both adapted to each other’s style. And then, in a final, decisive moment, you scored the winning touch.

The crowd erupted into applause as you removed your mask, the rush of victory coursing through you. Your teammates were the first to greet you as you stepped off the piste, their congratulations adding to the euphoria of the moment.

“Yes!” Ryujin exclaimed, clapping you on the back.

“Great job, Y/N!” Gaeul added, her smile wide. Both girls had also won their individual matches making your school shoot up the ranks.

You basked in the team for a moment, letting the energy of the win wash over you. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Heeseung standing on the sidelines, his notebook in hand, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of interest and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been as close to the action as your friends, but he’d clearly been watching. After a moment, he started making his way toward you, weaving through the small crowd of spectators and teammates.

“Hey,” Heeseung said as he approached, his voice carrying over the noise of the gym. “That was a great match. Congrats, you deserve it.”

“Thanks,” you replied, still catching your breath. “It was intense, but I’m glad it went well.”

Heeseung nodded, his usual reserved smile in place. “If you’ve got a few minutes, I was hoping we could do that interview now—if you’re up for it.”

You hesitated, still riding the high of the win, but you knew this was something you’d been expecting. And honestly, you were curious about what questions he had lined up for you. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Heeseung led you to a quieter corner of the gym, away from the noise of the celebrations. You both settled down on a bench, the sounds of the ongoing matches and distant chatter forming a muted backdrop.

He flipped open his notebook, his pen poised, and gave you a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, this won’t be too formal. Just a few questions about the match and your experience so far.”

You nodded, already feeling more at ease. “Okay, shoot.”

Heeseung, after asking for permission, opened up his phone to record, stating his name and year, “This is Lee Heeseung, sophomore journalism major interviewing freshman L/N F/N, sports sciences major on the fencing team.” His first few questions were straightforward, focusing on the match itself—your thoughts going into it, how you prepared, and how you felt about the win. You answered easily, the details of the match still fresh in your mind.

Then he shifted gears. “So, Y/N, you’ve been balancing fencing with school and work. That’s a lot on your plate. How do you manage it all?”

You thought about it for a moment, considering how to articulate what often felt like a delicate juggling act. “It’s definitely not easy. There are days when it feels like too much, but I guess it’s all about priorities. Fencing is something I’m passionate about, so even when it gets tough, I remind myself why I’m doing it. And with school, it’s about time management. The job is a necessity, but I’ve found a rhythm that works for me.”

Heeseung nodded as he scribbled down your response, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a balance, even if it’s not perfect. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on other parts of college life because of it?”

You smiled wryly, recognizing the truth in his question. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I don’t get to go to as many parties or hang out as much as some of my friends do. But I’m okay with that. I’ve met some great people through fencing and work, and they make it worth it.”

Heeseung looked up from his notebook, meeting your eyes with a curious gaze. “Do you think fencing has changed you? Like, in terms of how you see yourself or how you handle things?”

The question caught you off guard, making you pause. “Yeah, I think it has,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. “Fencing’s taught me a lot about discipline and patience. It’s also made me more resilient. When you’re out there on the piste, it’s just you and your opponent, and you have to trust in your own abilities. That confidence carries over into other areas of my life.”

Heeseung’s pen scratched across the paper as he took down your words, nodding slightly as he wrote. When he finished, he looked back at you with a small, approving smile. “That was great, Y/N. You’re a natural. I might have to steal you for these more often.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, the kind of affirmation that felt both surprising and welcome. “Thanks, Heeseung. I appreciate that.”

He closed his notebook, signaling the end of the interview. “I think I’ve got everything I need for now. I’ll probably follow up with you later, once I start putting the article together.”

“Sure, anytime,” you said, standing up from the bench as he did the same.

As you walked back toward the main area of the gym, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The match had gone well, and now you’d gotten through the interview, which, instead of being daunting, had felt more like a conversation with someone who genuinely wanted to understand your perspective.

Before you could say anything more, Heeseung spoke up. “By the way, I’m really looking forward to writing this piece. It’s been my favorite for the semester. I think it’s going to turn out well.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation mixed with curiosity. “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

With that, Heeseung gave you a small wave and headed off, likely to interview some of your teammates. You watched him go, feeling a strange mix of emotions—pride from the match, a sense of accomplishment from the interview, and something else, something unspoken, that lingered in the air between you.

As the day’s events began to wind down, you rejoined your friends, who were still celebrating the win. But even as you laughed and joked with them, your mind kept drifting back to that quiet corner of the gym, where Heeseung had asked you questions that made you think about yourself in ways you hadn’t before.

Winter was settling in, but for the first time in a while, you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. It was a warmth born from connection—both with your teammates and, increasingly, with the boy who was slowly becoming a regular part of your world.

The semester drew to a close like the final chapter of a long, exhausting novel. You could practically feel the collective sigh of relief that swept through campus as students completed their last exams and handed in their final projects. The late nights spent pouring over textbooks and notes, the endless hours in the library, and the nerve-wracking presentations were all behind you now. You’d managed to finish your literature project with Taehyun, and the fencing season had temporarily wound down, giving you a much-needed break.

With the academic pressures lifting, you found yourself with some rare free time. But rather than taking it easy, you decided to make the most of the lull by picking up extra shifts at the café. It was a chance to earn some money and keep yourself busy. The rhythm of work was comforting, almost meditative. The familiar sounds of the espresso machine, the chatter of customers, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee became the backdrop to your days.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the café, Heeseung walked in. He had become a more regular presence in your life, not just as the guy who showed up at the café but as someone who seemed to understand the balancing act you were constantly performing. Today, though, there was something different in his expression—a hint of concern.

He approached the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

You returned the smile, wiping your hands on a towel before turning your full attention to him. “Hey, Heeseung. It’s going. The semester’s finally over, so that’s a relief.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning your face as if he was searching for something. “Yeah, I can imagine. But shouldn’t you be relaxing now? You’ve been working pretty hard all semester.”

You shrugged, a light laugh escaping you. “Maybe, but I’d rather keep busy. Plus, I could use the extra cash.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned against the counter. “You know, there’s such a thing as overworking yourself. It’s okay to take a break, especially after everything you’ve been through with school and fencing.”

His words were gentle, but they hit a bit too close to home. You’d been running on adrenaline for so long that the idea of slowing down felt foreign, almost uncomfortable. “I guess,” you said, brushing off the concern with a casual tone. “But I’m fine, really. I’ve got a rhythm, and it works for me.”

Heeseung didn’t push further, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, he let it go, changing the subject to lighter topics. The two of you chatted about the latest campus gossip, upcoming holiday plans, and the unusually mild winter weather. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Heeseung.

As the afternoon stretched on, the café began to empty out, leaving just a few lingering customers. You noticed Heeseung glance at his watch a couple of times, and you wondered if he had somewhere else to be. But instead of leaving, he stayed, sipping on his coffee and occasionally jotting something down in his notebook.

Finally, as you were wiping down the counter, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with hesitation. “Hey, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You looked up, curious. “What’s up?”

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “So, a few of my friends and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. Just a small thing to celebrate the end of the semester, and an excuse to drink of course. I was wondering if you’d like to come? I mean, if I can drag you away from this place.”

The question caught you off guard, but in a good way. You hadn’t expected an invitation, especially from someone like Heeseung, who seemed so composed and focused. “Oh,” you said, taking a moment to process. “Who else is going?”

“Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay,” he replied, listing off the names with ease. “You know Jay, right? He mentioned you guys have mutual friends.”

You nodded, recognizing the names. Sunghoon and Jake were familiar faces, mostly through Jay, though you hadn’t spent much time with them. Still, the idea of a night out with them sounded appealing, especially after the stress of the last few weeks.

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the hesitation in his demeanor dissolving into something warmer, more relaxed. “Great. We’re meeting at 7:00, at that new Korean barbecue place near campus. I’ll text you the details.”

“Perfect,” you said, returning his smile. “I’ll see you there.”

As Heeseung gathered his things and left the café, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. It wasn’t just the idea of dinner with new people; it was the prospect of spending more time with Heeseung, of seeing him outside the usual confines of the café and campus. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made you want to know more.

Later that evening, as you closed up the café, your mind drifted back to the conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were allowing yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t related to school or fencing. The semester was over, the projects were wrapped up, and for a brief moment, you had a chance to just be.

The evening air was crisp, the winter chill biting gently at your cheeks as you stepped out of your dorm. You wrapped your scarf a little tighter around your neck, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t often that you went out like this, especially with people you didn’t know well, but the prospect of spending time with Heeseung and meeting his friends felt like a welcome change.

You had taken your time getting ready, opting for something that struck a balance between casual and put-together—a simple sweater and jeans, paired with your favorite boots. Nothing too fancy, but enough to make you feel confident. As you walked toward the restaurant, your breath puffing out in small clouds, you couldn’t help but think about how different tonight felt from your usual routine.

The Korean barbecue place was bustling when you arrived, the warm glow of the interior lights spilling out onto the street. You spotted Heeseung immediately; he was waiting just outside the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. When he saw you approaching, a smile spread across his face, but there was something else there too—a hint of nervousness you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice warm as he stepped closer. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, smiling back at him. “Are your friends here?”

Heeseung nodded, gesturing toward the door. “Yeah, they’re inside. I wanted to wait for you, though.”

His words made your heart flutter just a little, and you couldn’t help but notice how he held the door open for you, waiting for you to step in before following. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about his character.

Inside, the restaurant was lively, the sound of sizzling meat and laughter filling the air. The warmth of the room was a welcome contrast to the cold outside, and as you followed Heeseung to the table, you took in the scene around you. Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were already seated, chatting casually as they waited.

Jay spotted you first, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Y/N, finally! We were starting to think Heeseung got lost on the way.”

You laughed, sliding into the seat next to Heeseung while Jay winked at you from across the table. “Not lost, just taking my time.”

“Good to see you again,” Jake said, his voice sweet and bubbly, as if the weight of the world had never touched him. He raised his glass in greeting. “Welcome to the party.”

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was more reserved. He offered you a polite nod, his expression guarded, though not unfriendly. You noticed that while he wasn’t as outgoing as the others, he had a quiet presence. He seemed content to let the others lead the conversation, though you caught him glancing at you a few times, as if he was trying to gauge what kind of person you were.

The first round of food arrived quickly, and the table was soon filled with the savory aroma of grilling meat and a variety of side dishes. Conversation flowed easily as everyone started eating, with Jay taking the lead, as usual, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. Jake was quick to join in, his laughter infectious and genuine. Sunghoon remained mostly quiet, focusing on his food, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the evening progressed. The alcohol, as it often did, seemed to loosen him up a bit, and he began to engage more with the group, his responses still measured but less reserved.

“So, Y/N,” Jake said at one point, leaning forward slightly, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Heeseung mentioned you’re on the fencing team. How’s that going?”

You paused, glancing at Heeseung, who was watching you with that same soft smile. “It’s been good. We had a couple of big matches recently, and the team’s been doing well. It’s a lot of work, but I love it.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “That’s awesome! I’ve always thought fencing seemed really cool. And tough. I can barely keep up with regular exercise, let alone something like that.”

You laughed, appreciating his genuine interest. “It definitely has its challenges, but it’s worth it. Keeps me busy, that’s for sure.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, enjoying the company and the atmosphere. Jay and Jake kept the conversation lively, and even Sunghoon began to open up more, sharing a few dry, witty remarks that made everyone laugh. You could tell that he had a different sense of humor, one that was more subtle and quiet, but just as sharp.

Heeseung, meanwhile, seemed a bit more reserved than usual, though he was always attentive to you. He made sure you had enough to eat, refilling your glass when it was low, and asking if you were comfortable. There was a certain gentleness in his actions, a thoughtfulness that didn’t go unnoticed.

At one point, as you were reaching for a piece of meat, your hand brushed against his. Heeseung froze for a second, then quickly pulled back, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. You glanced at him, amused by his reaction.

“Are you always this gentlemanly?” you teased, keeping your tone light.

Heeseung chuckled, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “Only when it’s deserved,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background. There was something about Heeseung that drew you in, something that made you want to know him better, beyond the casual interactions at the café.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur, the food and conversation blending together in a way that made time slip by unnoticed. By the time you all decided to call it a night, the restaurant had quieted down, the tables around you mostly empty.

As you all stood up to leave, Jay clapped Heeseung on the back, a mischievous grin on his face. “See? I told you she’d fit right in.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his expression softening as he looked at you. “I’m glad you came, Y/N. It was fun.”

“Me too,” you replied, genuinely meaning it. “Thanks for inviting me.”

The group stepped out into the cold night, the breath of winter once again wrapping around you. You shivered slightly, pulling your scarf tighter, and noticed that Heeseung glanced at you, concern flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Do you want to walk back together?” he offered, his voice quiet but sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his offer chase away the chill. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so, as the others went their separate ways, you and Heeseung started the walk back to campus. The streets were quiet, the city settling into its late-night rhythm. The conversation between you was unhurried, comfortable, as you talked about everything and nothing.

When you finally reached your building, you paused at the entrance, turning to face him. Heeseung smiled at you, his hands still tucked into his pockets, and for a moment, you hesitated, not wanting the night to end just yet. The thought of going back to your empty dorm, now that Chaehyun had gone home for break, felt a little too lonely.

“Heeseung,” you started, the words coming out a bit more hesitant than you intended, “would you like to come in? I mean, if you’re not in a rush to go anywhere.”

He blinked, clearly surprised by the offer, but his expression quickly softened into a warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You both headed inside, the warmth of the building a welcome contrast to the chill outside. As you made your way up to your floor, the quiet between you shifted slightly, a subtle tension building, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like the anticipation of something unspoken, something waiting just beneath the surface.

When you reached your door, you fumbled a bit with the keys, your nerves suddenly getting the better of you. But Heeseung was patient, standing close enough that you could feel the heat of him, though he kept a respectful distance.

Finally, you managed to unlock the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The dorm was just as you’d left it, neat and tidy, but the absence of Chaehyun’s usual clutter made it feel strangely empty. You glanced around, suddenly aware of how quiet it was without your roommate’s presence.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing for Heeseung to follow you in. He nodded, closing the door behind him as you kicked off your shoes and made your way to the small seating area by the window.

Heeseung settled onto the couch, his movements a bit more cautious than usual, as if he was still getting used to being in this more intimate setting. You sat down next to him, the space between you smaller than it had been at the restaurant. The proximity made your heart beat a little faster, the atmosphere between you charged with something unspoken.

“So,” Heeseung began, his voice softer now that you were indoors, “how does it feel to have the place to yourself?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s nice, I guess. But it’s also kind of weird. I’m used to having Chaehyun around, you know?”

Heeseung nodded, his gaze drifting around the room before landing back on you. “I get that. It’s different when it’s just you.”

There was something in the way he said it, an understanding that made you feel less self-conscious about your earlier hesitation. You smiled, appreciating his ability to put you at ease, even in moments like this.

The conversation flowed easily after that, drifting from one topic to another as the night deepened. You talked about the upcoming break, your plans—or lack thereof—and shared stories about school and fencing. Heeseung listened intently, occasionally adding his own thoughts, but mostly, he seemed content to just be there with you.

At some point, without either of you really noticing, the distance between you grew smaller. You were sitting closer now, your legs almost touching, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a warmth spreading through you.

The conversation began to slow, words trailing off as the comfortable silence returned. You could feel the tension building again, but this time, it wasn’t just anticipation. It was something more tangible, something that made your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

You turned to look at Heeseung, finding him already watching you. His expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. You swallowed, suddenly nervous, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your gaze flickering to his lips, then back to his eyes.

Heeseung hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then he leaned in too, his breath warm against your skin as he closed the distance. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, Heeseung’s hand gently cupped your face, deepening the kiss just a little, the warmth between you growing.

You kissed him back, your own hand finding its way to his arm, holding on as if to ground yourself in the moment. The feeling of his lips against yours, the closeness of him, sent a rush of emotions through you—nervousness, excitement, something that felt a lot like relief.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, the air between you charged with something new. Heeseung’s eyes were bright, a small, slightly bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though the apology seemed more out of habit than necessity. “I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, your own smile matching his. “I’m glad you did.”

His smile widened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relaxed back into the couch. You stayed close, the earlier nervousness fading into a quiet contentment. Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with more words; the kiss had said enough.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening in the soft glow of the dorm lights, your conversations quieter now, punctuated by the occasional shared glance or gentle touch. It was as if the kiss had opened a door, and now you were both stepping through it, unsure of what lay ahead but willing to find out together.

When it was finally time for Heeseung to leave, he did so reluctantly, his hand lingering on yours for just a moment longer. As he stepped out into the cold night, you stood at the door, watching him go, a warmth spreading through you.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips. The night had turned out to be something entirely unexpected, something that you hadn’t planned for but were glad had happened.

And as you got ready for bed, the memory of the kiss still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but wish he had stayed and was now occupying the empty spot in the bed beside you.

Winter break passed in a blur of quiet days and familiar routines. You spent the first few days at home, the warmth of your family’s company wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket. The weather was cold, snow lightly dusting the streets, but inside, your home was filled with the smell of home-cooked meals, the sound of laughter, and the comforting presence of those you loved.

Your parents were happy to have you back, asking about school, your friends, and the fencing team. They seemed proud of everything you had accomplished so far, though they didn’t press too much about your social life, content with the knowledge that you were managing well on your own. Your siblings, were also a constant source of joy and sometimes annoyance, as they teased you about how serious you seemed whenever they caught you daydreaming.

But no matter how comforting home was, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about what—or rather, who—you had left behind at school. The memory of the kiss you shared with Heeseung lingered at the edges of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to push it away. Every time your mind wandered, it found its way back to that quiet evening in your dorm, the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the softness of his lips.

Heeseung had texted you a few times over the break, nothing serious—just a funny anecdote here, a quick check-in there. His messages were casual, light-hearted, but you could feel the underlying tension in every word. It was as if both of you were tiptoeing around something unspoken, neither of you willing to be the first to bring it up.

The days slipped by in a comfortable rhythm—family dinners, catching up with old friends, cozying up with a book or a movie during the long winter nights. But no matter what you were doing, you couldn’t shake the knowledge that something had shifted, something that would need to be addressed once you returned to campus.

When the break finally came to an end, you packed your bags with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. As much as you loved being home, there was a part of you that was eager to get back to school, back to your friends, back to the routine you had grown accustomed to. And, of course, back to Heeseung.

The campus felt different when you returned. The cold air was biting, the trees bare, and a layer of snow covered the ground. The holiday decorations were gone, replaced by the stark reality of winter. But there was also a sense of renewal in the air, as students filtered back in, ready for the new semester.

You settled back into your dorm, the familiar space welcoming you with its warmth. Chaehyun, who had returned a day earlier, greeted you with a hug, already bubbling over with stories about her break and her budding relationship with Minhee. The two of you spent the evening catching up, and although it felt good to be back with your roommate, there was still something very large and growing weighing on your mind.

The next day, you returned to your usual yet slightly new routine—classes, work at the café, and practice with the fencing team. Everything seemed the same, yet there was an undercurrent of something different. You saw your friends—Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung—falling back into the old rhythms as if nothing had changed. Though Jay seemed to somehow knowingly keep asking her if she had seen Heeseung since her return to campus.

You didn’t see him immediately after your return, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed. The thought made your stomach twist with a mix of anticipation and nerves. How would he act? Would things be awkward between you now, after what had happened? Or would everything go back to normal, as if that night in your dorm had never occurred?

The first time you saw him again was at the café, during one of your shifts. He walked in, just like he always did, his expression relaxed, though his eyes were searching, scanning the room until they landed on you. The moment your gazes met, something tightened in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“Hey,” Heeseung greeted you when he reached the counter, his voice as calm and collected as ever. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that mirrored your own feelings.

“Hey,” you replied, managing a smile despite the knot in your stomach. “Back at it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding as he glanced around the café. “I guess we all are.”

The exchange was simple, casual, the way it had always been. But beneath the surface, there was something else—an unspoken question that neither of you seemed ready to address.

As you made his usual order, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had gotten so complicated. One kiss, and now everything felt different. But different didn’t necessarily mean bad, and you had to remind yourself of that.

Heeseung took his drink with a small smile, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you quickly pulled your hand back, your cheeks warming despite the cold weather outside.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own voice a little unsteady. “See you.”

He left the café, and you watched him go, your heart beating faster than it should have. The tension between you was thick, and it was clear that the kiss had changed things. But what that change meant, neither of you seemed ready to confront just yet.

The weeks that followed were a blur of activity—catching up on coursework, preparing for the upcoming fencing matches, late nights spent with your friends, and hours at the café. Your days were full, your schedule hectic, but through it all, your thoughts kept returning to Heeseung. You saw him often, both at the café and around campus, and every time, the same tension lingered between you.

There were moments when you almost brought it up, when the words were on the tip of your tongue, but each time, you hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. And Heeseung, for all his calmness, seemed to be in the same boat. The casual texts continued, the friendly exchanges at the café, but the subject of that night was never touched.

Instead, the two of you danced around it, waiting for the right moment to address the elephant in the room. But with each passing day, the tension only grew, the anticipation of what was to come hanging over you like a shadow.

Winter began to disappear, the days becoming longer and warming with the promise of spring around the corner. The campus was quiet, the energy of the new semester giving way to the steady grind of classes, assignments, and practices. You threw yourself into your work, into fencing, into anything that could distract you from the unresolved feelings swirling inside you.

But no matter how busy you kept yourself, the thoughts of Heeseung remained, a constant presence in the back of your mind. And with each encounter, each brief exchange, the tension between you became harder to ignore.

You knew that eventually, something would have to give, that the two of you would need to talk about what had happened. But for now, you kept it at bay, letting the weeks pass by in a blur, holding on to the hope that when the time came, you would both be ready to face whatever it was that lay ahead.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime energy, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversations filling the air as you made your way to the table where Chaeyoung and Jay were already seated. You spotted them easily—Jay’s animated gestures and Chaeyoung’s bright laughter were hard to miss in the crowd.

As you approached, Jay waved you over with a grin. “Y/N, over here!”

You smiled, sliding into the seat across from them. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much,” Chaeyoung replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just trying to convince Jay that he can’t live off ramen alone.”

Jay rolled his eyes, dramatically shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “You sound like my mom.”

The three of you laughed, the easy banter a welcome break from the usual stress of classes and fencing practice. As you dug into your food, you noticed Jay giving Chaeyoung a subtle nudge, his eyes flicking toward the entrance.

You turned to see what had caught their attention, and your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Heeseung walking toward your table. He was carrying a tray, his expression as casual as ever, but there was a slight uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“Heeseung!” Jay called out, waving him over. “Join us!”

Heeseung’s gaze met yours, and he smiled, the uncertainty in his eyes fading as he approached. “Hey,” he greeted, setting his tray down beside yours. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The more, the merrier.”

As Heeseung settled in beside you, Jay and Chaeyoung exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable but not entirely innocent. You had a feeling they were up to something, but before you could question them, Jay spoke up.

“So, Heeseung,” Jay began, leaning forward slightly, “did Y/N tell you about her birthday this weekend?”

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and mild horror flashing through you. “Jay!”

“What?” Jay said, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eye betrayed him. “It’s a big deal, you know.”

Heeseung turned to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “It’s your birthday this weekend?”

You sighed, shooting Jay a mock glare before nodding. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Not a big deal?” Chaeyoung scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s a huge deal. We’re throwing you a party, whether you like it or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave away your true feelings. “Okay, okay, fine. But don’t make it sound like some grand event.”

Jay grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Too late.”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “A party, huh? Sounds like fun.”

There was a moment of hesitation before you spoke, a slight nervousness in your chest as you glanced at him. “You should come. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the invitation clearly catching him off guard in the best way. “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung said, clapping her hands together. “It’s going to be so much fun. We’ll have food, drinks, music—the whole shebang.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “And now that Heeseung’s coming, it’s officially a party.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away as the conversation shifted back to more mundane topics. Despite Jay’s “accidental” reveal, you found yourself looking forward to the weekend more than you had expected.

As lunch went on, you noticed how easily Heeseung fit in with your friends. He was still a bit more reserved than Jay and Chaeyoung, but he joined in on the jokes, adding his own dry humor to the mix. And every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, a soft smile on his lips that made your heart flutter.

When lunch ended, and you all went your separate ways, Heeseung walked with you toward your next class. The conversation between you was light, but there was an underlying warmth that hadn’t been there before—a new level of comfort that you hadn’t realized you’d reached.

As you parted ways, Heeseung gave you a small wave, his smile lingering as he turned to head to his class. You watched him go, a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness bubbling up inside you. The thought of spending more time with him, of having him at your party, filled you with a sense of excitement you hadn’t expected.

The night of your birthday party at Ryujin’s off-campus apartment started with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Ryujin had outdone herself, turning the place into a cozy, festive spot perfect for a low-key celebration. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and fairy lights twinkled against the walls. The living room buzzed with the energy of your friends, some of whom you saw regularly, while others were more like friendly acquaintances. Everyone was in high spirits, eager to celebrate.

You moved through the room, a drink in hand, exchanging smiles and hugs. Gaeul, your teammate, had handed you a brightly colored drink that tasted suspiciously like it had more alcohol than fruit juice, and she watched with a grin as you took a sip.

"Careful with that one," she warned, winking. "It might knock you out before the night even starts."

You laughed, setting the drink down on a nearby table. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Chaehyun, your roommate, was nearby, introducing you to a couple of her friends from class, Chaeryeong and Yunjin. They were friendly and already deep in conversation with Kai and Minhee. It felt nice to have everyone together, the lines between different friend groups blurring as the night went on.

Jay, who had arrived early to help set up, was making his way through the crowd, chatting up anyone who would listen to his latest story. You caught his eye, and he grinned, making a beeline for you.

"Having fun, birthday girl?" he asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

"So far, so good," you replied, smiling up at him. "Thanks for helping with all this."

"Anything for you," Jay said with a wink, though his attention quickly shifted as he spotted someone new entering the room. "Oh, look who finally decided to show up!"

You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip a beat. Heeseung had just walked in, looking slightly flustered as he scanned the room. When his eyes landed on you, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he made his way over.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Heeseung said, holding out a small, neatly wrapped gift.

“Thanks, Heeseung,” you said, accepting the gift with a grin. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He shrugged, his smile easy. “It’s nothing big. Just thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, Jay interrupted, nudging you both. “We’re about to start a game. You two in?”

“What kind of game?” Heeseung asked, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

Jay’s grin was almost wicked. “Oh, just a little something to spice up the night. ‘Never Have I Ever,’ but with a twist.”

Heeseung looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the twist?”

“If you’ve done something, you take a shot,” Jay explained, his grin widening. “But if you haven’t, you have to answer a truth question. No dodging, no skipping turns.”

You exchanged a glance with Heeseung, who looked amused but not entirely convinced. “Sure, why not?” you said, giving Jay a challenging look. “This should be fun.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m in.”

Ryujin and the others had already started pulling chairs into a circle, setting out shots of soju. You and Heeseung found seats next to each other, with Jay taking the spot directly across from you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The game started off relatively tame, with questions about skipping class and sneaking into movies. A few rounds in, and everyone was laughing, swapping stories of their more rebellious moments. You noticed Heeseung hadn’t taken a shot yet, answering truth questions with a cool demeanor that only made you more curious about him.

Then it was Jay’s turn again, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Alright, let’s see… Never have I ever… skipped class to go on a date.”

A murmur of interest went around the circle. You glanced at Heeseung out of the corner of your eye, but to your surprise, he didn’t reach for his drink. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, looking almost smug.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even once?”

Heeseung shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Nope. But feel free to ask your truth question.”

Jay’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve got a good one. What’s the most ridiculous reason you’ve ever skipped class?”

Heeseung thought for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Well, there was that time I skipped because I was trying to catch this rare Pokémon that only appeared on campus at a certain time.”

The room erupted into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. “You’re kidding,” you said, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t clocked him of being a dork under his cool and mysterious exterior.

Heeseung shrugged, a little sheepish. “Hey, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

Jay was practically cackling at this point. “And did you catch it?”

Heeseung nodded, deadpan. “Yes, I did. Worth every missed lecture.”

The game continued, with the questions growing more and more outrageous. Chaehyun ended up confessing to a particularly embarrassing childhood crush, while Kai revealed that he’d once tried—and failed—to pull off a heist involving the school cafeteria’s dessert stash.

The night was filled with laughter and teasing, and it wasn’t long before everyone was a little tipsy. At one point, Ryujin suggested they switch to a different game, but you noticed Heeseung was looking a bit out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the increasingly bold questions.

Sensing an opportunity, you leaned over and whispered, “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Heeseung looked relieved and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You stood up, motioning for Jay to keep things going without you. He gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything, just raised his glass in a silent toast. You rolled your eyes at him before leading Heeseung out onto the balcony.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth inside. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the noise of the party was muffled out here, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of relative quiet.

“This is nice,” Heeseung said, leaning against the railing. “Thanks for the escape.”

“Anytime,” you replied, leaning next to him. “I figured you might want a break from Jay’s interrogation.”

Heeseung chuckled. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

You nodded, looking out at the city. “He means well, though. Just likes to stir the pot.”

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it with words. You glanced at Heeseung, and he met your gaze, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re good at this,” he said softly, almost like he was thinking out loud.

“At what?” you asked, curious.

“Making people feel comfortable,” Heeseung replied, his voice warm. “It’s… nice.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words. “You’re pretty easy to talk to yourself, you know.”

Heeseung smiled, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. You could feel the tension, the quiet pull of attraction that had been building over the past few weeks. Heeseung seemed to sense it too, his eyes flickering to your lips before he leaned in slightly, almost instinctively.

Just as you both started to close the distance, the door to the balcony burst open, and Jake stumbled out, laughing loudly at something from inside.

“Oh, sorry!” Jake said, not really sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You and Heeseung quickly pulled back, both of you laughing awkwardly. Jake gave you a grin, completely oblivious to the moment he’d just ruined.

“Ryujin’s looking for you, Y/N,” Jake said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Something about a cake?”

“Right, the cake,” you said, nodding. “Thanks, Jake.”

Heeseung gave you a small, understanding smile as you both turned to head back inside. The moment had passed, but the underlying connection was still there, unspoken but undeniable.

As you rejoined the party, Ryujin was indeed waiting for you with a cake in hand, everyone gathering around to sing happy birthday. The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, drinks, and good-natured teasing, and though you and Heeseung didn’t get another moment alone, there was a new understanding between you, a shared secret that made the night feel just a little bit more special.

As the party wound down and people started to leave, Heeseung caught your eye one last time, giving you a small smile before he left with Jake and Sunghoon. You watched him go, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness about all of the unspoken and what could’ve been on the balcony just hours prior.

It started with the alarm that didn’t go off. The shrill beeping you depended on had decided to take a day off, and by the time you jolted awake, it was already half an hour later than you needed. Panic set in as you scrambled out of bed, tripping over the tangled mess of your sheets, and hurriedly throwing on whatever clothes you could find. Chaehyun was already gone, leaving you in the quiet chaos of your room, the day off to a rough start.

Fencing practice was the next disaster. You were already flustered by the time you arrived, barely on time, and it showed. Your footwork was sloppy, your attacks lacked precision, and the more frustrated you got, the worse it became. Ryujin noticed, of course—she always did.

“You’re out of sync today,” she said, her tone a mix of concern and criticism as she watched you flounder through another round.

“I know,” you muttered, teeth gritted as you tried to shake off the growing sense of defeat. But it was no use; nothing was going right. You kept messing up drills you’d mastered ages ago, each mistake a sharp sting of embarrassment. By the end of practice, you were practically shaking with frustration, and it took everything in you to hold back tears.

It wasn’t just fencing, though. Your grades, which you’d managed to keep steady despite your packed schedule, were starting to slip. The latest exam, one you thought you’d done reasonably well on, came back with a grade lower than you’d expected. The red ink on the paper felt like a slap in the face, the professor’s comments blurring as you stared at them, trying to make sense of where you went wrong. It was a blow to your confidence, and you felt the cracks in your carefully maintained composure widening.

Midterms loomed, casting a shadow over everything. The stress was building, a constant pressure in the back of your mind. You could feel the weight of it all, the expectation to perform well, to balance everything perfectly. But instead of rising to the challenge, you felt like you were barely holding on, the threads of your routine unraveling bit by bit.

Then came work. You were late, of course—stumbling through the door of the coffee shop a full fifteen minutes past your shift’s start time. Your boss, a stern woman with little patience for tardiness, was waiting for you behind the counter, arms crossed.

“Y/N, this is the third time this month,” she said, her voice clipped. “You can’t keep showing up late like this. We depend on you to be here on time.”

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. “It won’t happen again.”

But she wasn’t in the mood for apologies. “It better not. We need reliability, Y/N. If you can’t manage your time, maybe you need to reconsider your hours.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. The scolding was just the cherry on top of an already terrible day, and you could feel yourself breaking down, the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. You threw yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself, but the knot in your chest only tightened as the minutes ticked by.

It was mid-afternoon when Heeseung walked in. He came in as he usually did, with that quiet, unassuming presence that made him easy to overlook—except you never overlooked him. Today, though, you barely registered his entrance. You were wiping down the counter, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, your thoughts a whirl of self-doubt and frustration.

You didn’t notice him until he was standing right in front of you, his usual order on the tip of his tongue. But when you looked up at him, the dam finally broke. The tears you’d been holding back all day spilled over, and you quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen.

“Y/N?” Heeseung’s voice was soft, concerned. He hesitated before speaking again. “Are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it was enough to undo you completely. You tried to brush it off, to muster some kind of excuse, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sobs you were trying so desperately to suppress.

“Hey, hey,” Heeseung said, his voice full of concern now. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. But Heeseung wasn’t deterred. He reached out, his hand gently touching your arm. The small gesture of kindness undid you completely.

“I’m just…” You managed to choke out the words between sobs. “It’s just been a really bad day.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed with worry, and he glanced around the cafe. It was quiet, with only a couple of customers seated far from the counter starting to try and discreetly turn their heads to look at you. He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer.

“Let me take you for a quick walk,” he suggested. “You need a break.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the back room where your boss was probably busy. The thought of getting scolded again made you cringe, but Heeseung was already taking your hand, leading you out from behind the counter.

“Just for a minute,” he insisted, his tone leaving little room for argument.

The fresh air hit you like a slap, but it also helped clear your head a little. Heeseung guided you down the street, keeping a firm but gentle hold on your hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, his presence steady and comforting.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now,” you muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Heeseung replied, his voice soft. “Everyone has bad days.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just… everything’s piling up. Fencing, school, work… I feel like I’m failing at all of it.”

Heeseung frowned, clearly troubled by your words. “You’re not failing. You’re just dealing with a lot right now.”

You tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I wish I felt that way.”

Heeseung squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to do it all on your own, you know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

The sincerity in his voice almost brought fresh tears to your eyes, but you managed to hold them back. You nodded, feeling a little better, though still weighed down by everything.

As you continued walking, the weight on your chest didn’t seem to lift entirely. The day wasn’t just bad because of fencing or school; it was deeper than that, a gnawing homesickness you hadn’t fully acknowledged. Your thoughts drifted to your family, the ache of missing them growing sharper with each step.

“I missed my brother’s birthday,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He just turned six. I couldn’t even call him because I was too busy with exams and practice. I feel like a terrible sister.”

Heeseung stopped, turning to face you with a look of understanding that made your heart clench. “That doesn’t make you a bad sister. It’s hard being away from family, especially when you’re trying to juggle so much. But I’m sure your brother knows you care about him.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just feel so… disconnected from everything. Like I’m here, but my heart is still back home with them.”

Heeseung’s expression softened, and without a word, he pulled you into a hug. It was the first time he’d hugged you, and the warmth of it took you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before leaning into him, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over you. It wasn’t just about the bad day anymore; it was about everything you’d been holding in—the homesickness, the loneliness, the pressure to be perfect.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Heeseung murmured, his voice close to your ear. “And it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have people here who care about you, too.��

His words, coupled with the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, made you feel a little less alone, a little more understood. You stayed like that for a few moments longer, until the worst of your tears had dried and you felt like you could breathe again.

You lingered in Heeseung's embrace a moment longer, taking in the warmth and steady reassurance of his hold. But as you began to pull away, the reality of the moment hit you, and suddenly, the air between you felt charged, different. When you looked up at him, you noticed that he seemed just as affected, his usual calm demeanor tinged with a slight awkwardness.

Heeseung's hands slipped from your back, hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His gaze flickered away from yours, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Um, yeah,” he stammered, taking a small step back to create some distance. “We should probably get you back inside… before your boss sends out a search party.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of comfort and confusion as you noticed his hesitation. There was something unspoken between you, a tension that hadn’t been there before. It made you suddenly hyper-aware of how close you’d been, how natural it had felt to be in his arms, even though it probably shouldn’t have.

“Yeah, right,” you agreed, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You both stood there for a moment longer, the silence between you making it hard to move.

Heeseung cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s, uh… let’s get back in there,” he said, offering a small, almost nervous smile as he gestured toward the cafe door.

You nodded again, trying to shake off the lingering tension. As you walked back inside together, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, something you weren’t quite ready to name yet. And when you returned to your post behind the counter, you found yourself stealing glances at Heeseung as he quietly ordered his usual, both of you a bit more aware of each other than before.

You had known it was a setup from the moment Chaehyun suggested the theme park. She’d brought it up casually during lunch a few days earlier, her tone almost too nonchalant as she insisted it would be “fun to go as a group.” The twinkle in her eye had told you all you needed to know—this was no innocent group outing; this was a double date, carefully orchestrated with Minhee and Heeseung as the leading men.

Saturday came around with clear skies and a cool breeze, perfect weather for a day at the park. You stood in front of your dorm mirror, adjusting the hem of your sweater—a soft and creamy beige that complemented your dark jeans. Your hair was loosely tied back, a few dark strands escaping to frame your face. You’d opted for a casual, comfortable look, but there was an extra layer of care in your appearance today, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about spending the day with Heeseung.

Chaehyun was already waiting outside, her usual bubbly self. She looked effortlessly cute in a pastel pink hoodie and a pleated skirt, her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders. When she saw you, she beamed, linking her arm through yours.

“You look so pretty!” she gushed, giving you a playful nudge. “Heeseung’s going to love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m not dressing up for him,” you lied, though the quickening of your pulse said otherwise.

Chaehyun didn’t buy it for a second, but she let it slide. As the two of you made your way to the entrance of the park, you spotted Heeseung and Minhee waiting near the ticket booth. Heeseung was dressed in a simple black pullover and jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. He looked casual but undeniably handsome, and your heart did a little flip when he looked up and met your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

Minhee, standing beside him, was as well-dressed as ever. He wore a navy blue jacket over a white t-shirt, his expression relaxed and easygoing. He greeted you with a warm smile as you approached, his hand already intertwined with Chaehyun’s.

“Ready for a fun day?” Minhee asked, his tone light as he gave Chaehyun a quick peck on the cheek.

Chaehyun blushed, giggling as she nudged him playfully. “Yes! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Heeseung, who shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Guess we’re in for an interesting day,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

As you all headed into the park, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The sounds of laughter and screams from nearby rides filled the air, and the scent of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the breeze. The four of you stuck together, moving from ride to ride, each one more thrilling than the last.

“So, do you only own black clothes? Is this like some sort of statement?” You poked fun at Heeseung’s typical attire.

“Just for you,” He teased back with a wink.

It wasn’t until you reached the ride with the large circular seating area—a notorious challenge to stay seated in—that things took a more interesting turn. The ride was infamous for its sudden drops and spins, designed to send everyone sliding toward the center, no matter how hard they tried to stay put.

You hesitated for a moment as you looked at the ride, the large circular rimmed seating area intimidating in its simplicity. “This is going to be a disaster,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that accompanied the thought.

Chaehyun, already seated with Minhee, shot you a grin. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Heeseung was right behind you, and as you took your seat next to him, the ever-present tension between you seemed to magnify. The ride started with a slow spin, the deceptively calm beginning lulling you into a false sense of security. But soon, the speed picked up, and before you knew it, you were sliding uncontrollably toward the center.

You tried to brace yourself, but the force was too strong, and you found yourself being pulled off your seat. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips as you lost your balance, but before you could fall completely, Heeseung’s arm shot out, grabbing onto your waist.

The contact sent a jolt through you, the warmth of his hand on your waist grounding you in a way that was both comforting and electrifying. You clung to the edge of your seat, but the ride’s relentless spinning kept pushing you closer to Heeseung. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight it and let yourself lean into him, his arm still securely around your waist. Despite the electricity floating through your body, you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you looked at the boy pressed into your side, his widened eyes taking in your laughter and returning it.

When the ride finally came to a stop, you were breathless, both from the adrenaline and from the proximity to Heeseung. He helped you off the ride, his hand lingering on your waist a moment longer than necessary before he let go, a sheepish smile on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart still racing. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone light, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter, shared snacks, and playful teasing. Chaehyun and Minhee were in their own world, holding hands and stealing kisses, while you and Heeseung found yourselves caught in a dance of subtle flirtation. There were moments when your hands would brush as you reached for the same snack, or when your eyes would meet across the table, the unspoken tension between you growing with each passing hour.

At one point, as you all gathered around a table to share a meal, Minhee nudged Chaehyun, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. You shot them a suspicious look, but before you could ask what they were up to, Heeseung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“I think they’re planning something,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Probably,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.”

The day stretched into the evening, the sun setting in a blaze of orange and pink. As the park began to quiet down, the four of you decided to take one last ride on the Ferris wheel, the giant structure offering a perfect view of the park illuminated by twinkling lights.

You found yourself seated next to Heeseung in the small carriage, the ride slow and gentle compared to the chaotic one earlier. The height gave you a breathtaking view of the city beyond, but your attention was more focused on the boy sitting next to you, his profile highlighted by the golden glow of the sunset.

Heeseung turned to you, his expression softer than you’d seen all day. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice equally soft. “More than I expected.”

“Good,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m glad we came.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You felt the urge to say something, to break the tension that had been building all day, but before you could, the carriage came to a stop at the top of the Ferris wheel, giving you both a moment of stillness.

Heeseung glanced at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. The sight made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness.

Just as you were about to say something, the moment was interrupted by Chaehyun’s voice, calling out from the carriage below. “Y/N! Heeseung! What’s taking you so long up there?”

The ride jolted back into motion, slowly lowering you back to the ground. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at Chaehyun’s timing. When you looked back at Heeseung, he was smiling too, though there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

As the four of you made your way out of the park, the night air cool against your skin, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you and Heeseung. The day had been full of fun and laughter, but there was a deeper connection forming, one that you were both cautiously exploring.

As you parted ways at the entrance, Heeseung caught your hand for a brief moment, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he spoke softly, his voice sincere.

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “I’d like that.”

With a final smile, Heeseung let go of your hand and turned to walk away in the opposite direction from the one you were heading towards, leaving you to join Minhee and Chaehyun as they headed toward the bus stop.

The sound of your blade slicing through the air echoes in the nearly empty gym. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal and the soft scuffle of your footwork are the only noises breaking the silence. It’s late, later than usual for practice, but you’ve been putting in extra hours, trying to perfect your technique before the upcoming tournament.

You’ve just finished a set of lunges when the gym door creaks open. You look up, expecting to see one of your teammates, but it’s Heeseung, hovering in the doorway with his usual quiet presence. His camera bag is slung over one shoulder, and he gives you a tentative smile, as if unsure whether he’s intruding.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, catching your breath.

Heeseung steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Thought I’d come by for some last-minute insights for the article,” he says, tapping the side of his bag. “But it looks like you’re flying solo tonight.”

You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, everyone else is either cramming for exams or getting some rest before the big match. But I needed to clear my head.”

Heeseung watches as you place your saber on the rack, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight—more intent, more focused. It makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna see what it’s like?” you ask suddenly, the idea forming as the words leave your mouth.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “You mean... fence?”

“Why not?” you challenge, already heading toward the gear closet. “You’re writing about it. Might as well experience it firsthand.”

He hesitates, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I’m not exactly athletic,” he warns, even as he moves to follow you.

You grin, tossing him a chest protector and jacket. “That’s okay. I’ll go easy on you.”

It takes a few minutes to get him suited up—chest protector, jacket, mask—and you have to suppress a laugh at how awkward he looks in the gear. But there’s something endearing about the way he fumbles with the straps, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.

“Ready?” you ask, holding out a saber to him.

Heeseung takes it, testing its weight with a cautious swing. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You both take your positions on the piste, the lines on the floor suddenly feeling much narrower with Heeseung across from you. His stance is stiff, awkward—nothing like the fluidity and precision you’ve honed over years of practice. But you can’t help but admire his willingness to try.

You advance slowly, giving him time to adjust. He attempts a feeble parry, which you easily dodge, your blade tapping his chest protector with a soft thud.

“Point,” you say, grinning under your mask. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Heeseung groans, adjusting his grip. “You sure you’re going easy on me?”

You shrug, preparing for another advance. “Maybe just a little.”

You move in again, a bit faster this time, and Heeseung reacts instinctively, swinging his blade up in a wild arc. It’s completely off-target, and in his attempt to recover, he loses his balance, stumbling into you.

Before you can react, you’re both crashing to the ground, Heeseung’s weight knocking you off your feet. You land with a soft thud, your sabers clattering to the floor beside you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined laughter echoing through the empty gym.

You roll onto your back, still laughing, and Heeseung does the same, the awkwardness of earlier forgotten. Lying there on the cold gym floor, you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, his shoulder brushing against yours.

“You’re terrible at this,” you tease, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Heeseung chuckles, turning his head to look at you. His hair is a mess from the mask, and his cheeks are flushed with exertion. “Guess I should stick to writing.”

You’re both still catching your breath, the amusement lingering between you, when the overhead lights suddenly flicker off, plunging the gym into darkness.

You both freeze, the sudden shift in atmosphere catching you off guard. The only light now comes from the emergency exit signs, casting long shadows across the gym floor. In the quiet, you can hear the faint hum of electricity and your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Heeseung says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness.

But neither of you moves. The silence stretches, the moment growing heavier, more charged. You can feel the warmth of Heeseung’s arm against yours, the proximity sending a thrill through you that’s hard to ignore.

“Maybe,” you whisper back, turning slightly toward him, though you can barely make out his features in the dim light.

There’s a beat of hesitation, the air between you thick with anticipation, before Heeseung shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours, fingers almost—almost—entwining. But just as quickly, he pulls back, the tension breaking like a snapped thread.

“We should probably get up,” he says, voice low, and there’s a note of something—regret, maybe?—that you can’t quite place.

You sit up, the moment slipping away, but the feeling of his touch lingers, a ghost of what might have been. You help each other to your feet, the earlier playfulness replaced by a quiet, unspoken understanding.

As you strip off the gear and pack everything away, the silence continues, comfortable but charged, both of you aware of what didn’t happen but too uncertain to acknowledge it.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Heeseung finally says as you walk toward the exit, the gym door creaking open to the dimly lit hallway beyond.

“Anytime,” you reply, forcing a smile, though your thoughts are still back on the gym floor, replaying the almost-touch of his hand.

You part ways in the hallway, Heeseung giving you a small wave before disappearing down the corridor. You stand there for a moment, staring after him, before turning to head back to your dorm, the ghost of the evening’s events haunting your steps.

As you walk away, you can’t help but wonder what might have happened if the lights had stayed on just a little longer.

The gymnasium buzzed with energy, the air thick with excitement and tension. It was the third fencing tournament of the semester, and the stakes were high. You stood in the wings, your saber gleaming under the harsh gym lights, heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. Your team’s performance today would determine whether you advanced to the finals, and the pressure was almost tangible.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic patterns of the bout you were about to face. Ryujin and Gaeul were already competing, their focused expressions and swift movements a testament to their skill and determination. You glanced over at them, offering a reassuring nod. They returned it, their expressions masked by their own concentration.

Heeseung was among the crowd, his usual spot near the fencing area where he could get a clear view of the matches. He had become a familiar presence at these tournaments, his keen eyes always scanning the piste with an almost analytical focus. Today, he was positioned just a few feet from the sidelines, notebook in hand, ready to capture the essence of the day’s action. You caught his eye briefly and offered a small, nervous smile. He responded with a warm, encouraging nod.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of your individual match. Your opponent, a formidable competitor from another school, greeted you with a determined look. The match commenced with a flurry of movement. You engaged with swift, practiced attacks and counters, each move precise and deliberate. The crowd’s murmurs and the rhythmic clang of sabers filled your ears as you focused intently on your strategy.

Minutes ticked by as the match intensified. Your opponent was relentless, pressing you hard, and you found yourself on the defensive. You could feel the strain in your legs and the tension in your shoulders as you fought to maintain your balance and composure. The energy in the gym was electric, and every touch was met with reactions from the audience—gasps, cheers, and murmurs of anticipation.

In a particularly aggressive exchange, you executed a move that you had practiced countless times. Your saber darted out, aiming for a decisive touch, but as you pivoted, your footing faltered. The floor, worn from numerous tournaments, betrayed you. Your right ankle twisted painfully, and before you could react, you stumbled and fell awkwardly. The world seemed to tilt as you hit the ground, a sharp, blinding pain radiating from your ankle.

The referee’s whistle pierced through the haze of pain, and the match was abruptly halted. The crowd’s noise faded into the background as you lay on the floor, clutching your ankle, struggling to steady your breath through the searing agony. Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain mingling with a deep sense of frustration and helplessness.

Heeseung, who had been taking notes at the sidelines, immediately sprang into action. His face was a mask of concern as he pushed through the crowd, his usual calm demeanor giving way to an urgent determination. His strides were quick and purposeful, his eyes locked onto you as he reached your side.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice a mix of worry and desperation. “Are you okay?”

You could barely manage a nod, the pain overwhelming your ability to speak. Heeseung’s hands were gentle but firm as he examined your injured ankle, his concern evident in every touch. The athletic trainers arrived quickly, their expressions reflecting the seriousness of the situation. They assessed your injury with practiced efficiency, their movements careful as they wrapped your ankle and prepared you for transport.

As they carefully lifted you onto a stretcher and began to move you towards the exit, Heeseung remained by your side, his presence a steadying force amid the chaos. He stayed close, offering words of comfort and reassurance, though his own face betrayed his anxiety.

The drive to the university hospital was a blur of pain and worry. You were transported from the gym to the emergency room, the pain in your ankle throbbing with each bump in the road. The reality of your situation was beginning to sink in, and the frustration of being sidelined from the tournament weighed heavily on you.

Upon arrival at the hospital, you were quickly ushered into an examination room. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain was still intense, and your emotions were frayed. The room was filled with the quiet beeps of medical equipment and the murmurs of the staff as they prepared to assess your injury. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain and the stress of the situation left you feeling utterly vulnerable. As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel isolated in your distress.

Then, through the haze of your own pain, you caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway. Taehyun and Kai appeared, their faces etched with concern and relief as they spotted you. The sight of them, familiar and comforting, was a balm to your frayed nerves.

Their worried expressions immediately softened into empathetic smiles as they hurried over to your side. “Y/N, we saw what happened,” Taehyun said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The moment their voices reached you, the dam broke. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally cascaded down your cheeks, the emotional release of seeing your friends overwhelming. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The pain and frustration of the day, compounded by the sight of your friends, brought a torrent of emotion.

Kai reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady. “It’ll be okay.”

As you tried to compose yourself, you saw Heeseung standing just outside the doorway, his figure barely visible in the hallway. The sight of him only made the tears flow even harder.

Taehyun and Kai stayed by your side, offering comfort and reassurance. Some others arrived within the hour as you waited on the results from the X-Ray, Chaehyun was already near tears before entering the room and Jay attempted to joke with the small group, though there was evident difficulty. Heeseung, however, was nowhere to be found.

The bright lights of the hospital room cast an unyielding glare on your frustration. The pain in your ankle was relentless, a constant reminder of the day’s events. Your friends had been with you, offering their support, but they had left to grab dinner, promising to return soon. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional footfalls in the hallway.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. The nurse had just delivered the news: a fractured ankle that would require a boot for a few months but no surgery. The immediate relief of not needing surgery was overshadowed by the crushing realization that you would miss the rest of the fencing season. The dreams and aspirations for the semester seemed to crumble in the face of this new reality.

The door to your room opened slowly, and Heeseung slipped inside. His usually calm demeanor was tinged with concern. Seeing you alone and clearly distressed, he approached your bedside with a quiet urgency. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine care. “How are you holding up?”

You tried to muster a smile, but it faltered. “It’s not good. The X-ray showed a fracture. I have to wear a boot for a few months. It means I’m out for the rest of the fencing season.”

Heeseung’s expression softened with empathy. He took a seat beside you, a small weighted sigh leaving his lips. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “I know how much fencing means to you.”

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. The reality of missing out on the season was hitting hard. “I worked so hard for this. The season was everything to me, and now I’m just… done. It’s like everything I’ve worked for is just slipping away.”

Heeseung reached out, his fingers delicately brushing down the side of your hair as he smoothed away some strands that had been stuck to your face with tears. You involuntarily flinched at his touch, a gesture so sweet but entirely meant for something more than just friends or whatever line you had been dancing on for months.

As you fought to keep your composure, the door opened again, and Taehyun and Kai returned with takeout with Chaehyun and Jay trailing shortly behind. Their faces lit up with relief as they saw Heeseung. They set the bags down and greeted him with nods of recognition.

“Hey, Heeseung,” Taehyun said, his eyes flicking between you and the new arrival. “We didn’t expect to see you here,” he added in a tone that indicated that they had actually wholeheartedly expected him to be here.

Kai pulled up a chair and began unpacking the food, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve got all your favorites. Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things, at least for a little while.”

The room began to fill with the comforting aroma of food as the group gathered around. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the underlying tension about your injury was palpable. Heeseung’s quiet support was a steady presence amidst the chatter.

As the evening wore on, the mood lightened somewhat thanks to Jay’s attempts at humor and the shared closeness. Yet, the reality of your injury and the impact it would have on your fencing career loomed large.

When the food was almost finished and the room was filled with the sounds of friends chatting and laughing, you caught a glimpse of Heeseung standing quietly by the doorway. His gaze met yours, and you could see the concern in his eyes. The sight of him, a reminder of the support and understanding you had around you, made it all the more difficult to keep your emotions in check. Your gazes continued their lock as everything around you, the increasingly serious conversation between Jay and Kai about a new video game and the steady beeping of the hospital machines in the room, faded out leaving only your heartbeat thumping in your ears and a million thoughts swirling around in your head about the boy across the room from you.

Spring had finally settled over the campus, bringing with it warmer days and a sense of renewal. The trees were bursting with blossoms, and the air was filled with the buzz of students eager for the semester to end. For you, the past few weeks had been a blur of classes, physical therapy sessions, and quiet moments spent reflecting on what could have been. The boot on your ankle had become a familiar part of your daily routine, though it was a constant reminder of the season you had lost.

Today, however, you were looking forward to something different—a chance to take a break from the weight of your injury and celebrate the accomplishments of your friends. The journalism club was hosting their end-of-the-year showcase, where they would unveil their final magazine. The event was a big deal on campus, a night where everyone could see the hard work and creativity that had gone into the club’s projects over the semester.

You, Jay, and Jake made your way to the event together. The three of you had been spending more time together lately, and their easygoing personalities made it easier to forget about your troubles, even if just for a little while. Jay walked beside you, his usual relaxed smile on his face, while Jake, as always, was full of energy and chatter.

“You excited to see the magazine?” Jake asked as you approached the auditorium where the showcase was being held.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, trying to keep up with them despite the boot. “I’ve been curious to see how the article turned out.”

Jay glanced over at you, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Or maybe you’re more excited to see Heeseung?”

You felt a blush creep up your neck. “He wrote about the fencing team, so I’m definitely curious,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The auditorium was bustling with activity when you arrived. Tables were set up with copies of the magazine and other projects the club had worked on throughout the year. The walls were lined with posters, photographs, and pieces of art that highlighted the creativity of the journalism students. The room buzzed with excitement and pride as people mingled, admiring each other’s work.

As you and your friends entered, you immediately spotted Heeseung standing near one of the display tables, talking with a group of students. He was dressed casually, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him that made him stand out. You watched as he laughed at something one of the students said, the sound warm and genuine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you took a moment to observe him from a distance.

“He’s right there,” Jay said, leaning in close. “Go say hi.”

You gave him a playful shove. “I will, just give me a minute.”

Jake grinned. “Come on, let’s go check out the magazine. I want to see how we look in print.”

The three of you made your way over to the display table where the final magazine was laid out. There were stacks of the publication, each one carefully bound and designed. The cover featured a striking image of the campus, with the title in bold letters: “Echoes of the Semester”

You flipped through the pages, searching for Heeseung’s article. When you found it, you couldn’t help but smile. There, on the glossy pages, was the story of your team—the triumphs, the challenges, and everything in between. He had captured the essence of the fencing club with a level of detail and insight that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

The presentation started a few moments later, and you found yourself a seat close to the stage. The event had a relaxed, celebratory atmosphere, and you watched with interest as a few students gave brief speeches about their experiences in the club over the past year. The highlight was, of course, the unveiling of the magazine, and you were excited to see how the fencing club had been portrayed.

Heeseung was called to the stage to introduce his article. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for him. He was articulate, confident, and passionate about the story he had written. He spoke about the hard work and dedication of the fencing team, about the perseverance required to compete at such a high level, and about how he had been inspired by their journey.

When he mentioned your name, a flush of warmth spread through you. Heeseung glanced your way, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he continued his speech. The room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by his words, and you found yourself unable to look away.

After the presentation ended, the crowd dispersed to explore the displays, and you were left with a strange mix of emotions—pride, excitement, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Jay and Jake had wandered off to talk to some friends of theirs, leaving you standing near the stage, still holding a copy of the magazine.

You were about to head over to one of the displays when you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found Heeseung standing there, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more serious.

“You were great up there,” you said, smiling up at him. “The article is amazing.”

Heeseung returned the smile, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. But, actually… there’s something I want to show you.”

Curiosity piqued, you followed him as he led you away from the bustling crowd, down a quiet hallway that led to a small, dimly lit room at the back of the auditorium. Heeseung closed the door behind you, and you suddenly felt very aware of how close the two of you were standing.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, slightly worn notebook. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. “This… didn’t make it into the magazine,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You opened the notebook, flipping through the pages. It was filled with handwritten notes, sketches, and rough drafts. As you skimmed through it, you realized that the entire notebook was about you—your fencing, your struggles, your thoughts and emotions. It was far more personal and detailed than the article that had been published.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read through the passages. Heeseung had written about moments you hadn’t even realized he had noticed—your determination during practice, the way you pushed through pain, the quiet strength you exuded even when you were at your lowest. He had captured the essence of who you were in a way that was both intimate and raw.

“Why didn’t you include this?” you asked, looking up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung met your gaze, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. “It felt… too personal,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I didn’t want to overstep, but I wanted you to know that I see you—really see you.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you held the notebook, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something deeply vulnerable about this moment, something that made you feel both exposed and understood in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Heeseung took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Your fingers still rested on the notebook, but you were no longer aware of the paper beneath your hands. All you could focus on was Heeseung—the warmth of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way his breath brushed against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded in your chest as the tension between you grew, thick and palpable. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you could feel the magnetic pull drawing you closer.

Before you could say anything else, Heeseung reached out and took your hand, gently tugging you closer to him. His fingers brushed over the magazine still clutched in your hands, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know this might be a little forward,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “but… there’s an after-party at my apartment tonight. I’d really like it if you came.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with the nervous energy that always seemed to accompany your interactions with him. It wasn’t just an invitation—it was a promise of more time together, of peeling back more layers and discovering what lay beneath the surface of your growing connection.

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curling up as you looked into his eyes. “I’d love to,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The tension lingered as you stood there, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the moment. And then, almost as if by instinct, Heeseung leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and intense, the kind of kiss that made your heart race and your knees weak.

The notebook slipped from your hands, forgotten as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Heeseung’s hands found your waist, and he held you as if you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the sensation, in the way he made you feel—alive, desired, and seen. There was a quiet urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

When you finally pulled away, your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart racing in your chest. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of emotions that mirrored your own. Neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

Heeseung suddenly backed away from you so abruptly that it took you a moment to register what had happened. One second, you were lost in the heat of the moment, and the next, he was stepping back, a mumbled apology slipping from his lips.

"Uh, the after-party..." Heeseung began, his voice barely above a whisper as he avoided your eyes. "I should, um, get ready for it. I’ll see you there?"

Before you could respond, he was already retreating, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit room. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, but the sudden coldness of the distance between you was unmistakable.

You stared at the spot where he had been, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been everything you'd imagined—intense, passionate, full of unspoken emotions—but now, it felt like it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had begun. Heeseung was always just out of reach, pulling you in close only to push you away the next moment.

With a frustrated sigh, you picked up the notebook from where it had fallen and clutched it tightly to your chest. You were upset, hurt, feeling like no matter how many moments the two of you shared, they always seemed to slip through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but the fleeting memory of something more.

The walk back to the main room was a blur. You found Jay and Jake talking with a few other students near the exit, their laughter and easy conversation a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

"Ready to grab some dinner?" Jay asked, catching sight of you as you approached. His usual grin faltered when he saw the look on your face. "You okay?"

You forced a smile, not wanting to worry them. "Yeah, just... a lot on my mind."

Jake, ever the perceptive one, raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. "Come on, let’s go. Food will help."

The three of you left the auditorium, making your way to a nearby diner that was a favorite among students. The place was busy, filled with the chatter of people winding down after a long day. You slid into a booth, trying to focus on the menu in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself distracted, your thoughts circling back to Heeseung. You barely heard the conversation happening around you, only nodding and offering the occasional comment when prompted. Jay and Jake didn’t seem to notice—or maybe they did, but they chose not to say anything.

You picked at your food, appetite long gone as your thoughts kept returning to the same question: Why was he keeping you at arm’s length? Every time you thought you were getting closer, he would pull away, leaving you more confused and frustrated than before.

By the time you arrived at the after-party, your nerves were frayed, and you felt like you were walking into the lion’s den. Heeseung was there, as expected, greeting everyone as they arrived, his easy smile and calm demeanor masking whatever he was truly feeling.

But when it came to you, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid any meaningful interaction. He was always just a few steps ahead, just out of reach, slipping through the crowd before you could approach him. It was as if that kiss—and everything that had led up to it—hadn’t happened at all.

Jay and Jake didn’t notice your growing frustration as they mingled with the other guests, Sunghoon, Taehyun, and Chaehyun playing some overly complicated drinking game off to the side, but you were a ball of anxiety, barely able to keep up with the small talk and casual conversation. The party was lively, filled with laughter and music, but you felt like you were trapped in a bubble, unable to enjoy any of it.

The hours dragged on, and your patience wore thin. As the party began to wind down and people started to leave, you found yourself more determined than ever to get answers. You couldn’t keep going on like this, caught in this endless push-and-pull with Heeseung. You needed to know where you stood with him—or if you even stood anywhere at all.

Finally, when the crowd had thinned out and most of the guests had left, you spotted Heeseung in the kitchen, cleaning up empty cups and discarded plates. His back was to you, and for a moment, you hesitated. But then, the frustration that had been building all night boiled over, and you found yourself marching over to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Heeseung,” you called out, your voice firmer than you expected.

He turned around, surprised to see you standing there. “Oh, hey. I didn’t realize—”

“Why have you been avoiding me all night?” The question came out more accusatory than you intended, but you were too upset to care.

Heeseung blinked, clearly taken aback by your directness. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we kissed. And it’s not just tonight, Heeseung. It’s every time we get close, every time something happens between us, you pull away.”

You barely noticed the last remaining people, Jay and Taehyun, nervously exchanging glances before quickly exiting Heeseung’s apartment.

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done. The words came spilling out, a torrent of emotions you’d been holding back for too long.

“I don’t understand what’s going on between us,” you continued, your voice trembling with frustration. “We have all these moments together, these perfect, real moments, and then you just… you just disappear. I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to pull away again, and I can’t keep doing this. I-I feel like I’m going crazy. I mean, what is this? Is this how you are with your friends? I mean you and Jake seem close but-”

“Don’t finish that,” he interrupted with a quiet laugh before looking down, his expression unreadable. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides, but he still didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on, and your heart sank, the fear that you had pushed him too far creeping in.

But then, finally, he looked up at you, and you saw something shift in his eyes—a determination you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have been pulling away. And I’m sorry. I’ve been scared… of what this means, of how I feel. But you deserve more than that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stepped closer, cutting you off as he continued. “You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show you how much you mean to them, someone who isn’t constantly holding back.”

“Heeseung…” you started, but he shook his head.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I just, I know how busy you are and I don’t know I thought I was doing this whole selfless act by trying to keep distance, but I… find that hard around you.”

Heeseung took a deep breath, and then, in a voice filled with a mix of fear and determination, he finally confessed, “I like you. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. And it terrifies me because I don’t want to mess this up. But I can’t help it, Y/N, I want to be with you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were too stunned to speak. All the frustration, the confusion, the uncertainty that had been weighing on you for weeks melted away, leaving behind only the raw, undeniable truth of what you both felt.

Heeseung reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you were always going to be kept at a distance,” he said softly. “That’s the last thing I want. I want to be close to you, in every way.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I want that too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night reached its breaking point, and before you knew it, you were pulling him closer, closing the distance between you. Heeseung didn’t hesitate this time—his lips found yours in a kiss that was fierce, passionate, and full of all the things that had been left unsaid for too long.

It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of desire, of a connection that had been building for months. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, as if afraid that if you let go, he might slip away again. But Heeseung was there, solid and real, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, wanted.

He bent down, hands roaming through your hair and then down your arms to snake around your waist and pull you onto the counter top in front of him. Your boot knocked clumsily into his knee, but he seemed to pay no attention to it. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pulled him closer and heat blazed through your core at the sound of a small giggle that escaped him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you could see the same mix of emotions reflected in his eyes—relief, happiness, and something deeper, something that promised this was just the beginning of something more.

“Stay with me tonight,” Heeseung murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You nodded, your heart racing as you ran your fingers and palms against his firm forearms, desiring to touch every inch of him you hadn’t been able to until now.

And as you spent the night together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that this was the start of something real, something that you have only been dreaming about for months. The doubts and fears that had plagued you for so long seemed distant now, replaced by a certainty and feeling for the first time that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

thank you for reading!! <3

#lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen x reader #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung fic #enhypen x female reader #heeseung fluff #enhypen fic #enhypen au #heeseung au #heeseung fanfic #enhypen fanfiction

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sohnric · 1 year ago

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millennium bug – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: 90s au, twenty-five twenty-one au, brother's best friend au, childhood friends au, fluff, slice of life, coming of age. older brother! sunwoo. essentially just eric being baek yijin. oct-nov scenes inspired by weak hero class 1. no plot just vibes im sorry

warnings: minimal swearing and thats all lol

word count: 19k

a/n: posting a fic for a new fandom is always so scary pls be nice to me deobiblr bc im literally abt to cry. also yes i am calling this a 2521 au bc the plot is so heavily inspired it might just be one. a special thank you goes out to @csenke for dragging me into stanning this group i am enjoying myself 🤞

there are some pros and cons to not having friends growing up. cons: you're always forced to tag along with your brother and his group wherever he goes. pros: his childhood best friend is kind of hot.

JUNE OF 1999

Being Kim Sunwoo’s younger sister is no bed of roses sometimes.

Sure, you get the occasional excitement of having him bring you rollerskating with you down the hill or the ever so rare moments of him defending you in front of your mother when you two have done something wrong (while never saying he was in on the bad act as well, of course), but more than often, you are met with his disgusted looks and insults whenever the two years older boy passes by your room and casually bangs at the door just to spite you.

His snarky looks are especially ones to remember. Maybe it’s because he offers them to you often– much like in this very moment, completely unprovoked, and completely not by your fault.

“But mum–”

“I already told you, Sunwoo,” your mother looks at him with a stern look in her eye, the one that makes chills run down your spine, “you can go if you take Y/N with you.”

“But nobody’s bringing their sister! Mum, come on–”

“Take it or leave it, young man.”

And see, your brother may be 19 years old, but he’s still in need of getting permission to leave the house if it includes an overnight stay. It’s an unspoken rule he always follows, since he’s usually granted the right to leave, but the result of his conversation was different than what he expected this time. And see, you may be just two years younger than him (one year left until you are an adult), but even though your mother is too busy to take care of you and entertain your slowly adultling self on most days because of her highly demanding job, she always makes sure that you don’t stay alone for long, and that’s exactly why (you realize, contrary to your brother) she insists on making you tag along on Sunwoo’s trip to the beach house with his friends.

The male grunts and turns on his heel, not giving your mother another response– and with this, you know she won. And that means you’ll have to pack your bag soon, because you know that there’s no way Sunwoo would miss going to the beach house with his friends– even if it meant making his little sister tag along.

And sure enough, Lee Juyeon’s minivan pulls up into your driveway only a few hours later, and the sound of the honking outside is enough for your older brother to aggressively drag you outside of the house, shutting the door behind you and hollering an angry “Bye mum!” to your mother. Your figure is handled with the least amount of care possible as you’re thrown towards the white van, the door opened and 5 heads already peeking out with expecting eyes, waiting for your brother’s arrival.

“My mum made my stupid sister go with me, so I hope we have space for one more,” Sunwoo huffs as he throws his bag into the trunk, slamming it with more force than was necessary (boy does he know how to throw a scene), an encouraging voice of none other than Juyeon– the driver himself– landing in your ear.

“Sure, just hop in!”

With that, your feet finally unglue themselves off the ground and bring you into the vehicle. You’re familiar with his friends– since a scenario like this hasn’t happened for the first time and you had to spend your fair time with Sunwoo’s circle growing up, mainly because you never really had many friends yourself. You’re not close with any of them, though, and you’re sure you haven’t seen half of them for ages.

Lee Juyeon is the responsible one of the group. You’re comfortable with the fact that he’s the driver, since you’re not entirely sure if you’d trust any of the other men in this space behind the wheel (you fear the day your brother gets a driver’s license. You'd bet a million dollars that he’ll die while driving recklessly one day). Next to him on the passenger’s seat is Choi Chanhee, his best friend, carrying a map in his hands and twirling it in all possible directions to get his friend on the right track. In the three-seat behind those two is Ju Haknyeon, Ji Changmin and your brother himself, and in the very back of the whole van, almost in the trunk, you’re sat next to Eric Sohn– your brother’s childhood best friend.

“Hi guys,” you offer a greeting to all of them, settling into the uncomfortable leather seat (that’s peeling off, just by the way), watching as the rest of the men pay you no mind and ignore your voice, falling into a comfortable conversation with each other.

Sighing, because this always happens– your brother gets too annoyed because he has to bring you with him all the time, and you imagine his friends aren’t fond of the fact either– you settle deeper into the seat and cross your hands on your chest, looking outside of the window. You can’t imagine enjoying your trip now, since you feel like you’re a nuisance, a child they have to take care of (yes, it embarrasses you just the tiniest bit, you have to admit. Although, you do enjoy getting out of the house from time to time), and the fact that your feelings were probably more than justified and also true has you pouting, an unsatisfied feeling weighing at your lungs.

“Hi,” a voice resonates from your side, the sight of a smiling Eric peering at you taking you off guard. You didn’t expect anyone to react to your greeting– not so delayed anyway– and the sight of your brother’s best friend carrying on in the conversation with you has you shocked beyond belief. “Excited?”

Finding yourself hum in agreement– how much you are still excited for the pool and for the sun, you’re not really sure– and although you are upset, something about his open and nice demeanor has you visibly relaxing, the sparkles inviting themselves back into your eyes. “I’ve never been to the beach,” you admit, seeing Eric gasp at you in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “I go every year with my parents.”

“Well,” you hum, “you know how my mother is…” you sigh, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It’s easier to joke about it than to actually let the fact get to you– with your mother being the main news anchor, she is too busy to actually go on trips and form bonds with her own children sometimes. That’s why you spent most of your childhood at Eric’s family’s house in the first place– this is what made you the closest with Sunwoo’s same aged friend. His parents were nice enough to let you stay over and have sleepovers whenever your mum had to leave suddenly and take week-long trips abroad, or have emergency shifts during late evenings.

Eric hums, sympathizing with you. “Well, at least you get to experience it now!”

“Yeah,” you awkwardly nod, playing with the hem of your jean shorts. It’s the shorts you made yourself by cutting the legs off your favorite pants after you grew out of them and they got too short, and they’re starting to look a little worn-out now. Maybe you should beg your mum to get you some new clothing.

The conversation between the boys grows in volume, doing nothing to help you to relax in the crowded vehicle. You can’t really find a place to fit yourself in and talk, the topics too unfamiliar for you and the feeling of not even being welcome in the discussion sitting heavy on your chest, when a finger bears itself to the flesh of your thigh, making you snap your head around to gape at the source of the contact. Eric looks at you with a boyish grin, sparkles evident in his eyes.

“Wanna see something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

The male digs around his backpack, hands searching through the contents of his bag for only a couple of seconds– since he’s the neat one, contrary to your messy brother– before he takes out a small gadget: a square with a little screen on top, a silver, circular button space sitting big in the very middle of the device. Eric throws the thing into your lap, smiling when you take it into your hands and examine it with curious eyes.

“Have you seen one before? My dad got it for me last week,” he boosts, satisfied with your reaction to it.

Your mother’s job pays quite well– meaning that you usually have the latest gadgets, the latest trends– but if you’re being honest, you haven’t seen one of these in real life before. Yes, you caught a glimpse of an ad for it in the town center, on one of the big billboards while passing by to get to school in the morning, so you know that it’s an MP3 player, but still; this was your first time touching one and examining it in real life.

“How does it work?” you ask, watching as the boy scoots from his seat to the middle one, so he is now sitting directly next to you, before he takes out wired headphones from the first department of his backpack and turns the little square over in his hands, finding where the jack goes.

“You put those in,” he says, plugging in the headphones, “and then you press this…” he explains, taking the device out of your hand and pushing on the power button for a few seconds, “and then it should play.”

Watching him with expecting eyes, the boy finally puts the MP3 player back into your hold. Then, his fingers swiftly put the respective earphones into your ears– like you’d do to a little kid that has no idea how they work, making you a little flushed at the action– and after that, you’re left with the sound of an unfamiliar song playing in your ears, making the sound of the chatter in the van completely tune out. Eric keeps on watching you, a sense of pride in his eyes as you nod at him, all excited with the new explory, before he takes one of the earphones out of your ear, grinning.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “The song is good,” you dumbly say, watching as the boy next to you pridefully nods at the compliment, resting his back against the car seat.

“It’s the H.O.T album. My dad says they’re good,” he mumbles, moving the headphone he took from you and placing it into his ear, making you nod at him in acknowledgement. The action has your insides bubble with disappointment, thinking that the fun is over as you reach for the other earphone as well, offering it to the male.

Eric looks at you with a shocked pout, shaking his head. “No, we can share!” he says, pointing towards your ear. “If you want, of course.”

The action has you smiling, a shy nod escaping out of you as you reach and put the earphone back into your ear, letting yourself fall deeper into the car seat, listening to the song from Eric’s MP3 player. You’re grateful for his presence– he didn’t have to keep up a conversation with you. He could ignore you, just like the rest of his friend group always has. Maybe it was something about the two of you growing up together that always made the boy at least a bit more affectionate towards you than the rest.

You spend the car ride to the beach house with Eric leaning on your side, listening to music and his occasional blabbering about how his previous days went.

Somehow, you're glad the seat beside him was the only vacant one when you arrived to the vehicle.

YOUR SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, 1989

You don't quite remember when you met Eric for the first time, if you’re being completely honest. The first memory you have of him is of your seventh birthday party, although you’re almost certain the boy’s been present at some point of your life before– at one point, you think you saw a picture of him and Sunwoo, two chubby toddlers, watching you as you laid on a blanket on the ground somewhere in your photo album. As far as you’re concerned, he may as well have been there when your mother brought you back from the hospital– although you think he must have been too young for that back then.

The first memory you have of Eric Sohn is the day you turned seven– a gloomy, sad day that in the moment, you prayed you wouldn’t have to remember in the first place.

It was already established that while your brother is the social butterfly, you don’t have a big friend group. Actually, you could count the number of your friends on one hand, and since the amount wasn’t as big, your mother allowed you to invite them all over to your house to celebrate your birthday with you.

She baked a cake, she decorated the living room, hell, she even took a day off from work– something you deemed special, for it doesn’t happen often– and as you sat on the floor of your living room, the cake standing proud on the small coffee table, waiting for your friends to arrive, you hummed a song under your breath, the clock slowly passing the time you agreed for them to come over and celebrate.

At first, you didn’t mind it– everybody gets late sometimes, it’s okay. It was just a birthday party, and you had a lot of time. Not everything had to be set on schedule.

But the closer the clock moved to being one hour, than two after the time your friends were supposed to come, you grew worried. Your mother’s nervous pacing around the living room and her heavy sighs as she sat next to you on the floor, smiling at you in what you can only explain as sad way made you more and more anxious about the fact that you only had three friends, but all three of them seemed to not care enough to come celebrate your birthday with you. And as your mother finally took the final bow in the form of a soft hand on your inner thigh, her tone gentle as she called your name– “Y/N, I think we should light the candles,” you began to tear up.

You were supposed to eat the cake with your friends. You were supposed to hear them sing the birthday song to you. You were supposed to turn on the radio and dance around with your classmates, eat the sweets and unwrap the cheap, but heartfelt gifts they brought along with them to celebrate your birthday.

But none of these scenarios were happening, and you felt incredibly, incredibly lonely and sad. Forgotten, if you will. Not cared for, definitely.

Hiding your face into your hands, you started to cry. This disappointment was too big for your small heart to take, and you no longer cared about the cake, the candles, the seaweed soup your mother cooked for you to celebrate, the gifts, or the party. All you wanted to do was hide in your room and never come out– something about the whole situation felt deeply embarrassing, and to this day, the moment before the whole day turned around still makes you feel a bit ashamed of yourself.

Too busy crying, you didn’t notice your older brother watching you with big bambi eyes, a worried glance sent your way each time your sobs grew louder and louder. And maybe the boy only wanted to taste the cake (he’s been bugging your mum about it since the very morning, but he was always sent off with a scolding look telling him that he’ll get a slice when everyone arrives), but no matter what his true intentions were, his actions still managed to pull your seventh birthday party together in a way you never imagined.

The sound of the front door faintly resonated in your brain somewhere in the middle of your aimless sobbing, but you paid it no mind, thinking it was just Sunwoo going out to the yard to kick the ball. See, your older brother had never really known what to do when you cried growing up– it didn’t matter if he was the reason for your tears or if anyone else was. If he was the reason for your emotional outbursts, he tried to shut you up with his palm and get you to stop crying before his mother found out and gave him a scolding, but if someone else was, the small boy sometimes turned angry at the source. Kicking his classmate that once made a snarky comment about you and made you tear up or punching his friend when he was too harsh with you was all he knew to do in these situations, so he wasn’t the one to comfort you with words or hugs. It was only natural for him to escape in this situation.

You were brought to a state of shock and surprise when a hand landed on your shoulder, a familiar voice breaking you from your emotional turmoil.

“Why are you crying? We have to eat the cake!” you heard, your big, sad eyes meeting the small figure of the boy living next door, your brother nervously stepping from one side to the other right behind his best friend. “Can you light the candles, Mrs?” Eric politely asked your mum, pointing towards the cake waiting sadly at the coffee table, the figure of your mother leaving your side only shortly to get the matches from the kitchen and illuminate your face with the small flames.

Confusion mirrored your features as you watched your brother and his best friend sing the birthday song to you while your mum lit your candles, both boys clapping and dancing around, acting silly just to get a laugh from you. You didn't know how Eric got there, but you guessed there are some good sides to having him as your neighbor. The energetic boy did his best to brighten up your mood a bit, and when you blew out the candle, making a wish, Sunwoo even went as far as smashing your face into the cake to bring in the full birthday authenticity.

That got him a slap to the back of his head from your mother, as well as made you stand up from your position– no longer making you look like a disappointed bulk of pity– and chase him around the room, icing falling off your nose to the laminated floor. You got your revenge and smeared the chocolate all over his forehead (he let you chase him down only because it was your birthday and he really, really hated to see his sister cry, but he won’t ever tell you that) and as the three of you sat back down to the floor, watching your mother slice the cake and offer it to you on small white plates, you realized you suddenly weren't as sad anymore.

“What did you wish for?” Eric asked you, mouth full of cake and face messy with chocolate.

“I can’t tell you,” you hummed, eyebrows furrowed. “Then it won’t come true.”

“You probably wished for that doll you saw in the store the other day,” Sunwoo snickered as he swallowed, having you glare at him and send a sharp kick to his shin, unwatched by your mother (thankfully), as the boy fought you back, having no mercy.

Music suddenly filled the room as Eric stood up and put the radio on, his 9 year old brain smart enough to know how the device worked, his small figure dancing away to the songs playing on the single radio station you could play without carefully sorting out the antenna so it faced the north, and truly, you didn’t know how it happened, but it had you standing up and dancing around, exactly how you'd imagined doing with your friends from school.

The day wasn’t ruined– quite the opposite, really. It was one of your favorite birthday parties, and ever since then, Eric was invited to every single one you had after. And while Sunwoo may act like he doesn’t hate anything more in this world than having a younger sister, every time you feel like a burden to him, you remember this very afternoon.

You will never tell anyone what you wished for that day– but just to let everyone in on the secret,

it was to somehow, just like Sunwoo, find someone like Eric for yourself as well.

JUNE OF 1999

Standing at the side of the pool, eyes squinting from the inevitable force of the sun, you’re starting to regret your decision of coming along just a little. See, you usually don’t protest whenever Sunwoo aggressively drags you around and brings you everywhere he’s supposed to, because even though you love to see your brother angry (especially when you’re the reason behind the emotion), you’d also hate to see him miss out, but now, as the scorching hot sun is having no mercy on every exposed inch of skin– and believe me, there’s a lot of it, since you’re wearing your swimming trunks– and the sweat on your forehead is no longer culminating in beads, but rolling painfully slowly down your forehead, you do admit you’d be a little bit happier in the shade of your little room than here, watching the guys play volleyball in the comfort of the freezing cold pool.

And as the only female around the house, you settle with the patriarchy and bring out a small folding chair and a camping table alongside with a big, sharp knife, struggling to hoist up the giant watermelon you got in a grocery store on your way to the beach house, with the intention of cutting it and serving it to the guys later. Who knows, maybe they’ll like you a little more after that.

The knife sinks into the thick green skin of the watermelon easily, and so as you accompany yourself with the excited (and not so excited screams coming from the losing side of the game– mainly your brother himself), you cut up the fruit into halves, then quarters, and as you stare at the moon crescents settled on the camping table, you decide to play nice and cut up the fruit into smaller triangles as well, to really get on everyone’s good side.

The yearning for male validation awakes in a woman pretty early on in life. It’s an inevitable misfortune.

“Told you Sunwoo’s all talk but no game!” you hear Haknyeon yell out as the game seemingly ends, the younger boy lunging at him in the pool, fighting him for the truthful words. Glancing at the commotion, you notice the guys slowly getting out of the pool, making you heave out in victory– you’re finally gonna have your turn in the pool. Well, if they don’t decide to occupy it again before you even get a chance to get in.

“Y/N! You cut up the watermelon?” Eric asks a very obvious question, walking up to you with beads of water all over his half-naked body. His dark hair is damply sitting against his forehead, making him look like a wet puppy, but as the male gets closer to you, he drags his palm through the locks and pushes them back, revealing his forehead– a sight sweet to your eyes, but you refuse to pay it much attention in the heat of the moment. It’s just the sun making you delirious as the idea of finding him attractive flashes through your brain, that’s all.

“I did! Take one,” you smile, watching as the rest of the guys walk over to your little stand– while also obnoxiously swatting out water out of their hair like dogs, refusing to use towels like normal people– and finally, there it comes: appreciative smiles appear on their faces as they each take a piece, biting down on the fruit with delighted sighs.

Sunwoo walks up to you with a surprised look on his face, sighing as he messes with your hair. “If I knew you’d be our servant, I wouldn’t have even minded you going in the first place.”

“You do something nice for people and they jump on the chance to exploit you,” you hum, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s just like you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“No, that’s just me having older brother privileges.”

“I hope you choke on that, you know,” you bite at him, pointing towards the piece of sweet watermelon in his hands, the smile on his face turning bitter. There’s a satisfied look on your face when your brother does, indeed, choke on a watermelon seed a few seconds later– and they say dreams don’t come true.

“You didn’t have to,” you hear Eric speak up from the other side, your head turning to face the male, his features appreciative and warm. “Thank you,” he beams. There’s redness on the tip of his nose and his forehead, signaling his quickly approaching sunburn, and you can’t help but laugh out at his clueless, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer self.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you in question.

“Nothing,” you peep, “you just look like you forgot to use sunscreen,” you mumble, watching as the male gasps and touches his face, a horrified expression overtaking him when the skin under his fingertips burns to the touch.

“I didn’t forget! It must have rubbed off in the pool,” he mourns, “I must look stupid!”

“Only a little,” you tease, a grin overtaking your features. See, there’s something about the fact that you’ve known Eric for the entirety of your whole life that makes you more prone to teasing him– you’re familiar with your dynamics and just how far you can go, so his next actions startle you just the tiniest bit as the male looks sternly at you, throwing the half-eaten watermelon slice to the camping table. You thought you had the risks calculated– apparently, you didn't.

“What did you say?”

Examining his features, seeing no signs of anger– just the stoic, fakely-offended face of your brother’s childhood best friend– you shrug. “That you look a bit stupid with your face like that.”

“Oh, okay,” he nods, “you’re going down for that.”

“What do you mea–”

Your words are cut short when the male lunges at you, his arms enveloping your thighs and holding you up. The contact of his cold skin from the pool and your heated figure makes goosebumps appear all over your body, your hands instinctively reaching around him to support yourself as he walks closer to the pool– his intentions are suddenly painfully clear and you start to panic.

“This will teach you to respect your elders,” Eric huffs, the turquoise surface of the water slowly coming into your point of view.

“Stop! Stop-stop-stop,” you squirm, kicking your feet and trying to take down the predator, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright?”

The male takes a halt for a split second– making you foolishly believe he’ll let you off– before he breaks out into a devilish grin and continues to walk to the edge of the pool. “Too late.”

“Eric!” you scream, the volume of your voice resonating through the whole beach, your heart thumping wild against your ribcage with the awaiting process. You’re not even sure what you’re scared of anymore– you can swim and you bet the water will feel nice against the scorching sun– but still, you’re absolutely terrified as the male has no mercy on you, carrying you steadily towards the water. “At least let me tie my hair first! You can dump me in after, I promise,” you mourn, trying to buy yourself more time.

“Alright,” he nods, waiting at the very edge of the pool, leaving you to take the purple scrunchie off your wrist and gather your hair together, preparing to tie it into a bun so it doesn’t get in your way when you’re in the pool. The hair tie is just at the tips of your fingertips, the first loop over the hair ready to be done, when a scream cuts out of your throat.

The feeling of falling suddenly overtakes your body, leaving you no time to prepare yourself for the impact of the cold water against your skin and all up in your nose, since you didn’t pluck it when you were dumped into the pool. The fall only lasts a split second until you’re below the water, the force of it resonating in your ears, and when you finally act on your instincts and stand up in the pool (it wasn’t even that deep in the first place, only reaching to your upper stomach), you cough out all the water and pray to gods you don’t throw up chlorine into the freshly cleaned pool. After you’re done catching your breath and getting oxygen into your lungs again, you do your best at getting all the hair out of your face.

There is laughter landing into your ears as soon as you manage to get all the water out of them by leaning your head to the side and violently slapping each one, and when your eyes look up, you see an amused Eric Sohn bending over in his waist at your disheveled appearance.

Grunting and pointing a finger to the criminal that almost made you drown, you huff out. “I’ll kill you! Just you watch.”

Your scrunchie nowhere to be found, forever lost somewhere outside of the beach house, you think, as it flew off your hand in the impact of the attack, shock makes your figure shake alongside of the coldness of the water, making you audibly sigh.

Yes. You do regret coming along just a little.

JULY OF 1999

Somewhere along the way, Eric Sohn starts acting as if he’s your second older brother. Sure, you’ve known the male your whole entire life and he’s seen you grow up, but it took him 17 years of your life to come to a point where he gives you equal amount of attention whenever he’s over at your house than he does to your brother, and even asks Sunwoo if you’re coming along with them whenever they leave to hang out somewhere else. It’s a change that comes naturally and slowly, and you welcome it unknowingly– the revelation shocks you on a hot summer day, though, when the idea finally comes to you in full force.

You would even argue and say Eric acts more like your brother than your actual sibling does– he asks if you’ve eaten and listens to you when you talk (which Sunwoo never does, well, except from when he’s arguing with you). Eric even compliments your outfits sometimes and lets you borrow his MP3 player from time to time– Sunwoo would never share his things with you, no matter how hard you pleaded and threatened to tell your mum. Yes, your brother's an adult and you’re one year away from becoming one– you still resolve your conflicts through your only parent, though. Some things, you never grow out of.

“I wanna try using the skateboard now, Sunwoo,” you order sternly when the boy finally reaches your destination. You’ve been sitting on the sidewalk for quite some time now, since your brother and his friend decided that they’re gonna try out their new skateboards on the hottest day of the year. Your town doesn’t have fancy skateparks and ramps like the ones you’ve seen in the music videos on TV, so you don’t really know what initially made the two buy those things, but you do admit that even driving up and down the road in front of your house does seem a little fun– so much you’d love to try it.

“What a shame we all wish for things we can’t have,” he shrugs ironically, shaking his head at you from his position above. The male reaches down for his bag, taking out a water bottle and putting it against his plush lips, all while you glare at him from below, still seated in your initial position. Eric comes up to you two, squishing at the soft plastic bottle in Sunwoo’s hold, making the water splash your older brother in the face, leaving a winning grin to be shared between you and the shorter boy, an expression that makes you all warm on the inside. See, at least Eric always has your back.

“You can try mine, if you want,” the latter shrugs, offering you a smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “why not?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just didn’t expect you to offer, since as you saw, my dear brother just refused when I asked…” you mumble, standing up from the sidewalk and taking the skateboard into your hand. Eric offers it to you with an outstretched arm and watches as you put the board on the floor, squinting at it with much examination.

“Do you know how to ride it?” he asks.

“No,” you shake your head, “but I mean, if Sunwoo can do it, how hard can it really be?” you joke, seeing as the said boy glares at you, finally finishing his water and dropping the bottle to the ground.

“I’ll remind you of that statement when you eat shit on the pavement,” he shushes you, rolling his eyes.

Not paying more attention to the grumpy being that is your own brother, you relocate your attention back to the skateboard on the heated road. You’re lucky you live on a street where cars don’t often drive by, since your neighborhood is on the very edge of the town, so you don’t really fear being run over by a pickup truck. What you do worry about, though, is your lacking sense of balance, which you discovered when you learned how to ride the bike for the first time. While your brother was a professional in no time, it took you weeks to get it right, and so with the idea of riding a board that provides you zero sense of security, you get a bit worried for your own life.

Dragging your hair out of your face and aimlessly trying to tuck it behind your ears– there’s no use in trying though, as the strands slip out just as fast as they found their place– you keep staring at the board only a few centimeters away from your feet, mentally calculating your next move. There’s a noise of a backpack being opened and rustling around in the background of your miserable thoughts, and when you look up to see what’s going on, you notice Eric offering you a small, purple bundle of fabric.

“What’s that?” you ask, even though the answer is clear as the day– you recognise your own scrunchie with no problem. You’re just surprised to see it in his hold. You thought it was forever buried somewhere in the beach house, since you weren’t able to find it after you got out of the pool, no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh,” he shrugs, amidst a little too nonchalantly, “I found it and figured it was yours, but I forgot to give it back to you then… it seems like you need it now, though,” he offers you an explanation, lips pressed into a thin line that slightly signifies a smile.

“Ah,” you gasp, nodding as you take the hair tie out of his outstretched palm, gathering your hair into a bun and tying it up on the crown of your head– the staring contest you’ve been having with the board is much clearer now, when you don’t have your messy strands in the way. The idea of Eric keeping your scrunchie after finding it at the beach house makes your stomach do a weird kind of turn– you guess it made you a bit weirded out, if you’re being honest.

“Want some help with that?” he asks, pointing towards his skateboard.

Nervous, cracking your knuckles as you meet his eyes– he looks a bit amused, but still genuine– you nod, admitting defeat. There’s no way you’re getting on top of that board without help and not falling down. It’s always better to be safe than to be sorry, and so when Eric laughs airly at your composure and takes a few steps closer towards you, you let the male lead you, finding comfort in his secure words and actions.

Eric offers you his arms to hold when you try to get on the skateboard. He is peering at you from under his eyelashes when you put one of your legs onto the wood, his grip on your forearm getting firmer when you try to get your other foot on as well– and you must admit that you suddenly don’t feel like you might die anymore when there’s someone holding you and standing by your side.

“See? It’s not that hard,” Eric mumbles, his voice low and reassuring from the proximity. You notice your hands sweating a little when his palm envelopes yours– damn the sun and its unbearable heat making you embarrass yourself– but he doesn’t mention it as he firmly holds you and meets your eyes. “I’m gonna drag you around a bit so you get used to it before trying yourself,” he says before taking a few steps forward, preparing to be your own type of personal driver.

Having him instruct you and help you around makes you feel more comfortable on the board. Sunwoo would never do such a thing for you– he’d enjoy watching you fall down and break your neck and possibly die– so you’re more than happy to have someone in your life that takes care of you in ways your older brother refuses to.

The skateboard moves forward a little, starting slow, but then picking up speed as Eric jogs a little, making you laugh at the action. He does not have to go above and beyond, but he still does– but you guess it’s good for him to let out his energy somewhere. After a while, he looks back at you and meets your eye with a warm gaze, making you nod at him reassuringly and hold up a thumb of the hand he’s not holding right now, signaling that you’re okay and enjoying yourself. That has the male let go of your hand and let you take the road with the laws of physics, moving forward by yourself with the force he created.

It’s nice. It’s fun.

Yes, you totally understand why Eric and Sunwoo wanted skateboards after seeing them on TV. Hell, you want one now.

“Try it yourself now!” Eric encourages you as the board naturally comes to a stop under you, and his smiling face is enough for you to take initiative and nod, relocating one foot off the wood and placing it on the floor, then kicking it and making yourself move on the simple vehicle.

A moment of surprise envelopes you like a warm hug when you manage to not fall off and keep your balance, the joy of it making you try to go faster on the board, kicking once, twice against the pavement with the sole of your old, beaten up shoe. “I’m doing it!” you yell, glancing back at Eric standing on the sidewalk, watching you with excited eyes. The male offers you a victorious holler, something that makes you break into a laugh, makes your confidence blossom in marvelous ways.

Confidence rises in you so much you try to take a U-turn and go back to your teacher– perhaps showing off that you really got the hang of it now, or something– but as you try to maneuver the board and turn right, there it comes: the moment where you realize that you were, once again, too overly-confident in your abilities that are, sadly, very poor. Your body sways from side to side, your poor balance laughs at you and points an accusing finger at your attempts, and, well, to put it frankly, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes and the moment plays in slow motion as you lose the board from below your feet– the wood flying somewhere to the opposite side of the road, not at all where you meant to go in the first place– and your body inevitably comes crashing to the ground.

Awaiting the hard pavement meeting your nose and breaking it, you brace yourself with palms outstretched in front of you, the last remains of self-perseverance entering the sane parts of your brain in what you think are the last seconds of your miserable life. Another moment of surprise greets you when your yelp is muffled against something soft and your hands don’t hit the hard pavement, your ears filled with a grunt that belongs to another human swiftly chiming in and catching you before you fall.

Firm hands hold your waist– the touch somehow familiar, enveloping you in a strange sense of deja vu– and even though your body goes limp in terror, the male has you back on your feet in no time, his palms on the exposed skin of your stomach. The realization has you burning up as you look up and meet Eric’s eyes, gasping at the closeness of his face to yours.

“You okay over there?” he asks as you unconsciously study his face– you never noticed his nose looked this nice up close– before you wake out of it and nod urgently, breaking away from his hold. You’re not gonna try to calculate the effort he must have put in just to chime in and catch you from where he was standing in such a short moment, but something about the passing thought of it has you weak in your knees from gratefulness.

“Uhm- yeah,” you nod, kicking the pavement with your stained shoes, “I just… miscalculated my skills, that’s all,” you sheepishly hum, hearing the boy snicker at your shaken-up composure.

Watching him take off and retrieve his skateboard from where it wandered off against the curb– much to his golden retriever energy– you sigh and prepare to go sit back on the sidewalk, having enough of new experiences from the shock still lingering in your fingertips. You take a glance down the road, seeing your older brother cruising on the street– when and how he got there, you truly have no idea– when you hear Eric, who seemingly has different ideas for your next actions, call at you from the middle of the pavement.

“Where are you going? Come back!” he asks, having you look at him in surprise, mouth agape and eyes big, staring at him. He now has the board under his shoulder, but puts it back on the road and points at it, shrugging to himself. “I’ll push you down the road, it’s gonna be fun!”

“Eric, I’m literally going to die–”

“No, you’re not. Come on, I promise,” he says, but still, he doesn’t have you convinced. Your feet move against your best conclusions, though, and when you come to a halt right in front of your companion, he offers you a boyish grin. “Sit down on it, that way you’re more balanced. I swear you’re not gonna fall off, okay? I got you.”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” he nods, determined.

“Pinky swear,” you mumble, holding up your pinky finger– all thoughts of seeming childish pushed to the side in the desperate moment– and the male in front of you shakes his head in disbelief, breaking into a laugh.

“Cute,” he huffs, “yeah, okay. Pinky swear,” he nods, interlacing your pinky with his and bumping his thumb against yours, the seal foolishly making you feel more secure as you follow his order and take a seat on the skateboard, your hands gripping the bottom of the wood so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Okay, ready? 3, 2, 1–” he chants as he pushes you, two steady hands coming in contact with your shoulder blades, force making you move on the board, wheels taking you down with gravity. The sound of Eric’s shoes hitting the pavement fills your ears as you go faster, and as you finally get to the part of the hill that takes a downwards slope, he offers you a final push, sending you down the road.

Wind makes your hair fly back, your surroundings blurring as you yelp and scream, but you can’t say you’re not enjoying the ride. Eric was right– it was fun, you liked it, and something about the gesture had you all warm on the inside. The breeze has you cool down a little in the summer heat, and the board continues to move even as you pass your older brother standing at the bottom of the slope, away from your trajectory.

Body relaxing when the skateboard finally slows down, you let out a heartfelt laughter. Turning back and seeing Eric jog down the road with a humongous grin on his face, you offer him two thumbs up above your head, watching as he returns the gesture and makes his way back to the two of you on the bottom of the small hill.

The truth is, this was the day you realized Eric Sohn has always found his way to make you feel included and safe.

You can’t help but feel grateful.

AUGUST OF 1999

“Sunwoo, you have to tie a knot here and then– no, you dumbass, you’re doing it completely wrong,” you mourn as you watch your older brother with a mess of thread in his lap, a focused scowl on his face. There’s a fan standing across from you, blowing cold air into your face, but you still feel yourself grow heated with frustration as Sunwoo just can’t help but not understand the art of making friendship bracelets. It’s not like you’re forcing him to do them– he was the one that asked you to show him how to, muttering something about offering one to his classmate Yeji once he’s back in school– so in theory, he should be putting in effort, no?

Or maybe he is. Maybe he’s just… incompetent.

“I don’t get it,” Sunwoo hums under his breath, sighing as he leans against the sofa in your living room, the two of you sitting on the floor accompanied by his best friend squinting at you from the opposite side, a comic book in the latter's hand. The myth of men not being able to multi-task is quickly thrown into the bin as you watch Eric pay equal amount of attention to the comic book and the dialogue between you and your brother, and when Sunwoo seems to give up on the art of making friendship bracelets, his best friend can’t help but laugh.

“You’re giving up already? This is how you want to get a girlfriend?” you poke your brother to his side and take the threads off his lap, examining the mess of a safety pin and meters of yarn, all knotted up and not coming along in the shape you taught him to at all.

“It’s not to get a girlfriend, I just-”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, huffing as you roll his poor attempt at friendship bracelet into a ball and throw it to the corner of the room, making a mental note to pick it up and throw it to the bin later. “You know what, just give her this one and pretend you made it,” you mutter, taking a bracelet you'd already made to demonstrate in between your fingers and throw it into Sunwoo’s lap, the older one catching it and examining it under his nose.

“That looks pretty good,” he hums, making you snort at his appreciative comment. The bracelet is pink and red, the colors just screaming romance and cute energy, which is exactly what a girl needs to be swayed by your brother. You can’t really believe a bracelet will make her swoop into his arms, because truthfully, with your brother’s face and manners, every living thing is keeping a fair distance, but hey, it doesn’t hurt to try, does it? Maybe his classmate is… majorly blind? That might do it?

“Of course it looks good,” you scoff, “that’s because I made it,” you nod, averting your gaze towards your lap, threading your fingers through the yarn you attached to a safety pin on your sweatpants to keep the growing friendship bracelet in place.

“Then why is the one you’re making right now so ugly?” Eric asks, pointing towards the creation.

Glancing up at the male slowly, mentally throwing all different kinds of curses at him for daring to talk badly about your craft, you huff. “What do you mean, ugly?”

“The colors… they don’t… they don’t really go together,” Eric sheepishly admits, scratching the back of his neck, quickly averting his gaze from you and gluing it back into his comic book. You think that if he doesn’t stop being a smart-ass and throw jabs at your artistic choices, he’s gonna have to protect his comic book with his own body– and you bet he’d do that, because he borrowed it from the library. The fees for damage are high.

“That’s just… not true at all,” you muse, but groggily take a look at the creation once again, but now, thanks to the remark, seeing it in a completely different way. Shades of orange, brown and purple stare back at you amidst a little disappointedly, and as you thread the yarn and make a couple of knots to end the bracelet, you can’t help but feel a pout growing on your face from the realization. Eric might be right. It does look a little bad…

“Whatever. Your taste is just bad,” you snap as you finish off the craft piece, unclasping the safety pin and sliding the bracelet off the inside, freeing it from the hold. Eric laughs a little at your frustrated state– similarly to what you do when you manage to get Sunwoo upset– and with that, you sigh and put the bracelet on the coffee table.

“I’m going out to the store to get some chocolates,” you say as you stand up, goal clear in your mind, “have fun, losers.”

“You’re still collecting the stickers from these?” Sunwoo asks, a mischievous smile growing on his lips. The teasing is inevitable and coming very soon, and there’s nothing you can do about it– you’re fully aware, which only further makes you want to escape the situation more quickly. Rolling your eyes at your brother’s antics, you move towards the door.

“Yes, Sunwoo, I am. They’re cute and make me happy, do you have a problem with that?” you point an accusing finger at the male, having him shrug, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“You’re such a kid,” he huffs, averting his gaze from you when he lands the comment, the jab coming straight at your fragile heart.

“Okay, then,” you note, “I’ll just have my pretty and cute bracelet back, and you can get your girlfriend something else-”

The male quickly regains his previous composure, swatting his hands in hurry just to make you halt in your sentence. His eyes are big and his mouth is a little agape in terror as he tries to save his ass, plea written all over his face. “I was just joking! Don’t be so petulant… go get your cute stickers, they’re so fun!”

Humming to yourself, your face is tugged up into a victorious smile. “That's what I thought. So, as I was saying, have fun, losers.”

“Wait!” Eric suddenly calls for you, making you turn on your heel in the middle of your escape, eyes peering at the male. “Don’t I get a bracelet too?”

The request catches you off guard. There’s a certain kind of spark in Eric Sohn’s eyes as he asks the question, and you can’t really place it in any category, but it has you nervously shrugging at the preposition. You’re not really sure why Eric would want a bracelet from you, but to avoid confrontation and also the weird leap of your heart surely leading you into cardiac arrest, you only shrug and move back inside of the living room, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you scan the surroundings, searching for something.

“Sure,” you nod, taking the ugly bracelet off the table and offering it to him, “you can have that one.”

You hold a staring contest with the older boy for a couple of seconds, his head undoubtedly swirling with arguments and comments about the apparel of the friendship bracelet, but he’s smart– he must know the survival of his beloved comic book must be at stake. So, he only nods and smiles at you, outstretching his hand to you and nudging his head in its direction.

“Okay,” he hums, “tie it for me?”

A second comes by– a heartbeat, really– in which you chew on your bottom lip and gasp at the request, but still, you nod and come closer, crouching down to be at his level and taking the thread into your fingers. You wrap the bracelet around his wrist, making sure to leave a bit of wiggle room before you tie a knot, bringing the ends together, all while feeling the eyes of Eric glued to your face, watching every micro expression flash through your unsettling composure.

When you’re done, making a move to hide your hands behind your back and standing up, your limbs bump into each other and send an unspoken sense of electricity all through your body. The sensation is so strange you don’t meet anyone’s eye before you leave the room, yelling out a goodbye as you hurriedly open the front door and run out to get fresh air (it’s August, though. The air is humid and only makes your head spin more).

You clear your throat before you take off to the grocery store. It's only when you're halfway there that you realize you'd forgotten to bring your wallet with you. It's okay, though– you take this chance to walk around, regaining your casualty.

You bet Eric will take the bracelet off in a matter of a week.

SEPTEMBER OF 1999

The leaves start turning orange and the weather a bit colder when you become hyper-aware of your shifting composure whenever Eric Sohn is around. The way you feel heat rushing to your cheeks whenever he calls you cutie, a nickname he’s had reserved for you since you two were little kids, the way you feel weak in your knees whenever he casually brings his arm around your shoulders or when he bends down to tie your shoelace in the middle of the sidewalk. You don’t really know what those sudden changes are, yet, you feel a bit embarrassed by them whenever they take place. You don’t think it’s normal to feel this way around your brother’s best friend, and the more you hang out with him, the more you wish you read less books as a child– because now, you’re also hyper-aware of the title those feelings may have.

Still, it only comes to you on one September afternoon– you wake up from blissful unawareness and jolt with the quickly opening pit in your stomach at the strange revelation.

“Eric! Sunwoo isn’t home, though?” you mumble, confused as you notice the boy standing on your doorway, a plastic bag in his hand and a red Nike jacket enveloping his frame.

“I know, he said he’s hanging out with Juyeon hyung today,” he nods, “I brought you something, though,” he says, holding up the bag and making sure you get a chance to see it, offering you a boyish grin.

“Oh?” you gasp, furrowing your eyebrows at the male. When you do nothing to invite him inside, he does so himself– slightly nudging you in your side as he passes your figure and enters your house. He acts like he owns the place, and by the amount of time he’s spent in your home, you’d think he does– he doesn’t, though. The only thing he owns is just a lot of audacity.

The male takes off his shoes in the entryway and walks his way over to your room– a surprising act, considering he’s spent the least amount of time in this very place– and when he’s sure you’re following his every move, he empties the contents of the bag to the middle of your freshly made bed. Watching as approximately ten items fall out of the plastic, your eyes widen with surprise as you recognise your favorite chocolate– the mini bars with stickers inside, the ones you collect and stick into your journal and look at in the middle of the night, giggling to yourself and kicking your feet at the adorable pictures in your make-shift collect book.

“Woah,” you gasp when the male looks at you, seemingly awaiting your response, and when he gets the wished outcome, pride overtakes his features, shrugging to himself.

“My mum got some for free because she bought a lot of cabbage for kimchi yesterday,” he explains, “I thought of you when I saw them, so I bought you some more.”

“I- you-” you stutter, emotions too big for your own good swelling all inside your fragile, little self, hands running into your hair and tugging at the roots to wake yourself up from the dream. “You didn’t have to!”

“We got them anyway, and I know you like the stickers,” Eric shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, completely ignoring the fact that he said he bought you some more, your heart skipping a beat at the sentiment. Clearing your throat, you tentatively take a step closer to your bed, gathering a bar of chocolate into your hand and opening it, taking a bite.

“You can have the stickers if you give me some chocolate,” Eric says close to your ear, almost as if he was creating a masterplan, to which you eagerly nod and plop onto your bed, moving the bars of sweets into one pile. As you continue to munch on the first one, you unwrap the sticker and look at it, praying to yourself as if you were checking if your lottery ticket was worth any cent– hoping you get a sticker you don’t own yet.

The image of a cute panda would cheer anyone up even in their darkest moments– not you, though, as you mourn and sigh, disappointment clear in your features.

“What?” Eric asks, eyes big pools of worry.

“I already got that one.”

“Ah,” he nods, seemingly understanding– much to your surprise, “well, we got 9 more tries, let’s get to eating.”

Wrappers are rustling in your bed sheets as you and Eric eat the concerning amount of chocolate, gathering the stickers in a little pile on top of your notebook, promising each other to not look at the stickers as you go and just make a grand reveal at the end. Eric’s full cheeks are a sight you enjoy, telling him he looks like a squirrel– to which he sends a light flick to your forehead, telling you you don’t look much different– and soon enough, the nine bars left disappear from your plain sight (you only had 3 and Eric ate the remaining 5. He’s a growing boy, though, so you understand. He needs to get his undying energy from somewhere.).

“Ready for the reveal?” you ask, locking your gaze with Eric.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

With that, you get to the pile of stickers in the middle of your bedsheets. Looking at the first one, there’s a happy squeal cutting out of your throat, the image of an adorable yellow duck warming you up with euphoria.

“You don’t have that one yet?”

“I don’t,” you nod, “this is just perfect.”

Eric nods and watches you with a certain kind of warmth in his gaze as you open up your notebook and stick the newest addition to your little sticker farm– or a ZOO, however you wanna call it. The next sticker from the pile is added as well– a brown, big bear– and the next one too, the most adorable colorful parrot slapped to the corner of your page.

The rest of your stickers are the ones you already own, though– a displeased look takes over your features at the knowledge, but still, you can’t help but beam at the fact that you have 3 new additions to your collection, and they were a gift from Eric Sohn himself. Someone who doesn’t make fun of your childish habit. Someone who feeds your little interest, watches you with excitement in his eyes as you indulge. Someone not like your brother.

Someone you could never see the way you see your brother.

“What do you do with the duplicates?” Eric asks, pointing to the sad pile on the top of your notebook. His figure is closer to you now, since he wanted to watch you stick the animals into your notebook, his crossed legs almost pressed against yours on the small bed.

“Well, usually, I just throw them out,” you shrug, “but since you’re here…” you muse, the idea plopping into your head like the newest discovery you should probably patent, peeling the back of one of the dog stickers off and swiftly turning towards your companion, mischief sparkling in your eyes.

You put the sticker on his left cheek, making the boy jump. “Hey!”

Giggling, taking another one of the stickers and pressing it to the middle of his forehead, Eric starts to fight you, your bodies wrestling on the bed. You don’t think he puts much effort into getting you off him– that, or he’s insanely weak– and in no time, his face is adorned with all different kinds of animals, his hair messy from tussling in your bedsheets. The image has you laughing before you realize you’re basically straddling him on your bed, his big eyes gaping at you from below, his appearance enough to make something in your brain short-circuit and make you leap off him, clearing your throat.

Heat rushes into your cheeks as you take a seat next to him, playing with your fingers. You pray for anything to come and ease the awkwardness you caused, and sure enough, today must be your lucky day. “Hey, look here!”

You call for the boy as you swiftly take your polaroid camera off your bedside table– the one that belonged to your dad, the one you fought with Sunwoo about, the one your mum said was yours because Sunwoo is too careless with his things to keep it safe– and snap a picture of the puppy-like boy, laughing at the fact that now, you have the image of him looking dumb and covered in stickers forever. Or at least until he doesn't take it away from you– which he attempts quickly.

“Hey!” he yelps again, huffing as he lunges at you, trying to take the picture out of your grasp as you drop the camera into your soft sheets. Your feet take you to the living room, navigating through furniture, and when you don’t hear footsteps follow you, you think you’re safe– Eric does have a lot of energy, but chasing you around gets tiring for him quickly when he knows you'll never let him win.

Entering your room once again, prepared to find him on your bed like before, you’re taken by surprise as a shutter sound goes off right after you open the door, a polaroid picture taken of your face making you temporarily blind at the flash.

“Eric!” you whine, hating that there’s a picture of you standing shocked at your doorway now forever in the universe– not really caring that the boy just got you back with the exact stunt you pulled on him just a few minutes ago. Before you get a chance to blink out the blind spots in your vision caused by the flash and run after him, though, you feel him gently press you out of the doorway and slip outside, the sound of the front door opening and closing after him resonating along his slowly disappearing, amused laughter.

Serves you right, doesn’t it?

Sighing, you shake your head and take a seat on your bed, the picture of the boy still in between your fingertips. You only take a look at it when your vision comes back to normal, and as the image of Eric covered in stickers, hair messy and cheeks rosy below the animal print comes into your sight, the revelation arrives the same second a starstruck smile plays with your features.

And with that, you’re absolutely terrified.

Throwing the polaroid picture onto the bedside table and lunging yourself into the sheets, you scream into your pillow and wish for the feelings to disappear– because in what world does a crush on your brother’s best friend ever come to a happy ending?

OCTOBER OF 1999

Once October hits, you find yourself home alone more often than you’d like. Sure, you don’t mind having some me time to read comic books or watch the TV uninterrupted in the living room, but still– alone turns lonely pretty quickly, and somehow, you start to regret the fact that you’ve been relying on your older brother and his friends for so long instead of making some connections on your own.

Sunwoo started to play soccer at school– something is telling you that he might go far if he keeps it up– and that’s why he’s been stuck at practice every single day, coming home late in the evening all tired, but happy, so you’re not really complaining. Eric works in the little bistro downtown now, since he wanted to make some money and not rely on the allowance Mrs. Sohn gives him every month, and it’s not like you were that close to begin with, but the fact that the boy is now too busy to meet you is making your spirit fall just the tiniest bit. And with your mother always being at work, you find yourself alone in your room, laying in your bed and staring at the ceiling.

Sometimes, you journal. About anything and everything, really. You don’t really think you’re ever gonna read back the entries once you’re older, since they would just be a reminder of how miserable and boring your teenage years really were, and that’s why you allow yourself to be authentic. On most days, you write about your assignments for school. Sometimes you bad mouth a classmate or two– gossiping with the diary pages, because you don’t really have any human beings to do so in real life– and seldom, you allow yourself to get into topics that evoke the slightest bits of existential crisis in you.

Topics like college. Growing up. Your lack of hobbies and social interaction with the outer world. The newly found crush on Eric Sohn…

Okay, maybe you do write about the boy with brown hair and dark eyes a little too often. You can’t help it, though– when he’s not giving you any new interactions to dwell on, you have to just pick apart the old ones. You think it’s a natural reaction.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing one October afternoon, the lamp in your room on, since the evening comes faster when the weather is colder, as you’re laying in your bed and kicking your feet back and forth, chewing on the end of your pencil. The sound of your doorbell resonates through the house suddenly and startles you, making you jump awake from your delirious delusions.

Mentally going through the list of possible visitors you could have– because it can’t be your mother or your brother, since they never forget to carry their house keys– you’re lost, not really finding any fitting candidates. Furrowing your brows, lost in thought and frankly, a bit confused, you plant your socked feet onto the wooden floor and walk over to the front door just in time for the bell to ring again. Scratching the back of your neck in nerves, thinking of precautions you could take for your own safety– since your front door doesn’t have a peep hole and you don’t want to open the door to a complete stranger– you clear your throat and yell over the door.

“Who is it?” you ask.

“Delivery!” a voice calls through the door, making you huff.

“I didn’t order any food?” you yell back, confused. “Sir, there’s another house behind ours, sometimes the mailmen get confused and we get their mail. Maybe try there?”

“The address is right, though?” the voice calls again, and somehow, it sounds kind of familiar… no, it can’t be, you dumb goose. You’re just imagining things because you’ve spent the last 20 minutes writing about the curve of his nose into your diary.

“There must be a mistake-”

“Come on, Y/N, open the door,” the voice on the other side mourns, the mention of your name making you jump, completely startled. The tone the man says it in is sweet like honey, though, so familiar in your ears, that you mentally want to slap yourself– so you weren’t dreaming. It is him.

Dragging your hand through your hair to smooth it down, praying you look at least a little presentable– although in your stained sweatpants and the Pokémon shirt you inherited from Sunwoo when he grew out of it, you doubt that’s even possible– you open the door and try to offer Eric a warm smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Food delivery,” Eric shrugs, pointing with his thumb in the direction behind his back, where his bike undoubtedly stands up against your gate.

“Oh…. but I already told you I didn’t order anything,” you mumble, confused. Studying his face– because a girl can indulge when she has the opportunity, am I right? – you notice his hair has grown a little longer, falling into his eyes. You bet it’s hard for him to see, but you must admit it looks nice, and you almost tell him, before you catch yourself and break away from the sentiment.

The male snickers. “I know, I was just joking,” he says, “I did bring you food, though.”

“Why?” you ask, confused when he bends over and picks up a plastic bag off the ground, a container of food inside, the warmth of the contents making condensation appear all over the red sack.

“We made this by mistake and it was just gonna be thrown out if nobody took it,” he shrugs, “and I figured you haven’t eaten yet– or if you did, you just had those cold kimbap rolls from the store– and I wanted to get some warm food into your stomach.”

“Ah,” you gasp, nodding at the explanation. It does explain the source of the food really well, but truthfully, it explains nothing about the fact why Eric thought of bringing you the food instead of taking it home with himself– he’s a foodie if you’ve ever seen one. The idea of him worrying about if you were fed or not is equally as strange and interesting in your head– still, you clasp your hand around the bag and take it, the smell making you involuntarily hungry. “Thank you.”

Eric only nods at you, a smile beaming at his face. “Well,” he sighs, “I’d love to stay longer and hang out, but I’m still on the clock, so…” he mumbles, taking a hesitant step backwards towards his bike, eyes never breaking contact with yours.

“Oh, right,” you nod, “that’s okay. Have a fun day at work!” you muse, watching him as he grins and finally retrieves back his bike, opening up the gate to your property and escaping, waving at you as he gets on.

“I’ll see you soon!” he calls as he rides off, your eyes following him until his figure disappears behind a corner, your ears buzzing with excitement and your lower lip trapped between your teeth with the innocent promise.

Walking back into the house, you grin as you close the front door behind you and carry the food into the kitchen. You quickly get the containers out of the damp bag, putting them onto the wooden table, and gasp when you find a sticky note on the very top one, a messy handwriting scribbled in a rush, but stuck to the food with care.

Eat well and don’t skip meals, Y/N-ie!! – Eric x

Not being able to battle your smile anymore, you decide to open up the containers and stuff your mouth with the food instead– only to find your favorite dish inside, staring back at you in what seems to be a dream that’s too good to wake up from.

And sure, you are delusional, but are you delusional enough to believe that this wasn’t all a coincidence? You’re not so sure.

Still, you eat the food with feet kicking back and forth as you sit in the silent kitchen, the empty house no longer feeling so lonely. When you’re done, you throw the trash out– everything but the sticky note, which you glue into your diary a few minutes later, hoping to keep the memory forever.

NOVEMBER OF 1999

The world around you is dark as you step outside of cram school, your eyes are tired and your skin is prickled with goosebumps in the chilly air. You despise going to cram school, but your mother told you you have to– since you didn’t have any athletic features that could get you far in life like Sunwoo, you had to be good at studying, or else you won’t get into university. There was a lot of work ahead of you, but since you didn’t really have anything else to do in the day, you didn’t protest and went anyway.

The days are usually very long and you get off very late, resulting in you being tired almost all the time. When you get home, you undress yourself and change into your sleep clothes and doze off until the morning, when you have to wake up and go to school again– it’s an exhausting cycle, but you know you have to endure it for your own sake.

Walking down the steps that lead out the cram school building, you stretch your body and huff, cursing at yourself for the fact that you didn’t bring a jacket– you forgot that evenings get really chilly, and frankly speaking, you didn’t have much time to think when you were rushing to get ready in the morning. You’ll just have to get through it, you think to yourself as you walk in the direction of your house– the last bus to your neighborhood already left an hour ago, when you were in the middle of revising division– your sneakers kicking the stray rocks below your feet as you tug the sleeves of your hoodie lower, desperately trying to feel more heat.

“Do you never watch where you’re going? That’s gonna get you in trouble one day, you know,” you hear a familiar voice say, the joking tone making your heart skip a few beats as you place the owner of the saccharine voice to its face. Looking up, slightly alarmed at being caught in such a distressed state, you gasp.

“I was… watching my step, I guess,” you shrug as you come into a halt in front of him, shivering both under Eric’s gaze and the cold weather at once. “What are you doing here? Deliveries?”

“I just got off,” he says, “so I figured I could stop by. Sunwoo said you’re going to cram school, I thought you might enjoy some company on your way home.”

Gaping at his explanation, you nod, completely startled. The idea of your brother talking about you in front of Eric, the boy you have a very embarrassing, very big crush on scares you, to say the least. See, it doesn’t really matter that the boy grew up with you, pretty much seeing you at your lowest whenever he was around over at your house when you were both just little kids– the image of Sunwoo telling Eric about finding you sobbing at your comic book (the scene got too sad, nobody can really blame you) or about how your favorite jeans ripped right before you had to go to school one morning is terrifying. You don’t really want him to know about these things. He may act like your brother sometimes, but you never really saw him in that light in the first place.

“Well, then,” you clear your throat, “it’s… it’s good to see you,” you say. Eric shows you his boyish grin as your lips utter out the words, and you can’t help but mirror it, your eyes locking with the male. As if you just took a step back, your eyes see him in a light you’ve never seen him before– as if this was your first time meeting your brother’s best friend– and something about the sentiment has your stomach feeling all uneasy, heat rushing to your face. His hair is styled in a way that tells you that he didn’t really style it (or if he did, it looked truly effortless in your eyes, so props to him), pushed back a little and revealing his forehead, a few of the strands carelessly falling into his eyes. His jawline is sharper than how it was when you first met the boy, and with the realization of a foolish teenage girl, you have to admit that Eric Sohn grew up to be a very attractive, attentive man.

“You’re cold?” he says, although the sentence sounds more like a statement rather than a question, before he shakes his head at your antics and heaves out a sigh. “You should’ve taken a jacket with you when you went, you know it gets cold in the evening,” he scolds you. In those times, he reminds you the most of your brother– because although you and Sunwoo act like you hate each other sometimes, you know the older male still cares about you. He just hates showing it, which translates in his scolding tone whenever you do something wrong or against his wishes.

In those times, Eric reminds you the most of the way your brother treats you, and you somehow hate it. You despise the fact, because that means he must only see you as someone like his younger sister– he never had one, so maybe he just likes to compensate for it by taking care of you all the time. Maybe he feels responsible to do so because of Sunwoo. The thought makes you equally as nauseous– you’d never want him to hang out with you just because he feels like he has to.

“I didn’t have time in the morning,” you grunt, rolling your eyes at him. You avert your gaze from the male, for it makes you slightly uncomfortable after your previous thoughts, so when the noise of a zipper being pulled down and the weight of fabric on your shoulders brings you back to reality, you snap your head around at him all alarmed.

“What? Wear it,” he says, head shrugging towards the direction of his jacket on your figure. “You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t.”

Trying to wrestle out of the red material, you squirm in the hold of the windbreaker– Eric’s hands gripping each side of the jacket, as if predicting your next moves, making sure it stays on you and doesn’t fall down. His strong arms tug you closer to him to make your fight more difficult– and he’s successful with his efforts, because the proximity of him and his smell engulfs you and unarms you, heat rushing to your cheeks as you halt in your movements.

“Stop,” you mourn, “I don’t need it.”

“Yes you do,” he insists, “so stop being a baby about it and wear it.”

Staring into his eyes, as if to mentally tell him to stop what he’s doing– to stop how he’s treating you, how he’s making you all weak in your knees and sleepless at nights because of how much you think of him and hope he’s doing well each day, to stop being so gentle with you and taking care of you, because it brings all sorts of both doubts and delusions into your head– but he doesn’t back down. You’ve known him for quite some time, you should already be aware of just how stubborn he can be.

“Arms in,” he hums, holding on to the jacket and waiting for you to wear it properly. One thing about you– you can always admit your defeat. So, with a sigh, you put your arms through the sleeves of Eric’s red windbreaker, shrinking a little under his firm gaze. He looks at you with a look full of something you can’t decipher, and it’s all making you so, so insanely lost in the many thoughts and feelings swirling around your head, not helping your current state.

“I already have a brother, y’know,” you mumble in a moment of weakness, looking at your feet– your dirty white sneakers almost touching his from how close you are standing right now, “so you should stop treating me like one.”

A moment of silence overtakes you two, and you suddenly feel like you’ve done something wrong. Still, Eric’s hands are holding on to the sides of the opened jacket, keeping you close to him. “Hm?”

Clearing your throat and shaking your head, you snicker to yourself. “Forget it.”

“No- I mean,” he blurts out, tone of voice a little nervous, “do you see me as your brother figure?” he asks, tone of voice more quiet now, more gentle.

Breathing in the crispy air, taking a moment before you reply, you shake your head in disapproval. “No,” you say, “no, I don’t. I- I don’t think I do,” you say, scared of what your answer will bring out of him. You don’t really know why, but at this moment, you feel insanely fragile– as if any bad move could make you break in his hands, waiting for him to glue you back together.

Metaphorically, he does just that. “Good,” he nods, leaning down towards you, hands gripping the zipper of his jacket and zipping it together, making sure no cold can get to your bones as his fingers tug it up towards the very top, under your chin. “Because I’ve never seen you as my sister either.”

His answer once again startles you– but when you take a step back from the situation, you think it was in a good way. His hands grip your shoulders for a second as his eyes meet yours and he offers you a warm smile. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he says, tugging you towards the fence where you find his bike, his motions guiding you like a rag doll sucked out of all life.

“Hop in,” he motions towards the back of the bike, where the basket would usually be– Eric moved it towards the front, though, leaving enough room for you to sit at– and as you do, he takes a seat in front of you and looks back at you over his shoulder. “Hold on tight so you don’t fall.”

Like in a trance, your arms sneak around his middle– this was the first time you had this kind of physical touch with him, and just the thought of it makes you want to scream your throat out– before the male takes off on the bike, riding towards your neighborhood. With the cold wind slapping your face, you foolishly rest your cheek on his shoulder blade and close your eyes, enjoying the closeness of his body keeping you warm.

If anyone asked you about the action, you’d tell them you were just tired.

DECEMBER OF 1999

Socked feet make their way through the room, the sound of footsteps resonating on the laminated floor, as the short male comes up to you with a bowl of potato chips in his right hand and a bottle of soda under his left arm. Eric Sohn sighs at you, shaking his head in disbelief, before he places the items onto the coffee table and takes a seat next to you on the floor, opening up the bottle and pouring the three of you drinks.

“Can’t believe I’m spending New Year’s Eve with you losers, of all people,” Eric snickers, having you roll your eyes at the male and grumpily furrow your eyebrows at his sentence.

“No one’s stopping you if you wanna go, y’know,” you grunt as you take the filled glass off the table, taking a sip of the sweet drink and sighing at him. If he’s gonna take a leap into the new year with you while making you annoyed, he may as well leave now and do whatever his initial plan was– once again, no one’s stopping him if that’s what he wants to do.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “it would’ve been so much more fun if we all went to Juyeon hyung’s. Everyone’s there celebrating, but we’re stuck here in your room.”

“Well, Eric,” your brother smiles ironically at him, shrugging to himself, “it’s not like it’s my fault you’re not over at Juyeon hyung’s right now. You chose to spend the new years here with me. My mother prohibited me from going there, not yours.”

The argument has the male shrug, his eyes averting your brother’s gaze once his comment gets a bit too honest and realistic. It’s true and he’s right– it’s not like Eric’s mum told him he can’t go celebrate with his friends, because she didn’t. Eric’s mum trusts him and wants him to have fun and do what all the kids his age are doing. Your mum, on the other hand, is making you and Sunwoo stay home for New Year’s Eve to celebrate with your family, because, as she quoted, New Year’s Eve the only time she gets time off work, and she wants to spend it with her kids– forget the fact that you’re currently sitting locked in your room with your friend, protesting the family time just because you can– and when Sunwoo told her she has to stop treating him like a little kid, she told him she has all the right to do so, because he is her kid. And that’s how the party he was supposed to attend with Eric (the party you foolishly thought you’re gonna have to tag along to, not hating the sentiment as much as before now) got canceled from your brother’s plans.

“Well,” Eric chews on the inside of his cheek, “I did it for you two. Be grateful.”

“Whatever,” you hum, “let’s turn on the TV. I bet there’s some variety show on.”

Eric heaves out a sigh as he reaches for the TV remote, clicking the power button and making the boxy device in front of you light up. Your mum got you a TV in your room when you complained about being too bored one November day, and although the box of entertainment didn’t really help like you imagined it to, you’re glad it’s of service at least today. Instead of the expected variety show, though, there’s news on– the face of the old announcer looking at you with a serious look on his face, the professional tone making chills run down your spine, for he reminds you a bit of your mother when she scolds you. You think that’s a common news announcer trait.

“As the year 2000 approaches, computer programmers realize that computers might not interpret the 00 in the software as 2000, but 1900. The softwares currently running only use a two-digit code for the year, excluding the 19. The data was excluded because the data storage is costly and takes up too much space. Activities that were planned on a daily basis could be damaged or flawed,” the announcer says, making the three of you look at the screen with interest. Maybe it’s true that when you get older, you get more interested in news– you think it’s good to know what’s going on around you, although the topic discussed right now might not even concern you in the slightest.

“Banks, which calculate the interest rates on a daily basis, could face real problems. Interest rates are the amount of money a lender, such as a bank, charges a customer, such as an individual or business, for a loan. Instead of the rate of interest for one day, the computer could calculate a rate of interest for minus almost 100 years!”

“Oops,” Eric lets out next to you, a reaction so far away from what a real adult would think of the situation. See, you are all just kids, after all.

“Centers of technology, such as power plants, are also threatened by this issue. Power plants depend on routine computer maintenance for safety checks, such as water pressure or radiation levels. Not having the correct date could throw off these calculations and possibly put nearby residents at risk,” the announcer continues, the information coming out of his mouth suddenly making you hyper aware of the reality you’re experiencing right now.

“Do we have a nuclear power plant nearby?” you ask in a hushed whisper, watching as the men next to you almost comically widen their eyes, shrugging.

“I’m not sure,” Sunwoo peeps.

“The worst of all, this software and hardware issue could cause such a big problem in nuclear energy facilities, where nuclear bombs and missiles could be set off, causing the world to go into utter chaos, or worse, an end,” the announcer concludes, the last word making you gasp in terror.

“An end?” you chirp, sitting up straight in your seat as you look at the two men, now equally as terrified. There’s something in Sunwoo’s gaze that makes chills run down your spine, the reality crushing down on you with heavy measures.

“I knew I shouldn’t have fought with mum. What if the last words the two of us exchanged before we die are the harsh words I had said yesterday?” your brother mourns, seeing as his best friend chews on his bottom lip, lost in thought.

“What did you say to your mum?”

“That- that I’ll never forgive her for ruining this for me,” he mumbles, his voice breaking at the end, “and… other things,” he adds, the hint of incoming panic making his best friend frantically wave his hands around and try to make your brother relax before he has to deal with the breakdown. If the world is ending, this is not how any of you want to go.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Eric says, clearing his throat and pointing to the TV, “look! The show is on, we should watch before the year ends,” he proposes, taking the remote into his hand and turning the volume up to hopefully drown out Sunwoo’s thoughts and have him focus on something else. And it works– noting that your brother has an attention span of a 5 year old– he can hardly remember what he was worrying about just 30 seconds ago.

Still, the thought keeps bouncing around your head like a child in a bouncy castle. The words of the news anchor keep repeating in your brain, making your ears ring as you look at Eric from the corner of your eye, watching his angelic face. Oh how you hate disturbing the peace now that you’ve all calmed down– but still, you can’t deal with the worries alone. Checking the clock hung above the TV, noticing there’s at least 5 minutes left before midnight, you clear your throat, feeling your whole body on fire.

“Do you really think the world is gonna end?” you ask, cracking your knuckles in a nervous manner. Looking at Eric, pupils shaking, you find your brother’s best friend seemingly lost in thought. The music of the variety show program serves you three as a background sound now, none of you paying attention to the TV anymore, instead, focusing on all the things you've done wrong in your life and how somehow, this feels like karma for all of it.

“I dunno,” Sunwoo shrugs, “I mean- they said it’s possible! It was on the news, and they wouldn’t lie on the news…” he nervously mumbles, scratching the back of his head.

“That’s what’s worrying me,” you sigh, “we shouldn’t have turned on the TV.”

“It was your idea in the first place!”

“And I’ll carry the burden into my grave,” you admit, gulping as you press a forced smile onto your lips.

Momentarily looking back at the TV, you desperately want to keep the thought of the world being over out of your head before you spend your last minutes on this earth going crazy– but now that you started, you can’t keep thinking about it. “Man, the world can’t end yet. There’s so many things I haven’t tried yet! I’m too young to die!”

The men don't reply to that– you presume they’re too busy trying to find other things to occupy themselves with instead of the inevitable– which has you dissatisfied as you throw your body back into the sofa, heaving out a sigh. Seconds go by painfully slow but also painfully fast at the same time, given the circumstances, as you listen to the cheerful song playing in the background and nudge your friend into his upper arm with your pointer finger, feeling his arm encircle your shoulders and pull you closer to him. The contact of his fingers on your upper arm makes you squirm and break out into a smile, feeling a particular lightness in your stomach at the action, a sensation that has you in shock.

“I’m gonna talk with mum before we die,” Sunwoo suddenly calls as he stands up from his seat on the floor, sighing to himself, “I can’t go with the thought of her being upset with me,” he sentimentally adds before he’s out of the door, rushing towards the living room.

The space falls into momentary silence now that your brother is gone, having you chew on your bottom lip with nerves. You think now is the time to beg for forgiveness with the higher forces– I'm sorry for not studying well. I'm sorry for being rude and ungrateful towards my mum. I'm sorry for being greedy– when the sound of Eric’s voice resonates through the place as he speaks up again, waking you up from the anxious slumber, the clock now striking 2 minutes before midnight. “What would you wanna do before you die?” he asks.

The question is simple. You presume he wants simple answers– things like getting into college, getting a good job and making a lot of money, growing old– but as you lean away from him and get back to your place on his left, your eyes locked with his, you’re left clueless. There are so many things you have yet to achieve, and the idea of not being able to pushes a burden to your chest, but at this very moment, you can’t really name one.

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek as your eyes scan his face. His firm eye contact has you a bit flustered, making you shrivel in your seat, and as the sound of the TV morphs from the song into a countdown from 55, you’re overwhelmed with the thought that your friend is insanely pretty– and he always has been, you just hated admitting it to yourself for the past few months, despite still being fully aware– and that now, when the world ends, you’re dying unkissed and alone.

Well, not completely alone, since Eric’s here. And he’s always been here– your whole life, since you can remember, and he’s here now as well, even though he should’ve been at Juyeon’s house. As the clock strikes 30 seconds away from midnight, your eyes involuntarily travel down to his chapped lips, all air knocked out of your lungs, the thoughts in your brain picking up on speed the closer you come to the end.

You’re dying soon. You’re dying in 30- now 29 seconds, and you’ve never kissed anyone before. You’re dying before you get a chance to hold hands with someone and have a partner, and you’re dying before you get a chance to tell Eric how you feel about him. There’s 28 seconds left until the end and you’re just staring at him like a coward, because you don’t really let yourself indulge in the silly warmth of your heart whenever you’re around your friend, but god, you can at least admit it to yourself before you die.

And as the clock gets closer and closer to midnight, now only giving you 20 seconds before it all ends and a missile lands on the top of your house, blowing up the whole town and making you all disappear, Eric’s question repeats itself in your brain. What would you want to do before you die?

The answer is suddenly painfully clear as you take action– leaning towards the boy on your right, face closer to his than it’s ever been before, your eyes counting all his eyelashes and focusing on his surprised, yet unmoving face– and as you hear the countdown reach 15, you close your eyes and press your lips against his.

The contact makes you weak in your knees as your hands reach to his face to steady him, your own firework show erupting in your stomach, and suddenly you’re completely content with dying tonight– because at least you’re with Eric, at least you did something. You kiss your friend with something close to an unsaid confession, your lips staying on his throughout the rest of the countdown, the taste of soda you’ve both been drinking the whole evening mixing in the contact of your skin. You’re not sure you’re even doing this right– again, you’ve never kissed anyone before– but it doesn’t matter to you much as you let go of your worries, aware of the fact that in a few seconds, nothing will matter anymore when neither of you are going to be around to say anything to each other after the kiss is over.

The countdown rings in your ears– coming down from 5 as you scoot yourself closer to Eric, 4 as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheekbones, 3 as you still in your movements, 2 as you notice your knees bumping into each other on the ground and finally, 1 as you get ready to die, kissing your first and only love– when the sound of cheers and fireworks from the TV fills your ears instead, the world around you stilling and completely unchanged.

Your kiss started in 1999 and ended in 2000. Your love for him passed a century.

Eyes fluttering open and your mouth letting go of his, the image of the boy with his lips slightly parted, eyes closed and cheeks rosy comes to you in the yellow light of your room, making your heart fall down to your stomach. He looks absolutely angelic, his hair slightly messy and the fabric of his shirt a little disheveled in the front, and even though you’d love to indulge in your foolish desires and kiss him some more, you’re quickly taken aback with the noise of the door to your room opening and making you jump away from Eric, your brother appearing out of thin air in the presence of your room. It serves you like a weird kind of reality check, Eric’s eyes opening and looking at your brother, and even though you two haven’t been caught, the male clears his throat and bites down on his lower lip, looking almost guilty.

Oh no. What have you done?

Suddenly, you feel insanely silly.

JANUARY OF 2000

“You’ve been awfully quiet the whole day,” Sunwoo mumbles from beside you, his whole body engulfed in a pile of snow, “not that I care, but are you okay?”

“I thought you liked it when I don’t talk,” you mutter, playing with the frozen white all around you, seated on the red plastic sled at the top of the hill. You got tired after dragging it up from the bottom, and when you noticed that the rest of Sunwoo’s friends– Eric included– are still on their way up, you figured you could use up the time to relax and sit around for a while. It’s been quite some time since all of Sunwoo’s friends gathered to hang out at the same time, which made you surprised to see that your own brother invited you to tag along with them as they decided to go sledding on the second day of January, using up their break to best of their abilities. Which is also why you didn’t say no to the invitation– you thought sitting at home and moping around wouldn’t help you much.

“I do,” he says, nodding, “that’s why I’m asking what’s up– so I know what to do when I need to shut you up later,” Sunwoo hums, making you roll your eyes at the masked worry.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you scoff. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “so you’re just going through puberty?” he teases, to which you take a handful of snow into your palm and lunge the white at him, satisfaction running through your veins when the snowball lands into his unsuspecting face, the male coughing and swatting his arms around to defend himself.

“Hey!” your brother screams at you once he gets the ice out of his eyes and his mouth, his body jumping into a standing position before he chases you around, the bubble of a laugh escaping your throat for the first time these days– they’re not wrong when they say malicious joy is the best kind of joy.

Running at the top of the hill, not really looking where you’re going– instead looking over your shoulder to see Sunwoo’s actions, preparing yourself to duck if he decides to turn your small quarrel into a snow fight– your legs get tangled with the red sled you left before you started a war with the angered man, a yelp cutting out of your throat as you get prepared to fall over and knock your teeth out.

Your body comes in contact with something half-firm, half-soft, and as your feet slip and the snow-covered ground disappears from below your legs, two arms wrap around your waist and steady you, making sure you don’t get hurt.

Turns out Eric Sohn is there to catch you every time you are about to eat shit. You hate this kind of deja vu.

As you open your eyes (that you had closed on instinct, not wanting to see your own death) once you’re sure you’re safe and sound, the world around you invites itself into your ears in an overwhelming noise. The laughter of Sunwoo’s friends– some hollering at your fall, some at the redness and last remains of snow covering your brother’s face– and the hushed arguments over who’s going down first– with Haknyeon screaming that he’s stealing Sunwoo’s (yours) sled and Juyeon following him. After all those happening in the matter of a few seconds, you realize you’re left on the top of the hill alone with the male, terror shaking through your insides.

Clearing your throat and taking a step back from him, you tuck your hands into your pockets and avert your gaze from Eric. You two haven’t spoken since you decided to kiss him on New Year’s Eve, and with the awkward tension in the air, you don’t feel like doing so ever again in your whole entire life.

“Thanks,” still, you hum.

Eric seems a little more light-hearted than you, shrugging as he replies to you. “Haven’t I told you to start watching where you’re going?”

“I’m not good with listening sometimes,” you mutter, huffing. Taking a look around yourself– noticing that there are no sleds left on the top of the hill, therefore, if you wanted to escape the situation, the only way down would be to roll around like a human version of a snowman, you once again admit your defeat, standing around nervously and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

The silence is uncomfortable. It makes you want to dig a hole in the snow and bury yourself alive, to suffocate under the weight of the icy cold and never see Eric’s face again. You know that you ruined whatever friendship you had with the male– by being stupid and foolish, not really thinking about consequences (because there were supposed to be none and you were supposed to be dead), and the weight of the guilt makes you want to puke and hide away.

Still, Eric comes out of his way to talk to you. Honestly, you’re kind of surprised– he should be disgusted with you. Realistically, he should be the one avoiding you, not the other way around.“They’re gonna take long to walk back up,” he notes, “wanna get hot chocolate with me?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with the overwhelming white of the hill.

“Come on,” he sighs, “it’s just around the corner. They built a hot chocolate stand because they knew kids would come sledding here. Honestly, it’s an astute business tactic, but I promise the hot chocolate actually tastes nice,” he says, nudging you slightly with his arm, as if to make you look at him and change your mind.

“Thanks, but no,” you definitely say, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asks, tone of voice casual– as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if nothing ever happened and he was genuinely curious about the reasoning behind your actions.

“I’m not, I just don’t really like hot chocolate,” you sheepishly mutter, trying hard to avoid the topic.

“So you are avoiding me,” he hums, as if it wasn’t obvious before– and not only because you’re a bad liar. Plus, you love hot chocolate. Somehow, you think Eric knows.

“Look, Eric,” you sigh, running your hand through your hair, “can’t you just drop it?”

“No,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “and that’s why we’re talking about the reason why you’re avoiding me over a cup of hot chocolate. Let’s go.”

His persistence is terribly overwhelming sometimes. You wonder how the male does it. “I already told you-”

“You owe me for the stickers and the meal and everything,” he corners you, and you know you can’t argue with that. He’s kind of right, you suppose– you never paid him back for all the chocolates or for the free meal he brought you that one evening. And that’s exactly why you find yourself sighing as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself for the talk.

You hate how he can always get his way. Walking up to the stand, you crack your knuckles in the pocket of your jacket, nervously coming up with possible arguments to tell him. I didn’t kiss you on purpose, it was an accident. I only did it to know how it feels. We are both supposed to be dead, it’s not my fault the world didn’t end like it was supposed to! Each sentence sounds more stupid than the previous one, and so with that, you shake your head, wiping the thoughts away, smiling at the elderly lady in the stand. You’re just gonna have to be honest, you figure.

“Two hot chocolates, please.”

Rummaging through your pockets to find your wallet– you do owe Eric, so it’s only natural for you to pay– you’re caught off guard as the male next to you swiftly takes out his own and unzips it, preparing to pay for you.

“I thought I owed you?” you mumble, hand reaching to tug at his forearm to stop him, to which Eric only grins at you and sighs.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to pay,” he says.

“I think that’s exactly what that means.”

“Just take it,” he huffs as he brings out a note from his wallet, the force making something else fly out and fall to the ground with it, having the boy swiftly crouch down and pick the item up, attempting to hide it before you get a chance to see. And now, you don’t have 20/20 vision, but you recognise your face when you see it– that, and you also recognize the small white sheet to be a polaroid picture, and as far as you’re aware, you’re the only one who has a camera in his circle.

The boy hands you the drink with red-tinted cheeks. The idea of him carrying a picture of you that he took back in September makes you flush as well, and when your gloved fingers accidentally meet as you take the cup from him, he forces out a laugh. “We can talk about that after you tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

His nonchalance has you relaxing only for a few seconds. The boy walks with you as you try to heat up your cold hands on the boiling surface of the cup, and when you see a bench a few meters away from you two, you instinctively take a seat.

“So?” he becomes you, eyebrows rising as he takes a sip from the melted sweetness.

Sighing, you try to come up with the best way to go around this. Do you apologize? Do you promise to never do it again– and you won’t, even though you want to so badly and his lips look surprisingly soft today? Furrowing your brows at the war in your head, you place the cup on the bench next to you and put your head into your hands, hiding away from him when you realize the only way to do this is to be completely, utterly honest.

“I’m just so embarrassed, Eric.”

The only noise meeting your eardrums in the moment is the faint yelling of the crowd sledding in the background, your companion remaining quiet for a bit. When he sees you won’t explain yourself, he goes ahead and asks the question. “Why?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” you sigh, not believing his so casual composure.

“Maybe,” he laughs, the airy sound taking all breath away from your lungs.

Well, not all of it, since you have enough oxygen to go on a tangent, it seems. “Because I kissed you, goddamnit. And- and I don’t even know why I did it, honestly, I’ve never thought of kissing you before! It’s just- when I heard the world is ending, I realized I hadn’t had my first kiss yet, and that just felt like such a miserable way to die, and then you asked what I wanted to do before I die and I couldn’t think of anything else,” you say, progressively taking out your head from your hands and facing the male, big eyes staring into his soul.

To your surprise, he doesn’t seem mad. Or disgusted. Or any of the reactions you expected, really. Eric stares at you with a soft, but amidst a little star-struck look in his eyes, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of every slight shift in his composure.

“Did you kiss me because you wanted to kiss me, or because you thought the world was gonna end?” he asks, awaiting your answer.

And if you’re being honest, 2 days after New Year’s Eve, you do admit the thought of the world actually ending sounds a bit stupid. Why did you even believe that theory? Why did they talk about it so seriously on the news? They tricked you into ruining your own life.

But still, nothing can be done about it now. “Both,” you admit, shrugging, “I… I kissed you because I really didn’t want to die unkissed, but also… I wanted it to be you, y’know? Like… I thought we were really going to die, and so I thought kissing you might be a nice way to go. I really wanted to spend my last moments with you, I guess,” you sheepishly say, averting your gaze from the male.

Eric offers you his silence again after you’re done explaining. While you do admit you feel a little tense to hear what he has to say, you also realize you feel lighter now that it’s out in the universe and out of your system. A major weight was taken off your shoulders with the confession, and suddenly, you’re kind of glad that your friend was so assertive and insistent on talking about this– who knows how long you’d go before managing to face him. You think you could honestly go on… forever.

Taking a sip of the luscious liquid, you feel your body warm up once the anxiousness slips away from your bones. The boy next to you hums, making you face him with expecting eyes. “Then why were you avoiding me?”

Sighing, you shake your head. “I just told you. I’m starting to think you’re the one that’s bad at listening.”

“No,” he laughs, “that’s still you. Because if you were good at listening, you’d remember me telling you that I’ve never once seen you as my younger sister.”

Shrugging, kicking the pile of snow in front of you with the tip of your winter boots, you’re not quite following. “So?”

“So you should’ve realized that I’m not doing all of this,” he theatrically swings his arms around, “for nothing, you know?”

“All of what?”

“Taking care of you. Feeding you, helping you collect those stupid animal stickers, walking you home…” he mumbles, sighing. “Keeping your picture in my wallet,” he adds with a playful tone, making you smile.

“I thought you were just being a good friend,” you shrug.

“I don’t keep a picture of your brother on me at all times,” he says, tugging off his gloves. The sleeve of his jacket rides up a little as you watch him take his cup of hot chocolate off the bench, surprised (and flooded with warmth) to see the ugly friendship bracelet you made still adorning his wrist.

Grinning to yourself, excitement welcoming itself into the tips of your fingertips, you shrug. “So?” you mirror your own question from a little while ago, wanting him to say it to you instead of relying on your own brain– you think there’s still a possibility of you just being too delusional to see the reality for what it really is. You need to make sure you’re not imagining things.

“So,” he starts, sighing to himself as he turns a little in his seat to face you, “you should stop avoiding me, because I liked the kiss. And you. And we should probably do it again, because I didn’t get the chance to kiss you back the first time,” he says, once again taking all oxygen out of your lungs with the casualty of his preposition.

Locking his eyes with you, having you two staring at each other like two rays of sunshine warming up the cold January, he grins. “How does that sound?”

“Good,” you breathe out, “very good.”

The male takes it as an invitation as he scoots himself closer to you on the bench, his body turning a bit to face you. His free hand cups your cheek, leaning closer to lock his lips with you like he asked you to, your eyes fluttering close at the proximity, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach already expecting to kiss him again. The situation feels a little too idyllic to be real, though– you should’ve expected it to get ruined again.

Something cold and wet comes into contact with the side of your face, and when you sharply open your eyes, you see Eric staring at you with shock and terror in his eyes, the snow dripping down the side of his face as well. Whoever threw the snowball has good aim, you think– managing to target two people at once (even though your faces were that close to each other that it probably wasn’t even that hard), and before you get a chance to look around and see who cut off your kiss, there’s a scream coming from the left side of the two of you, the sound of feet quickly darting in the snow landing into your ears.

“Eric Sohn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?” the voice hollers, and before you get a chance to react, the said male fastly stands up from the bench and runs to the other direction, laughter resonating all throughout the place as Sunwoo and his friends chase their shortest friend down.

Snow starts falling as you watch your brother tail his childhood friend, and with a foreign sense of warmth, you get reminded of the birthday wish you made while blowing out the candles on your seventh birthday.

You wished for someone just like Eric. You didn’t know the universe would be so kind to give you him instead.

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