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moonstruck-poet · 8 months

Text

The Confrontation

Pairing - Kaz Brekker x reader!

Summary - three times where the Crows find you two in suspicious situations leading them to conspire and the fourth time when they learn the truth.

Warnings - Assault, Harrassment

1. Nina

"You ready?" Nina Zenik questioned, quickly giving the surroundings a scan before pinning her eyes on you. "The minute Kaz joins us, you have to leave".

You exhaled and nodded, trying your best not to wince at the obnoxiously tight corset and trying to breathe properly. "Was this the only available option?"

"Thr most suitable option," she corrected and smirked after looking at you.

"Stop checking me out when I'm literally struggling to breathe, Zenik. Remind me why is it not you instead of me? Saints know you're better at this," you grumbled and shivered as the cold hair brushed against your off shoulder gown.

"Because unfortunately I'm the Heartrender here, aren't I?" She grinned and you glared, understanding that this was quite amusing. "Ah! There's your ticket," she nodded towards Kaz who was stumbling his way towards you, slightly out of breath.

"Here it goes," you sighed, smoothing your outfit. Somehow this simply seemed a much difficult job that gutting someone in the right place. Using a knife was just easier.

Kaz, now much closer gave you a nod, his eyes glinting as he gripped his cane tightly and you understood. You merely smiled softly before shooting Nina a wink and entered the club, your eyes immediately narrowing down on the target.

Your brain was replaying all of the tricks that your dear friend had so graciously shown. You weren't dumb of course, you knew the basics but she had a degree in flirting.

And so you braced yourself and appeared in front of the man, trying to hide a cringe when his gaze instantly swept over your physique shamelessly. A small flame of anger burned internally and you would be sure to use your favorite dagger very soon.

Meanwhile Kaz and Nina were sneakily observing from the window while also keeping an eye on the environment.

"She seems to be getting the required information," Nina exclaimed but her smile soon fell upon seeing the scene. "Oh Saints no," she whispered and Kaz, who had his back to the window whipped around.

His dark, dangerous stare found you with ease and his body tensed at your uncomfortable face that you were trying so desperately to hide.

He saw the way that man pulled you closer with every passing second until you were pressed flat against him, his foul breath staining your bare shoulders as your body shook with contained fury.

His fingers skimmed your skin while his lips brushed against your cheek and all Kaz wanted to do in that moment was to stride inside and take you out of his grasp.

But he was still talking, his lips moved and so did yours. You were still trying to wrangle every little piece of information you could possibly get while also trying to keep yourself safe.

"Kaz," Nina said urgently upon seeing the malicious smile on the stranger's face. "That's enough she needs to come out".

"I can't do anything," he said bitterly. "It'll just give out our position and put everybody in danger and I cannot have that," he finished, hating every part of himself.

"I like you, sweetheart," your target whispered, his face inches away. His breath fanning you, reeking of alcohol. "I wish to see you again. Please?" He asked, his voice manipulative and he dragged his lips from your shoulder to your neck.

"Of course," you murmured back, your tone deadly which he didn't seem to notice. "You'll see me soon. Very soon indeed".

"Perfect," he grinned against your cheek before kissing the skin and you stepped back with a smile, not breaking eye contact until you exited the door.

And immediately your flirty facade shattered and your were consumed by a dark energy as you rounded the corner, your pace increasing with every step.

"Oh Saints," Nina said as soon as you reached the meeting spot. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," you teased, a wicked smile but Kaz wasn't fooled, not at all.

He looked at you, trying to pick up every noticeable change and he sae many. The twitch of your eyebrow, the small frown appearing on your lips which was quickly replaced with a grin and the slight shudder of your shoulders.

He didn't think of anything at all as he removed his coat. "Here," he offered, his dark brown eyes burning into yours.

"It's okay, Kaz, I'm alright-"

"-Take it," he said firmly and when you didn't move, he put it over your shoulders and you almost sighed at the warmth. His touch was so gentle, so secure, a constrast to the emotions plaguing you moments before. "Are you okay?" He asked again.

"I want to go home," was all you could reply as you looked longingly at him, hoping that your eyes were enough to convey all of your feelings. "Please".

Kaz nodded, looking down as pain struck his chest. He could handle numerous difficult situations, but when it concerned you, he was always vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," he said lowly, his voice barely heard as he scanned your face, having an intense urge to place his palm on your cheek but the mere thought made him flinch. However he remained rooted to the spot, not backing away because he knew that you needed him at the present, and he wasn't leaving you.

Someone cleared her throat and that was what made him pull away.

"Extremely sorry but we have to move," she said softly and he nodded, his jaw clenching as he gave you one last, tender look before walking away.

The two of you followed and you clutched the coat around you tightly, a small smile threatening to break out on your face as you replayed the interaction with your dearest.

Meanwhile the Grisha was observing her friends quite eagerly, her eyes switching from one to the other. She had her suspicions from the minute she saw Kaz's panic-stricken face, and then the said person lending his coat confirmed it.

She saw his face contorting in sadness upon seeing your highly uneasy figure back at the club, saw the way his fingers fidgeted constantly because he felt helpless. In conclusion, she saw him lose control.

Kaz Brekker never lost control.

She should feel guilty for using her abilities on her boss, but how could she not? When a particular heart was thudding unbelievably as soon as his eyes fell onto someone else's. The beating had only seemed to intensify when he had put his coat around your shoulders.

The trip to the Crow Club was spent in silence. Everyone's mind being occupied by very different thoughts.

"There you are!" Jesper's cheery voice snapped them from their daydream. He slowly jogged over to you, excitement evident on his features. "Want to play a round of cards?"

All you gave him was a small, forced smile. He just looked so happy and you didn't want to be that person, "Let's go then".

"You don't have to," Kaz suddenly spoke making everyone stare in surprise.

"It's fine," you replied but he still gave you that look. The one where his eyes were just a tiny bit wide, eyebrows slightly raised to wordlessly ask if you were sure.

You nodded offering him a twitch of your lips before joining Jesper, Wylan and Inej at the table, helping yourself to some bread.

Nina had of course watched this soundless interaction quite seriously, and now she had some very interesting points that would definitely be shared with the other Crows; minus you two obviously.

"Now this seems fun," she said to herself, smirking at the way Dirtyhands had his eyes glued to you the entire time.

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2. Wylan & Matthias

Having a lazy day at the barrel was something that happened once in a blue moon, because Mr Brekker made sure to always keep everyone on their toes. Today was one of those rarest days that the Crows actually had no job and so naturally they were lazing around in the club.

Jesper and Nina were gossiping, holding a small muffin in their hands as they whispered amongst themselves, probably sharing the headlines of all that had happened in the Barrel.

"You're sure? Our Kaz? Kaz Brekker losing control like that?" Jesper asked, double checking to make sure they were talking about the same person.

"Yes Jesper!" Nina sighed. "His heartbeat seemed to skyrocket the minute his eyes fell on her. I wss actually worried that he might have a cardiac arrest or something.

"Djel help me," Matthias muttered. "She's too good for him to ever say yes".

"Oh come on," Nina insisted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They're made for each other!"

"I don't know about that but they do make quite a pair," Inej added, her face screwed up in concentration.

"There's definitely something going on," Wylan whispered, putting on his scheming face as he analysed his thoughts.

Meanwhile Nina was now feeding another round of conversation to her gossip partner who was enjoying it very much indeed.

"No way he went over to the Dime Lions!" Jesper exclaimed mid-bite, his mouth opening as he registered the statement.

"He did indeed Jes," you walked down the stairs interrupting their conversation. "Rumour had it that he was paid handsomely as well".

"Of course he was," the gunslinger snorted before shaking his head.

"Where were you?" Nina asked, her eyebrow raised in question and all four heads turned to hear your answer.

"Kaz's office," you said and sat down on one of the couch, not noticing the small smirks painted on everybody's faces.

"What's he doing in there anyway?" Inej asked, having sharpened her knives and taking yours making you shoot her a highly grateful look.

But before you could reply, the said person called from from above, "Love! Have you seen that Kerch document that I had shown you? Where did you keep it?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence followed his statement as the Crows glanced at each other, their expressions the epitome of flabbergasted.

"Check in your bottom right drawer!" You shouted unaware, standing right below the floor so your voice could be heard better. "I've kept it along with other related files".

The minute you went back to your previous seat, you felt eyes staring at every inch of your face making you suddenly look up. "What the hell?" You asked, being startled at seeing every gaze pinned towards you.

"Did he just-" Jesper began but Wylan elbowed him harshly.

"Nothing," he answered sweetly, ignoring the sharp glare thrown his way. "How about we go visit the marketplace? You said you'd show me some firing powders".

"Yeah let's go," you nodded, putting your gun in the holster and donning a black leather jacket over your shirt. "Anybody need anything? I'm not going to get you fruit loops, Jesper," you narrowed your eyes before the boy could even utter a word.

"But you told me that-"

"But you also happened to have eaten three packets yesterday. So no. Absolutely not".

Inej and Nina snickered at the banter which was surely an everyday occurence. Jesper always being the hopeless little kid and you unintentionally acting like his older sister.

The said boy was looking at you with wide eyes and a small pout and you groaned in exasperation. "Fine! I'll get you some stop looking at me like that!"

"I love you so much," he grinned and shot a wink your way.

"Whom do you love?" Kaz Brekker asked, walking down the stairs and towards him with a raised eyebrow. Everybody fell silent at his impeccable timing to arive during the most unwelcoming moments.

"Her of course!" Nina butted in, pointing towards you before Jesper could reply and Matthiss noticed the way the Demjin's face contorted and tightened.

Kaz shot the Zemeni a small glare, not knowing himself that he was actually doing it before turning to look at you and all of the other crows saw the way his gaze softened considerably.

"Should we leave then?" Wylan broke the silence and tugged at your sleeve and your attention snapped to him.

"Yes yes let's leave," you followed him, almost at the door when Kaz called your name and you halted. "What's wrong? You need anything?" You questioned softly as he walked closer.

"You forgot this," he merely said and handed you a necklace that you had forgotten on his desk. It was only Wylan who actually saw the pendant and his mouth hung open.

You took it from his hands, fingers gently brushing against his gloved ones and he instantly felt a small amount of warmth seep into his very soul.

You lit a spark with only your touch.

You ignited him.

"Thank you," you smiled and quickly clasped it around your neck, tucking it inside your shirt so it would be hidden from privy eyes. "See you later, yeah?"

He nodded, hands tightening on his cane as he watched you leave. He never got round to telling you that he had wanted to spend this day with you and you only. But unfortunately you had plans and so he remained silent. Not wanting to be a hindrance.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had spent some quality time with you. Being too busy finding new deals and searching for missions that he couldn't properly acknowledge the best thing in his life.

When did he last take you out somewhere except for sneaking around to gather valuable information? You loved having hot chocolate late at night, when had he ever bought it for you despite knowing that the drink was your favorite?

You deserved so much better, his mind kept telling him. He couldn't even bring himself to give you the comforting touches that he knew you longed for. You never said a word but he saw it in your eyes. Whenever a plan had gone too complicated and particularly difficult, all you needed was a good embrace. But he could only ever bring himself to hold your hand. Nothing more.

And he hated himself for it. Despised every inch of his self because of his inability to provide for you. It killed him inside.

You were lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. And he was twisted, crooked, wrong but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for you.

He was so lost in his thoughts that his sharp instincts failed to notice the stares that were currently burning holes in his face. "What?" He snapped and was on his way back to his bedroom when they stopped him.

"Goodness Kaz you actually look sad," Nina concluded, fighting the smirk that was quick to spread on her face.

"I have no reason to be upset," he rolled his eyes and started climbing the stairs slowly, his leg throbbing with slight pain.

"Wylan's right," Matthias said lowly. "The demjin is infatuated".

Wylan on the other hand was busy geeking over the chemicals that were presented in front of him. "How did I never know about this!" He said in delight and you chucklef at the way his eyes lighted up. "These are so much cheaper too".

"Get whatever you want," you squeezed his shoulder and he nearly jumped in excitement. "I'll just quickly go and get something from that shop, yeah?"

He nodded and you crossed the street to enter the clothing shop, smiling to yourself upon seeing beautiful coats lining the walls.

"Can I see some black shirts and vests, please?" You requested the man who nodded and placed numerous boxes on the table. "I'll take these three," you smiled, selecting two dark grey shirts and a gorgeous black vest that you knew would suit your man well.

"Oh hey! Didn't see you coming in".

Wylan simply laughed and examined the clothes that were being folded neatly and transferred in a bag. "For you?"

"Oh no," you shook your head and paid the kruge, it was a little expensive but it's fine. You could give him a gift every now and then. "It's for Kaz".

His eyes widened in surprise just a tiny bit and his lips stretched wide as the two of you exited the store. But then he suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you towards an artefacts shop.

"How would this look on Jesper?" He said and pointed at a hat which was exactly what the gunslinger preferred.

"Absolutely perfect".

"Hey take a look at this," he directed your attention towards a few bracelets kept neatly in a box, making sure to keep his trained on you to pick up on every little change.

Your hand instinctively flew towards a handmade one woven with black thread. It was quite simple but had an intricate design. You loved it immediately and wasted no time in purchasing the little present.

"Let's go?" You asked, almost forgetting for a moment that you weren't alone. While the boy had his arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face as he followed your lead. Having an intense conversation with himself in his head.

It was almost night when you entered the Slat again and two of the Crows were lounging in the basement itself with the exception of Inej and Nina.

"I'll be back in a few," you whispered to Matthias who nodded and you climbed up thr stairs, eagerly wanting to give Kaz the gifts you had brought.

He waited until the sound of a door closing was heard before looking at Wylan who had a cheeky grin on his face.

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3. Inej & Jesper

"Look at his hand!" Matthias whispered under his breath and nudged Wylan whose eyes shot towards Kaz Brekker. And indeed, a black bracelet was clasped onto his left wrist. Not that noticeable but nowadays nothing could ever escape their sharp stare.

"I've never ever seen him wear anything synonymous to jewellery," Matthias muttered and passed the message to Nina who perked up with a bright grin, as though struck by an inspiration.

"Watch me," was all she said and the the two boys glanced ahead in apprehension as she neared your location and bumped into you quite harshly.

"Saints!" A small shout escaped your lips as you were thrown backwards onto Kaz who was right behind you.

"Goodness I'm so sorry," Nina immediately apologised, not being sorry in the least as she rather scanned the couple's reaction.

Your back was pressed against Kaz's chest while his gloved hand, the one wearing a bracelet was wrapped securely around your waist, holding you against him. You placed your palm on top of his in reassurance, and your heart started taking up its pace.

"You okay?" He murmured in your ear and helped you stand up straight as you nodded; and he shot a deathly glare towards the heartrender, who gave a grin and sashayed her way back to the boys.

"I'm fine, thank you for that," you whispered before returning to the documents that were scattered on the table.

"You saw that?" She joined the duo with an excited expression, her hands flapping in front of her. "He didn't even flinch at her touch! It was almost like-"

"Like he's used to it!" Wylan completed her sentence and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Usually he'll push the person off for even invading his personal space, much less someone actually falling on him," Matthias added and she agreed.

"Ghezen this is going much better than I expected. Fifty kruge that they're already together since the past few months".

"Oh yeah?" Jesper interrupted the conversation with the biggest smirk on his face as he sat down, joined by Inej who was shaking her head with a smile. "Hundred kruge says that they've been married already".

"You do know that you're horrible at betting, don't you?" Matthias asked, raising an eyebrow at the large sum.

"But I think Jes is right on this one," Inej supported him making the said person's grin widen if that was even possible.

"What's making you so sure?" Wylan asked, quite suspiciously.

"Let me ah- tell you a little something I saw," his brown eyes glinted as he recounted the miracle that he and Inej had seen.

Jesper was walking on his usual route that led him back to the Crow Club with the Wraith beside him. They had both finished their parts of the job and had met on their way home.

"You got some intel?" He asked, his eyes scanning the various treats that were covering the shelves of stalls.

"Nothing," she answered with a sigh. "It is the same. He comes in everyday sharp at 7 in the morning and leaves exactly at 5. There has been no change at all".

"I think I'm going insane," he suddenly whispered and stopped dead in his tracks making Inej tense up immediately as she looked around for any threat.

"What's wrong?"

"That- That's Kaz isn't it?" He questioned, unable to believe the words that were on their way through his mouth. "In a- a goddamn flower shop?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed lightly but her she too froze upon seeing a familiar figure standing merely a few metres away. "Saints that is Kaz!"

"Let's go," he nudged her and she hesitated, not really wanting to pry but curiosity certainly gets the better of everyone. They walked closer silently, hiding behind another store which gave them the perfect view.

And there he was, the bastard of the barrel holding a beautiful, red rose in his bare fingers. Yes, he did not have his gloves on. Something that was noticed by the two.

They saw as he paid the small amount of money and began trodding down the road, his cane held tightly in one hand and the rose was held in the other that was hidden behind his back.

"Breadcrumbs," Jesper smirked at her and she let out a laugh as the two followed their leader, becoming increasingly suspicious. They didn't have to wait for long as the person that they had expected arrived soon enough making the two Crows grin.

"Nina was right after all," Inej muttered as she watched you waving at Kaz to gain his attention and the spying people stepped closer, wanting to hear the conversation that would surely grant them something.

"Hey," they heard you whisper, sounding slightly breathless.

"Hi," Kaz replied and took a tiny step closer so that his shoes were touching yours making you bite your lip. "This is for you," he added and presented the rose, his eyes hungrily scanning yours for every little change that he itched to see.

And you rewarded him with the grin that he oh so loved. When your mouth fell open slightly in surprise before morphing slowly into a gorgeous and breathtaking smile.

"For me?" You asked despite yourself, gently taking the flower from his hand and twirling it in your fingers. "Are you sure?"

A small frown marked his face, "Of course I am. Why do you ask such a thing?"

"Is it not for someone else? Maybe a pretty girl that you're thinking of wooing to help you get whatever information that you need," you teased, your lips pressed together.

"Darling," was all he said. His voice low, deep as he stared intently into your eyes, tilting his head to look even deeper. "There is no one like you," he finished and let a small smile form on his hardened face.

Jesper who had been listening with every ounce of concentration had to slap his palm over his mouth to prevent a squeal from escaping his feeble clutches. It was only for Inej roughly smacking his arm and dragging him away that he managed to not give away their position.

"Hence proved," he concluded his story with his arms extended to the present crowd who were utterly and completely shocked.

"No way that actually happened," Matthias grumbled, muttering to himself while Nina looked like she'd just received all of the available waffles for free.

"I'm a genius," she laughed heartily and chugged down a shot of whiskey in celebration of her matchmaking skills.

"I'm so going to win that bet, Zenik".

"Don't count your pigeons before they're killed, Fahey. We can't be so sure that they're actually married".

"We have to ask them!" Wylan urged, sitting up straight and looking at them for their opinions.

"We will," Nina nodded firmly while the rest appeared unconvinced. "Tomorrow".

"Let's hope that we're not murdered in our beds later that night then," Jesper sighed but he too couldn't contain his excitement.

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4. The Confrontation

"Kaz," Nina said in delight as soon as the man climbed down the last step.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day when you're actually looking happy to see me," he retorted making her roll her eyes.

"We need to talk," Jesper elaborated making him raise an eyebrow as he took in all of his Crows minus you and Inej sitting with their arms crossed and heads held high.

"Does it concern me?"

"Of course it does that's why we're asking!"

"Saints give me the strength," he muttered under his breath before looking at the lot. "Go on then I don't have all day".

That's when Inej entered the scene, dragging you along with her and making you stand next to Kaz. "What's going on?" You questioned, heavily confused and looking around for an answer.

"We need to ask you something," Wylan answered your request.

"I gathered just as much".

"Are you going to ask or not?" Kaz growled in annoyance, his patience running thin.

"We just wanted to know-"

"I've been wanting to ask-"

"We had a feeling that-"

They all began together but not one could complete their sentence until Jesper was the one to blurt it out.

"You're married?"

Kaz and you stood still, dumbstruck before visibly relaxing and you chuckled, "That was quicker than I expected".

"I don't think four years is quick, love," Kaz responded, his lips stretching just the slightest making the crowd explode.

"FOUR YEARS?!"

"YOU TWO ARE ACTUALLY MARRIED!"

"WHEN DID YOU EVEN START DATING?!"

"HOW ON EARTH DID YOU EVEN MANAGE TO PULL HER OUT OF ALL THE PEOPLE??"

"Ask him about it," was all you said and sat down on a chair with a very obvious smile adorning your pleased face. Everybody fell silent at once and you knew you had said the right thing. Nobody sensible would ever dare to question Kaz.

Jesper glanced nervously at him, "Can I atleast see your ring? Just to you know, have some confirmation?"

You laughed and pulled the necklace out from under your shirt, revealing a thin but elegant silver band encrusted with a small diamond at its center.

"K- Kaz?" Wylan asked, or rather pleaded.

To their surprise, he took off the glove of his right hand to reveal a similar ring resting beautifully against his pale fingers.

"Saints I win!" Jesper said in disbelief and stood up straight, slowly turning his head to look at Nina. "GIVE ME MY KRUGE!" And all watched as the girl slowly backed away, probably hatching an escape plan and ran swiftly with him hot on her heels.

"That was something huh?" You grinned and looked at your husband, slowly leaning over to intertwine your fingers with his.

"Quite," he huffed lightly but couldn't stay annoyed for long and alas, he too smiled. Not a particularly big one, rather a small, gentle twitch of his lips. One that was only ever displayed for you.

His eyes held the entire universe as he admired you from the side, looking at you as if you had hung those few stars that formed his constellation.

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Taglist :-

@phoenix666stuff

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #Kaz Brekker x wife!reader #kaz brekker x oc #kaz brekker fanfiction #six of crows #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #nina zenik #kaz x reader #husband! kaz brekker #kaz brekker ff #shadow and bone #crooked kingdom

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storiesfromgaza · 11 months

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It is very important to read this and share it

Today the Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor Observatory stated that Israel dropped over 25,000 tons of explosives on the Gaza Strip as part of its ongoing extensive war since October 7th, equivalent to two nuclear bombs.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory, based in Geneva, highlighted the Israeli army's acknowledgment of targeting more than 12,000 objectives in the Gaza Strip, setting a record in the number of bombs dropped, surpassing 10 kilograms of explosives per person.

With the advancements in bomb quantity and effectiveness, while maintaining a consistent amount of explosives, the quantity dropped on Gaza could be equivalent to twice the power of a nuclear bomb.

Additionally, Israel deliberately employs a mixture known as "RDX" (Research Department Explosive) commonly referred to as "the science of complete explosives," with a power equal to 1.34 times that of TNT.

This means that the destructive power of the explosives dropped on Gaza exceeds what was dropped on Hiroshima, taking into account that the city of Hiroshima covers an area of 900 square kilometers, while Gaza's area is no more than 360 square kilometers.

Furthermore, Israel has been documented using internationally banned weapons in its attacks on the Gaza Strip, particularly cluster and white phosphorus bombs. White phosphorus is a highly toxic incendiary substance that rapidly reacts with oxygen, causing severe second and third-degree burns. The Euro-Mediterranean team has documented cases of injuries among the victims of Israeli attacks that resemble the effects of dangerous cluster bombs, as they contain small high-explosive submunitions designed to penetrate the body and cause internal explosions, resulting in severe burns that melt the victims' skin and sometimes lead to death. These submunitions also cause peculiar swelling and toxin exposure in the body, including transparent shrapnel that does not appear in X-ray images.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has emphasized that Israel's destructive, indiscriminate, and disproportionate attacks constitute a clear violation of the laws of war and the rules of international humanitarian law, which stipulate the obligation to protect civilians in all circumstances and under any conditions. Killing civilians is considered a war crime in both international and non-international armed conflicts and can rise to the level of a crime against humanity.

The 1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions, along with the 1949 Geneva Convention in its latest formulation, established fundamental human rights during wartime to limit the deadly health consequences of internationally banned weapons, some of which could lead to the "genocide" of civilians.

Article 25 of the Hague Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land prohibits "attacking or bombarding towns, villages, dwellings, or buildings which are not defended."

Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention states that "any destruction by the occupying power of real or personal property belonging individually or collectively to private persons, or to the State, or to other public authorities, or to social or cooperative organizations, is prohibited, except where such destruction is rendered absolutely necessary by military operations."

According to Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, the destruction of property that is not justified by military necessity and on a large scale is considered a serious violation that requires prosecution. Such practices are also classified as war crimes under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has called for the formation of an independent international investigative committee to assess the magnitude of explosives and internationally banned weapons used and continue to be used by Israel against civilians in the Gaza Strip.

This committee would hold accountable those responsible, including those who issued orders, made plans, executed actions, and took measures aimed at achieving justice for Palestinian victims.

#gaza #palestine #غزة #فلسطين #humanitarian crisis #genocide #gaza strip #free gaza #free palestine #storiesfromgaza

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chocosvt · 2 months

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HER | part four.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight.

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy.

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me… if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like… did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow—with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you. I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!”

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay. So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks.

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July, he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

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Brother's Best Friend - Part 7

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Yay we're finally back with our favorite BBF! This chapter was inspired by a photo of Glen at an amusement park that's been floating around recently. If anyone could convince me to step foot into a haunted house, it would be Jake.

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Haunted house attraction with mild (fake) gore, swearing, SLOW BURN YOU'VE BEEN WARNED DON'T COME FOR ME XD

WC: 3000+

“I don’t do haunted houses,” you say when Jake makes the suggestion for the fourth time that afternoon.

He and Bradley have just returned from the river log ride completely soaked and stupidly giddy. Jake raises his eyebrows at you. “You’ll go on the tallest roller coaster in the park but you’re afraid of a couple of zombie clowns?”

You cringe. “What the fuck are zombie clowns?”

Jake shrugs. “Whatever they are. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re really selling it,” you respond dryly. “But I think I’ll stick to the funnel cake.” You nod toward the stand a few yards away.

“You already skipped out on the log ride,” Bradley complains.

You eye his still-dripping shorts with a grimace. “It’s barely 60 degrees,” you say, tugging up on the zipper of your hoodie for emphasis.

Jake plants himself across from you at the bistro table and leans into it to get your attention. “You don’t actually want to sit here by yourself for another hour, do you?”

You shrug, glancing around. “I don’t mind, actually,” you say, your gaze drifting with the crowd as you pick out the best looking males. “I got asked out twice while you two were gone.”

Jake makes a disgruntled sort of face like he’s getting impatient. “Who asked you out?” he says with a hint of distaste as though he already disapproves. He glances around at the crowd of passersby suspiciously.

“Well, they’re gone now.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and looks back at you. “Come on, you’re not a wimp, Bradshaw.”

You shake your head. “That’s not going to work.”

“Let’s just go, Jake,” Bradley says. “We can’t force her.”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s being approached by random men. We can’t just leave her here.”

Bradley snorts. “Why not?”

Jake appears uncomfortable, but only for a moment. He shifts his weight in the chair and turns back to you. “I distinctly remember all three of us at Castle Frankenstein like ten years ago.”

“Mm-hm,” you reply. “And, since then, I don’t do haunted houses.”

Jake grimaces. “Why not?”

You give him a flat look. “You don’t remember?”

Jake furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“Oh yeah!” Bradley exclaims. “Good times.”

You stare at your brother crossly and then roll your eyes.

Jake glances between the two of you inquisitively. “All I remember is getting hot dogs right after,” he says.

You sigh. “You two assholes told me it wouldn’t be scary and then, after luring me in, you took off laughing! You left me behind to do the whole thing by myself.”

Bradley is chuckling smugly, but Jake looks mildly horrified. “Wow, we were shitheads,” he says with a cringe.

“Dude, we’re still shitheads,” Bradley points out.

Jake looks up at his friend with a wince and then rubs his forehead guiltily. “Y/N,” he says. “I promise you that, if you come, we’re not gonna ditch you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bradley says with a playful grin.

Jake gives him a stern look before glancing back at you. “I promise I won’t ditch you.”

You watch him skeptically, your arms folded over your chest.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks.

You purse your lips, trying not to be swayed by the slight squint of Jake’s eyes when he gives you a hopeful smile. You can’t help but daydream for a moment. You picture yourself being chased by zombie clowns with Jake by your side, holding your hand. And, if they’d get too close, maybe he would knock them out to keep you safe.

“Come on, sugar,” Jake says, interrupting your thoughts. He starts rising from him seat and holds out a hand for you. “We can use Bradley as a shield.”

You snort while Bradley shakes his head with a chuckle. “You can try,” he replies, starting for the haunted house.

You let out a sigh and take Jake’s hand, letting him drag you out of your chair. “I’m already regretting this decision,” you mutter.

Jake laughs. “This is gonna be fun!”

…

You gulp nervously as you step into the darkness. The moment the doors close behind you, your hand reaches out for one of the guys, making sure you're not alone. Somebody gives you a pat on the arm, silently reassuring as you advance. Suddenly, a loud bang to your right makes you jump, and you hear Jake's snicker right before he moves behind to lay a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Wicked,” you hear Bradley say as he travels slightly ahead of you. You follow your brother with Jake close behind, probably much closer than he would be in broad daylight, especially with Bradley just a few steps away.

“Remember,” Jake mutters from behind. “If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.”

You whimper. “Who won’t chase me?”

In the sparse, flashing lights, you see your brother take off down the hallway, setting off several animatronics as he goes. You slow your pace and Jake, who is still sopping wet, walks right into you. The sudden chill of his saturated clothes takes you by surprise and you yelp, springing away from him.

Jake leaps after you to grab your arm when you nearly trip over the cadaver that falls out of the wall and right into your path. “Having fun?” he asks facetiously as he helps you regain your balance, and you can sense the grin on his face without even seeing it.

“I hate you for making me do this,” you hiss.

Jake wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “You’re doin’ great, sweet cheeks.”

You wince at the cold seeping through your shirt and wriggle out of his grasp. “Seresin, you’re all wet!”

“Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.

Just then, a large gust of air hits you from the side and you scream, flinging yourself right back into Jake’s arms. Jake pulls you in immediately and spins you away, blocking the air current with his back. But your relief is short-lived because, out of nowhere, two clowns with melting faces come barreling toward you with their arms outstretched.

You scream and, despite the sudden weakness in your limbs, start sprinting down the dimly lit corridor, completely forgetting Jake's instructions.

Jake catches up to you quickly and when the clowns all but overtake you, he curls his arm around your waist and practically lifts you off the ground as he runs.

When you finally round the bend and lose the clowns, Jake slows down and releases you, letting you catch your breath as he places his hands on his hips and takes a look around. “That was awesome,” he says with a huge smile.

You’re still gasping for air when you look up at him with a scowl. “You’re a lunatic if you enjoyed that.”

He claps you on the back. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’re almost half-way through.”

“We’re not even half-way done?” you whine.

Jake chuckles. “Admit it, you’re having a blast,” he says.

You whimper quietly when he motions for you to follow him down another dark hallway. “I am never letting you talk me into this nonsense again,” you grumble, staying close behind him just in case another zombie clown pops out of the shadows.

But what you do not anticipate is the vibrating floor that makes you jerk backward, nor the fog that suddenly floods the corridor, nor the alarming screams that attack from all directions, making it impossible to communicate. You feel the floorboards shift underneath your feet and you hold out your arms to stabilize yourself. You stagger backward into a wall, and it rotates behind you, further disorienting you.

“Jake?” you cry, realizing that you’ve lost him in all the commotion. But your voice is drowned out by the continuous screaming still reverberating all around you.

In the flashes of light, you can see dozens of hands rattling a chain-link fence that looks like it won’t hold for very much longer. You try to push your way back through the wall – the way you came in – but it doesn't budge, meaning you’re stuck in this room until you find another way out.

“Jake!” you yell again, terror rooting you to the spot. The fence to your right finally rips open and gangly arms start stretching out toward you, making you jolt backward. You shriek, moving along the wall slowly because you’re too afraid to fall into another trap.

You reach the end of the chamber, which opens up to a tunnel, and whimper tragically. Going in will surely mean that you will have to complete the haunted maze without Jake, but the tunnel is probably the only way out of this room.

You only have a second to deliberate however, because at that moment, the fence behind you comes crashing down and a horde of zombies escapes. In the shadows, it looks like there might be more than half a dozen of them stumbling in your direction, tripping over one another to get to you.

If you don’t run, they won’t chase you. If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.

But the zombies are still coming, their hideous shrieks even more off-putting than their decaying faces.

You lunge into the tunnel and sprint faster and faster even as the passageway dips and winds and darkens. At a certain point, you are forced to stop running because it gets too dark to find your way without holding your hands out to feel the curve of the walls.

And then you hear his voice.

“Y/N!”

“Oh my god! Jake!” you screech.

“Y/N?” he yells back.

You start pushing on the solid wall before you because it sounds like he’s right on the other side. “Jake, where are you?” You can hear the zombies gaining on you further up the tunnel and you sob, “Jake, please get me out of here.”

Suddenly, a door creaks open to your right and you start, cowering from the blinking red light that filters into the pitch black passage. But then you see Jake’s broad-shouldered silhouette enter through the opening and, in your relief, you throw yourself right into him, burying your face into his chest as his arms close around your back. His grip tightens as you clutch onto the front of his soaked shirt, and you can feel his mouth over the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he mutters into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

But before you can sink into the feeling of having Jake Seresin’s strong arms supporting your trembling frame, you hear the sound of footsteps as the zombies come hurtling through the tunnel. Without a word, Jake pulls you sideways, tucking you and himself behind the open door. He brings a finger to his lips when he sees that you’re about to cry out, and you hold your breath, watching the flashing lights illuminate the exhilaration in his eyes.

You close your own eyes as the zombies near, deciding that no amount of attention from Jake is worth participating in this traumatizing experience. And you promise yourself that you will never be swayed by his stupid, irresistible smile again.

That’s when you feel his body brush up against yours. You open your eyes to see his face hovering over your own, watching you intently as the zombies race by your hiding spot. His mouth curls into a smirk when it becomes apparent that his plan has worked as expected. You try your best to concentrate on the direct threat of flesh-eating zombies and not on his leg that’s pressed into your thigh, or his hand that you suddenly notice is gripping your hip, but it isn’t easy prioritizing escape when his eyes are dancing with delight only about three inches from your face.

You want him to kiss you. You want him to kiss you so badly. Right here in the darkness, concealed behind a heavy, wooden door, surrounded by a dense mist and a musty smell, with the added ambience of distant screams in the background. But, of course, you aren’t going to voice this desire. Because that would be more terrifying than getting eaten alive by a bunch of zombie clowns. So, instead, you say, “Get me the fuck out of here, Seresin.”

Jake nods, stepping away from you slowly, almost reluctantly. He holds his arm out to direct you out of the tunnel through the splintered door. He leads you past the holographic apparitions that float eerily along the walls, through the hall of warped mirrors that make your eyes hurt and your head spin, and over the various trap doors in the final stretch of your journey.

But he stops when you get to a dark, narrow split between two concrete walls. “This is the exit,” he says with a grimace. “Sorry,” he adds.

You shake your head. “I’m not going in there.”

“There’s no other way out.”

You stare at him in horror. “I’m claustrophobic.”

Jake drags a hand over his face. “That’s not good,” he says.

You feel yourself start to panic so you lash out by slapping him on the shoulder. “How could you not know that?”

Jake shrugs. “I forgot, I guess.”

Your breathing accelerates as your heart pounds painfully against your ribcage. “I hate your guts, Seresin,” you mutter. “You’re going to pay for this.”

In response, Jake gives you a very broad, very happy smile, as though you didn’t just tell him that you despise him.

“What?” you say heatedly.

Jake continues grinning. “You’re mad.”

“Yeah, I’m mad! Why are you so happy about it?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.”

You glare at him. “You should fear my wrath.”

He bites his lip, watching you affectionately. “It’s definitely the scariest part of this whole place.”

“I’m angry!” you yell, although you feel a fit of laughter start to bubble up in your chest.

Jake tries to keep a straight face. “Okay, but, could you be angry in there?” He nods at the chasm leading toward the exit, his eyes scanning the area behind you. “Because the zombies are coming.”

He ushers you into the fissure between the walls, keeping his hand on your back as you make your way forward. The only thing that makes up for this stressful conclusion to an already harrowing adventure is that his fingers seem to slip further down your back the farther you walk, trailing past the waistline of your jeans and stopping in the vicinity of your back pocket.

“See?” he says cheerily as the gap between the walls begins to narrow. “It’s not that bad.”

You try to concentrate on the light touch of his fingers as he hooks a couple of them into the back pocket of your jeans rather than the cracking walls rising up on either side of your body that seem to be closing in on you the deeper you go.

“Just so you know, there’s going to be a vibrating floor tile somewhere up ahead,” Jake says quietly, very close to your ear. “It’s coming up.”

You look over your shoulder sharply. “No,” you respond curtly, as if you could will this particular contraption away.

Jake squeezes himself in between your chest and the wall, his fingers regrettably slipping out of your pocket. The space is so tight that, no matter how much you press you backs into the walls, your bodies are still touching. “You can do this,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You frown at him, annoyed and love-sick all at once. Why did he insist on you coming? Why did he bring you along knowing he’d have to babysit you the entire time? Unless he doesn’t mind being with you. Perhaps it’s what he was hoping for.

Jake’s eyes skim worriedly over your face. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You draw in a wavering breath, content to let him fret for another several seconds over your wellbeing. Finally, you respond, “If we survive this hellhole, I’m going to murder you.”

Jake chuckles, placing his hands on your shoulders. “If we survive this hellhole, I’m getting you two funnel cakes.”

You let out a resolute sigh and nod. “Make it three. I want one of each flavor.”

Jake grins. “You got it.”

You bring your hands up to push at his chest, squirming in the compact space against his shirt. “How are you still wet?” you say irritably. “We’ve been in here for hours.”

Jake makes a face. “It’s been like six minutes, actually.”

You groan. “And this is why I don’t do haunted houses.”

…

Finally – finally – you step out into the cool, breezy sunshine with Jake on your heels. Bradley waves at the two of you from across the walkway, coming over to greet you.

“Took you a while,” Bradley remarks.

You grimace at him. “It’s only been like six minutes,” you retort sourly.

Jake looks like he might be trying to suppress a laugh.

“As if you took off again,” you reprimand your brother.

Bradley shrugs. “The trick is to race through these things and not stop to smell the rotting flesh.”

You shudder. “I need to sit down; my legs feel like jelly.”

“Log ride?” Bradley says to Jake. “While this one recuperates?” He nods toward you with a grin.

Jake pinches at his still soaking shirt and then wrinkles his nose. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he says. “Promised your sister I’d get her funnel cake.”

“Three,” you remind him.

Jake graces you with an amused smirk. “I would love to see you try to get through three whole funnel cakes.”

As Bradley takes off in the direction of the log ride, you glance at Jake apprehensively. “You could go with him,” you say, cursing yourself for even suggesting it because all you want is to spend some time alone with Jake – not inside of a nuthouse.

Jake gives you a quick smile before starting for the funnel cake stand. “Don’t want to,” he responds.

You fall into step with him, wondering why he’d rather hang around you than his best friend. As he’s ordering the funnel cakes, you decide that you’re reading too much into things and he’s probably just hoping to dry off before going on the next ride, and that his decision to skip the log ride has nothing to do with you at all.

But then, as the two of you watch the mesmerizing creation of the world’s most delicious pastry through the glass window of the kitchen, Jake says this: “Heard you broke up with what’s-his-name.”

Your grip on the tray in your hands tightens but your eyes remain on the rapidly frying dough. It was a casual question, and Jake isn’t even looking at you, but his repeated interest in your dating life continues to give you hope where there probably isn’t any. He’s just making conversation. You shrug. “He was an asshole,” you say nonchalantly.

“Told you he would be,” Jake responds with an equally casual tone.

You bite your bottom lip aggressively, tired of the ambiguity behind his words. “That’s fine,” you retort. “I’ve got options.”

That’s when Jake turns to look at you with a troubled pair of eyes.

“Your words,” you remind him. “So, I took your advice.”

He narrows his eyes. “What advice would that be?”

“I told you someone asked out,” you say, setting the first of your funnel cakes down onto your tray.

“You said yes?” he gapes at you. “To a stranger?”

You watch him pensively for a moment. “You know, I think we’re going to need another tray,” you say, deciding to keep him in suspense for another minute.

Call it payback or something.

Read Part 8

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this installment of torturous pining. Don't forget to send in your ideas for these two in my ask box!

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athforskz · 21 days

Text

Third Times the Charm - Lee Minho

Masterlist

type: strangers to lovers, college au, slow burn

pairing: tutor!Minho x afab!reader

wc: ~4.7k + 4 text ss

warnings: unbalanced power dynamic, themes of coercion, strong language, mention of failing academia, use of pet names, crying, dacryphilia, light touching, suggestive, reader is kinda tsundere, Minho is lowkey down bad for reader. MDNI.

a/n: there might be a part 2 for this one.

Enjoy lovelies!

“Alright, attempt number three. Here goes nothing,” you sighed heavily while taking your seat in the overcrowded lecture hall. This was your fourth semester in University and out of those four semesters, three of them were spent in your personal hell hole: organic chemistry. The first time you took this class, you had failed it, plain and simple. The second time you took it, your grade was passing, but barely. Definitely not enough to be accredited for the degree you wanted. Thus, you were back in the damned class once again to at least get a grade that wouldn’t tank your GPA. If you didn’t, then you could kiss that shiny degree goodbye.

The class was mainly filled by first or second semester students. They still looked young and ambitious. There were only a few students that were from your semester, and those that looked older were more than likely teaching assistants. While observing your peers, the professor waltzed in; the loud slam of her bag echoed throughout the lecture hall, effectively quieting the students.

“Okay everyone, time to settle down!” The professor’s voice was loud, authoritative even as she surveyed her new brood of students with sharp eyes. Yes, you’ve taken this class twice before, but never have you seen her teach it. Maybe she was new to the university? Most of the class was filled with going over housekeeping topics, such as the syllabus, laboratory requirements, and expectations for the upcoming semester. You tuned most of it out with having been through this same song and dance numerous times before for all classes. You huffed with your chin resting in the palm of your hand as you doodled mindlessly in your notebook, maybe decorating it would motivate you to study more.

You looked at the time on your phone and saw that it was about 10 minutes before the end of the lecture. You started packing your notebook and pen away just as your professor exclaimed something that caught your attention, “And please don’t forget to use your teaching assistants to your advantage. They are here to help you! Seek them out when you have questions or need someone to study with. I’m sure the TA’s will have no issue in aiding you on your journey through this course. Matter of fact, they will come up to introduce themselves to everyone!”

The few teaching assistants or ‘TA’s’ as your professor dubbed them seemed to look a little frazzled, well all except for one. He didn’t look like he was paying attention at all. One by one each assistant introduced themselves to the class. A couple of them were nervous, rightfully so, it takes a lot of guts to speak in front of a mini auditorium full of students. “Good morning, all! My name is Yeji; I am a graduate student here at the University. Chemistry is my passion, and I will be more than happy to help anyone that needs it. Please, let’s all have a good semester and finish strong!” The woman seemed so happy. You made a mental note to approach the bubbly one that deemed herself, Yeji, so you could make a study group with her. She spoke about the subject with ease and had such a warm confident aura about her. Yeah, she’d definitely be the key you needed to ace the course this time.

The last guy to go was the one that looked less than thrilled to be here, he stalked up to the podium before letting out a loud sigh. “I’m Minho, please hesitat- er.. don’t hesitate to reach out with any problems you may have.” He smirked at the end of his very brief introduction, if you could even call it that.

Was that supposed to be funny?

Even with that horrible introduction you couldn’t deny the man was attractive. Eventually, the end of the class came, and you quickly picked up your bag before the rush of other dismissing students carelessly kicked your things aside. You made your way down to the front of the lecture hall to hopefully introduce yourself to Yeji. It’d be better to formulate a study schedule with her now rather than later. You tried to push through the crowd that didn’t seem to be moving only to find out that the remaining crowd was packed around the TA you needed to speak with. It seemed as if you weren’t the only one that was drawn to her vibrant personality. You had a bit before you needed to get to your next class, so you decided to wait for the crowd to filter out.

Another 15 minutes pass and you can finally get the attention of your desired TA. “Hey! Yeji, right?” She nodded with a bright smile, “my name is Y/n, it’s nice to meet you! When do you think we could meet up for regular steady sessions? I’m free most days after 5pm.” You were being sweet and straight to the point, not wanting to waste time. Her face fell, “Oh, I’m so sorry. All of my sessions have filled up so quickly and I’m not able to offer one-on-ones with my schedule. Maybe one of the other assistants can help you.” She was still so polite, even when letting you down gently. You shook your head with a forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “It’s okay! I’m sure I can find help with another. Thank you though.” Yeji offered a half bow before making her way out of the classroom. The other two teaching assistants were long gone by now and they probably didn’t have room nor time to individually help you either. “Fuck… now what am I gonna do?” You whined while smacking your forehead.

“I can help you.”

You whipped your head around to the mysterious voice coming from behind you. It was the last TA that introduced himself. You’d already forgotten his name, and that he was even an option for that matter. “No that’s okay. I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything,” you tried to convince him. He took a few steps closer, even the way he walked was nonchalant, then he looked at you up and down slowly with his eyes as if analyzing you. His gaze was making you feel hot, but you couldn’t let him know that his stare was causing something to stir within you. “Seriously, it’s not an inconvenience. To be honest, I probably have the most free time out of all the others.”

Gee, wonder why that is? Maybe because you don’t take things seriously.

“So..?” He further inquired, waiting for your final answer. You raised a brow as if actually debating. “How about we just exchange numbers, and you can reach out if you change your mind,” he pulled his phone out from his hoodie pocket then handed it to you. “Isn’t it more formal to exchange university emails?” You asked while taking the phone from his hand to enter your number. He shrugged with the ghost of a smile on his face, “possibly, but looks like you don’t mind.”

A snort left your nose after you sent a quick text to your phone so his number could be saved in the contact list. After returning his phone you waved him off without another word. Even if he was your type physically, you didn’t really see yourself ever messaging him for help. You only allowed the exchange to happen to avoid coming off as rude. Plus, you didn’t have any other excuse to blow off his gesture.

Another couple of days pass with nothing too eventful happening. The normal hullabaloo at the start of a new schedule not really affecting you anymore since it was the fourth go-round. However, today was the day the chem course had its laboratory portion. The labs weren’t as big as the lecture hall, the entire class was divided into three smaller groups. Along with doing experiments instead of taking notes, the professor was not in charge of the labs, the assistants were.

You had hoped Yeji would be the assistant for your particular lab. Upon strolling into the laboratory, your eyes were blessed with the sight of the vibrant woman. She waved at you with a smile before going to help another student. You watched her with bright eyes while lost in thought:

This will make things so much more bearable! Maybe I’ll even have the chance to ask her a few questions abou- Oh no… you can’t be serious.

Your lips turned down when you caught sight of his handsome features. The other TA that seemed to not take things seriously. He hadn’t seen you yet as he was busy drawing a rather odd face on the chalkboard. Once he finished his little doodle he labeled it ‘jerumi’ prior to nodding his head in satisfaction as if he were proud of his work.

You sighed with an eye roll before heading to your assigned workstation. You familiarize yourself with the equipment and introduce yourself to your lab partner. As you’re exchanging contact info for future project collaborations, you felt a presence looming over your shoulder. A yelp left your mouth, startled, as the man standing behind you looked down at the device in your hands. It was him, of course it was. You placed your phone down on the workbench to avoid your shaky hands from dropping it.

“Do you mind?” You took a step forward to put some distance between your bodies (even though you liked the brief closeness). “Just making sure you aren’t getting off topic. By the way, you haven’t asked me for help yet. We should probably talk about schedules, ya know?”

What in the world is he talking about?

The expression on your face let him know that you had no idea what he was referring to, “remember I’m supposed to be helping you study? I’ve been waiting on you to text me.” That’s right! You made it seem like you accepted his offer in him giving you study sessions. “Right, right! Totally forgot, so sorry about that. The start of a new semester just has me a little frazzled,” you recovered quickly and even punctuated the situation with a fake laugh. You were hoping by not reaching out he would get the hint and leave you be. Obviously, that wasn’t the case and now there’s no hope in just avoiding him since he’s one of the lab assistants. “How about we talk about this later? I’ll definitely remember to shoot ya a message,” you lied. You wouldn’t remember, or rather you flat out wouldn’t do it even if you did remember.

All he did was raise a brow. You chewed the inside of your cheeks, hoping he’d buy the suggestion. The man retrieved his own phone from a pants pocket and did something on the device. Soon your own cell vibrated where it was set. The ever inquisitive (and nosey) man peered at the lit screen, “you don’t even have my number saved.” You quickly snatched your phone and shoved it in your back pocket. “Uh I- I was just trying to think of a good way to save your contact!” you fibbed sheepishly. “Just save it as my name, simple.” He shrugged like his name was the best thing to ever grace a person’s ears which means you should remember, right?

“Riiiight…” you swallowed thickly, praying to whatever higher power that he didn’t ask if yo-

“You don’t remember my name, do you?”

Fuck!

“Of course I remember!” You said a little louder than you intended, now classmates were looking your way, even Yeji peaked over to make sure everything was fine. Your hands covered your cheeks trying to cool yourself down from embarrassment. “Then what’s my name? Go on, say it.” He had a smirk on his lips and a devilish glint in his eye.

Was he teasing? And why does he look so damn good like that?

You kept your mouth shut and avoided his gaze. Moments of silence passed before you heard him scoff, “Figures you don’t remember. It’s Minho. But my friends call me Lee Know if that’s easier for you.” He spoke so fast that you didn’t quite catch what he said. “Lionel?” You repeated.

“No, Lee Know,” he said slower this time. If you weren’t still reeling from the prior embarrassment, you’d think this ‘Lee Know’ is making fun of you. You simply nodded your head to acknowledge you got his name memorized… you think.

Thoroughly satisfied with having checked on you, he went to the next pair of students to annoy help them. You breathed a sigh of relief that he finally left, and you carried on with your lab partner for the remainder of the period.

About a month has passed and the semester is in full swing. Everything had been going great in all classes, even chemistry. You hadn’t needed much help as it was just the basics and because you flat out refused to ask Lee Know for help anyway. You’ve even successfully avoided all of his attempts so far to talk to you after class or in lab. Part of it was because he was actually helping other students (when he wasn’t acting standoffish, nonchalant, or sarcastic). The other part had just been pure luck, or bad luck since you couldn’t stare at his cute face.

However, you didn’t catch how he was aware of your avoidance. Minho could tell in your body language that you rather not associate with him, but he couldn’t figure out why. Why were you so stubborn in accepting his help? Had he done or said something wrong? Couldn’t be that; he’s barely had a real conversation with you. Or maybe you picked up on how he looks at you or how his eyes go soft once he hears your voice. Minho’s heart rate would even increase whenever he got near you, albeit he hasn’t come close to you often, but that’s not the point. He was utterly infatuated at first sight and had to get close to you in some way and those study sessions were his best bet.

You had just made it back to your dorm when a ding echoed from your pocket. The already slumping bag fell off your shoulder and you kicked your shoes off without a care. Thankfully, you didn’t need to worry about being super organized because you got a dorm all to yourself this year. Your hand reached in to pull out your phone to see who had messaged you. Probably just a friend asking if you wanted to grab food later, but no, it wasn’t a friend. It was Minho.

A sigh fell from your lips as you read yet another message from the man. Damn was he persistent. He would occasionally send a message to see if you needed help, but you would always ignore it. You had never messaged him except for the one simple ‘hi’ when exchanging numbers.

Seriously, what’s it going to take for him to catch a hint?

Maybe, just maybe if you respond to him this time and say you don’t need a tutor then he’ll leave you be. The more direct approach oughtta do it.

Well, that’s definitely not what you were expecting. Now you had a so called ‘study date’ with him Friday evening.

Was he being flirty or just overly friendly?

You could think of a million other things to do rather than spend your Friday night studying the subject that’s the bane of your existence with your way too persistent TA. Then again, maybe being locked in a room with him wasn’t a bad idea.

The end of the week came faster than expected, which was both a blessing and a curse. Yes, you were ready to be free from school for the weekend, but before that you had to make it through this study session with Minho.

It shouldn’t take long. I’ll just go in there and show him I know what I’m doing, then boom! Home free. What could possibly go wrong?

You made your way to the underground study rooms that were agreed upon as the meetup point. There was only one room marked as reserved, the rest of them open on account of it being Friday and other students having more fun things to do with the weekend at hand. You took a deep breath before pushing open the door. There sat Minho, his soft hair pushed back out of his face as he organized a few things on the wide tabletop. His focus making him effortlessly attractive. You looked up at the whiteboard on the wall to see a slew of organic chemistry reactions that seemed unfinished. Is this what he wanted you to do today?

Minho looked up from his spot and greeted you with a toothy grin, “Y/n, you actually came!”

Why was he so happy? Did he take his position as teaching assistant seriously for once? He’s so much cuter when he smiles.

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it for the world..” you trailed off with sarcasm in your tone. You sat opposite him at the table, slinging your backpack onto the ground and taking out your notes. Minho got up from his seat and made his way around to you. You didn’t pay attention to him at first as you were focused on finding a certain section in your notes. Right as you found the page you needed, Minho slammed his hand on the notebook and closed it. “Hey! Why’d you do that?!”

“You said you already knew everything that would be on the exam. So, you shouldn’t need this right?” He waved the journal just above your reach then tossed it to the other side of the table. “Show me what you can do. Finish and balance the reactions on the board,” he nodded towards the dry erase board at the front of the room with a smug look. Great, now his teasing is carrying over from those messages the other night. On top of that, his devious looks aren’t helping to quell the erratic thump in your chest. You stood to your feet while shooting him a glare and stomped over to the board then picked up a purple marker. The marker thumped against your palm as you were looking at the problem on the board trying to figure out the answer.

After a few minutes of thinking you hastily scribbled out your answer. Once finished you turned around with a confident ‘hmph’ as if to challenge him to tell you that you were- “Wrong,” he blurted out while standing from his spot at the edge of the table. Your jaw dropped. “No its not! That’s one of the easiest reactions to do in chemistry. There’s no way I got it wrong.” You protested as he walked over and plucked the marker right from your fingers. You continued to berate him as he ‘corrected’ your answer.

“You’re right ab-“ he started.

“Yeah, I know I’m right and you just messed it up!” You interrupted but he let you finish before he pushed his face dangerously close to yours. You’d have backed up if the table wasn’t already pressed into your lower back.

Minho’s voice was low when he spoke, “As I was saying, you’re right about it being an easy reaction to solve, but you still balanced it wrong. We’ve got some work to do if you can’t even figure this one out y/nnie.” He gently patted your cheek then made his way back to flip through your notebook. To say your head was spinning was an understatement. You weren’t even sure what emotions you were feeling right now. Anger? Embarrassment? Confusion? And maybe turned on?

No, there’s no way he just spoke to me like that! He’s acting all condescending. And what was that tone for anyway? Plus the nickname?? He’s just trying to rile me up..

You shook your head of any other thoughts and emotions before he caught a glimpse of your flustered state. You were now hellbent on proving this man wrong, that you did in fact know how to do easy reaction equations.

“Do you always space out with a scowl on your face?” You hadn’t even noticed he was staring at you when he asked the question. “Only when the mood calls for it,” you answered plainly.

“The mood?” Now his brow was raised. “Yeah, like when someone tells me I’m wrong when I’m not.”

He sighed with a shake of his head, “You aren’t going to learn anything if you’re just going to back talk me the entire time.”

“Well I wouldn’t back talk if you’d explain your reasoning on why my answer was incorrect. Oh, that’s right, you can’t because my answer wasn’t wrong in the first place!” Now you were the one being condescending.

Minho’s eyes narrowed at you. “Maybe if you would shut up and listen, I can tell you what’s wrong so you can actually pass the class for once.”

Ouch, that struck a nerve.

Your demeanor instantly weakened as he stood there and read you to filth. Minho could tell he went too far, and his eyes softened as your gaze averted to a blank corner of the room. “Look I’m really just trying to help you,” he pleaded.

“Then help me, Lee Know.” You sniffled with the faintest of watery eyes. Were you crying? Goodness, Minho sure hopes so. He has a thing when someone cries for him. Minho thinks you look so pretty on the verge of tears, it made him wonder what else you’d look pretty edging, but he shouldn’t focus on that right now. You wiped your eyes with the edge of your sleeve before a tear could fall. Trying to muster up the strength to continue on with this hell of a study session.

After emotions had calmed down, he came closer and showed you how to do the basics correctly. Minho explained that you had been taking notes improperly which made simple things more complicated. Your eyes widened at the realization of how much easier everything became after that.

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Minho’s study session actually helped you. You passed the exam the next week with flying colors. Now that you and he know you’re benefiting from the one on one time, Minho had suggested another session after the next lecture as the topics covered would be more difficult. You wanted to make sure you got things right the first time, so you agreed to meet with him again. Plus spending more time with an attractive guy that is secretly your type was a bonus.

Minho managed to book a different study room this time off-campus. You had heard of the place in passing from a friend but never thought to check it out. When you got there it was more of a lounge type of vibe but you appreciated the change of scenery. Staying on university grounds all the time could make you a bit stir crazy. You made your way towards the back of the building to see your personal tutor already hard at work in one of the study rooms. Your fist made light contact with the doorframe to let him know you arrived.

“Ah, y/nnie come in. Close the door.” He got up to greet you with a hug.

Touching? That's new.

You were caught off guard by his warm gesture but gave him a hug back, your body heating in the process. It was the least you could do since he’s helped so much. You decided to not put much thought into it as you got down to brass tacks. You sat on the couch in front of a coffee table since the desk in the room would be too small for collaboration.

Minho would walk you through each new topic to make sure you had a good understanding of it. All the while he sat dangerously close to you on the couch, his leg brushing against yours. Each time you made a mistake on a structure he’d take your hand and guide you on how to draw it the correct way. At first you really hadn’t noticed, but what tipped you off is when you caught him staring at you instead of the work. Then you started taking note of his lingering touches on your hand or his breath ticking your shoulder. All of this touching was making your body buzz.

Now, Minho was touching your back feening it as just an encouraging gesture but his hand position was low and his fingers danced along your spine. You never told him to stop because you weren’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was making you breathe heavier and lose focus.

Damn, he smells so good.. and that sultry voice he’s using is gonna make me melt.

A hiss from the man brought you out of your fuzzy thoughts and snap your head towards him instead of the paper in front of you. “Watch where you put that hydrogen molecule, kitty. Can’t have you making dumb mistakes.”

Did he just say kitty?

“Hey, I’m not dumb!” You retorted but there was no bite in your tone. You ignored the nickname, thinking it was just a slip of the tongue. He chuckled at your furrowed expression, “that’s not what I meant.”

Minho’s hand came to squeeze your knee then proceeded to rub along your thigh.

Seriously, when did this man get so touchy?

The remainder of the study session went on without any major mess ups from you. The only time you did make a mistake was when Minho got bold with his touching. You never told him you didn’t like it though, his hands were warm and who were you to tell him no if it didn’t hurt anything.

Eventually studying with Minho became a twice weekly regular thing and so did his touching. He remained respectful with the placement of his hands… until today.

You were sat in your dorm room with Minho as all the study rooms were taken on campus and the place off campus was booked too. Guess everyone needed to lock in with midterm exams around the corner.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get this oxidation method down. It’s so complicated for no reason,” you groaned while throwing your head back. “You just need to remember the steps, y/n. It isn’t too bad.” He laughed at your dramatics.

“And how in the world am I going to remember it so easily?”

“Easy. Muscle memory.” He said with almost no inflection. You turned to look at him as if he had three heads. “Lee Know, what the hell are you talking about? In case you forgot this isn’t your dance class we’re studying here. I can’t just pop and lock an oxidation reaction into my body.”

“Sure you can, but it won’t exactly involve dancing.” Now he looked as smug as the Cheshire cat. You were still beyond confused and motioned for him to elaborate, “Ya know I can get you to remember anything by just making you feel good.” Minho’s voice lowered as he leveled himself to your face. “All you have to do is let me touch you. Whaddya say, kitten?”

When did he get so close?

He was so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your neck. Your brain was fuzzy and still swimming with questions, but your body was already having such a reaction to him. You shouldn’t say yes, but saying no isn’t an option either. You needed to do well in this class, you simply didn’t have any other choice.

Without further thought you nodded your head in agreement, “Yes..” Your voice came out shakier, more breathy than intended.

“Yes what? Say it.” He demanded with a stern tone, his hand coming up to hover over your cheek, not yet touching it until he gets an answer.

“You can touch me.” You whispered while leaning into his palm. Your response caused Minho to lean his head back with his eyes shut, a satisfied groan leaving his throat. “Good, now let’s get to work. You’ve got a lot of memorizing to do and I intend on burning it into every inch of your skin.” He placed his hands on your thighs giving them a hard squeeze while spreading them apart. Your skin already felt like it was on fire, but little did you know this was just the beginning.

You had no idea what kind of power you’ve just given to this man but he was definitely intent on showing you.

Surely it couldn’t be that bad, right?

Special thanks to my honey @doitforbangchan for being my beta reader <3

Taglist: @doitforbangchan @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny

#skz oneshots #Minho #lee know #lee minho x reader #stray kids fake texts #stray kids oneshot #skz fic #tutor Minho #college au #skz college au

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