#I love them all and couldn't do this without them ^^

[realcube]

— GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA

tws & tags ;; headcanons into short fic. nsfw mdni smut. cybersex. sex work. objectification. vibrators + self pleasure. nipple play. squirting.

GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA who has been watching your content since before you had one hundred followers.

FANBOY! KENMA who, despite being a massive streamer himself, lurks silently in your chat and enjoys your cute commentary and novice gameplay without saying a word. he knows that if he invited you to one of his own streams, your viewer count would likely increase exponentially, but he can't quite pluck up the courage to ask you. (and a part of him enjoys keeping you as his precious little secret gem)

FANBOY! KENMA tunes in to every single one of your lives. he'll drop whatever it is that he's doing to hear that dulcet voice, and see you awkwardly prattle on and charm your small audience with your eagerness to please.

FANBOY! KENMA whose heart would skip a beat when you notice him among your small pool of regular viewers, "hi, kudzuken! uh, i hope i'm saying that right. thanks for joining." you'd say into the camera accompanied by the most endearing smile. he'd then promptly donate $10 to your live-stream as a thank you for the jerk material.

FANBOY! KENMA is repulsed when he looks at your chat to see it overrun by trolls, spammers and perverts due to your lack of a moderation team. a bunch of weirdos online sending inappropriate comments on your body and seemingly innocuous statements that somehow read as creepy. ('love ur smile, babygirl..' 'keep sitting just like that!!!') and kenma can't helped but be disgusted, and partially because he knows he's just as perverted as these other internet trolls. his stare is also often stuck to your tits in those low-cut tops, or the inviting glossiness of your cute lips. he could get lost in those sweet innocent eyes for hours, imagining giving you a tight hug and feeling those soft tits pressed against his chest — just the thought alone was enough to cause a tent in his pants. but at least he had the decency not to type out all those lewd fantasies and post them to a public domain. that had to count for something, right?

FANBOY! KENMA who is disappointed but not surprised when you quit your online gamer gig to pursue a different type of live-streaming. your views were never great and hardly improving, and any subscribers you did have made it exceedingly clear they were only watching for your pretty face or hot body. so kenma couldn't blame you for trying to capitalise on your strengths and explore a career path you may be more suited for — in fact, it was a smart business move.

FANBOY! KENMA who was distraught, but still not surprised, when your camgirl account took off immediately and you gained over ten thousand subs in less than a week of creation, and the numbers were only growing steadily from there. every time he checked and saw your subscriber count had gone up, a small piece of him died. he realised it was parasocial and fucked up to be so upset by you, a content creator, receiving the attention of others, but truthfully, he missed when you were just his little secret.

FANBOY! KENMA figures that even though you were popular now, at least you were doing something that was (shamefully) far more appealing to him. he wasn't able to sleep for days before your first scheduled livestream in your new niche. no matter how hard he tried or how many melotonin gummies he ate, he just couldn't. he was too excited. and rightfully so.

FANBOY! KENMA who almost passes out twenty mintues into the stream. he was, of course, one of the first people to join, and the five or so minutes where you just sat there fully clothed and idled while saying, "i'm just gonna wait for some more people to join before i start.." was about the longest five minutes of his entire life. but the pay-off was worth it. he was hard and stroking it before the show even began, and had his first orgasm when you took your bra off to reveal your pebbled nipples. (but he's proud he lasted that long because he was about to nut as soon as you took your top off). his second and third orgasm came when you started fingering yourself on your gaming chair. he feels blessed to be able to behold your sopping pussy that he's been dying to see for who-knows long. it was more gorgeous than he could've ever imagined. in fact, every single part of your delicious body exceeded his expectations — and trust, his expectations were not low. you were nothing short of a idol in his eyes; a beautiful, cock-riding idol.

FANBOY! KENMA who, regardless of how famous you were, will always be your number one fan. he blabbers to himself about how sexy you are as he cums, he watches all your videos and live-streams and donates crazy amounts of money just to see that vibrator stuffed in your snug pussy go that little bit faster.

FANBOY! KENMA who is an og and can always tell when you are fabricating or 'faking' your reactions. he can identify easily when your clit isn't actually as 'sensitive' as you make it out to be for the camera and he most definitely knows when you fake an orgasm. but he can't really blame you. you've been fingering that desperate little pussy for ages chasing your high but you can't quite reach it and your subs are getting restless, so you just need to cave and give them what they want to see. it's business, and kenma gets that. but he swears to himself that one day you won't need to rely on your weak fingers or some shitty dildo, because he'll make you finish so good and so hard around his own cock.

FANBOY! KENMA that will subscribe and pay for whatever vapid, cashgrab content you release. low-quality nudey pics taken in your bathroom mirror? sold for $20. a blurry photo of you dressed as a slutty bunny on halloween? sold for $40. an upskirt you took when you couldn't afford an uber home from a bar? sold for $60. pair of used panties? sold for $100. jar of your bathwater? sold for $400.

FANBOY! KENMA that will always request private shows with you. his income fluctuates depending on how well his stocks perform or the current trends that denote the viewship on his own gaming livesteams. but regardless, he will ensure to put a pretty penny aside so he can offer a deposit for a private show. during which, if you accept, he'll refuse to show his face. he doesn't want you to recognise him as a semi-famous gamer and put a face to his simp account. he won't give you his real name either but it's okay, he gets hard just hearing you coo his username.. ':)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"kudzuken.." you tilt your head as you read the familiar username, "did i say that right?" you giggle awkwardly, afraid you may have butchered the name of your private stream donator — who offered $500 just for this twenty minute show.

kudzuken: yes

he replies in chat, and you smile. "perfect." you murmur, pushing yourself away from your desk and hopping out of your chair so you could show off your whole outfit (or lack thereof) for the camera. "i'm a bunny! hmm— wait, what noise do rabbits make?" you do a little spin, and kenma, on the other side of screen somewhere, was sitting utterly stunned. your 'costume' consisted of a furry grey bikini top, some floppy bunny ears on your head and to complete the look, a cute little pompon rabbit tail. and kenma quickly noted that you weren't wearing any panties, so it was almost a mystery how this tail accessory stayed put over your perky ass.

"i decided to dress as one because you said in my comments once that you liked the pic of me in my bunny costume for halloween." you mused, clasping your hands together as you sat back down in your oversized gaming chair. "so, i thought you'd appreciate this."

kudzuken: i do

you actually read his comments and pay attention to them? was this real life or was he having some kind of hyper-realistic wet dream?

you looked like a fantasy, all cute and exposed for him on his monitor — and just for him. your pussy on full display for him. idly fondling your own tits and palming at your cunt lewdly as a performance dedicated to him. albeit, you do show it to other men as well, but not right now. currently, it was only the two of you, and he felt connected to your bare body on a sexual and interpersonal level. the way your eyes bore into his through the monitor and your glistening cunt basically screamed his name. but he craved more. hence, he stroked his free erection while typing out his messages with his other hand.

kudzuken: take the top off

you pout at message, still teasing him by pushing your boobs together as you purr, "you know the rules, silly~ it's an extra fifty for any clothing remo--." and within an instant of the words exiting your mouth, your donation chime went off.

kudzuken donated $100 with the message: get rid of the tail too

you smile appreciatively at the money, and hum, "thank you.. but i thought the tail was quite cute." you giggle, making a playful jab at his eagerness to rid you of your little pompom tail which you thought completed your costume. little did you know, kenma loved the tail too, but he was even more desperate to see how you kept it on.

as promised, you unclasp your bra and make a show out of the release of your tits: pinching your nipples and rubbing them for the camera. you'd even feign a couple of light moans just for him — although, kenma could always tell when you were acting, but he appreciated the effort.

next was the tail. turned over and with your chest pressed against the back of your chair, you spread your ass to reveal the plug that jammed nicely inside your puckered hole, attached to a small rod that held the fuzzy tail. kenma was in awe as he watched you fidget with the plug cautiously, stifling moans in response even the slightest movement.

kenma was in awe, his grasp on his cock subconciously tightening as he increased his pace. he bit his lip from admiration at how sensitive you were in that little hole of yours, and how shy you were too. he noted how you'd face away from the camera or hide your expressions with your spare whenever the stimulation from the toy would elicit any reaction from you.

kudzuken: don't be coy. pull harder.

you sighed. hesitantly wrapping your fingers around the fuzzy part of the tail and inhaling a deep breath, before harshly tugging on the plug. it wasn't quite like ripping off a plaster. no, you had to pull for a bit and feel your ass contort and stretch around the foreign metal as it tried to escape the confines of your restrictive walls. groaning the entire time, body going limp against your chair. "ahh— i didn't think.. ngh.. it would be so— hah— hard!"

eventually, after a concerningly laborious process, you manage to yank it out. leaving it a cute little temporary gape that kenma would pay anything to fill with his tongue. but alas, he's hundreds of miles away and the best he can do is fist his aching dick while you shallowly finger your hole for the camera.

"i've been filming since super early this morning, kudzuken." you sigh, his username feeling a bit strange to utter in casual conversation, but you roll with it away. your fingers slowly graze your exposed ass and pussy lips as you drone, " 'm so tired now. just wanna cum n' relax. think we can do that together?"

kudzuken: yeah

"yay." you hum lowly, lazily shifting so you are sat normally, except you then sling your legs over the arms of your gaming chair, so your entire soaked pussy is on display for him. you rub sloppy circles over your clit while glancing between your cunt and the camera. "my hands are soo tired though," you whine, relaxing your head back, "mind if i grab something to use?"

kudzuken: don't mind

you could shove a lava lamp up your pussy for all he cares, he just wants to watch you cum. perhaps a very selfish an hedonistic view, but his tip is in agony and he just needs to see you writhing in pleasure before he nuts. otherwise, it's physically impossible for him to climax; it's almost a curse.

during the time his eyes were screwed shut and he was begging his body for just an ounce of relief, you had rummaged in your draw and found both your juul and your favourite vibrator. one went straight into your pussy and the other went straight to your lips.

you put it on the medium setting, so the little pink thing wasn't exactly tearing up your insides, but it still brought you an immense amount of satisfaction. like scratching a severe itch that had been persistent all day. it finally felt like you were being taken care of and you could relax.

"mm, that feels so good.." you purr, eyes closed and enitrely absorbed in the moment. hand wandering down your bare body and spreading your folds so kenma could get a perfect view of your favourite toy stuffed into your tight cunt. he could even faintly hear the buzzing noise. "hmm, this is the best way to de-stress after a long day, huh?"

although a part of him wondered what you could possibly be 'de-stressing' from considering you were a camgirl and you probably did stuff like this all day, the majority of him was so deeply involved in the moment that he didn't even have the mental energy to concern himself with his pedantic worries. instead, he drifted off into a fantasy of his own, imagining those slender fingers pumping his cock were yours.

kudzuken: the best

despite the brevity of his messages, you don't take offence. in fact, it suggests you're doing a good job if he's left with only one hand to type with. so you continue, legs spread wide as you gaze longingly into your computer webcam. your fingers rub sloppy circles over your throbbing clit, but for the most part, the pink toy was doing the heavy-lifting and was the reason your face would scrunch with pleasure every so often.

"nghh, feel so good.. want more.." you whine into the emptiness of your room, your eyes drifting shut and allowing your mouth to freely babble whatever cries appeared in your lust-glazed mind. "wish it was something bigger.." you muse innocently, knowing exactly what you do to him.

kudzuken: me too

and the most shameful part is that kenma knows your being flippant and trying to appeal to his perverted desires, but he doesn't care. it just eggs him on further to imagine his cock in the place of that humble little toy — jammed right into your snug cunt, where he belongs. whatever it was: your pussy, your hands, your mouth, he just wanted to feel you somehow.

"mmph, it's so nice to finally let go.." you say as a breathy whisper, eyes entirely shut as the corners of your lips curl into a faint smile, "can you tell how much i've been needing this?"

his eyes twinkled as he watched your pretty hole suck on the head of the toy as it vibrates within you. your walls were twitching yet you looked stunningly relaxed, limbs all spread out across your chair, as your body practically melts into it. your mouth hung open just a little bit to show a tantilising peek of your tongue. what kenma wouldn't give to insert his cock in there too.

his fingers stiffened around his dick at the mere thought, and before long, he had undergone his first climax, making a mess of both his hand and his black sweatpants. but thanks to you, he's got plenty of practise at this and has built up the stamina to go for multiple rounds. it didn't take long of watching your pussy flutter around the vibrating toy and hearing your melodious moans before he was fully hard again, stroking his length.

"mm, i think.." you murmur, legs beginning to twitch and shudder slightly, as you feel the pool of liquid heat in the pit of your stomach begin to stir and bubble. what was supposed to be a relaxing and tranquil experience, was quickling boiling into something far more intense. "i think i'm getting close.."

kenma's eyes light up at the thought, and his hand instinctually speeds up. originally laid back against his chair, upon hearing your desperate mewls about an impending orgasm, he hastily leans forward, engrossed in the screen afore him. paying attention to every little detail: the way your spread legs shake, your pouty and lewd expression, your drenched pussy and the slick gathering by your enterance around the toy, and how it dripped down to ass and formed a small puddle on the seat of your chair.

strands of your hair would fall into your face and poke at the corners of your agape mouth, which you would then have to swiftly brush aside before returning your hands to rub frantic circles on your clit. "ah, ahh— 'm so so close, boutta finish. can i? can i cum? please—" you plea to the camera.

kudzuken: yes kudzuken: cum pretty girl

it's as though his fingers acted on reflex, effortlessly typing the response in less than a couple seconds, all while his other hand still vigorously pumped his cock.

"nngh, okay, thank you, sir.. i— fuck!" you squeal , feeling light-headed as your orgasm overcomes you much earlier than you anticipated. you toss your head back in pure bliss as your knees tremble and you rock your hips against nothing, searching for more stimulation from the stagnant toy. despite it going at the same pace that previously relaxed you, the vibrator now felt like it was ravaging your sensitive insides, and all you could do was lie there and take it while your cunt walls convulse in defence.

"ahh— shit, i think— oh my god.." you cry, a second heat erupting within you shortly after you reached your high, as demonstrated by the fury of fluid that all came gushing out of you, with such a violent force that your vibrating toy was pushed out. "fuck's sake! nghh, 'ts too much! i can't, i can't!"

kudzuken: please

you scream and writhe in your chair as this powerful climax overwhelms your poor tired body, and all kenma can do is sit and gaze up at his monitor in awe. he is so astounded that he forgets to keep rubbing himself but the sight of your perfect pussy squiriting all over your chair and desk was enough to make him cum as well, and he released his second load across his clothed thighs again.

a lot of his semen dripped right back down his own shaft but he didn't care; if anything, it helped and served as lubrication. anyway, he was far to immersed in watching you submit to a blinding euphoria to care about the disgusting mess he was making of himself.

once you were done and your pussy has squirted out every last drop of sparkling fluid, you were left breathless and absolutely soaking. your wide-eyes gaze darted across your wet chair to your damp computer screen. you weren't looking forward to cleaning it all up, but alas, you sigh and relax back into your chair, "that was— so good. thank you, kudzuken." you heave, cute tits rising and falling with each deep exhale, "nothing feels better than cumming after a rough day.. it's like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, don't you think?"

you were seeing stars and babbling nonesense, but kenma was amused by it.

kudzuken: thank you too

you smile weakly at the chat reply, "anytime." you hum, slowly sitting up and crossing your arms over your chest, "erm, anyway, i should probably start cleaning up and head to bed. 'm so tired, it's been such a long day. but this was fun, we should do it again sometime."

kudzuken: yes

"well you know where to find me." you titter, reaching forward to your mouse and keyboard so you can end the private live-stream, "bye. have a nice night."

kudzuken: bye (y/n)

was the last thing he was able to type before he was disconnected from the chat. and that was certainly not the last time you spoke. it was an expensive habit, but he'd keep paying to watch you cum before bed almost every night for two months straight.

[nineteenninety-six]

Could you write abbot x daughter when daughters childhood best friend dies during pittfest and like she was there but fine without a scratch which makes it all worse for her which leads to her on the roof cause she knows her dad and the hospital , and she goes up just brushes part there alone after hearing time of death and like Jack finds her and he’s approaching like she’s a scared animal and she hasn’t even realised she’s on the wrong side cause she’s sobbing

Okay love you thank you!!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Roof Ledge

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

TW: mentions of Pittfest. mentions of suicide of the shooter. death. etc

AN: Sorry I did change it slightly but I hope you like it regardles. Also this is short so I apologize.

Your ears ring as you hear the doctor call time of death, scribbling it on the wrist chart before stepping away and hurrying toward another critical patient.

You only get one last glimpse of your friend's face before a sheet is pulled over them and then moved away. Once they've disappeared out of your sight, the ringing faded and the noise of the hectic emergency department floods your ears and overwhelms you. Your legs tremble as you search for a place where you could get some fresh air, you turn to the ambulance bay before remembering that it's being used as a triage spot along with the countless vehicles arriving from Pittfest. Then you remember about your fathers favourite place in the hospital, the roof.

You stumble out of the emergency department knocking into people as you try to rush towards the elevator. Once you stagger into it, you mash the buttons for the top floor and fall into a crouch, unable to support your own weight anymore.

Tears and sobs escaped you as you cried into your hands and the t-shirt you were wearing quickly became soaked with tears as you tried to wipe your tears to no avail.

The fresh cool air greeted you when you stepped out onto the roof and it calmed you slightly. The chill breeze cooled you down and the fresh air helped you regulate your panicked breathing.

Automatically, your feet take you to the edge where your dad frequently visits and you slip underneath the safety rail and sit down, your legs dangling off of the hospital.

Your tears of sadness turned into tears of anger. You were so angry, so so angry. You just lost a friend, a friend you had known your entire life and now they were gone- dead and she wasn't the only one.

No doubt there were more people who died at the hospital but there were countless more that died at Pittfest on the field. Some instantly, some who couldn't get medical attention in time, some who were crushed in the rush to escape...just so many lives lost needlessly.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't hear the roof door open until your father called out your name.

He stood halfway across the roof, his hands held up as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

"Hey kid" Your dads voice was soft, "I heard what happened... Do you wanna talk to me?"

You only sob in response, the sound echoing around the empty roof.

"C'mon kid, step away from the edge for me please." Your dad begged, "Come talk to me over here"

"It's not fair! Why her at all people?!"

"You're right, it's not fair." Your dad agrees. "She didn't deserve it nor did anyone else who died."

"A- and I-" You gasp and stutter, "I'm fine! I didn't even sprain my ankle, I'm fine and she's gone."

Your dad joins you on the edge after realising that you were not moving anytime soon. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, "I'm sorry kid, I really am."

"Do you have to tell her parents?" You whimper.

Your dad shakes his head, "No. Robby will do that."

"They'll never forgive me" A fresh set of tears streamed down your face, "I' m the reason she's gone."

"You are not the reason" Your dad corrects, "The person-the man who did this, is the only one responsible. Not you, not me, only them."

"Do they know who did it? If they found him"

"They found him, he killed himself", Your dad scoffs and shakes his head, "He killed a swathe of people and killed himself…"

You scoff, "Fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything."

Your father doesn't say anything and there's a few minutes of silence as the two of you watch over the Pittsburgh skyline, listening as the cars drive past nearby and sirens in the distance.

"Do you want to see her? Say goodbye?" Your dad breaks the silence.

"Can I?" You hiccup.

"Yeah c'mon, let's step away from the ledge." Your dad stands up, offering his hand out for you to pull himself up with.

Your legs almost give up beneath you as you stand up but your father easily supports you as you walk over to the door and return to the hospital.

"You're alright kid, you'll survive this. It may feel like you're drowning right now but we will take it one day at a time."

[bunnyclawzz]

Can you do more hyperfem reader x Mohawk mark??

Yesyesyes!! I lovee mohawk Mark so much, I might make this a little series😋

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!reader

Going shopping with you would be a full-time job to anyone who wasn't him. He never got bothered when you would ask to go. Yeah, he had those snarky little comments, but her never actually meant any of them

"Maarrkk? Can you come to the mall wi-" he didn't even let you finish asking for his company before he cut you off in a rude yet affectionate way. "Stop asking me like I'm ever gonna let you go alone. The hell do you even need from there anyways?" he questioned without even looking up from his phone. His response had a warm grin blossoms onto your face, the kind of smile that he could tell was there without needing to turn to check. A soft hum leaves your glossed lips before you reply. "Wanna get new clothes for spring. Maybe early summer shoppin' too. Maybe we can get some for you too!' you'd offer all enthusiastically as if you were the one paying for any items. He turns his head to face you, raising an eyebrow at you with a slanted head "..Sure. Whatever you pick, princess" he spoke, purposely using the nickname that always made you feel all warm inside and out.

Just like clockwork, each and every time you were shopping with him he would follow you around like a stray dog. He'd carry whichever drink you had chosen for the warm afternoon-weather it's a iced soda, a boba tea, or an overly sugared iced coffee, it's in his hand while you wander around whichever shop caught your attention first. "Hmm.." you buzz softly, eyes scanning around for just a moment. Your soft hand takes his rough and hard-skinned one to lead him into a store that makes him look like an action figure stuck into a dollhouse.

"Mark," you began as you lifted a lacy pink baby doll top up into his view "do you like this?" you questioned as your free hand ran along the pastel fabric. He had no time to respond before you continued on with the questions. "Or do you like the yellow one better? Oh-they have blue! You like blue, right?" He couldn't hold back the big smile that plastered across his face as you trailed on and on about the colors of the tops that had your attention. "I do like blue, yeah, but you shouldn't just get something 'cause it's a color I like" You're silent for a few seconds, clearly up in your head thinking about something. After just another second you click your tongue and shake your head, you voice coming out like the curb of a morning bird. "Nope!" You said, popping the 'p' in the word as you set the pink top down and reached for the French blue colored one instead, "Already got an outfit for it planned in my head." He chuckles at your words. His hand reaches out to take the top, holding it up to your body in attempt to get a visual. "Yeah? Can't wait to see it on" He said in a low murmur as he eyed you up.

Just around an hour into the trip you had your own drink in hand, sipping contently as your boyfriend followed you around whilst carrying all your shopping bags, all full of items purchased by him. Store after store, changing room after changing room and giving endless input and compliments and watching you swatch an endless amount of lippies only to buy you one new lipstick and a new mascara tube-how could he not spoil you? You're the one thing in his life that is absolutely perfect in and out, he has to treat you as what you are. "Princess," he began with a soft sigh, "Come on, we're sitting at the food court for a minute. Just the sound of those shoes tells me they're uncomfortable" he said as he gestured to the open-toed kitten heels on your feet. He barely let your brain process the words, just quick to take you by the wrist and tug you to the first open seats he could find.

"Alright," he spoke again, "I"m getting you a burger and fries. Do you want a new drink?" You didn't respond for a few seconds. Your eyes got glued to him, admiring him and all he does for you for just a few seconds before you answered. "...get me a lemonade?" "Got it" he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll be right back, just sit and rest your feet for a few minutes."

Upon meeting Mark, the weirdo-punk with the spiky mohawk and short temper, you never thought you'd like him, let alone date him. You would've never dreamt that being paired with said weirdo would lead to you being treated like royalty and being absolutely spoiled rotten whenever he could. Can’t help but adore his very unlikely girlfriend

[lazysoulwriter]

the love we hide. - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, honey. thank you for sending.

----

You always knew dating Pedro Pascal wouldn’t be easy. Not because he made it difficult — if anything, he made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. It was the world around him, the world that didn't stop spinning faster and louder with every new movie, every new award, every new headline with his name in bold letters.

From the start, he had asked for your privacy. "I just... want this to stay ours for as long as we can," he'd whispered one night, arms wrapped tightly around you, voice heavy with something that felt like fear. And you agreed. Happily. Proudly. You understood.

But lately... it had started to hurt.

The more his fame grew, the more invisible you felt. He walked red carpets with stunning co-stars, smiled in interviews when asked about his love life ("I'm married to my work," he'd joke), and your phone buzzed with articles, photos, videos of him living a life you weren’t allowed to share publicly.

And no matter how much you told yourself you were strong enough, you started pulling away. Little by little.

Skipping dates under the excuse of being tired. Replying to his texts hours later. Letting your hand fall from his when no one was watching. Convincing yourself it would hurt less this way. That he wouldn't even notice.

Of course, Pedro noticed. Pedro always noticed you. Every blink, every breath, every tremor in your voice. You were his favorite story to read.

It all came crashing down on a quiet Tuesday night. You were supposed to have dinner at his place — just the two of you, homemade pasta, a bottle of wine. Your favorite kind of night.

But you canceled, blaming a headache. And when you didn't answer his third call, he showed up at your apartment, heart pounding, palms sweating.

You opened the door, still in your pajamas, surprised and guilty at the same time.

"Pedro—what are you doing here?"

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, eyes scanning you, searching for something. "Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.

You swallowed hard. "Doing what?"

He laughed, but there was no joy in it. Only hurt. "You think I don't see it? You think I don't feel you slipping away from me?"

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you blinked them away. "It's better this way," you whispered. "For who?" he demanded. "For you!" you snapped, voice cracking. "You're becoming Pedro Pascal. You deserve someone who can stand next to you, someone who belongs in your world. Not someone you have to hide."

Silence. Heavy. Devastating.

Pedro stepped closer, closing the space between you with careful, deliberate steps. His hands framed your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even realize had started to fall.

"You think I’m hiding you because I'm ashamed?" he asked, voice breaking. "You think I don’t want the whole damn world to know you're mine?"

You shook your head helplessly, but he wasn’t finished.

"I was trying to protect us," he whispered. "Protect you. From the cameras, from the gossip, from people who don't know anything about how beautiful and strong and perfect you are."

You let out a broken sob, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he'd never let go. Like he couldn't.

"I notice everything about you," he said into your hair. "Every smile you force. Every time you don't call me 'love' like you used to. Every night I sleep in an empty bed because you're trying to convince yourself I’m better off without you."

You clung to him, sobbing now, your heart cracking wide open. "I'm sorry," you choked out.

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids. "Don't be sorry," he whispered. "Just stay. Stay with me."

You nodded against his chest, breathing him in like he was the only air you needed. "I love you," you said, and his body trembled with the weight of it.

"I love you," he echoed. "So much. So much that I can't—"

He pulled back slightly, enough to reach into his jacket pocket.

Your breath caught when you saw the small velvet box.

Pedro smiled through the tears shining in his eyes. "I was going to wait," he said. "I had a whole plan. Paris. Fireworks. The whole cheesy thing."

You laughed wetly, heart hammering against your ribs.

"But I don't want to wait," he said, voice steady. "I don't want to hide. I don't want to spend another second making you feel like you're not everything I've ever dreamed of."

He opened the box. Inside, a delicate, breathtaking ring sparkled under your living room light.

"Marry me," he said simply. "Let’s tell the whole world you're mine."

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth.

"Yes," you whispered, before throwing your arms around him. "Yes, Pedro. A thousand times yes."

He kissed you like it was the first time, the last time, and everything in between. When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling that soft, boyish smile that had made you fall in love with him in the first place.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I'm posting about you. About us. About my fiancée."

You laughed, giddy and overwhelmed and so, so in love. "Are you sure?" you teased. "Might ruin your mysterious reputation."

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're worth ruining everything for."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it. With your whole heart.

----

[billiesbabygirleilish]

Can I request a Billiexreader fic were reader had a rough upbringing and turns to sh to cope with the pain and she meets Billie and starts falling for her but trys to hide her demons until she can't and Billie finds her one day and comforts her and it's like hurt comfort and fluff I know it's a heavy topic but I have been feeling a type of way and want some hurt to comfort cuz I love Billie so much

Everything I Wanted

⚠️: sh, emotional pain, trauma, angst. read at your own risk dearies ⚠️

.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.

.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.•_.

You never meant for Billie to see you like that.

From the beginning, Billie had been like a firefly in the dark — a small, stubborn kind of light you couldn't ignore no matter how much you tried to stay hidden. She found you in the backstage crowd after one of her shows, standing alone with your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, invisible to everyone else.

Except her.

Billie saw you. She always saw you.

It started slow — casual conversations, late-night texts, FaceTime calls that stretched until sunrise. Billie was a whirlwind of sarcasm and warmth, one second teasing you, the next looking at you so softly it made your chest ache.

You told yourself you could keep your demons buried. Locked up tight behind carefully chosen words and forced smiles. She didn’t deserve to carry your darkness — she deserved someone who didn’t flinch when memories clawed at them, who didn’t wake up some nights and fall back into old, ugly habits just to feel something.

You thought you were doing a good job.

You wore your long sleeves like armor, even when Billie joked about you "dressing like it was winter in July." You laughed it off. You kept your distance on the worst days, claiming you were "busy" or "tired."

It worked for a while.

Until it didn’t.

It was a random Thursday night when everything cracked open.

You hadn't expected her to show up — she texted you that she'd gotten free from the studio early, and before you could make up an excuse, she was already at your door. Laughing. Smiling. Carrying two milkshakes and a pack of Sour Patch Kids.

You tried to pull yourself together. You wiped your face, yanked your sleeves down. Forced a smile. You thought maybe — maybe — she wouldn't notice the weight dragging behind your eyes.

But Billie noticed everything.

You saw the exact second her smile faltered, the second her eyes narrowed in concern. She stepped closer, setting the milkshakes down on the counter without a word.

“Hey…” she said softly. "You okay?"

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

Billie didn’t push. She just gave you a look — the kind of look that said she knew you were lying but wasn’t going to call you out yet.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a second to breathe, to get your head straight. You closed the door behind you and leaned against the sink, squeezing your eyes shut.

You didn’t hear her follow you. Didn’t hear the door crack open.

Not until you heard her small, broken voice.

“Y/N…?”

You froze.

Your sleeves were still pushed up — the fresh red lines on your arms plain as day.

Panic clawed at your chest. You stumbled to pull your sleeves down, to hide, to disappear, but Billie was already there, gently taking your wrists in her hands before you could.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't hide from me."

You couldn't meet her eyes. Shame burned through you. "I'm sorry," you croaked. "I didn't want you to see this. I didn’t want you to see me like this."

Billie's hands were shaking slightly as she cupped your face, forcing you to look at her. Tears were building in her eyes — Billie, who always tried so hard to act like she was made of stone.

"You don't ever have to be sorry for hurting," she said, voice cracking. "You don't ever have to hide this shit from me."

You collapsed into her, the weight of it all finally too much. She caught you like she always did — strong and soft all at once — pulling you tightly against her chest.

You cried until there was nothing left.

And Billie stayed. Stroking your hair, whispering quiet things you couldn't even process at first. Things like "I'm here."And "You’re not alone anymore." And "You are so, so loved."

Later, you sat curled into Billie’s side on your bed, wrapped in one of her giant hoodies. She had one arm around you, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh, grounding you.

You felt raw. Exposed. Terrified.

But Billie just held you closer.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Even if you think you’re broken. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days."

You leaned into her, feeling the way her heart beat steady against your cheek.

Maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Maybe love wasn’t about hiding the broken parts — maybe it was about finding someone who chose you anyway.

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 4] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

I feel like absolute shit and I'm fucking hungry that i could eat a Mark variant.

1 year time skip next chapter.

prologue

previous chapter , next chapter

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, jealous Mark Grayson, talks of abortion, misunderstandings, possessive Mark Grayson, murder, gore, child-murder(variant!readers), attempted suicide, readers mom had a miscarriage, OOC, prob need more tags

Crusher does not trust Omni-man.

To others, your mother was intimidating and unfriendly, standing at a whooping 190cm (6'3) with a muscular build, face that stayed a permanent scowl all hours of the day, hair tied tightly into a low military bun and streaks of white hair on each side of her head, tucked tightly behind her ears. Giving a more unapproachable look.

But to (Name), she was Vanessa P. Aguilar, your mother who was, yes scary and intimidating and quite frankly unapproachable to some, but behind the intimidation, she a kind woman. A hard-ass without a doubt but she tries her best for her family. For you, her daughter she loved so much.

Her baby.

Vanessa's pregnancy was difficult, she lost so much over the years, so emotional and angry until (Name) finally came to her and Nicolas lives. She had cried ugly in that hospital bed when they handed her daughter over cradled into her arms in a pink blanket, relieved that finally everything she had dream for are finally coming true.

She had a child to call and love as her own.

Pure love, not like the one her father drilled into her head.

The pure parental love that was absent in her earlier life.

Vanessa stares, and she stares intensely at a snack section in a small market somewhere in Seoul, South Korea. Food, you like food, you like eating just like your father and no dolls can please you unlike when you we're only a child. There was so much she couldn't choose just one to take home.

The store clerk stood by, dragged by the tall foreigner from the safety of his counter asking him in minimal English while he breaks into broken English, giving his best to reply.

Communicating with one of America's top superhero's known as the infamous Crusher, was hellish.

A thick Russian accent rolled from her tongue, unforgiving and sharp, picking out 8 of the sweeter options in the entire shelf and paying for them all with the additional salted ones she picked out for herself.

This was new to her as it will be new to you. Vanessa often daydreams how you would initially react when she goes out of her way to spoil you with new things, either by object or food. It was one of her many joys in life.

She steps out of the store, hands gripping tightly on the plastic bags and flew right back up into the sky to met up her neighbor.

"Nolan."

Nolan eyed the woman as she stopped besides him. He too went shopping, wanting to please his wife and Mark. Vanessa could tell he wanted to look normal and followed her idea, but decided not to bring it up, it was none of her business is what she tells herself every single time.

"Vanessa." Nolan greets her in the same way.

"Did you buy what i asked of you? I also bought something Mark and (Name) may like." She lifts a bag up in the air, the rustles of junk foods reaches his ear.

Nolan genuinely smiled for once since their departure from home. He too showed a plastic bag full of the stuff Debbie and Nicolas were obsessing over that was only available outside America. Vanessa smiled back.

There was no further conversation. No jokes or jab at each others worn appearance. Just stiffness and odd comfort in the silence that surrounds them both as they fly back home in a steady pace.

Nolan likes working with Vanessa. She was quiet, she minded her business, and most importantly knew where she stood. He didn't feel like he needed to explain why he do things his way, unlike those in the GDA.

coughmidmortalcough

Vanessa however did not feel the same. Something about Nolan, still clueless and stiff coming from somewhere in space and was sent to protect earth, was unsettling. Like a storm brewing and ready to combust at any given moment.

Is she scared of her neighbor? Absolutely.

Was she going to do something about it?

Vanessa pondered at that question for a moment. Sneaking glances at the alien who stared ahead. Soon, she tells herself over and over since the first time they met.

Nolan just needs to give her a reason, a trigger, to put a fist through that gut of his.

-

"Maya lyubov, I am home!"

You hear the back door opening with a loud creak. You and Mark halted your activities. Duct tape in hand as you both glanced at each other.

It's been a few days since everything fell back into normalcy. Mark and William was there congratulating you for finishing your last class and headed out to eat out at the local burger mart down the road.

Your father and Debbie even spoiled you three by playing in the arcade and a sleepover at Williams to end the day.

Both you and Mark grinned. Tapping down last of the duct tape on your knees and bolted down the stairs to where your parents were.

Nicolas was with your mother in the kitchen, giving him a passionate kiss before they hug. You mother's large build covering him fully in their long embrace.

"Mom! Look and me and Mark! We're Duct tape man and Duct tape woman!" You announced from the doorway, posing with Mark proudly with both your hands on your waist.

Your mother's jaw drop at the horrifying sight of her baby looking ridiculous, your father simply laughed at the both of you.

"Even if me and Mark don't get our powers!" You fake punch mark who dramatically falls back to avoid it grinning at you as he does, "We'll be the duo that sends all the villains in jail with our duct tapes!"

"Sounds like an expensive superpower." Nicolas teased and crossed his arms, a huge grin on his face and avoiding the punches that you were throwing at him. Your father giggled and nudges for your mother to say something.

"Well does Debbie and your father know of this, duct tape adventure?" Vanessa muttered, reaching to peel a duct tape on your face.

You winced and she recoiled back surprised that it hurt you. Vanessa noted that she ask Debbie how to get rid of the silver tape without hurting your skin.

"We'll I'm quite excited to see what both of them are going to say to whatever you two we're cooking up." Nicolas ruffled both of your hairs.

You and Mark held hands while your parents trailed behind you two as Mark barged right into his home. Saying the same thing you said to your parents.

"Dad look! We're gonna be Duct tape man and she's gonna be Duct tape woman!"

Nolan and Debbie stared at the two of you as you two posed and started punching the air while Mark was explaining more about the power of duct tape. Debbie caught sight of Nicolas holding in his laughter and Vanessa shaking her head as they stood by to watch.

"I don't know if that's gonna work as well as you hope so kiddo." Nolan said. Both you and Mark paused and looked at each other. Debbie was quick to be by her sons side and gently tugs on the tape.

"And you two might want to rethink that as we peel all this off."

"You two go upstairs and run a bath, that just might help," A flutter of giggles escaped your lips and you drag Mark upstairs accompanied by Nicolas who nodded at three left in the living room to keep an eye on them.

"A little."

Vanessa sat on a bar stool sighing loudly.

"I was not prepared to witness my own child rolled in duct tape along with your son, my apologies." Debbie pats her back.

"Well we signed up for kids, its bound to happen that they'll do something stupid together."

A loud thud happened upstairs, a muffled yells of your name left Mark and your father heavy footsteps scrambled to aid you in whatever happened. Vanessa and Debbie can't help but laugh a bit at the sound of their children calling to each other.

"That boy is never getting his powers is he?"

Debbie leans over and gave Nolan a hug.

Vanessa glanced at him warily from the side before she stands to leave the two alone.

"Don't ask me, you're the superhero space alien."

"But even if he doesn't, we'll love him just as much."

"OW!" , "Sorry Mark!"

Debbie shakes her head, "Finish dinner while I go over there and help untape the kids."

Note : I took Russian in Duolingo before. After a week i was like, man this shit hard tf. So i dropped it (I only know how to say bicycle in Russian💀)

[hazeljadie]

UNSAID WORDS | PARK SUNGHOON

bestfriend ! sunghoon x fem ! reader | wc. 3.3k synopsis: you instantly clicked with Sunghoon since you've started university, not realising when your adoration for your best friend turned into unrequited love genre: angst, fluff [SFW] a/n: tbh, this one has been collecting dust for months now - but hey, it was time for my first post ever!

Three years.

It has been three years, and yet every time I tried to say those simple three words to him, my voice got stuck in my throat. Why?

Why could I not confess my feelings to him? Say the most simple three words without overthinking my decision? Was I such a coward?

Yes, that was exactly what I was - a coward.

Watching and loving my best friend for the past three years just from the sidelines was the only thing I could do. I was too scared to find out that he didn't reciprocate my feelings for him. Hurting myself over and over in the process just because I couldn't stand losing him over my lousy greed for more. This had become my way of moving forward in life.

I should be happy with everything I already had in my life…right?

"Y/n, are you sleeping?"

I looked up. Sunghoon was towering over me, concern etched onto his tired face. His eyes took my breath away as they always did, but this time I couldn't stand to look into them.

My feelings for him were starting to suffocate me. My eyes teared up.

"Y- Y/n? Hey, are you okay?" Sunghoon crouched down while I sat back up in my desk chair. "Keep it down, silly. We're in the library." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and smile at Sunghoon as he took a seat next to me, but judging from his intense stare, I knew he wouldn't let go.

"I yawned. You know how I always tear up when I yawn." The boy in front of me raised an eyebrow as if that was the most dumbest excuse one could come up with. But I lied through my teeth as if it couldn't be anything but the truth.

I squished his face with both my hands to break the awkward tension in the air. "Oi, the great and mighty Park Sunghoon, don't you know it's common sense for people to get tired when they pull an all-nighter?" I pinched his cheeks to distract him from getting any more suspicions about me.

Sunghoon swatted my hands away, smiling slightly at my annoying behaviour. He was convinced that I was indeed telling him the truth. "Cut it out, Y/n. Give me your car keys, I'll drop you off at your place. It's raining now and the streets are slippery since the temperatures have dropped too much."

No.

I didn't want to be confined with Sunghoon in a tight space like my car. Being in uni was different. What if I actually cried this time? Sunghoon would push me for answers. What if I finally gave in? He would leave me on the spot and never let me see him again-

"Don't even think about it, Y/n. You are definitely not driving".

Before I could even say anything to him, he snatched away my bag, fishing out my car key from the front pocket like he owned it. Protesting didn't do much - he simply stood up and left for the parking lot, my car key dangling between his fingers. I packed away my scattered study notes and pens on my table and ran after him.

❁

It didn't take us long and we were already on our way to my apartment, the rain sound was lulling me to sleep and I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. Sunghoon didn't mind and turned on the radio, softly humming to the songs that were being played. His voice worked its charm as if he were singing lullabies for me and I finally drifted off to a deep sleep.

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up." Sunghoon nudged my cheek ever so lightly, I almost thought I was imagining things. "Y/n, wake up. We're here."

It took me a great effort to open my eyes, but I knew for sure that I wasn't imagining the light touches on my cheeks. Sunghoon was actually stroking my face as if I were the most delicate doll in the world.

Was my vision clouded again? Were my feelings for him messing with my mind?

I didn't trust myself to say anything to him. Not when my heart was acting up like this.

Without another word, Sunghoon took my bag from the backseat and looked through my bag until he found my house keys. Now holding both of our bags in his arms, he stepped out of the car and ran to my building on the opposite side to unlock the main door, only to be drenched by the heavy rain within seconds. He slammed it back and made sure the door wouldn't close and dropped both bags on the floor.

With long strides, he ran back to the car, opened the car door on my side. Out of nowhere, he swooped me up in his arms, careful enough so I didn't bump my head against the car.

"Sunghoon, I can walk!" I shivered when I clutched my body tighter to his, both were drenched to the bones at this point. But he didn't listen to me. He only put me down after we were already inside my apartment, pools of water formed under our feet in the entryway.

I looked dumbfounded at Sunghoon. What was going on in his head?

"Thank me later, Y/n. Can I crash here? Driving in this weather would be a foolproof way to see God, no kidding". He took off his wet coat, shoes, mismatched socks and stepped into the living room without even waiting for my answer.

"Sunghoon, what are you doing?" I followed his actions and trailed behind him to the living room, standing in front of him as he plopped down on my couch. "Whadd'ya mean 'what?'"

I don't know if it was my stance or the way I stared blankly at Sunghoon, but he understood that I was waiting for an explanation.

"Y/n, do you want me to drive back to my place in this rain? I've stayed awake for two days, too because of our uni project, Y/n, just like you've-"

"Sorry, I wasn't being considered towards you." I don't know why, but having Sunghoon in close proximity while I was sleep-deprived was not doing me any favours. I was tired, hurting, stupidly hopeful but irritated nonetheless. Sunghoon didn't do anything wrong for me to snap at him like that.

"You can stay here."

Without sparing him another glance, I dashed into my room and slammed the door close.

It hurt.

It hurt so much when the person I love was just a touch away, yet I couldn't reach out to him.

Love was never a necessity in Sunghoon's life. All his focus went towards his goal, making his dream turn into reality. Ever since he was a child, he knew exactly what he wanted from his life, and he was so close from reaching it. Following his passion made much more sense to him than being distracted by love and all the problems that came along with it.

My growing feelings were one of them.

And I had to put an end to it.

❁

I changed into comfortable clothes and laid awake in my bed as I watched the rain crash down against my window, turning the world outside into a blurry painting. I let my tears flow free and didn't even want to wipe them away. There was a void in me and it drained me of all my energy. My chain of thoughts were interrupted when I heard loud sneezes in the living room.

I stepped into the living room, the cold air nipping at my bare legs and arms that my pyjamas didn't cover, only to realise that Sunghoon fell asleep on the couch while his clothes were still wet. The rain didn't spare an inch of his body. And the couch turned dark from the wet material that clung to his body like a second skin.

"S- Sunghoon!" I was shaking his arms urgently, trying to wake him up. He didn't bother opening eyes, "Mmm, Y/n, stop-" "Sunghoon, please get up, you are drenched! You'll fall sick if you keep sleeping here!" Thankfully, I managed to make him sit up on the couch.

I went back to my room to pull out anything oversize Sunghoon could change into. 'These black joggers and t-shirt would have to do…both are size L, right?' I went back to Sunghoon to give him the clothes and pushed him towards the bathroom that was attached to my bedroom.

I walked back to the living room and headed to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water. I just really hoped that he didn't come down with the flu or something. What even was this bad luck of mine?

Sunghoon didn't come out from my room and I was feeling paranoid all of a sudden. 'He couldn't have fallen unconscious in the bathroom or something, right?', Not wasting another second, I took quick steps across the living room and reached for my bedroom. The only thing that came into my view, though, was Sunghoon lying peacefully in my bed.

I was taken back.

Obviously, Sunghoon couldn't sleep on the couch since his clothes made it wet, but I somehow didn't think through where else he might be sleeping - there was only my bed and the drenched couch in my apartment.

Where would I sleep now?

As if Sunghoon could read my mind, his groggy voice cut through the awkward silence in the room, "Y/n, could you bear with me for one night? Please? I…I swear, I won't do anything to you". His voice turned into a whisper in the end, as if it only dawned on him how ridiculous his plea sounded. "Trust me, please."

Would I trust him?

I trusted him.

More than I trusted myself in this situation.

So without batting in eye, I went over to my bed and climbed in, leaving enough space between us.

"Thank you, Y/n".

It wasn't a simple thank you between two best friends. It was a 'thank you' for the trust a woman was putting into a man's mere words.

I could've kicked Sunghoon out for even suggesting such an idea, because that was the obvious thing for me to do.

Or I could've even shouted at him - anything but laying next to the person I desperately tried to avoid in the first place. It seemed like the rained washed away every ounce of rationality I had in me.

❁

Soft snoring joined the sound of rain splattering against my windows. I couldn't fall asleep anymore, even though my eyelids felt heavy. It wasn't until I felt Sunghoon turn around and snake his arm around my waist that I became awfully aware of how close we were pushed against each other.

Sunghoon's breathing was tickling my neck, but I was stiff in my spot.

Was I supposed to wake him up? Did Sunghoon even have the faintest idea about what he was doing? What were his actions doing to my heart? Was he still asleep, not hearing how my heart was about to give up from beating too fast?

I waited.

I waited for him to stir, pull his arm away, or do anything. Something.

But he didn't.

I took a risk and slowly turned around under Sunghoon's arm. His face was void of any reaction, his breathing was steady and Sunghoon didn't seem to be awake.

A lump formed in my throat and it didn't want to go away, no matter how often I tried to swallow it down. My vision became blurry until the tears were flowing out and slowly turning my pillow case a shade darker.

My right hand hesitantly reached up and stopped mid-air. What was I doing? Sunghoon will hate me for this. He doesn't love me.

But my body had a mind of it's own: I was lightly caressing Sunghoon's cheek, unable to stop myself from doing so.

Will I ever be able to get over my love for this man?

Will I ever be as important to him as his ambitions in life?

Was falling in love supposed to be this painful?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see Sunghoon's open eyes staring right into mine.

I froze on the spot.

But he didn't do anything after that. He wasn't moving away.

Why?

The rain had no intention of slowing down and was splashing just as forcefully against the window behind us as it did a few hours ago. But I was damn sure that Sunghoon could hear my heart thumping loudly in my ribcage.

It felt like an eternity had passed, with neither of us pulling away from each other. My hand was still on Sunghoon's cheek, while his arm was resting on my waist as if it belonged there.

"Why aren't you saying anything, Sunghoon?" My voice was shakey and barely audible.

Sunghoon's voice also came out in a soft whisper, "Am I…supposed to say anything, Y/n?" His eyes were still void of any expression. I didn't have the faintest idea about what was going on in his mind.

"You don't hate-" I took a sharp intake of air before I continued, "You don't hate me for doing this to you?" I looked at my hand on his cheek and back into his eyes. I was nervous of his answer.

"It doesn't feel wrong, Y/n." His voice was shaking. "This…feels right, Y/n."

My heart stopped hearing those words. Did he not realise what he was saying?

We were still facing each other, not knowing what we should do - we were just lost in each others eyes, when Sunghoon spoke up. "I don't know what I should do, Y/n. I'm scared of this."

This sentence pierced through my already hurting heart. I removed my hand from his cheek and tried to pull back, but Sunghoon's grip on my waist tightened.

"I'm scared of hurting you, Y/n." Sunghoon was tearing up.

"Why would you even hurt me-"

"Because I'm falling in love with you, Y/n."

My whole world came to a stop. "What?"

The way Sunghoon's gaze changed made me question everything. I've never seen him look at me like that - the vulnerability in his eyes made my heart ache in a way I never had expected.

Sunghoon's tears were staining the side of his face now, before he pulled me into his chest and hugged me safely in his arms.

"I've never loved anyone in my life, Y/n. It was never meant for me. People come and go in my life and I never look back at them. But you…I'm scared of losing you. I started to make an effort of learning about the things you like and dislike, about the things you do and love. Unknowingly, you became an irreplaceable person in my life - you became my best friend."

Sunghoon was stroking my head so lightly as if I could break from a wrong touch. "Staying with you became as normal as filling my lungs with air to stay alive. But I started to become greedy - I wanted to have you for myself. Y/n, I was never jealous of anyone or anything in my life, because for me, working hard meant that I can achieve anything, get anything I want. But with you…"

I pulled back and looked into Sunghoon's dark eyes. His usually sharp gaze looked so vulnerable right now. His voice was breaking, "For the first time in my life, I felt a fear: why would you stay by my side if I don't know how to love? How to love you? You know what love is, but I don't…and I've never felt so lost in my life, Y/n. What if I can never love you the way I'm supposed to do it? The way you deserve to be loved? What if you start to hate me and-"

I stopped him. My hand was resting on his lips as both of us couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Do you mean it, Sunghoon?"

He cupped my hand with his, kissing the very palm that shushed him mere seconds ago.

"Yes."

I wiped away his tears and scooted closer to him. I had the sudden urge to feel his warmth on my skin. My voice was equally hoarse as Sunghoon's was before.

"Will you…Will you let me stay by your side, if I told you that I love you?"

I knew I was pushing my luck at this point, but Sunghoon had planted a seed of hope in my heart, and I couldn't stop it from sprouting.

"Y/n, do you really love me?" His soft hands were wiping away my tears now and delicately cradled my face between his palms, "Would you really stay with me? Even though I don't know how to love you…the way you truly deserve to be loved?"

Unsaid words that seemed like a far away dream were finally seeing the light of the world for the first time.

I smiled through my tears at him, with a flurry feeling in my chest that made me gasp for air, "I love you, Sunghoon. I always have."

Sunghoon mirrored my smile and bumped his forehead against my own. His breathing quickened, like he was having a hard time staying calm. He looked up and gazed lovingly into my eyes, not breaking eye contact even once. "Say that again, Y/n. Please."

"I love you, Sunghoon…I love you, I love you, I love-"

He didn't let me finish.

Sunghoon's plump lips covered mine in a long, warm kiss that left both of us short of breath.

All the feelings, love and desire we had for each other were poured into this kiss. The way he was still caressing my cheek while kissing me made me light-headed. My lungs were on fire, and I broke our kiss to catch air. The rain had finally slowed down and the sudden burst of moonlight escaping between the dark clouds made Sunghoon's face appear so magical as if this was all a dream.

"Do you…really love me, Sunghoon?" I had to make sure that this wasn't just another dream of mine. I had to make sure that Sunghoon felt the same for me as I did for him.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so, so, so much." Sunghoon's whole face lit up with the brightest smile I've ever seen.

I've never witnessed him smile like this before - with so much adoration, love and want in his eyes, it almost made me choke up.

"And I will do anything in my might to show you just how much you mean to me."

Sunghoon kissed me. Again.

It felt like our lips were always meant to be this way. Like they belonged to each other. Like this was the only way we were supposed to exist.

Sunghoon smiled into the kiss. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. Then one on my right eye. Another one on the left eye. On my right cheek. One on the left one too.

Sunghoon started to place a trail of kisses on my neck and collarbone while his fingers delicately feathered over every inch of me within his reach. His lips traced my skin while he was moving lower and lower…and lower.

I lifted both of my hands and reached for his hair, using my soft grip on his dark locks to tug him back up to me, his lips were playing with mine again.

"Y/n", Sunghoon's voice came out as a strained whisper, "…there's still a chance to stop me, you just have to tell me once".

That unwanted fear settled back in his eyes: he didn't want me to regret our actions later just because we were getting carried away with the mood.

But I knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed to do.

And I've never been so sure about anything in my life like right now in this moment.

"Love me all the way and make me yours, Park Sunghoon."

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Hi there, I don't know if you're taking requesting at this moment but I'm gonna leave it here either way. I was wondering if you could do something regarding skz(any member you like or all of them, up to you :'D) where their s/o doesn't have any friend but hides it from them, thinking it might be embarrassing or pathetic, cuz they all have each other and she doesn't. But they find out somehow. Maybe she said she's going out but found her alone somewhere( park, library idk wherever you want lmao), and the rest is up to you ToT <33. Hope this makes sense. It's been way over a year since I moved abroad for studies and still stuck in the outer part of every circle lmaoo. Love love ABSOLUTELY LOVE your work. I'm so glad I found your work ToT. Thank you for existing with your creativity <333333

First off, youre brave for leaving home to go study. It’s takes a lot to uproot everything you know and love and go chase your dreams. I admire that kind of courage. So sorry for the late response, but I hope this brings you comfort ♥️

You tell him you’re going out. You even smile when you say it, and that’s the hardest part. Because smiling shouldn’t feel like lying, but lately, it does.

“Gonna go meet some people from class,” you say, slipping on your shoes, tying the same laces twice just for something to do with your hands. “We’ve been meaning to catch up.”

He smiles back, trusting you. Because why wouldn’t he?

Chan doesn’t question it. He doesn’t follow up, doesn’t pry, just gives you that soft nod he always does when he’s trying to be supportive without hovering.

“Have fun, yeah?” He leans in, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Text me when you get there?”

You nod.

You lie again.

You don’t go to class.

You don’t meet anyone.

You walk.

Not even aimlessly- which in your mind would have made it the slightest bit better. You know exactly where your feet take you. The long path toward the quiet park just past the river bend. A spot you’ve gone to more than once, with a worn bench that overlooks the water and a broken lamppost that flickers, even during the day. It’s safe here.

Silent.

You sit and watch the wind skim across the water’s surface, pretending it’s talking to you. Pretending you’re listening. Pretending this isn’t the only place you don’t feel out of place.

This city is full of people. You are surrounded by thousands every day. When you walk the streets you realize just how beautiful and intricate the world is, seeing new faces and sights everyday. So, so many things around you. People.

But it’s never been harder to feel seen. No matter how many circles you dip your toes into, the water never feels warm.

You hover on the edge of things, always invited, never included.

No one really waits for you.

No one really calls.

No one but him.

But he’s different. He has them. Eight brothers that orbit around each other like they were born to do just that.

They have matching hoodies and inside jokes and nicknames. They show up for one another- loud, chaotic, and whole.

You show up to group projects and fade into the background. You sit in full classrooms and still feel invisible. You eat lunch with your phone on the table, pretending not to care when no messages come in.

You don’t want Chan to know that.

You don’t want him to see it.

He’s warm and soft and kind and caring in ways you’ve never been able to describe without falling apart.

He gives you space, yes- but that space is filled with love.

It wraps around you like a sweater two sizes too big and just heavy enough to feel safe. You don’t want to ruin that with your loneliness.

You don't even know how you first met Chan, let alone how this… romance happened.

How his warm, snuggle, strong embrace became a part of your daily routine when you couldn't even find someone to stick around long enough to learn your name, your fears, your dreams.

So you lie.

“Going out with friends.”

“Group study.”

“Coffee with the girls.”

And then you sit on this bench, hands in your lap, watching the hours pass.

This.

The only other routine of your life. The same thing over and over.

You wondered how long you could keep your loneliness hidden.

You don’t even hear the footsteps until they stop right beside you.

“…You said you were going out.”

Your heart drops.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

But you do. Slowly. Like maybe if you stall long enough, the truth won’t crack open between you.

Chan stands there, hands in his coat pockets, hair windswept and cheeks pink from the cold. He looks at you like he’s trying not to jump to conclusions.

Understanding and patient as always.

But his voice is already soft, too careful, too warm. And that’s worse.

You laugh. It’s thin. “I…did.”

“Out with friends, you said.”

You nod, but your throat’s tight. “Yeah.”

He looks at the empty bench. The overcast sky. The paper coffee cup by your side that’s clearly been there too long. The way your cuticles are already ripped from picking at them since he made his arrival known.

You didn't have to know he had been standing their longer than you realized. That he had sensed something was up for a few weeks.

Maybe he was wrong to have followed you. But he cared too much to not see if there was something that was bothering you.

You were too busy watching his face to acknowledge the gears in his head turning from the scene.

You swear his heart breaks a little when he puts it all together.

“How long?” he asks, quiet.

You swallow.

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean.

He knows. God, of course he does.

“How long have you been coming here?” he tries again, gently, slowly sitting beside you like he’s scared you might run. “When you said you were meeting someone?”

You stare at your hands. “A while.”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your voice breaks without your permission. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

His breath catches. That’s the one that hits him.

You force a laugh again, but it’s wet this time, your vision already blurring.

“I mean, look at you. You have them. You have a family in every way that counts. You’ve got people to lean on, talk to, yell across rooms to, joke with. I don’t even have anyone to text that I got home safe except you.”

You blink hard, trying to keep it together.

"Not that thats a bad thing!" You backtrack. "But...it’s pathetic. The only person I have to talk to is my boyfriend. Its burdensome. Embarrassing. I didn’t want you to see me like that. Like- some lonely girl who can’t even make a single friend in a city full of people.” You swipe at your tears furiously.

Chan says your name softly, but you shake your head.

“I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

There’s a pause. A heartbeat.

And then he says, quiet but firm:

“I could never.”

Your breath hitches.

“I mean it,” he says, turning to face you now, knees knocking yours. “I could never think less of you for something like that.”

“But I-”

“You moved across the world, alone. You chased your goals, even when it meant starting from zero. You’re brave. You’re strong. You don’t have to hide how hard it’s been. Not from me.”

You want to believe him.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

“I didn’t want to burden you,” you whisper.

Chan takes your hand. Carefully. Tenderly. Like you’re glass, but not as if you're fragile- just precious.

“You’re not a burden,” he says. “You’re a part of my life. I want to be there for all of it. Even the parts that hurt.”

Your chest caves in. A quiet sob escapes before you can swallow it down. And he’s already there, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you against him so your cheek rests on his shoulder and his hand cradles the back of your head like he can shield you from the weight of your own silence.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

You cry harder at that.

Because it’s the first time in months it feels true.

He holds you until the shaking fades. Until your breaths come slower, easier. Until the wind quiets and your fingers find his, holding tight.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “Not with me.”

You don’t talk much on the way home.

You think you should. Maybe say something light, make a joke, smooth over the awkward edges still hanging between the things you said and the way you cried into his hoodie. But Chan doesn’t rush you.

He walks beside you in silence, his hand in yours, and it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t ask you to fill it. The kind that just says I’m here. I’m still here.

You lean a little closer than usual. He doesn’t mind.

It seems he is deep in thought.

And when you step inside your apartment, the quiet settles again but this time it feels different. Not empty. Just calm. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

Chan toes off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket.

You linger by the door.

“Want tea?” he asks, already heading to your kitchen like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

You nod, not trusting your voice yet. But your fingers twitch toward him, aching to hold something. Anything. Him.

He notices. He always does.

Without a word, he places two mugs down on the counter, crosses the room in three soft steps, and wraps his arms around you again. Just like before. No pressure. No questions. Just warmth. Just home.

You breathe in. He smells like chamomile and winter air.

“I didn’t mean to cry that much,” you murmur, voice small against his chest.

“I know,” he says, fingers threading through your hair. “But you needed to.”

A pause.

“I’ve cried over less,” he adds. “Like…when Felix dropped my protein pancakes that one time.”

You laugh, a little choked, but real. “You really liked those pancakes.”

“They had peanut butter and bananas. And the brand was discontinued. You don’t come back from that kind of loss easily.”

You bury your face in his hoodie. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

Your heart does a tiny somersault. You don’t say anything. Just squeeze him a little tighter.

Later, when you sit on the floor with a blanket wrapped around your legs while Chan moves around your kitchen like he’s been living here for years. He hands you a bowl of soup, still too warm to hold properly, and sits beside you, his shoulder against yours.

“You know,” he says, voice low, “you don’t have to keep it all in like that.”

You stare into your tea. “I know. It just…feels safer.”

He hums. “I get that. But carrying everything alone doesn’t make you stronger. It just makes you tired.”

That lands.

He lets it settle before he speaks again. “I’ve been there too, you know.”

You blink. “You?”

He nods, sipping from his cup.

“When I moved away from Australia…I didn’t know anyone. I had the guys, eventually, yeah. But at first? I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Even the people I did talk to...those relationships didn't feel...real you know? I’d go whole days without saying a word to someone who wasn’t part of a schedule.”

You look at him. “That’s hard to imagine.”

He smiles, but it’s small. “It was lonely. And I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want them to think I couldn’t handle it. But pretending to be okay didn’t help. Talking about it did. And that's where I met true friends."

You don’t say anything. Just listen. Just feel.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “Or strong all the time. Or happy if you’re not.”

You glance at him, suddenly shy. “Do the others know? That I don’t really…have people here?” You whisper quietly.

“No,” he says, gently. “But if they did, they’d never judge you for it.”

You nod. You almost believe it.

“Felix would probably cry and then bake you something. Changbin would probably introduce you to a bunch of the girls at JYPE- which I can do for you. They've seen you around a few times and ask me about you. I'm sure they'd love to be your friends.” Chan adds. He bites his lip in thought. “Hyunjin would probably ask you to be his muse for a piece of artwork- just to make sure you weren't alone. Seungmin would pretend he doesn’t care and then start inviting you to everything making some excuse to make sure you tagged along. Jeongin would bring you snacks. Food is something he loves and he'd want to share it with you. Since it makes him happy. Han would- well, he’d find a way to make it worse and then somehow better. He'd also probably be with Lix on the crying boat.” He chuckled.

You laughed softly too.

“And Minho?”

“He’d act like he already knew. Then he’d tell you you’re part of the family now, and you've been a part of the family, so deal with it.”

Your eyes sting, but not from sadness this time.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” you admit. “Like I keep showing up to things hoping something will click, but it never does. And I start to wonder if it’s me. If I’m just…not meant to be part of anyone’s circle.”

Chan sets his cup down and turns to face you fully.

“You belong with me.”

That sentence cuts through every doubt like warm light through fog.

“I know it’s hard when the world feels like it’s moving without you,” he says. “But you’re not invisible to me. You’ve never been. I came up to you first, didn't I?"

Your breath catches.

“And if the people around you can’t see how amazing you are, that’s on them. Not you.”

Tears threaten again, but you manage a watery smile.

He reaches out, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re not a background character, alright? You’re the main one. And I’m not letting you forget that again.”

You lean into his touch. “You make that easy to believe.”

“Then let me keep doing that.”

He pulls you close again, and this time, you let yourself fall into it fully. No hesitating. No wondering if you’re too heavy, too quiet, too complicated to hold. No calculating the space you take up in someone else’s life.

Just…surrender.

You melt into his chest, your arms curling around his waist, and for the first time in what feels like months, your mind goes quiet. Not empty, not numb- just quiet.

Like the part of you that always keeps score finally sat down and closed the book.

Chan doesn’t say anything right away. He just breathes with you. One slow inhale, one slower exhale, like he’s teaching your body a rhythm softer than survival.

“You feel safe,” you whisper, before you even mean to say it aloud.

He smiles, lips brushing the top of your head. “Good. That’s what I want.”

And when he says it like that, you believe him.

His hand moves gently up and down your back, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing you by touch. Not to fix anything. Not to rush you out of what you’re feeling. Just to remind you: you’re here, you’re loved, and you’re not too much.

“I used to be scared of this,” you admit, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Of being known like this. Of letting someone see everything I’m trying so hard to keep together.”

“Yeah?” he says softly.

You nod. “But it’s different with you.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes- those warm, dark eyes that never ask for more than you’re ready to give.

“I know how to hold things gently,” he says. “Especially the parts of you you’re scared to show.”

You blink, and the tears come again but this time they fall without fear. No shame. No guilt. Just soft, steady release. And he’s already there, catching them with his thumb, brushing them away like they were never something to hide in the first place.

You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re ungrateful but because you know he knows. Because gratitude is stitched into the way your fingers cling to the edge of his hoodie. The way you let your weight rest against him, trusting him not to flinch.

You stay like that for a long time.

No pretending.

No hiding.

No masks.

Just two people in the quiet, where being known doesn’t feel scary anymore. It feels like breathing. Like healing. Like the beginning of something steady.

And when Chan finally speaks again, it’s in a whisper just for you:

“From now on, even if it’s just me- you’ll always have someone to come home to.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

[89pedri]

Inside of Love

⤑ Summary: Pedri moves through loud and quiet moments that slowly reveal a truth he can't ignore — he wants the kind of love everyone else around him seems to have already found. Angst & fluff. Pedri x reader!

⤑ Word count: 7,800+.

⤑ A/N: Based on Inside of Love by Nada Surf & himym (very loosely). Hope you enjoy!

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Watching terrible TV, it kills all thought. Getting spacier than an astronaut. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"¡Montoya, por favor!"

The host's voice cracked through the speakers, desperate and helpless, as Montoya sprinted down the beach like a man possessed.

Fer choked on his drink from laughing so hard. "Look at it, it looks like a war scene, not a reality show," he wheezed, rewinding the scene to watch Montoya's heartbreak unfold all over again. 

Pedri just stared.

Montoya's face — twisted with betrayal, disbelief — stuck with him. That unfiltered pain. The rawness of it. The moment his world cracked open for everyone to see. And yet, there was love underneath it. Or something that once was love. Enough to make a man run like that. Enough to make a nation gasp.

Pedri bit his lip, eyes glued to the screen. But he wasn't laughing.

Fer noticed, nudging him, "What's wrong with you? Don't tell me that 'Montoya, por favor' moved you."

"No, no," Pedri muttered, shaking his head, but it lingered.

He wasn't sure why it hit him so hard. Maybe it was the fact that even Montoya — messy, dramatic, impulsive Montoya — had felt something that deeply. Had something to lose.

Something real enough to break over. Pedri hadn't even come close.

He reached for a handful of popcorn, missed the bowl completely, and sighed.

He felt like a ghost sometimes. Floating through parties, fake smiles, hollow conversations. Never running toward anything. Never being stopped by someone calling his name like they meant it. He wasn't sure if it was funny or devastating anymore.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Making out with people I hardly know or like. I can't believe what I do, late at night. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The club was too dark and too loud. Bass thumped beneath his feet like a second, relentless heartbeat, and the strobe lights fractured the room into jagged, breathless moments.

Flash — a girl laughing too close to his ear, her hand curling around his wrist like she owned it. Flash — Gavi pressing a drink into his hand, shouting something he couldn't hear over the music. Flash — the girl again, her voice high and eager, talking a mile a minute.

Pedri nodded along, barely listening at first. Until the words sank in.

"I can't believe it," she giggled, swaying into him. "I'm talking to Pedri, you know? Pedri! From Barça. You're like... I don't know, a legend already."

He forced a tight smile. Took a sip of the drink he didn't want.

She kept going, breathless with excitement, as if she hadn't noticed he hadn't said a word. As if he wasn't a person standing there — just a jersey, a name, a story to brag about later. "My friends aren't going to believe me when I tell them," she said, her fingers tapping against his chest like she was checking if he was real. "Can you imagine the photo? Me and Pedri. How cool."

Pedri swallowed hard, the music pressing against his temples. He knew this feeling. The weight of being looked at without ever really being seen. He couldn't listen to another second.

Before she could rattle off another breathless sentence about how "cool" it was to meet him, he kissed her. Fast. Sharp. Just enough to shut her up.

Her lips tasted of strawberry lip gloss and cheap tequila. She gasped in surprise, freezing for half a second before smiling into it, pulling him closer like she thought it meant something more. He let her think that. For a few seconds, he let himself think that too.

Then he pulled back, gave her a lazy, practiced grin, and slipped away into the crowd without a word.

In the men's room, he stared at himself under the harsh lights. Red cheeks. Messy hair. Empty eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered, gripping the sink until his knuckles turned white. He splashed water onto his face, hoping to rinse away the hollow feeling clinging to his skin.

He used to believe it would happen differently.  That love — real love — would find him if he just stayed good. Stayed focused.

Now he was just burning through nights. Burning through kisses that meant nothing. And when the music faded and the night ended, he was always right back where he started.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

His parents danced in the kitchen sometimes. Not always. Not in a grand, dramatic way. But every once in a while, when the radio hummed out one of those old Spanish ballads his dad loved, something about it would pull his mom's gaze. She'd smirk, like she was in on a secret, then stretch out her hand. And his father, always a little goofy, always a little ready to make her laugh, would take it without hesitation.

Pedri had caught them, just a few weeks ago, early in the evening when the house was still bathed in that warm, soft light. The scent of lentejas bubbled from the pot on the stove, filling every corner of the house. He'd been passing through the hallway, halfway to the fridge, when he noticed the quiet sound of his dad's voice — soft and off-key, like it always was when he tried to sing.

His mom was in her slippers, the kind she never wore in public, just around the house, her hair loose and pulled back messily. Her head was resting against his dad's shoulder, but the way she looked at him — it was like there was no one else in the world, just them and the music.

Pedri stood frozen in the doorway, watching them. The way his dad swayed with an awkward, endearing kind of rhythm, his mom smiling like she didn't care what anyone thought. It was the kind of thing no one noticed unless they were really looking.

But Pedri did. He always did. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it. But it always hit him harder than he expected, like a wave that pulled him under before he had time to brace himself.

His parents had been through so much. They'd moved towns, more than once, started over, found new jobs, put everything they had into raising two boys who would one day grow up and leave home. It wasn't always pretty. There had been fights, long nights of uncertainty, tears, and stress. And still — after more than twenty-five years — they held onto each other like they hadn't forgotten how to.

They'd built a life together. They'd been through everything together. And yet, there they were, still looking at each other like the world hadn't changed them, like they could still be those young lovers in the kitchen, dancing with nothing more than the sound of their song and the echo of laughter.

Pedri shifted his weight, staying just beyond the doorway, invisible. His eyes stayed glued to the scene, even though he knew they didn’t see him. His mom's smile had that warmth in it — the kind that came from a place deep inside. It was effortless. Real. The kind of love that never needed to be validated.

He didn't know if he'd ever have that.

He wanted it. So much. Not the kind of love that was paraded around on Instagram. Not the flashy, public gestures or the quick kisses for the camera. He wanted quiet love. The kind that didn't need to shout. The one that existed between two people, built over years, with laughter and tears, with patience and compromise. The kind of love that didn't go away when the party ended or the lights faded. He wanted to be part of something like that — a love that stayed when the excitement wore off. When the world stopped spinning and it was just the two of them, sharing an ordinary day. But he wasn't there. He was always on the outside, standing at the gates of it. Watching it. Longing for it. But never quite finding his way in.

"Algún día," his mom had whispered to him once, a long time ago, after a long day when he was still a kid. She had brushed his hair back as he sat on the kitchen floor, watching her chop vegetables. "Te vas a enamorar de verdad, mijo. Vas a ver qué bonito es desde dentro." (One day, you're going to really fall in love, son. You'll see how beautiful it is from the inside).

He hadn't really understood what she meant back then. He hadn't needed to. But now, as he watched them, his parents moving in slow, contented circles to a song that no one else could hear, he thought he might finally get it.

He hoped she was right. Because right now, all he had was the ache of wanting it. The quiet, constant yearning. And maybe that was enough for now. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Something real, waiting just beyond his reach. Something that wasn't just the kind of love that filled stadiums and created headlines. It was the kind of love that stayed, no matter what.

And he couldn't help but wonder: Would he ever be the one to find it?

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Only when we get to see the aerial view will the patterns show. We'll know what to do. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sometimes he wondered if football had taught him to live too straight. Lines on the field. Lines in his life. Get up early. Train. Eat right. Rest. Focus. Win. There was a plan for everything — a structure, a rhythm to follow, like the predictable beat of a metronome. If you followed it, things worked out. If you played by the rules, the ball would eventually find its way into the net.

But love didn't follow a tactical map. There were no arrows drawn on a whiteboard for that. No strategies. No drills. No team talks about how to navigate the mess of feelings, misunderstandings, and moments that didn't make sense.

He remembered once — after a match in Madrid — stopping for coffee in a little café near the hotel. It was a small place with a quirky vibe: mismatched chairs, tiny wooden tables, and the faint hum of indie music in the background.

A girl had approached his table. She had curly hair that bounced slightly when she walked, and green headphones around her neck, a little carelessly thrown on, like she'd just taken them off in a hurry.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" she asked, her voice hesitant but not shy. She wasn't starstruck, and didn't know him from any other footballer. He'd said yes, out of habit. He wasn't used to saying no in situations like that. Besides, he liked the silence. He liked the anonymity of being just another person at a café, not Pedri, the star.

They ended up talking for an hour. Not about football. Not about his matches or his career, or her favorite team. No. They talked about books, mostly. She told him she loved fantasy novels, and how she'd reread The Hobbit at least five times. She asked him if he had ever read One Hundred Years of Solitude, but he hadn't, so she spent a few minutes describing it — the layers of magic and tragedy woven together. They talked about dogs too. She had one — a golden retriever named Tango — who was so friendly he could practically carry a conversation. And when she spoke about him, Pedri could hear the affection in her voice. It wasn't just an ordinary dog. It was her companion, her friend. Then, they talked about Sundays. She said Sundays always felt a little sad to her, like the promise of a new week weighed too heavy to be joyful.

Pedri listened. He was good at listening. Good at staying quiet while others filled the space with words. He wondered if that's how people fell in love — just by showing up, listening, being there in those little moments.

When she stood up to leave, she smiled and said, "It was nice meeting you, Pedro." The way she said it — as if it was a casual parting, not something monumental. And yet it felt like something bigger to him. She didn't even ask for his number. Didn't ask for his Instagram or to keep in touch. She just smiled and walked out, and that was it. 

He never saw her again. Moments like that came back to him sometimes. Quietly. Not with regret. Just with a kind of wonder. Was that something? Could it have been?

He often thought about that meeting. And others like it. Those scattered, brief encounters with strangers who weren't impressed by who he was. Who didn't know his last name or care about his next match. Just people who talked to him because, in that moment, they were two humans sharing a space.

But football had always been a clear path. There was always a next match, a next flight, a next tournament. He couldn't afford distractions, especially when there was so much to prove. And so he kept going. Straight ahead. Like he'd been taught. No matter what moments he'd missed along the way. No matter who he hadn't gotten to know.

Now, sometimes, he looked back at those scattered, quiet moments and wished he could step outside himself — trace the pattern they'd drawn without knowing it. Maybe then he'd understand it. The way those people, those fleeting interactions, those missed connections fit into something bigger. Something he couldn't see when he was inside it.

Maybe love worked like that. Maybe you couldn't see it when you were in it, tangled up in your own expectations, focused on the finish line, always chasing the next achievement. Maybe you had to get above it, far enough away, to recognize where you were meant to go. For now, he still felt lost.

And maybe, just maybe, one day, from a higher view... the path would make sense. And he'd look back and see all the pieces falling into place, one by one. For now, though, he could only hope.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I know the last page so well, I can't read the first. So I just don't start, it's getting worse. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Pedri had always been good at endings. He'd seen them play out time and time again, with an all-too-clear predictability. Love started, blossomed, and then — just as certain as him being in Tenerife when the season was over — it faded.

The same cycle he'd witnessed over and over. He'd seen it with his friends, his teammates, even his cousins. They'd swear they'd found the one, the person they would grow old with, only for that bond to dissolve three years later, leaving nothing but regret and awkward conversations at family gatherings. 

Ferran and Sira had been different, though. Their love had looked so real. Pedri had watched them from the sidelines, noticed the way Ferran would light up when she called him, how they shared inside jokes, how their hands fit so easily together. There was something about the way they moved through the world — together, always in sync, like they had already figured it out. They had something many people only dream of. It was right there in front of him, visible, undeniable.

He remembered the way Ferran had talked about Sira, the little sparks in his eyes when her name came up in conversation. He had been happy. They had been happy. It had been the kind of love that seemed to defy everything. The kind of love you couldn't fake. The kind you wanted to believe in.

Then, one day, it ended. Just like that. No warning. No clear reason. Just one final conversation, and that was it.

Ferran came back to his house one night, and Pedri could see it in his eyes — the weight of it, the way he carried the broken pieces. Sira was gone, and suddenly, Ferran was a little more hollow, a little more distant. Pedri had been there for him, of course. The conversations, the late-night talks, the reassuring pats on the back. He'd done his best to help pick up the pieces of his friend's heart. But some things, he knew, couldn't be fixed so easily.

"What happened?" Pedri had asked him once, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why did it end?"  Ferran had just sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "I don't know. We just… couldn't keep it together anymore." His voice had been thick with something that wasn't just sadness, but a deep, exhausted kind of disappointment. Like he'd given all he had, but it still wasn't enough. Like love just wasn't enough. Pedri had seen that look in Ferran's eyes, and for the first time, he understood the weight of what love could be. It wasn't always about passion or grand gestures. Sometimes it was just the slow build, the quiet moments of connection. And sometimes, when it fell apart, it left a hole too big to fill.

The thought of that — of love coming and going, of starting something that would eventually slip through his fingers — made him hesitate. Why even try? He had seen how deep the cuts could go. He didn't want to experience that firsthand.

And Ferran had seemed to reflect that same weariness. The same caution that Pedri had built into his own life. They'd both learned, one way or another, that love wasn't a guarantee. Not like a perfect assist or a goal in extra time. Just as sure as it came, it could disappear in an instant.

Pedri didn't want to put himself in that position. He thought about all of it as he sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone, his fingers numb against the glass. The texts he ignored. The time he let slip away. The nights when the silence felt too heavy, when he told himself he wasn't ready for love, that it was better to keep things casual.

But in his bones, he knew. It wasn't fear of the heartbreak that held him back anymore. It was exhaustion. Exhaustion from waiting for something that might never come, or worse, from hoping it would only to watch it fall apart. He didn't know what it felt like to hold something real. The kind of love his parents had, the kind of love Ferran had with Sira before it all unraveled. The one he sometimes thought might pass him by.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he hadn't been looking at it the right way. Maybe, if he could stop worrying about the end and start letting himself feel something along the way, he might just recognize it when it came — before it slipped away for good.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Tienes novia?" The question was always there, always the same, lingering in the air after each match, each press conference, each training session. It came from the reporters who tried to see beyond the athlete, looking for the human side of the star. They wanted a story, something personal to dissect. (Do you have a girlfriend?).

And Pedri had gotten good at answering it with practiced ease, a routine smile that shielded the vulnerability beneath. "No, estoy muy joven todavía," he said that day, the words slipping off his tongue like they had a hundred times before. The smile was a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed — the kind of smile you wear when you're trying to cover up what's really going on inside. (No, I'm still too young).

It was a lie, but not in the way most people assumed.

Sure, he was young. Sure, his career was everything. But that wasn't why he wasn't ready. It wasn't about being too focused on football or not having enough time. It wasn't even about age, despite what he told himself and others. The truth, the real truth, was much more difficult to admit. He wasn't ready solely because he was scared. Scared of something he couldn't even name. Scared of walking into a world that seemed so full of love, of connection, while he stood on the sidelines, unable to cross the threshold.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the studio windows as the interview moved on, his eyes lingering on his own face. He still saw the same kid he'd been when he started this journey, a player with dreams, with hopes, but a growing distance between him and the life he wanted outside of football.

I'm still too young. It was easier to say than the truth.

The truth was, love terrified him. Not the idea of it — the daydreams, the stories — but the reality of finding it, building it, holding onto it. His parents had the kind of love that felt timeless: shaped by years of shared memories, quiet struggles, and unshakable laughter. They were each other's anchor, each other's safe haven. He'd grown up watching it unfold — the way his mother's eyes softened when his father practiced his old goalkeeping drills, or how a single glance between them across the kitchen table said everything when Fer came home with a bad grade. That kind of love didn't just happen. It was rare. And Pedri knew it.

He recalled the times his mom had told him, over and over again, "Vas a ver, Pedri, el amor es bonito. Te va a llegar." She believed it. She was certain. But Pedri wasn't. (You'll see, Pedri, love is beautiful. It'll come to you).

What if it didn't? What if love wasn't meant for him? That feeling of being on the outside, watching people walk through doors he couldn’t reach — it was suffocating.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel as he left the training ground, his mind spinning with all the things he couldn't shake. He wasn't afraid of commitment. He didn't think he was afraid of being loved. He was afraid of never being able to find that love in the first place. The kind that felt like something real. The kind that wasn't fleeting, or superficial, or hollow.

He thought about how easy it seemed for others — how love found them without effort, like it had been waiting just around the corner. He'd seen it in his friends, younger teammates who lit up around someone who made them laugh without trying. He saw it at home, too — his parents, who had built something lasting from nothing, who turned ordinary days into a life shared. That was love. And still, the weight of living up to something like that — the fear of not being enough for it — lingered quietly in the back of his mind.

How could he know if he was enough for it when he didn't even know how to start?

It was easier to stay on the outside. To tell himself that he wasn't ready. To tell himself that the time wasn't right. That love could wait, just like everything else in his life. But deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him. He didn't know how to trust himself enough to open a door, to take the risk. He wasn't sure he would know what to do if he ever stepped inside.

He also thought about the nights when he felt like an imposter. He'd be surrounded by people at parties or dinners, his laugh easy, his presence effortless. But inside, there was a loneliness that clung to him. A kind of quiet ache. He wondered what it would be like to find someone who understood that. To have someone by his side who wasn't just there because he was Pedri, but because they saw him — the person behind the name, the player, the public figure.

Would it be enough to make him feel whole? Or would it slip away before he had a chance to hold on?

Pedri sighed, letting his fingers trail across the steering wheel as the city lights passed by. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe love would come eventually, just like she said. But for now, standing at the gates of it, he didn't know if he was ready to walk through. Not yet. Not until he could trust that the door wouldn't close behind him once he stepped in.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I can't find my way in, I try again and again. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He had to try, right? If he kept waiting, kept pretending he wasn't interested in anything more than the casual, empty moments he'd always found so easy to slide into, nothing would ever change.

It started simple.

A dinner with a girl named Clara, someone he met through a friend at a social event. She was pretty—in that model-like effortless way. Her smile was warm, and her laugh was the kind that made him feel lighter, like he didn't have to be Pedri, the footballer. Just Pedri, the guy who loved talking about video games and places he wanted to see.

They spent hours talking that night. Not about football. Not about fame. Just about the little things. The kind of conversations that felt like they had no weight, no expectations. She asked him about his childhood, his favorite video games, and the last movie he watched. He asked her about her favorite books, her travels, what she dreamed of doing when she wasn't chasing deadlines. It was real, he told himself, or at least it felt like it.

For once, he felt like he could breathe without the weight of his public persona hanging over him. There was no footballer. There was no press. Just two people, sitting across from each other, talking like normal people.

It was easy. Light. Natural.

But as the days passed, it started to feel less real and more like something that should feel real, but didn't. They had a few more dates. Each one more predictable than the last. Dinner here. A walk in the park there. Casual, comfortable.

But something was always missing.

Clara was sweet. Easy to talk to, fun to be around. He liked her — genuinely. But it wasn't enough. It just wasn't love. Not really. There was something off-kilter about it, not loud or dramatic, just a quiet discomfort, like a pebble in his shoe he couldn't quite shake. He kept wondering, Is this it? Maybe he was just overthinking. Maybe it was him — being restless, overcritical, afraid to settle. He tried to silence the doubts, to convince himself they didn't matter. But they lingered, creeping in at the edges of every silence, every forced smile. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they stayed.

One evening, after a walk near the beach, when the air was cool and the city lights sparkled in the distance, Clara turned to him. Her face serious, but her voice gentle, "Pedri, what are we doing here?" He hadn't been expecting it, and for the first time, he didn't have an answer.

"I... I don't know," he said honestly, running his fingers through his hair. "I just... I don't know what I'm looking for. I'm trying."

It was the first time he had said it aloud. I'm trying. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many dates he went on or how much he wanted to believe in the moments they shared, there was still a distance. He still felt like he was on the outside.

Clara looked at him for a moment, and then a soft smile curled at the edges of her lips. "It's okay," she said gently. "I think we both know this isn't it."

That was it. That was the moment. It wasn't failure. It wasn't rejection. It wasn't even a breakup. It was just... nothing. A moment that never became something.

Pedri stood there, at the edge of the beach, with the sand still warm beneath his shoes, but the emptiness in his chest felt cold. He watched the waves crash against the shore, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn't sure what to do next.

He walked away from that night with a strange emptiness, not from losing her, but from the quiet realization that maybe he simply wasn't ready for something real. He tried. He really did. But he still couldn't find his way in. He couldn't find his way. At times, it felt that it wasn't just in love. It was in life. In everything, but football. He'd been trying for so long, but nothing ever seemed to fit.

And the more he tried, the more it seemed like he was getting further away from what he truly wanted.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I'm on the outside of love. Always under or above. I can't find my way in, I try again and again.  *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Copa del Rey final had been everything Pedri had dreamed of. The roar of the crowd, the weight of the trophy in his hands — everything felt like it was supposed to. He had worked for this moment, and now it was here, a symbol of his effort and determination.

He had scored — a clean strike from outside the box that curled past the keeper — and the stadium had erupted. It should have been the kind of moment that stayed suspended in time, frozen with joy. And for a second, it was. As his teammates swarmed him, his eyes instinctively searched the stands. He looked for his family — the ones who had been there before all the noise and the glory. And when he found them, arms raised and smiling wide, a warm pride bloomed in his chest. He loved them. He was proud to be theirs.

But even in that moment, with everything he'd ever wanted in front of him, a quiet thought slipped in — uninvited yet persistent. Shouldn't I be looking for someone else? Shouldn't there be someone else I should be sharing this with?

As the final whistle blew, the team erupted in celebration — cheers, laughter, champagne spraying into the air. But amidst the jubilant chaos, a quiet ache slowly began to creep into his chest, growing heavier with each passing minute. The noise of the celebration, the faces around him, all blurred into the background, and in their place, a subtle emptiness settled in, impossible to ignore.

He glanced around at the others. Gavi — never one to take much seriously — was completely absorbed in his girlfriend's laughter, her hand resting lightly on his arm as they shared a joke meant only for them. Nearby, Fermín leaned in close to his partner, their heads tilted together, voices low, like the rest of the world had quietly faded away. Then there were the older players, Raphinha, Lewandoswki — the ones who had already built families, their lives rooted in homes full of memory and affection. The kind of love shaped by time, by years of growing side by side, of weathering life together until it all fit without effort.

He didn't feel jealousy. He felt that all-too-familiar longing — the quiet ache for something just out of reach, no matter how hard he'd tried to grasp it.

Yes, he had his family, and that… that was everything. It had to be. His parents, Fernando and Rosy, had given him the kind of love that formed the bedrock of who he was. He still remembered the early mornings, when the sky was barely blue and his father was already in the car, waiting to drive him to training. The quiet pride in Rosy's eyes when he came home tired but smiling. The sacrifices they made — the hours, the money, the blind faith — all poured into his dreams without ever asking for anything in return. Fer had been his shadow and his cheerleader, always pushing him forward, even when he wanted to slow down. And he was grateful — deeply, fiercely grateful. But still, in this moment, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of others — stolen glances, soft touches, laughter shared in whispers — he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more waiting for him. Something he hadn't yet found.

For a second, he allowed himself to drift into the thought. He wasn't just craving the affection that came with winning, or the recognition. He wanted real connection. Something that wasn't born out of duty or circumstance but from mutual understanding, from sharing moments that had nothing to do with football. A love that wasn't just about celebrating trophies but about celebrating life, together.

But how? He'd been caught in the rhythm of his career for so long, constantly on the move, living in a world that required him to put his heart in the backseat, to focus on the game. And whenever he tried, whenever he made an effort to go beyond the surface with someone, he ended up feeling like he was faking it. The connection wasn't deep enough. The effort didn't feel right. No matter how many times he tried, it always slipped through his fingers.

And yet, as he stood there, the cool air brushing against his skin, holding the trophy that symbolized everything he had worked for, he couldn't ignore the ache. The weight of it starting to feel unbearable.

He had everything a footballer could ask for — success, recognition, a bright future. But at that moment, it didn't matter. Not really. He stared at the trophy in his hands, his fingers tightening around the cool metal, but it didn't bring him the comfort he expected.

The quiet loneliness wrapped itself around him again, more present than it had ever been before. He thought about all those moments he had seen in others — moments of genuine connection, of love. Of something that wasn't earned by victory, but by time, by knowing someone truly and fully.

It felt like he was always on the outside looking in.

He wanted to experience that feeling. To look at someone and know they saw him, just as him. To have someone in his life who would understand the quiet moments, the struggles behind the scenes, someone who would stand by him, not because of his career, not because of material things he could offer, but because they simply wanted to.

But tonight, as he stood alone, waiting for his family to join him on the field, a weight heavier than the trophy in his hands settled in his chest. It wasn't failure. It wasn't even disappointment. It was the simple truth that, no matter how much he had, something important was missing. And for the first time, he wasn't sure how to fill that gap.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I'm on the outside of love - always under or above. Must be a different view to be a me with a you. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The wedding reception was warm, almost golden — the kind of light that made everything look softer, more intimate. Pedri sat quietly at a round table near the edge of the room, his hands wrapped loosely around a glass, his tie slightly loosened. The venue — an old finca in the hills above Tegueste — overflowed with laughter and the scent of jasmine and grilled fish, the kind of food that reminded him of long childhood summers.

He should've felt at home. Javier was one of his oldest friends. They used to ride bikes through the streets until their legs gave out, play pickup games until the sun disappeared behind the mountains. And now, Javier was standing in front of everyone — suit perfectly tailored, eyes locked on Lucía as if she were gravity itself.

"Thank you all for joining us today," Javier began, raising his glass. His voice was thick with emotion, just barely holding steady. "But above all… thank you, Lucía. Because you didn't just marry me today. You saved me. You made me believe in something more than myself. In an 'us.'"

There was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted in applause, a few people wiping at their eyes. Pedri smiled faintly, but the words hit him harder than he'd expected. His gaze drifted toward Lucía, radiant in her off-white dress, her fingers laced tightly with Javier's, her smile glowing even through tears. They looked like they belonged — like they had found something most people only ever pretended to.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned back, letting the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware surround him without truly registering any of it. All around him, people leaned into one another — couples whispering in each other's ears, hands resting easily on arms, thighs brushing under the table like second nature. It was effortless for them. Like breathing.

But for Pedri, it always felt like a performance. Like trying to learn a script everyone else had memorized years ago. He was good at the public part — the smiles, the charm, the gestures that made people feel like they knew him. But the deeper part? The part where you let someone stay, let them see? That always slipped through his fingers.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, but he didn't bother to check it. Whoever it was, whatever it said, it wouldn't change anything. Not the strange ache pressing at his ribs, not the way the night felt like watching something through a screen.

He glanced back toward the newlyweds. Javier had leaned in to whisper something in Lucía's ear, her hand resting over his chest, and she laughed — not just a polite chuckle, but a real, full laugh that lit up her whole face.

And just like that, Pedri felt it again — the longing. That quiet, aching pull toward something he didn't even know how to name. Not love, exactly. Not just that. But the feeling of being seen. Held. Chosen, even when you weren't shining.

He remembered when Javier first told him about Lucía — a girl with a laugh that made him nervous and a mind that made him want to be better. Pedri had nodded, happy for his friend. But somewhere deep down, he'd wondered if he'd ever get that lucky. If someone would ever look at him and see more than a footballer, more than the safe version of himself he offered to the world.

Maybe that was the difference — maybe Javier let himself be loved. Really loved. Pedri wasn't sure if he knew how.

The music swelled again — a soft bolero that drew couples back onto the dance floor. Javier extended a hand, and Lucía stepped into his arms without hesitation, her head resting against his shoulder as they began to sway. There were no grand declarations now. Just closeness. Familiarity. A rhythm found in silence.

And Pedri, still hovering at the edge of the room, watched with that familiar quiet yearning — as if he were watching his comfort series, one where he was never written into the script. Everything unfolded around him: the laughter, the easy touches, the closeness that didn't need explanation. He wasn't bitter, just… distant, like the warmth belonged to another world entirely. And he couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, if there would ever be a space like that meant for him. He couldn't help but wonder if someday, he would find a love that was really something, not just the idea of something.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. Of course  I'll be alright, I just had a bad night. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He should've felt good. It was a night for something meaningful — for giving back. People were laughing, connecting, raising money for kids who needed it. And still, he felt like he was watching it all through glass. Present, but not fully part of it.

Pedri stood off to the side of the event hall, the soft hum of music and conversation swirling around him. The warm light from the chandeliers cast a glow over tables dressed in linen and gold, glasses clinking gently, smiles thrown across candlelit conversations. It looked like joy — like purpose. But inside, he felt weightless in the worst way. Like he could drift through it all and no one would notice.

He swirled the water in his glass, eyes unfocused, jaw set in something close to thoughtfulness but tinged with fatigue. It had been a long week — the pressure of the games, the expectations, the constant need to perform. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Maybe for something to reach him. Maybe for someone to ask him something that wasn't about football.

And then, there she was.

He noticed her before he fully understood why. She moved through the crowd like she wasn't trying to impress anyone — focused, composed, clipboard tucked under her arm. There was a quiet authority about her, like she knew exactly where she was supposed to be and was doing it without fanfare. She had that air about her — like she was useful, reliable, part of something. Not one of the glittery guests or wealthy donors, but one of the people who made the night actually work. Her smile came and went quickly, reserved for little moments — when someone found their name on the seating chart, when she passed a colleague and shared a quiet word. It wasn't the kind of smile that demanded attention. It was the kind that seemed to say, I see you, and I'm here.

She was calm. Grounded. Real.

He watched her adjust a centerpiece on a nearby table, check something off on her list, then pause and glance his way — catching him, eyes lingering for half a second too long. He dropped his gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring. 

But before he could fully retreat into himself, he heard her voice, "Are you having a bad night, or just really into that water?" He turned, startled. She was right there, standing a few feet away, looking at him like she hadn't just walked straight into the middle of his fog. He blinked. "Sorry?"

"You've been staring at that glass for five minutes," she said, smiling slightly. "Either it has secrets… or you just needed a reset." He huffed a quiet laugh. "Maybe both."

There was a pause. Not awkward — just open. She didn't rush to fill it.

"Too much going on?" she asked, tilting her head a little. "I get it. It gets overwhelming. Everyone trying to be charming at the same time." "Something like that," he said, shifting his weight. "I think I'm just… not really here tonight. Like my body is here but the rest of me is not." "Yeah, I got that vibe," she replied, her tone kind, not teasing. 

He studied her face — open, curious, but not pushy. There was no expectation in her gaze. No recognition, either. Or if there was, she didn't let on.

"I guess I've been stuck in my head," he admitted, glancing back toward the crowd. Her expression softened. "That's not a great place to be." "No," he said quietly. "It's not."

She moved a bit closer, almost instinctively, like the space between them felt too much. There was a quiet comfort in her presence — a gentleness that didn't demand anything from him.

He looked at her again. "You volunteering tonight?" "Yeah," she nodded proudly. "Helping with the auction, the seating chart, making sure people don't steal the centerpieces." She smiled again, "And apparently," she paused for a second, "checking in on footballers who forget how to socialize."

That made him laugh — unexpectedly, freely. He didn't realize how much he'd needed that sound until it left his mouth.

"You're good at this," he said, still smiling. "At what?" "At checking in on footballers who forget how to socialize. And, at making people feel more... here, less… invisible."

She paused, like the compliment caught her off guard. Then she glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, a faint blush touching her cheeks. When she looked back up, her eyes were warm. "Well, you're not invisible," she said softly.

She didn't say more. Didn't need to. Just stood beside him in the quiet of their corner, letting the noise of the event drift by. He felt something shift inside him, like he was waking up from a twenty-year-long fog. Occasionally, he found himself glancing sideways at her, drawn to the calm in her presence. There was something about her that made it… easier to breathe — like the weight of everything that had been pressing on him for so long had lightened just by her being there. She wasn't waiting for him to entertain her, or to explain himself. Her stillness felt like a quiet invitation to just exist. It was strange, how just standing beside someone, without words, could clear his mind. Like the noise in his thoughts had quieted, if only for a moment. And for a brief second, everything felt simpler, lighter.

When someone called for her from across the room, she turned slightly, scanning the crowd. Then, she looked back at him.

"Hey," she said, her smile returning, smaller now, but no less genuine. "I'm Y/N, by the way." A beat passed before he smiled in return, something softer resting behind his eyes. "Pedri." She nodded, like it confirmed something she already suspected, but didn't change anything.

Then, before turning to go, she asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

The question caught him off guard — not because it was dramatic, but because of how plain it was. How unpolished. No one ever really asked him that, not like that. Not without a reason or a follow-up or a suggestion about what he should do to be better. He looked at her — really looked. There was no agenda in her expression. Just a quiet kind of care. iIn the noise and the lights and the everything of it all, that landed heavier than anything else.

He exhaled, slow. "Yeah," he said finally, almost surprised at how true it felt. "Just had a bad night."

She gave him one last look, her eyes kind, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the movement of the room.

He stayed there, frozen, for a moment, the sounds of the event washing over him. But the heaviness he'd been carrying all night felt… different now. Lighter, somehow. Like something had been acknowledged, something unspoken.

For the rest of the night, his attention kept drifting back to her. Every so often, their eyes would meet across the room — brief, flickering glances that felt like questions neither of them dared to ask. It wasn't the pull of attraction or the hunger for attention, but a quiet gravity, as if her presence alone was enough to settle the rest of the noise in his mind. He couldn't name it, but the feeling was there — soft, persistent.

He didn't feel the need to chase her. There was no pressure to make anything happen, no rush to create a perfect moment. No desperation, no script— just the quiet hum of something unfolding on its own. No rehearsed lines, no anxious pauses. He didn't need to name it or hold it tightly — just let it be, and that felt like enough.

Because somehow, someway, he knew— he'd see her again.

[iamthatonefangirl]

weak - nsfw fatws bucky barnes

my love @starfly-nicole inspired me to write this one based on this post. I am so sorry it took me forever to get to

~~~

you couldn't really help but stare.

you were washing your face, going about your morning routine, glancing over at him as he applied shaving cream to his face.

it's stupid, really.

but you're weak at the knees for him, and you're okay with that fact.

so you kept looking over at him as he carefully dragged the razor over his skin, trying your best to finish applying your makeup without issue.

you made eye contact in the mirror, and he smirked at you. when he looked at your reflection a few more times, following the direction of your gaze, he caught on.

"something bothering you, doll?" he smirks.

"nope," you say, not listening much to him as you focus on applying your mascara.

"you sure?" he pokes, dragging out the words as he turns to face you. you shrug your shoulders, glance down at his hands once more, before moving to your other eye.

you should have seen him come up in the reflection behind you, but you were too focused on not screwing up your makeup. you startled when his hands came to your hips, and you felt his warm breath on your neck. you grumbled at the fact that you've now smeared mascara on your skin, but your thoughts are overtaken by his voice in your ear.

"I don't believe you," he whispers before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, shrugging your hair over your other shoulder.

you're hesitant. you don't have time for this, you have somewhere to be, and yet–

you're weak. you need it, and you need it now.

"tell me, sweetheart," he coos, bringing his right hand down from your hip, meeting the skin of your leg, and brushing up under your skirt. "tell me what you're thinking."

it's kind of embarrassing to admit, you think. you hesitate.

"can't give you what you need if you don't tell me," he whispers, breath still warm against your ear.

you shut your eyes and lean your head against his.

"your hands," you tell him. your eyes are closed, not looking at his reflection, but you can just feel the way he smirks, pleased with himself.

"yeah? what about them?" he says, and nips at the patch of skin on your neck.

"need to feel them," you tell him, turning your body to face his and reaching for his hands. your eyes have glazed over, and you immediately notice the way his pupils have blown back.

you drag his fingers over your skin, pushing his left hand up under your shirt and dipping his fingers under the band of your bra, cold metal against your flesh. you bring his other hand to your face, resting his palm on your cheek before turning your face to the side to press a kiss to it.

his hand under your shirt begins to move of its own accord, reaching back to unhook your bra so he can touch you as he pleases. you get lost in the feeling of his hand on your face, bringing it to your lips to kiss his knuckles.

he's got those beautiful veins that just make you so feral. you can't help but kiss every single one of them.

your favorite of them all? that one vein that runs up his forearm and all the way to his bicep. if you weren't so desperate and turned on right now, you might be embarrassed at the way you press your tongue to it where it begins at his hand, following it all the way up to where it's no longer bulging from under his skin.

"fuck, all this because–"

"shut up," you interrupt, "please."

you feel his vibranium fingers pinching at your nipple then, and you let out a muffled whine, encouraging him to keep going.

"need my hands all over you, babygirl, I know you do," he says, bringing his other hand to the back of your thigh and back to its rightful place under your skirt. he massages your plush skin, digging his fingers in just enough to make you moan for him.

"so pretty, baby," he tells you as his beautiful hands grace your skin.

you open your eyes to look at him, a small pout on your lips. with both your hands, you capture his hand on your ass and bring it to cup you over the fabric of your underwear, making your eyes shut once more while you sharply inhale at the feeling.

"so wet, you've soaked through your panties. is this all for me, babydoll? hmm?"

"yes," you answer, slowly dragging your hips over his hand, now pressed firmly up against you.

"such a good girl. gonna grind up against my hand like this until you come for me, doll, aren't you?"

his words reverberate through your head, making you feel so fuzzy.

"answer me. you'll take anything if it means you get to have that sweet release, won't you? even rutting up against my hand like this, huh?"

"yes," you cry, on the edge already, so soon, too fucking soon.

your face has to be red, eyes cinched shut in embarrassment. something about the way his words sound, making you feel so humiliated drags you to the brink so easily. you're mortified at how fucking easy it is for him to barely do anything, and you're already a mess.

his other hand comes to the back of your head, gently cradling you as he steps even closer to you. his hand between your legs applies a little more pressure, and,

"beg for it," he commands.

"please," you whisper. he shakes his head.

"beg like you mean it. I know you're getting off on this, don't deny it. come on. beg me to make you come like this," he orders, seemingly mocking you.

the words come pouring out of your mouth without another thought. "please, James, please. I need it so bad, please," you cry.

"good girl," he says, crooking his hand just right, and you're falling apart, riding it out as his hand holds firm against you.

your head gently falls to his chest while he strokes your hair as you fight to calm your breathing.

you look up at him after a minute, blushing at what just happened.

"you really need to fix your mascara now, doll," he teases, "don't need anyone else to see you pretty you look all messy for me."

~~~

masterlist

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[rhiezus]

[TABLE]: sender touches receiver's thigh under the table at a restaurant or a dinner party // daehyun x danbi

it had been quite some time since danbi found herself in the company of so many people gathered not out of obligation or urgency, but simply to sit, to eat, to drink good wine, and to share the stories that made up their lives, or even just the small, mundane rhythms of the everyday. it had been even longer since such scenes felt natural to her. life hadn’t been particularly lively in a while. invitations still came, of course, but she couldn’t attend every event or gathering. there were the children to think of and honestly idea of standing for more than thirty minutes in shoes that pinched was, more often than not, enough to keep her home. she much preferred quiet moments like this, surrounded by people whose lives, like hers, had taken on a slower, softer shape. where stories about diaper changes turned into laughter, and forgetting a lunchbox had the weight of a midweek tragedy. she could see herself in those stories, in those lives, reflected back across the dinner table. and yet, a question lingered—why, among all this familiarity, did she still feel like she didn’t quite belong?

it wasn’t about her being shy, or even about her former life on television. many of the mothers admired her and made a point of including her in everything they organized. they were proud to have danbi as a guest. they were kind, thoughtful, and open. there was a quiet camaraderie between them, a shared attentiveness born from that deep, universal desire to do right by their children. danbi, too, took pride in these small parental rituals. she liked staying informed about the school, the community, the subtle pulse of neighborhood life. it was all so different from the life she’d lived before—and yet, as with most things she tried her hand at, she navigated it with grace and competence.

still, for all her effort, and all the appreciation directed her way, something within her hesitated to fully inhabit the role. not because it was wrong. there was nothing inherently difficult in becoming what others expected her to be. after all, she had been playing roles—gracefully, convincingly—for most of her life. and yet. even when other mothers looked at her with wide eyes and said, “wow, i don’t know how you do it,” danbi could only offer a soft smile, a small pause, and the most honest answer she had “neither do i.”

it only took a glance for daehyun to know exactly what she was thinking and feeling. it was something not every couple had, but time and everything they had been through together had given them that quiet, mutual power. and when her gaze drifted far away, distant, detached from reality in a way she herself couldn't comprehend, that was when he would find her. with his radiant presence, his comforting smile, and his soul-deep touch of someone who knew her inside out.

this feeling came when she felt his hand find her leg under the table. there was no need for words, just a gentle glance, a shared smile, ordinary and unremarkable on the surface but meaningful for them. suddenly, it was as if color returned to her world. her head, once lost in the clouds, was back in the present, wherever that present was, as long as it was with him. his quiet reassurance was all she needed. like in the arkam song, i don't wanna be okay without you. there was no point in having a life if not shared between them. and deep down, the understanding that she didn’t need to be anything more, or anyone else, so long as she was herself and things would work out as they always did. the danbi he knew and loved was the one worthy of it all, he had told her that more than once in many different ways. which made her certain that this life they had built together was for them and their children only and anything else telling otherwise was just background noise.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Best Mistake.

Thunderbolts/Senator B. Barnes x Afab! Reader

smut tags: Old man Bucky love, heavy heavy breeding kink ( can you guess what my biggest fetish is!! ), unprotected sex, little bit of degrading, crying during sex. Not beta read.

A/n: yeah I know I said on last night's post that that last fic would be the last Congressman Barnes erotica I made before Thunderbolts comes out, but ive had this idea for weeks so I turned it into a short drabble. Enjoy!

[ MDNI! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet. ]

You don't even intend for the words to fall out. They just do.

Right there. On your couch. What was supposed to be just a small quickie before he had to go off to work turned into something so much more than that when you decided to open your mouth.

"I'm not on birth control."

The way Bucky looked up at you had you shaking more than the actual sex did. It was a look that you'd never forget. A look that he could never recreate. One that was initially pure shock but did not take long to turn into something that was hungry and dark.

"You uh..." He panted. You swore you could feel his cock twitch inside you. "You wanna repeat that?"

No. No you did not. The situation already had you embarrassed. Plus, he looked really angry. You wanted to shake your head but your mouth betrayed you when he gave you a singular deep thrust that had you gripping his forearms for dear life.

"Not... ngh--on birth control." You repeated with a mewl that was so whiny and desperate that it made you embarrassed. Bucky just laughed. He threw his handsome head back and laughed, long silver and black strands of hair sticking to his sweaty skin.

"oh baby," he crooned, his voice so condescending and mocking that it made you feel so ungodly broken but so ungodly needy. "that's just too bad, hmm? 'cause I'm gonna.. fu--fuckin' cum soon." You'll never forget how strained and gutteral his voice was when he spoke those words to you, or the way your pussy fluttered around him after he had spoken them.

You yelped when he started back up his brutally fast and punishing pace without warning. Your hands shot to his back, clawing at him through his white button down. His red wine tie hung loosely around his collar, falling onto your exposed breasts and bouncing with you as your body moved perfectly in time with his thrusts. Your legs wrapped around his thick waist, pulling him into you deeper, needing more of him despite how utterly embarrassed you were.

"You gonna let me fill this pretty little pussy up? Hmm?" He cooed, smoothing your hair out over your forehead with his flesh hand, all with the fakest pout you'd ever seen on a man. And that was saying something, because you went on to have two children.

"Get you nice and round with my baby.." He grunted through gritted teeth, his cock pushing into the most perfect little spot in your pussy that had your muscles tightening around him and fluttering. You almost fucking screamed. "Ooho," he laughed darkly. "Did you like that?"

His vibranium hand cupped your warm cheek. Your eyes were wide and tears were prickling them. His cold, metal thumb brushed over your puffy, wet lips. You wanted to cry. You were going to cry.

"Filthy girl." He growled, slamming into hard and making you cry out. "Not taking birth control, begging me to come fuck her an hour before I have to go to work." He leaned down and kissed your collarbone. His teeth lightly grazed over your skin. "Is this what you wanted? Hmm? Were you hoping that I'd fill you up? Get you all stuffy and bred nicely?"

You couldn't stop the tears slipping down your warm cheeks as he shamelessly degraded you. You covered your face with your hands, whimpering but trying so hard to contain the broken moans coming out of you.

"Nuh-uh." Bucky growled, tearing your arms from your face. "None of that. You know better." He told you with the shake of his head, his pace slowed down by just a tad. "You don't get to act all shy after what you just told me." He leaned down to kiss you, his silky salt-and-pepper beard grazing against your skin as he moved his jaw against yours.

"Now." He said, giving you one singular kiss along with a thrust that hit you so hard that you swore your vision turned white for a moment. "You gonna let me fill this pathetic little cunt up? Or are you just gonna sit there and cry?"

Spoiler alter: it was both.

You blinked, opening your wet eyes, your hand dropping down to his right forearm, your palm grazing against the cold metal of the watch you gave him as a 3rd year wedding anniversary gift. Which he still had, 7 years later.

"Ngh--" you tried, your eyes drifting to the ceiling subconsciously. He forced your eyes back on his with two metal fingers. "Yes..." You gasped, fingers digging into his exposed skin. He tapped your clit twice.

"Try again." He frowned with the click of his tongue. You coughed, a broken moan disrupting it as he started rubbing your little bud in harsh circles.

"Yes! Please, James. W-want you to fill me up." You begged, your tongue thick in your mouth, your used pussy drooling over his cock, all with hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

He laughed darkly. A sound so deep, it rumbled from his chest like thunder and made your cunt flutter all over him like it was the first time.

"Good fucking girl." He said through his laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "I knew you had it in you to admit to it." His teeth lightly grazed over your swollen lips. Your toes curled when he started hitting your sweet spot all over again in heavy, deep thrusts.

"Now be good for me and take this like the good, filthy little girl I know you can be."

[theresatzu]

HIIII I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUXH😭😭😭 I HAVE A REQUEST PLSS HMO so u go up to this bllk character( i have in mind barou, bachira, oliver, shidou, kunigami BUT U CAN CHOOSE FROM THEM IF THERE ARE TOO MANY or u can add whoever u want) and u ask them for advice on how to confess to some1 u like, but they alr like u so after some inner overthinking they finally decide on what to tell u, only for u to follow that advice on the spot- to him!

AWW THANK YOU! I REALLY APPRECIATE YOU SAYING THAT!! 🫶🫶

I must admit, I'm not the most familiar with these characters, so bear with me :)

Blue Lock characters and giving you relationship advice (they like you)

Pairings. Blue Lock character x reader

Featuring. Barou, Bachira, Oliver, Shidou & Kunigami

Tags. fluff, confessions, getting together & jealousy

「 Barou Shouei 」

ᝰ.ᐟ "I think I like someone, do you have any tips on how to confess to them?"

Barou stiffens. Does a double take. Wondered if what he heard was real.

But no, your eyes were gazing up at him, expectant, and Barou could just feel his heart sinking all the way to his stomach.

So you liked someone.

Barou's jaw tensed, his eyebrows furrowed as he averted his eyes. The silence stretched on as he tried to fight the rising wave of disappointment within him.

You liked someone. And that someone wasn't him.

He was tempted to just ignore the question, because there was no way he could give you any sincere advice without feeling his heart twist painfully in his chest.

However, Barou wasn't like that.

If you liked someone, and that someone... wasn't him, then that should be... fine. He would be fine. He was your friend and you were asking him advice, and that was totally... fine.

Spoiler alert: It was not.

Barou cleared his throat. "Just tell them. No need to tiptoe around it. If you like them, then just say it and ask them out."

There. He had done it.

But at what cost?

"Ah, okay. Thank you." You nodded.

"...No problem." He looked away, clenching his teeth.

A beat of silence passed.

"I like you, would you like to go out with me?"

...

Barou choked on thin air.

"What are you doing?" He gruffly asked. "That's what you should say to the donkey you like."

You raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Are you calling yourself a donkey?"

"What? No, of course not. What makes you say that--"

Barou clamped his mouth shut.

His eyes shot to yours, scanning your face for any signs that you were just jesting.

You had a small smile on your lips. A faint dusting of pink littered across your cheeks, eyes tinged with vulnerability but hope all the same.

"You..." Barou swallowed. "Like me?"

You nodded.

Barou stiffens. Does a double take. Wondered if what he heard was real.

"You're not joking?"

When you shook your head, Barou's heart jumped in his chest. But he covered that up with his patented Barou scowl.

However, he couldn't really conceal the fondness shining through his voice. "Let's go out then." It was bluntly said, a stark contrast to his rapidly racing heart.

On the outside, Barou was a picture of nonchalance and confidence to anyone.

But from close up, you could see the tiniest of an affectionate smile on his lips as you intertwined your fingers with his.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

「 Bachira Meguru 」

ᝰ.ᐟ "I like someone, do you have any idea how I can confess to them?"

Bachira's eyes widened.

His heartbeat stilled for a second before stuttering back to its usual pattern.

"What diddya say?" He said with a forced smile, customary cheery tone falling flat.

"I like someone. Do you have any advice how I should confess to them?" You repeated patiently.

"Oh! Oh." Bachira's face deflated, the playful smile slowly falling off of his face.

She doesn't like me?

The thought made Bachira's heart writhe in his chest.

He bit his bottom lip, dulled yellow eyes hesitatently taking in your hopeful expression.

"So... you like like them?"

You nodded.

Ouch.

Any hope he had had was shattered now.

He didn't really want to answer your question, because that would solidify the truth that you didn't see him the way he saw you.

But saying no to you...

It was a choice between worse and worser.

Bachira inhaled deeply, conjuring up a fake laugh on his face, mentally fortifying himself.

"Mhm... just say you like them, but also that you want to spend time with them, and that you like their eyes or something." He said lamely.

You nodded thoughtfully, registering the information provided.

"Alright!"

"Alright..." Bachira echoed, biting his lip.

He felt like shit.

But who was he to stand between you and your happiness?

Better to just rip the bandaid off, right?

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go to them." Bachira took you by the shoulders, wondering if this was the last time he was allowed to do that.

"I like you." Your voice was unbearably soft.

Bachira faltered, his hands going slack against your shoulders. "Wha--"

However, you continued, not sparing Bachira any time to keep up with his racing thoughts.

"I want to spend time with you."

Bachira inhaled sharply, hope glimmering in his eyes.

You placed your hand against his cheek. It was warm. Bachira's cheeks were hot.

"And I really like your eyes." You grinned at him. "Or something."

Bachira blinked in rapid succession, his pulse going crazy as a ruddy red started to spread over his face.

"You... you like like me?" His voice went high, eyes blown wide.

You smiled.

Bachira's lips parted, eyes sparkling, before he took you in his arms, pressing you against his shoulder.

"You like me! You like me!" He repeated excitedly.

You let out a chuckle, relishing in the look of wonder on Bachira's disposition.

Bachira then pulled out of the hug, taking your hands in his warm ones.

"You like me." He said again.

You raised an amused eyebrow. "Mhm... do I?"

Bachira gasped. "No take backsies! I'm your boyfriend now."

"Alright then, boyfriend." You teased. "Why don't you take me out on a date, then?"

A pleasant shiver went along Bachira's back at the endearment.

Bachira's iridescent eyes sparkled. "Why don't you kiss me then?"

"Why don't I indeed?"

You leaned in, Bachira sighed, and it was the best thing that had happened to him.

Or maybe you liking him was the best thing that had happened to him.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

「 Oliver Aiku 」

ᝰ.ᐟ "I like someone." Your cheeks tinted red. "Do you know how I should confess to them?"

Oliver's eyebrows rose.

He hadn't expected that.

He let out a low chuckle. "So you like someone? Who is it?"

You pursed your lips, eyes abashedly averted. "I'm not telling you!"

Right.

Well, as a former player, Oliver Aiku had experience with flirting and asking people out. There were multiple techniques and methods to apply.

But he knew that winding around it, wouldn't do. A sincere confession always had more success than a nonchalant approach.

After all, he would know. He's wanted to confess to you since a long time, but he never really had gathered the courage to do so.

Instead he had danced around you, hoping you'd get the hint.

But now it was too late.

He had missed his chance.

"So, you're asking me advice, huh? You've come to the right person," Oliver mused, but his shoulders were set stiff.

But you hadn't missed your chance.

Oliver sighed. It was weary and humourless.

"Just say whatever you feel for them." He eventually settled on saying, looking you in the eye.

He brought his hand to your chin, "Maybe touch them, hold their hand while doing it." His eyes inadvertently fell to your lips.

"Touch them here." His thumb swiped your bottom lip. "Lean in, kiss them."

Your lips parted underneath his thumb,

Oliver's breath hitched, breaking whatever spell he had been under.

He coughed, taking a step back, a cold breeze caressing him where you formerly had been pressed against him.

"So... yeah. That's how I think you should do it." He looked away, cheeks going pink.

"Mhm... so, like this?" You stepped closer to him. So close, you could see the tiny flecks of green and brown in his dual coloured eyes.

Your hand moved up along his arms, leaving a pathway of goosebumps on Oliver's skin.

Your other hand took his, fingers seamlessly sliding against his, making Oliver's gaze roam downwards.

However, as your other hand had finished its trail, it tipped Oliver's chin upwards, until his eyes met yours, surprise evident in them at the bold move.

"I like you," You whispered.

Oliver froze. Heat crawled up his neck. He held eye contact with you before it became too much.

"Great. You did that... well." He said, strained, feeling a lot warmer than before.

"Good practice." He croaked out.

You pursed your lips, head tilting. "Who said it was practice?"

...

...

...

"...What?" Oliver eventually said, breathlessly, heart thumping.

"I like you." You smiled at him, so beautifully, so gracefully, so earnestly.

Oliver's heart did a flip.

But he covered up his surprise well, his lips stretching into a nonchalant smile.

"Oh?" His hands came up to your sides, steadily put on your hips. "Then I have a few pointers for you."

He leaned in closer, warm breath ghosting over your lips. "You missed the last step."

You grinning was the last thing he saw before there was a soft sensation on his lips.

His eyes widened, before he closed them, one hand landing on your middle, drawing you flush against him.

As your lips moved against his, a groan threatened to rip itself out of Oliver's throat, but he quelled it by deepening the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue.

"Perfectly done."

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

「 Shidou Ryusei 」

ᝰ.ᐟ "I like someone, do you know how I should go about it?" You asked Shidou.

Shidou's eyebrows went up high.

"Oh? So, who's that someone then?" He leaned in, eyes boring into yours.

"Does that matter?" You huffed.

"Nah, I gotta know."

Pursing your lips, you sighed. "Fine. It's that guy from PE."

Shidou quirked up one eyebrow, his lips pulled into a cocky smile, voice dripping in condescension, "Lanky ass dude? You got the hots for him?"

You hesitated for a beat, before nodding.

All humour evaporated from Shidou's face, leaving only a blank canvas.

"Kick him in the face."

...

"...Excuse me?" You spluttered.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Shidou lazily drawled, "If he can't take a hit, he ain't worthy for ya. People who don't like explosions are trash."

"So just... suckerpunch or backhand?"

"Even better, do a roundhouse kick." Shidou's eyes glistened in a macabre way.

"Okay."

A split second passed.

"Hiya!" You jumped, foot extended, aimed at Shidou's face.

Shidou clamped your ankle in his hand, fast reflexes saving him from getting his face decked in.

"Oh? What's this?" Shidou pulled on your ankle, making you stumble.

"What? Don't like explosions?" You goaded.

Shidou's eyes sparkled as elation took over his features.

"That's more like it." Shidou rougly tugged on your foot, making you collide against his chest.

His intense eyes stared into yours, a wicked smile on his face. "That was a great explosion, but I'll show you a better one."

He pulled you in, lips smashing against yours.

And you had to admit, he was right.

「 Kunigami Rensuke 」

ᝰ.ᐟ "I like someone, do you have any advice as to how I should confess?"

The air was punched out of Kunigami's lungs, making him falter in his steps.

"You... like someone?" He asked, not quite believing his ears.

You inclined your head, a bashful smile forming on your lips.

Kunigami's heart panged.

May the ground swallow him up whole.

"Oh." His fingers flexed. "Who is it?"

"...It's embarrassing to say."

A crease formed between Kunigami's eyebrows. "Why? Don't they treat you right?"

"No, no!" You hastily waved your hands. "He's kind, protective, and really caring."

Kunigami's lip twitched.

Sounded like the description of a dog.

But you were still looking up at him, eyes expectant and full of trust, and Kunigami couldn't bear to stomp on that hopeful expression of yours, so he swallowed down his derision.

"Then just... uh... say that you really like him." Kunigami said, a little lost.

You raised an eyebrow, "That's it?"

What happened to the ground swallowing him up? Any day now, please.

Kunigami sighed, his eyes conflicted. "Maybe just show you like them. I dunno, like do things for them?"

"Like what?"

His head spun. Every second he had to talk with you about someone else you liked, he felt his chest twist more and more.

"Like... uh..." Shit. "Carry their bag? Hold their hand?"

"Like this?" You took over Kunigami's bag and grasped his hand with yours.

"... yeah." Kunigami's ears flushed.

"Mhm... alright." You nodded in understanding.

Then continued walking onwards exactly like that, still carrying his bag and holding his hand.

Kunigami had expected you to let go, but you carried on walking, seemingly oblivious to Kunigami's heart practically pounding out of his chest.

He blinked a few times, uncomprehending. He stole a sidelong glance at you, opening his mouth, but the words eluded him.

"You..." He faltered. "...What are you doing?"

You hummed. "What do you mean?"

He frowned, his eyes bouncing from your intertwined hands to you.

"Shouldn't you be doing this with someone you... like?"

"But I like you."

...

"..."

Kunigami blinked once. Then again.

She... likes me?

He turned to you, expression dead serious, but his skin was flushed and his fingers clammy.

"You," He pointed at you slowly, then at himself, a vulnerable look in his eyes, "like me?"

"I like carrying your bags and holding your hand." You answered.

His lips parted in surprise, eyes going wide, looking stumped.

He stood there, speechless for a moment. Then, the corners of his lips ticked upwards.

"Then I hope you like my being your boyfriend, too."

Masterlist

[ashthesalamipiece]

can I request one where reader and katsuki are “best friends” until one day they have a argument and she ignores him and he gets clingy and jealous and finally confesses? please and thank you!

"Say You Won't Let Go"

You and Katsuki Bakugo had been best friends since your first year at U.A., a bond forged through sparring sessions, late-night studying, and silent support during your roughest days. People often mistook you for a couple, but you would always laugh it off — even if a tiny part of you wished it were true.

Katsuki was your person. Always had been. Always would be... or so you thought.

It started with something stupid.

He had been spending more time with Mina, Denki, and the others lately — and you noticed. It wasn't that you didn't want him to have other friends; it was just...you missed him. And when you finally worked up the courage to say something, it came out wrong.

"Maybe you should just go hang out with them then, if I'm so boring!"

Your voice cracked in the middle of it, and instead of seeing the hurt underneath, Katsuki bristled.

"Tch, don't be fuckin' stupid, (Y/N)."

"No, it's fine. I'm tired of being your backup plan, Bakugo."

You left before he could say anything else.

After that, you ignored him.

In the halls. At lunch. During training.

You weren’t cruel — you just... couldn't bear to pretend like nothing had changed.

---

At first, Katsuki thought you needed time to cool off.

Then a day passed. Then two.

By the end of the week, he was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just your absence — it was how easily you seemed to move on without him. Smiling at Kirishima, laughing with Sero, letting Todoroki carry your bag after a mission when you usually made Katsuki do it just to annoy him.

It made him angry.

It made him jealous.

It made him scared.

You had always been there. His constant. His anchor. And now? It felt like you were slipping right through his fingers.

---

He cornered you after training one afternoon, the setting sun painting the gymnasium in fiery colors.

"Oi," he barked, his voice harsh to mask the panic swelling in his chest.

You barely glanced at him. "I'm busy, Bakugo."

Hearing you say his last name so formally — like a stranger — was a punch to the gut.

"Don't fuckin' do that," he growled, stepping closer. "Don't act like I don't matter."

You bit your lip and looked away, crossing your arms defensively.

"What do you want from me, Katsuki?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He faltered. His fists clenched at his sides.

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't fuckin' care!"

You blinked, stung by the rawness of his voice. "You have everyone else now. Go bother them."

"I don't want them!" Katsuki exploded, making you flinch. His chest heaved. His heart felt like it was going to tear through his ribs. "I want you. It's always been you, dumbass."

Silence.

You stared at him, stunned.

He took a shuddering breath, stepping closer, lowering his voice like a secret meant for you alone.

"I'm a fuckin' idiot. I didn't know how to say it. But... you're not my backup plan, (Y/N). You're my everything."

Your eyes burned.

You wanted to stay mad — to throw his words back at him and protect your heart — but the way he looked at you, desperate and terrified, broke down every wall you'd built.

Slowly, you shook your head. "You should've told me sooner, Katsuki..."

He hesitated, then cupped your face with rough, calloused hands, as if he was scared you'd disappear.

"I'm tellin' you now. Don't make me fuckin' beg."

You laughed wetly through your tears, clutching the front of his shirt to steady yourself.

"Idiot," you whispered. "I was in love with you this whole time."

Katsuki kissed you like a man drowning — fierce, wild, full of all the things he never knew how to say. And you kissed him back just as desperately, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Because he was.

Because he always had been.

---

Later that night, as you sat together on the roof of the dorms, his arm slung over your shoulders, he muttered into your hair:

"Never ignoring me again, got it?"

You smiled softly against his chest.

"Only if you promise the same."

Katsuki squeezed you tighter.

"Deal."

And this time, you both knew you meant forever.

[zorange13]

—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (25,591 in this part) ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. With a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

Park Jay spent copious amounts of time reading, writing, and taking photos of his poor, unsuspecting classmates. 

In a nutshell, Jay was simple. He woke up at 9:00, brushed his teeth, washed his face—no need for a morning shower; he always did that the night before. Then came 9:19, the daily wardrobe deliberation: black t-shirt or…black t-shirt. Oversized black jeans or oversized black sweatpants. Spray his favorite cologne at 9:28. 

Eat exactly one cup of Raisin Bran and solve the day’s Wordle. Grab his keys at 9:50. Trudge out of the house and into his car by 9:51.

It was like rinse and repeat, to which none of this necessarily bothered him. Jay enjoyed routine, he loved the idea that he had full control over what had to be done. But a part of him longed for something different. For someone or something to disrespect the regimen that he’s so carefully mapped out. 

—

He stood along his university’s track, camera in hand as he inspected the soccer field, trying to get the cheerleaders and other athletes into the frame. 

His face is shoved tightly into the camera as he zooms in, eyes narrowing in concentration. The lens clicked repeatedly as he fell into the quiet rhythm of it. Letting himself fall into yet another routine of clicking, adjusting, clicking, adjusting. 

It wasn’t even about the subjects, he honestly couldn't care any less about sports or whatever they were doing, just lining up for that perfect shot was more than enough for him to feel that high, that cathartic feeling of expression. He hated the arrogance that came with athletes, but a great artist puts themselves in uncomfortable positions to really show how great they are; wouldn’t you agree?

He takes a couple more shots before his focus drifts back to his camera lens as the team disperses. All of which they lift their shirts to wipe off the sweat that’s gotten in their eyes. Despite him not caring about any of them, he watched as his three idiot friends walked over to him. Laughing, still trying to maintain some sort of positivity after Coach Jeon screamed at them for the last hour and a half.

Sunghoon was the first to approach, his once very serious glare being replaced by a smirk as he relished in the freedom from Coach’s scrutiny. His shirt clung to his chiseled chest from sweat as a small towel hung over his shoulder, but despite these things that would very badly overstimulate someone like Jay, Hoon looked cool as a cucumber. “You still hiding behind that camera?” Sunghoon teased, wiping his forehead with the aforementioned towel. “Don’t you get bored?”

Jay didn’t even look up from his camera as he adjusted the exposure, “Nah, I’m hoping one day you idiots fall and I’ll have the documentation.” He muttered with little expression. “Besides, we can’t have amateurs taking flicks for the yearbook, right?”

Jake and Heeseung walked up next, still catching their breath from the intense scrimmage. Jake flashed Jay a smile, “You really gonna stand there while we’re slaving out here?”

Jay gave a shrug, the corners of his lips quirked up into something of a smile, imperceptibly so. “I’m working hard too, if you count not getting hit in the face with balls as work.”

Heeseung leaned back next to him, the heat radiating off of his body to Jay’s to which he grimaced. “Yeah I know, I took two to the chin last week.”

Before Jay could respond as the others—including him—laughed, a voice interrupted them.

“Are you really going to let these guys gang up on you like that?”

You stood right there as your voice cut through the banter with unexpected clarity. It was bright, strong, and that’s what made the four boys look at you. Standing a few feet away from them in your perky cheer uniform, that could cling to you the only way it knew how after a heavy practice. Sweat glistened from your forehead but your curly hair—that was raised in a pineapple updo, masked it, blending in so that it didn’t look too frizzy and shrink up. But even when you expected to look a mess, you didn’t. You commanded attention, not forcefully—it just happened naturally.

Jay’s gaze flicked up, the grip on his camera loosening, now his attention no longer on the athletes. He looked at you briefly, his stomach doing something way too familiar at this point whenever you were around.  

The boys froze up for a second, but Sunghoon’s posture straightened up at the sight of this girl. “Hey Captain,” he smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

You curtly bowed your head to greet them, but before you could speak further, Jake interjected, “We just got chewed up by our coach for 90 minutes straight, can we breathe?” 

You laughed, “Yet you still found time to be annoying, very impressive, Jakey, very impressive.”

Jay’s ears perked up at the sound of your laugh, again the feeling in his heart and stomach a reminder of it. He held his camera close to his chest, almost protectively as he avoided looking at you; he had to remember who you were.

You are the captain of their university’s cheer team and in very close proximity to his friends. They ran in the same circle and somehow developed a kinship with you, alongside the other girls and guys on the cheer team during their years at the uni. It seemed to make sense for every one of them but Jay. You bantered with Sunghoon like you were siblings, always kept having to reject Jake, and even managed to coax a few words out of Heeseung every now and again who always seemed to be having some sort of girl problems. It was easy for you to be around them—just as much as it was for Jay; the pseudo-F4 had been friends since they were little kids.

However, the times you would try to interact with Jay, he would keep his responses very minimal. A smile, a curt nod, a wave whenever you see each other. Jay, from your interpretation, seemed very aloof and you didn’t take it personally. It made sense that his only three friends would be people that he was fully comfortable around. 

Seeing as his friends doubled as athletes and socialites, Jay always felt like—for lack of a better word—a loser.

There was this book that he read (almost regretfully) in his freshman year of high school—The Duff. He knew that to be the ‘Designated Ugly Fat Friend’ he had to fully identify with it, though, he didn’t quite feel much of a relation to Bianca. She was self-deprecating, bitter, anxious, and impulsive. 

Jay had some sort of confidence, he was slightly bitter, only mildly anxious, but was very calculated and attentive. He knew he wasn’t fat, damn sure knew he wasn’t ugly, but sure, he was the designated friend. 

The friend that was the designated driver when Jake would be blacked out drunk at parties, all because Jay refused to compromise his liver and kidneys. The friend for whenever Heeseung had girl problems, he was the one to go to. The friend that Sunghoon always called to play Valorant because he knew that Jay was never that busy.

Jay was reliable, trustworthy, and in some ways he felt like he owed his friends. They were the ones that were there for him in the same way. The ones that saved him from that big, bad bully in kindergarten and they’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Not to be confused, he knew that his friends loved him equally. But Jay never had to confide in them because he never needed anything. Nothing exciting ever happened in his life for him to report back to his friends. 

He enjoyed his space, being an only child, he spent most of his childhood playing alone. So when he found his friends—or better yet—when they found him, he never changed who he was or what his character consisted of. Jay’s social battery ran out very quickly; so more often than not he would find himself retreating to his apartment and putting his phone on ‘do not disturb.’

Jay liked the quiet moments in his life. The stillness of his apartment, the steady click of his camera, the hyperfixation on really niche topics, the way he could just fade into the background while observing the world through his lens—literally and figuratively. It gave him control—a way to participate in life without being directly in the spotlight.

But you had this uncanny ability to mess with that quiet.

It wasn’t intentional, of course. You didn’t burst into his life demanding attention or energy. You just...existed in a way that made it impossible for Jay to ignore you. Your laugh could cut through the fog of his thoughts, your voice had this cadence that somehow settled and unnerved him at the same time.

He hated that you made him feel exposed, like you could see through the layers of detachment he’d spent years perfecting. The way you tried to pull him into conversations when you clearly had no obligation to, or the times you’d catch him off guard with a teasing comment—those moments lingered, as much as he tried to brush them off.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like you. That wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, it was the opposite. You were one of those rare people who managed to make everyone around you feel seen without even trying. It was easy to see why Sunghoon treated you like a sibling or why Jake always tried (and failed) to flirt with you.

But Jay? He didn’t know how to categorize what he felt. It wasn’t as simple as admiration or attraction. It was more complicated, more unsettling. You were an unpredictable variable in his otherwise orderly life, and Jay had no idea what to do with that.

So, he kept his distance, retreating to the safety of his camera and the comfort of his predictable friendships. It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Jay,” You called out, breaking him from his introspection, your tone teasing but not unkind. “You’re really gonna let these guys clown on you? Thought you had more fight in you.”

Jay looked up, the weight of your attention catching him off guard. He felt his grip on the camera tighten instinctively, as if it could shield him from whatever chaos you were about to unleash.

“Not much to fight about,” he replied, his voice steady but soft. “They’re just proving my point.”

“Which is?” You asked, tilting your head slightly, curiosity sincere.

“That I’m the only one here doing something useful.” His lips quirked up in a faint smirk, and Jake groaned dramatically in response.

“Useful?” Jake cut in, shaking his head. “Bro, taking pictures of me isn’t exactly saving lives.”

“Not everything’s about you, Jake,” Sunghoon quipped, earning a laugh from the rest.

“Right, right,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “Guess Jay’s just here documenting Sunghoon’s tragic fall from grace.”

“Tragic?” Sunghoon shot back, mock-offended. “Please, I’m the star of his portfolio.”

“More like the blooper reel,” Jay muttered, earning a burst of laughter from those around him.

“Wait, why are you funny?” You admitted, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you covered your mouth to conceal your laughter. “Not you having jokes.”

He felt his face heat up at your attention but shrugged it off, glancing back down at his camera as if the settings had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Only when the material’s this easy,” he said, keeping his tone light.

“You’re full of surprises,” you said, and there was something in your voice—something playful but warm—that made Jay glance up again. He caught your eyes as he adjusted the silver-lined frames that adorned his face, the motion both habitual and telling. Your gaze lingered a moment longer than he expected, your expression unreadable but calm. Jay’s fingers froze briefly against the bridge of his glasses before he dropped his hand, clearing his throat softly.

“You wear those because you actually need them,” you asked, your tone light but genuinely curious, “or is it, like, a whole vibe thing?”

Jay blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…both, I guess?” he replied, a touch of hesitation in his voice. He didn’t know why he said that, his vision was absolutely terrible. 

“Cool,” you said simply, your lips curling into a small smile. “They suit you.”

He opened his mouth to respond but quickly decided against it, unsure of what to say to that. His heart did an embarrassing little leap at the compliment, though he managed to keep his expression neutral.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

You raised a brow, leaning slightly forward as if to catch his words. “What, you think I’m not observant?”

“No, just…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his camera again. “Didn’t think it’d matter.”

You studied him for a beat, your smile softening. “Well, it does.”

And just like that, you straightened back up, your attention shifting seamlessly to the others, leaving Jay with the sudden and disarming realization that you were way more perceptive than he gave you credit for.

—

Jay walked into one of the university cafes at his usual time of 12PM right after his 10:30 experimental filmmaking class. As soon as he opened the door, the scent of coffee permeated his senses. Immediately waking him up from the haze that loomed over him from the 90 minutes of hearing information he already knew. Funnily enough, he hated coffee and refused to drink it because he didn’t want to trigger possible acid reflux or gastro-esophageal diseases.

He plopped down at one of the booths as he adjusted himself into the cushion of the seat. He then slid on his earbuds, the clinking of spoons and white noise fading to black. He swiftly pulled out his laptop to edit the photos that he snapped two days ago on the track. Jay’s fingers hovered over the trackpad as he scrolled through the photos. The soccer and cheerleading practices had been a goldmine for candids—athletes mid-sprint, beads of sweat dripping down their bodies and catching the sunlight, and the faint blur of the spectators in the background.

He loved capturing the things that felt alive even in the stillness. 

As he adjusted the vibrancy on a particularly striking shot, Jay felt a faint presence nearby. Looking up, only to see the barista delivering a caramel latte to a nearby table. Shaking away his paranoia, he turned back to his work. The rhythm of editing was something easy for him to fall into, but for the first time that day, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. 

Through his peripheral vision, he saw a familiar figure open the door and head to the queue to wait to order. You.

As soon as his eyes laid on your figure, they retreated right back to his laptop; also slouching into the booth so you wouldn’t notice him. Again, it wasn’t that he didn’t like you. Jay just hated discomfort and somehow being around a girl like you, made him squirm and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. If the things he felt were anything other than happy, sad, angry, nervous, or scared then he wasn’t a fan. Despite how much the latter part of him yearned for excitement and to really feel, Jay just wanted to skirt by in life. 

It was a weird mixture of wanting to be wanted, not having interest because he was afraid of rejection whether socially, or romantically even. He hated the way these insecure, almost unnerving things popped into his head when you were around.

He watched you walk in his general direction with a cold brew in hand and his heart skipped a little, he—again—further ducked into his seat and scooted more toward the window on his right side. But you sat at a nearby table in front of him which made him let out a quiet sigh of relief. How you didn’t notice him let him know that you didn’t have that irrational fear of seeing people you know in public (like him), or just had no sort of spatial awareness. 

But then after a while, he started to hear the faint hum of your voice through his headphones. Which overstimulated him beyond belief. Like, hearing old, unreleased Frank Ocean on top of your voice made his head hurt and he didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t gonna tell you to shut the fuck up, because that would be mean. 

Jay gets that he’s in a public setting but a part of him blames himself for not getting noise-cancelling headphones, his old ones from high school were not cutting it anymore. 

Just the fact that he is so hyper-aware of your presence was the problem. The fact that you sat there sipping, almost aggressively (how tired were you?), on your coffee as you scrolled through some app. Smiling haphazardly at something you might’ve found funny or stupid. Then he sees that smile settle into dullness as you swipe across it to put the phone to your ear. “Hey,” 

Your voice was soft, almost cutting through Jay’s mind like a knife. His fingers froze mid-edit on the same photo he was editing when you sat down—twenty minutes ago, so longer than usual. 

He glanced up briefly, not wanting to seem obvious, but also unable to help himself. He paused his music as he watched you lean further into the table, absentmindedly stirring your cold brew. He saw the condensation gather around the plastic cup and leave a ring around the base of it. Your expression was almost unreadable as he wondered who you were speaking to. 

Jay immediately regretted the thought. Why the fuck would he care who you were speaking to? It wasn’t his business and it wasn’t like you were aware of his inner turmoil. 

“Yeah, I know,” you said as you sighed into the phone. “Mom, I’m trying. But this class is absolutely impossible! It’s like he says one thing, but he wants another thing. I don’t even know this is stupid.”

Jay blinked, trying to process what you said as his chest tightened for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Your tone was light, but there was a frustration beneath it as his fingers hovered over the trackpad, but he wasn’t editing anymore. Instead, he was hyper-focused on the way your voice wavered slightly as you vented, the way your hand stopped stirring the now watered down cold brew and was now waving around as you aired out your troubles.

“Yes, I’m asking for help, mom, it’s literally so embarrassing, I got a 40 on my last test.” you continued, your tone softening, though the exasperation lingered. “But it’s not like anyone’s lining up to explain set theory to me, you know?”

Jay’s lips twitched into a faint, involuntary smile. Your words were drenched in sarcasm, but there was something oddly endearing about the way you expressed yourself. Still, he shook his head to force his attention back to his laptop. ‘Just play your music and stop eavesdropping,’ he told himself.

But then again, how could he not? You were just sitting a few feet away from him and again, his headphones were not helping right now. So he quickly pulled out his phone to open his reminder app to buy some noise-cancelling headphones by the end of the week.

“Okay, okay,” you said, never sounding so deflated. “I’ll figure it o—” You stopped talking, being cut off by your mom who was lecturing you it seemed. “I know mom, your money won’t go to waste. Plus if I fail, I’ll ju–” Your voice dropped to a lower, more resigned tone. “No, I didn’t just say the F word,” you smiled solemnly. 

“I have a class in 10 minutes, ma. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.” You said, obviously lying just to stop the barrage of your mother’s words from ruining your day and stressing you out further. Then you go back to your phone as you bounce your leg up and down, trying some way to push the stress somewhere else. 

While you’re busy doing this, Jay quickly takes one last glance at you. It’s not that he wants to draw attention, but there’s something about your restlessness, the frustration in your voice, that sticks with him. He could’ve just let it be, but he’d already clicked send. 

—

Later on that day, you were seated at one of the tables in the corner in one of the school libraries. Your mind spinning with endless equations and concepts that you understood, but somehow, nothing ever stuck. Turning up the volume on your noise canceling headphones to hopefully drown out the damning thoughts, you didn’t realize how much time had passed until your phone lit up on the table, breaking your focus. 

It was a message from the cheer group chat. Wasn’t important, ignore. 

But you decided to scroll through your old notifications, just to see what you missed. However, your eyes caught one from three hours ago to your school email:

From: print@decelis.edu at 12:33 PM

To: you

Your print job is ready for pickup at station 3.

You blinked at the message, a little confused. You hadn’t sent anything to print recently or at all, in your years at the school. All of your work was digital. But your curiosity tugged at you, pushing you to check anyway. You get up from your chair, leaving your laptop and tablet there for the taking, these rich kids don’t steal anyways, you thought.

Nonetheless, were you missing something? You pondered what you could’ve possibly sent to print, I mean, your Philosophy and Ethics essay was to be turned in digitally, as was most of the assignments in the school. I mean what loser would even handwrite notes these days?

When you arrived at station 3, there was a semi-thick stack of papers waiting for you. You leaned forward slightly as you grabbed the stapled bundle from the tray. As you flipped over the page with your name on it, you saw it was labeled in a familiar way—finite math. 

But these were different from those stupid lecture slides…these were actually good. Detailed, thorough, and almost too clean, each concept broken down in ways that felt more digestible than your professor’s ramblings could ever be. 

Lists of formulas, steps on how to do problems, keywords, examples, things to remember.

Oh, this loser had time. 

You skimmed through them, and the more you read, the more you couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and confusion. Who had gone through the trouble of printing these out for you? Why?

And who—wait, the only person who knew about your math debacle was your mom. You don’t quite remember discussing this matter with anyone else but her because it was simply too embarrassing to admit to anyone that you were in danger of failing anything. 

As you felt this pit in your stomach, you glanced around the library. Looking for any sign of who might have been listening but then again, you got here an hour ago. You last opened your mouth about this in the cafe and the email was from…you checked your phone again, noting the timestamp of 12:33 PM.

Around the time you were in the cafe. 

No one was even looking at you in the library, everyone that was there resided at their little tables or cubicles with friends; trying to conceal hard laughs even though this was a quiet zone. 

You made the trek back to your table. But as you did, your heart thumped a little harder in your chest, unsure of what to make of it. This was fucking weird. 

Granted, the notes didn’t feel personal. It was like someone just meticulously planned it out just so they wouldn’t be confused. Fortunately, that was just enough for you to be glad. Anything would help at this point. 

As you sat back down at your table, you further inspected the booklet for anything that might’ve been an indicator of…anything. You didn’t recognize the handwriting, no you knew wrote like this. The letters fit perfectly within the lines, almost robotic. The symbols being done perfectly as well, they must’ve tried a few times to get that right, so meticulous.

It was freaky. 

But there was nothing to do at this point but use them. I mean someone, whether it be a stalker, eavesdropper, divine entity, who knows, gave them to you for a reason. 

With that being said, you pulled out your tablet with your GoodNotes and got to studying.

You passed your next test with a 83.

—

The following weekend, you walked around the university football field as there was a kickback that you were invited to. 

To this day, you don’t know why the Dean even put this much trust in your class to not drink on campus. The whole setup was a goldmine for rule-breaking: dim lighting, loud ass music (your heart ached for the residents), and ever-so-convenient lack of supervision. But really there was no point, y’all were adults and well beyond or just now of drinking age.

The field was alive with activity—groups of people were already laughing, life or death games of beer pong, even a few ambitious souls were already drunk. Nonetheless, the pumpkin spice candles were doing their best to smother the scent of alcohol.

At this moment, the friends you came here with were only mildly plastered and dealing with the varying drunk personalities on top of the loud music was entirely too overwhelming for your liking. You didn’t feel comfortable getting drunk at a college party and at most you’d get lightly buzzed. Tonight, you just weren’t in the mood for drinking but a little fun wouldn’t hurt. 

The field was lit with warm orange and yellow lanterns as they were strung through and across trees, tables, and posts. Creating a cozy glow against the darkened sky, it looked like half the campus was there and fortunately, the cool weather permitted those to ease into a cute little hoodie and jeans, sweats, just comfy clothing in general.

As you scanned the premises, your eyes caught a lean figure at the edge of the bleachers toward the upper part of the field. Some were scattered around that area to socialize as it was a lot quieter, just to enjoy the music but not be crushed by the drunk and humongous athletes.

Nonetheless, you weren’t shy and knew that talking to said lean figure was a gamble but fuck it. 

You squeezed through the tight bubble of inebriated adults and found yourself free and in the small, but secluded area. 

Jay, however, had his back turned to the rest of the crowd as he swiped through his phone. As he bided his time in the least stimulating section of the field, he realized that he really could’ve been doing this at home. His heart was fluttering just thinking about it now. He could’ve been watching his shows and reading that book that’s currently annotated to death on his sofa. His plush, soft, gorgeous sofa. But no, he sat on the ice-cold, steel bleachers and his ass was numbing at the lack of warmth.

His friends dragged him out to this function so that he can hopefully feel motivated to talk to people and “get laid.”

Which just sounds idiotic because what did that even mean? Get laid? Lay where? He understood the implication, of course, but the phrasing always bothered him. It was crude. Unnecessary. And more than that—it simply didn’t apply to him. Jay wasn’t interested in the shallow pursuit of meaningless hookups. Many have tried, all have failed.

Regardless of what, he knew what they really brought him for. Jay didn’t drink, if it wasn’t water or apple juice he was not for it. So of course, having him as a designated driver was the safest thing for all of them to get home. He didn’t pull off until everyone had their seatbelts fastened and he always did just the speed limit. 

Now that he was stuck, idling looking through his phone trying to find some sort of dopamine hit from a funny video. But then he feels a hand rest on his bicep to capture his attention; to which he was grateful, taps on the shoulder feel funny. 

Then, he turned to see a little ole you, water bottle and curly hair in tow—sitting just above your collarbone. “Hey, loner,”

Jay stared at her for a beat as he shifted his phone to his other hand, then his back pocket. “Hi.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Damn, just a ‘hi?’” 

He blinked. “You greeted me, I acknowledged it.”

Clearly amused, you shook your head with a laugh before sitting next to him on the bleachers. Your body heat radiating off of you and onto him, which despite his better judgment he needed a lot more than he would tell you. “What are you even doing out here? I didn’t think this was your scene.”

He sipped the water bottle that he had been sipping since he sat down. At this point it was pretty empty, only one good sip left. “It’s not, my friends used me. DD.”

You nodded knowingly, “Mmm…sounds like them.”

Jay hummed in agreement, rolling the near-empty water bottle between his hands. He could hear the bass of whatever song was playing pounding from the speakers across the field, the occasional drunken cheer rising above it. The whole scene felt like something he was watching from the outside, never quite a part of.

You, however, leaned back, stretching your legs out in front of you like you had no problem settling in. “You know that you could’ve said no.”

He scoffed lightly. “Right. Because that would’ve stopped them.”

“True,” you admitted with a grin. “They can be kinda relentless.”

Jay didn’t respond, but something about the way you said kinda made him side-eye you. Like you didn’t mind the persistence. Like you even liked it. Liked that your friends were all over the place, you thrive on it. 

You nudged his knee with yours. “How are classes?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“How are the friends?”

“Fine.”

You squinted at him. “Are you okay?”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

At that, you burst out laughing, throwing your head back. “Oh my God,” you gasped between giggles, shaking your head. “Talking to you is so hard.”

Jay just watched you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t sure why people kept saying that. He answered every question, didn’t he? It wasn’t his fault the questions weren’t interesting. You exhaled, shaking your head with a lingering smile before standing up. “Alright, well, have fun, Jay. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Jay nodded once, but you were already walking off, disappearing back into the thick of the crowd.

He stared after you for a second longer than he meant to, then looked down to see the water bottle you left. Completely unopened and sealed left in the space that was between you. He sighed, cracking it open with a small click before downing his first sip.

—

The professor’s voice drifts in and out of focus as you stare at the half-filled page of notes on your laptop. Your mind keeps wandering back to the weekend, to Jay. You’re not sure what it was about the brief conversation you had with him—well, more like the awkward attempt at a conversation—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than he lets on.

He’s so…different. Not in a bad way, just in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. And something about the way he responds, or rather, doesn’t respond, to the usual social cues keeps you intrigued. There’s a part of you that wonders if it’s your own curiosity that’s pushing you to know more, but then you think back to how he seemed almost...relieved when you left. Maybe you’re overthinking it, maybe not.

Jay was an enigma, something that you needed to get a grip on to understand. Everything about him was meticulous, not one detail too big, nor one too small. But a part of him almost seemed unnerving. 

He was so conscious of everything that he did. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when the professor announces the new assignment, his voice cutting through the murmur of students’ whispers.

“Write about someone you’re in proximity to but know absolutely nothing about,” he says, making eye contact with a few of the students in the back. “Find the story in someone you haven’t taken the time to understand yet. Write about what’s compelling, what’s mysterious—even if you know nothing about their life.”

A pause. Then, a slow smile creeps onto your face.

This is it.

You almost laugh out loud at the irony. You’ve been trying to figure Jay out for the past forever it seemed like, and now, here’s your chance to put it all to paper. It feels almost too perfect. Divine intervention, maybe? You tap the pen against your notebook, already imagining how you’d approach it. The awkwardness of your previous exchange, the layers to his personality you’ve yet to peel back. He’s not easy to read, but that’s exactly what makes him fascinating.

You’ll have to get closer, though. You don’t even know where to start with someone like him. Still, the challenge excites you. It’s almost like this assignment was meant to be. Jay, the one person who’s always on the edge of your thoughts.

You scampered out of class, in a way better mood than you were when you were in there. This had to be a dream, there’s no way that the universe just put this whole thing on a silver platter for you. Like this had to be a joke. 

Wandering out of the liberal arts building, you texted the group chat that you had with Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Heeseung. You need to get a hold of at least one of them now. 

you: wya?

heeseung <3 : dining hall, we just got here tho

jake <3: slide

you: bet

 omw rn

—

“Please,”

“I said no.” 

“Please, I swear I won’t be annoying. Like I promise—”

“You’re doing that right now.”

Of course begging this man—or any man—at 10 in the morning wasn’t on your vision board for the semester. But as you sat in this semi-densely packed dining hall, with three other eyes on you, you knew you had to pull this off so you didn’t look stupid. And you hated looking stupid.

“C’mon, Jay.” Heeseung said, grinning as he leaned back into his chair, enjoying the spectacle. 

Jay, however, was unimpressed. He barely looked up from his bowl, methodically stirring the remnants of his cereal. “It’s weird,” he muttered.

You groaned, resisting the urge to dramatically collapse onto the table. “It’s not weird! It’s a journalism assignment. Please? I need this for my GPA, this would really help me as long as it’s something good.”

He chewed firmly on his raisin bran, exactly one cup as always. “Your grade point average has nothing to do with me and isn’t my responsibility.” 

Jake let out a low whistle. “Ouch.”

You shot him a glare before turning back to Jay, determined not to let this go. “Okay, sure, technically it’s not your responsibility, but think of it as...a good deed. A community service moment.”

Jay shook his head, “You can literally pick anyone else, I cannot be that interesting.”

You smiled as you gestured to him, “That’s exactly what makes you interesting. Just think about it, the assignment is to write about someone I’m close to but know nothing about. I can tell you a whole thing about these fuckers—” You point to the other boys that surrounded you and him; your comment only elicited ‘boo’s’ and balled up napkins being thrown at your head; as expected. “But Jay, I’ve had your phone number, seen you at least 8 times a week for three years, we are in a group chat together. And yet, we’ve never had a conversation that lasted more—this is our longest conversation.” Your eyes bulged as you tried to get through to him. “You are my perfect subject.” You folded your hands together hopefully.

Jay exhaled through his nose, barely reacting to your dramatic plea. He didn’t look convinced, but he also hadn’t shut you down yet, which meant you still had a shot.

But as you sat there, hands folded as you pleaded with him to let him be your subject, he couldn’t help but actually feel bad for you. Funnily enough, he knew you needed this. He knew—given the math situation that you needed all of the help you could get. That at least if you failed math, maybe getting a good grade for this assignment could give you some wiggle room to not flunk and lose your cheer scholarship that you worked your ass off to get. 

The look on your face reeked of desperation and a part of him found it funny, also partially attractive that you’re so willing to beg and plead your case as to how much you needed him. But he wouldn’t dare to say that aloud; he had some sort of couth.

But he felt that sickly, disgusting twisty feeling in his stomach at the way you looked at him, like you needed him. The way you said “my perfect subject.” Not just a perfect or the perfect subject. He was your perfect subject. 

He hated the way he noticed the detail.

Even more so, he hated the way that the deepest, darkest part of him couldn’t let him say no to you.

“You’re making a weird argument,” he said flatly, stirring his cereal. “The fact that we don’t talk much should mean you don’t pick me.” He opened his mouth, for once—hesitating before speaking. To which you took notice and perked up in excitement, but covered your mouth with your conjoined hands. Afraid of putting him off even further. 

Jay sighed, dragging his spoon through his cereal as if stalling. “If I say yes, you’re not gonna make this weird, right?”

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never make this weird.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “You’re literally making it weird right now.”

You shot him a quick glare before turning back to Jay. “I’ll be professional. Completely journalist mode. Objective, unbiased, purely academic.” You held up three fingers like a scout pledge. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

Jay arched his brow. “That’s actually worse.”

“Jay…” You half-whined, half-sighed with resignation.

Oh, and the way you said his name. 

“Okay. I’ll do it.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he was signing his life away.

Your face lit up instantly, your hands slamming against the table in excitement. “Wait, for real?”

“What’s for real?” He looked, with furrowed brows.

The group—sans you—collectively let out a groan. You were too happy to judge him right now. “I mean, are you actually going to help me?”

“I said yes, didn’t I?” 

That was more than enough for you.

—

You woke up with a little pep in your step, the sun was shining, birds chirping, and your skin was glowing. Fortunately enough for the sake of your assignment, your other professors gave you the week for your research and observation of Jay. Of course, when you came back you had to catch up but you had to take your wins while you could get them. 

As you walked out of your dorm and embraced the crisp air, you put on your headphones to fully dive into the fall weather that you were having. You and Jay both agreed to meet at the cafe but you decided to show up a little earlier to set up your things and whatnot.

You entered the student run cafe and quietly greeted everyone behind the counter as you found a booth in a quiet corner; hopefully something that will make Jay comfortable, some privacy maybe.

Plopping down into the booth with a grunt, you gleefully pull out your laptop to open up a blank document for you to type on right beside one with questions that you’ve prepared. Then you dug in your bag for a folder with some other papers and set them on the table. Resting them on top of the folder as you were afraid of the table not being clean and staining the paper. 

Luckily, Jay arrived at the exact time that you agreed upon. Which is just like him, never too early nor late but just on time. “Hello,” he said plainly as he sat down across from you. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Park.” You smiled, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands. 

He furrowed his brow, “Since when do you speak to me this way?”

“Since I promised that I would maintain my professionalism to not make you uncomfortable.” You nodded affirmatively, “So if this is what it takes to make you feel as safe as possible then I’ll do what I can.”

Jay gave you a flat look, “That actually makes me more uncomfortable.”

You stifled a laugh, leaning back to neutral position. “Duly noted.”

Leaning back, Jay glanced down at the assortment of papers, your open laptop, and the neatly placed folder. “You’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I have to. It’s my grade, and you’re a particularly difficult subject.”

He tilted his head, “How so?”

Sighing, you cross your legs beneath the table. “You don’t talk. But that’s gonna change today.” You say bluntly, picking up a pen.

Jay sighed, shifting in his seat. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Great. So before we start, let’s go over some ground rules.” You pushed the papers toward him. “I made a rough outline of what this project is going to look like—structured interviews, observational research, some candid moments here and there. Nothing too invasive, but I need you to be honest with me.”

Jay picked up the paper, skimming it with mild interest. “And if I refuse to answer something?”

You shrugged. “You can pass, but you have to give me something to work with.”

“Fine,” he muttered, setting the paper down. “What else?”

“I also want to set some boundaries,” you continued. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to write about or anything that makes you uncomfortable, let me know now so I can adjust.”

Jay tapped his fingers against the table, thinking. “Just…don’t make me sound stupid.”

You blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Duly noted, again. But please do understand that embarrassing you is not the goal here.” You put your hand on the table, to convey your openness. “The product is really going to be a reflection of me as well and if you were to look stupid then so would I. If that gives you any consolation.”

Jay exhaled through his nose, seemingly satisfied. “Alright, journalist. Fire away.”

You grinned, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “Let’s start with something…a little challenging—”

He groaned, “Already?”

You held your hands up apologetically, “I’m sorry, this one is rough but I promise it’s not that bad.” 

He nodded quietly with an—already—distressed sigh. 

Looking into his eyes with a gentle smile you say, “What’s your name?”

Surprisingly that did get a little bit of a laugh out of him. Not a loud one, but a small baby laugh. The kind of laugh where he laughs through his nose and he looks down to avoid your crinkled eyes as you doubled over the table. “That was a terrible joke.”

“But it got you to loosen up, no?” You point at him, “Look! I made you smile! Point me!” You wiggle excitedly in your seat which almost made him quirk a smile.

“Whatever,” He mumbled.

The laughter died down and you repeated your question, “Okay no seriously, what’s your name?”

“Park Jongseong, or—as you call me by my English name, Jay.” He nodded affirmatively.

You typed it out, nodding along. “Jay…got it.”

He squinted at you. “You knew that already.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to make this official,” you said, gesturing to your laptop. “Journalist mode, remember?”

Jay rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“Alright,” you continued, tapping your fingers against the keyboard. “Next question—where are you from?”

He leaned back against the booth. “Born in Seattle, raised in Korea.”

You tilted your head. “Do you feel more connected to one place over the other?”

Jay hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly before he crossed his arms. “I guess Korea, since I grew up there. But I don’t really think about it that much.”

You hummed, jotting that down. “Interesting. Alright, let’s do a rapid-fire round to warm you up.”

He eyed you warily. “Define ‘rapid-fire.’”

“Easy stuff,” you assured him. “Favorite color?”

“Purple.”

“Favorite food?”

“Anything that tastes good, but mainly meat dishes.”

“Biggest pet peeve?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Too many.”

You snorted. “Noted. Dream job?”

Jay opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw tightened slightly before he shrugged. “Still figuring that out. But when I was a kid I wanted to be a chef.”

You smile endearingly, “That’s so cute, any reason?”

He looks around, almost like he was searching for the answer in the nooks of his brain. “Not really, I love to cook. I love food. I love to eat. So I just thought it would be a fun thing to do. I always loved helping my mom in the kitchen and those memories are nice to hold onto.”

“So, sentimental and personal value?”

He nods, “Yeah, sort of.”

You nod as you rapidly type this into the document, just as you were filling in the last bit of notes he interrupts you. “What about you?”

Your fingers stunt at the question, not expecting for him to actually care, or even ask. “What about me?”

“What did you want to be as a kid?”

You frown, “Don’t laugh.”

“You’re not that funny so I guarantee that won’t happen.” He deadpanned. 

You shoot him a glare, lips pressing into a flat line. “Wow. Thanks for that.”

Jay smirks, shrugging. “Just being honest.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. “Fine. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a mail carrier.”

The man tilts his head and as promised, does not laugh. “That’s stupid.”

You nodded reluctantly, fully prepared to defend yourself. “Right? But hear me out—I thought it’d be the perfect job. You get to walk around all day, wear a cute little uniform, and people are always happy to see you because you’re delivering their mail.”

Jay blinked, surprised by how sincere you sounded. “That’s…actually kind of sweet.” He fidgeted in his seat, as if he was uncomfortable by the feeling in your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow. “You just called it stupid.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But now it sounds weirdly wholesome. Like, the kind of dream a Pixar protagonist would have.”

You laughed, pointing at him. “See? You get it now.”

“No, I don’t but I see why a kid would like something like that. Very one-dimensional but…endearing so I won’t crucify you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Anyway…”

Jay nods, finding himself getting too comfortable. “Yeah, yeah. What’s next?”

You glance at your list of questions, already grinning. “Let’s talk about your daily routine.”

“Okay.” He leaned back in thought. “So…I wake up and am out of bed at exactly 9 AM. From there I do the typical, brush my teeth and wash my face. 9:19, I get dressed…then at 9:28 I—”

And as he rambled on about this rigid routine and you sat there in shock, almost gobsmacked at how much of a stick in the mud this guy was. Like holy fuck, is there any joy in his life?

“Then I spray my cologne at exactly 9:28 because it’s the perfect time to balance out the scent before I head out the door.” Jay continued, completely unaware of the disbelief that was likely written all over your face.

Letting out an incredulous laugh, trying to wrap your mind around this. “Woah, woah, woah…so you’re telling me you have this entire routine mapped down to the exact minute?”

“Is that bad?” Jay looked as if you were stupid or said something ridiculous. You caught yourself quickly, trying to do everything in the world to not make him go back into his shell and retract. “No! It’s not at all just…I didn’t expect for you to have so much discipline.”

He shook his head, “You say that as if everyone doesn’t have a routine.” From the look on his face, it was another moment of him just not being able to wrap his own mind around how you would think something like this is wild.

“Everyone has some sort of routine or regimen, but that? Jay, it’s like you’re in the military or something.” You smiled.

“Are you jealous?” He tilted his head, completely oblivious to how weird that sounded, though you were only slightly taken aback. You weren’t used to his blatant honesty yet but, baby steps.

“Very much so, actually.” You nodded curtly as you turned to your laptop to type some more information on there for your draft. “It takes me like an hour to get out of bed.”

Jay doesn’t reply but just suppresses a smile as he nods, he doesn’t judge you completely but for someone like him, he urgently needs some sort of structure. It simply gives him peace of mind and there’s nothing that makes him feel more secure than following his solid regimen. Sure, others would call him strict, anal-retentive, literally insane but if that’s the case then so be it!

“But for now, the last question.” You smile as you finish typing some more, “What is something that you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Nothing. I’ve done everything that I’ve wanted to do already.” He replies back almost immediately. 

“Everything?” You deadpanned, “There’s nothing that you want to do right now?”

He pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head, “Nope. I’ve seen the world, I’m fortunate enough to have given back to people that need it, I’m lucky enough to attend one of the best universities in the country.” He shrugged, “All before I’m 30.”

A part of your stomach flipped, unsure if it was from how attractive he was from the mix of arrogance and humility. But maybe…envy?

Jay, along with many other students at your university, were very wealthy and there was no denying that he lived comfortably. His father was on the Board of Directors of a world-renowned software engineering company and his mother was the Creative Director of a high-end global fashion brand. They had a wonderful marriage and Jay never had to worry about not having anything—he only had to worry about how much he was able to get. 

Granted he can’t control who his parents were, Jay knew the privilege that he held and was not ignorant to that fact. He was lucky to have a childhood with minimal trauma, great friends, a happy home, and to be attractive because he knew that privileges came with that too. 

As for you, you came from a middle class family and your childhood wasn’t entirely too bad. You were a child of divorce and your parents couldn’t stand the other, you had to share things with your siblings, and when it was time to apply for college you had to work tirelessly to earn scholarships to supplement tuition because your grades just weren’t good enough. But you weren’t stupid, you just had to find a sport to be undeniable in, so by the grace of everything good your parents put you and your younger sister in cheer when you were kids. She found other things and ventured off while you stuck with cheer. Now here you are at Decelis University on a full ride.

But that didn’t come easily. Serious groveling was involved.

So as Jay spoke about how he’s lived a life of travel, charity, and world-class education—you only had the latter in common. And that hurt you more than you’d like to admit. 

You so utterly wished you were able to travel, use your means for good, and have parents to brag about. 

You swallowed, forcing a polite smile as you tapped your keyboard. “Right. Of course. That makes sense.”

Jay didn’t say anything, but you felt his gaze settle on you. Not sharp, not piercing—but steady. You could practically hear him analyzing your silence.

“And you?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, surprised he even cared enough to return the question. “Me?”

He nodded once. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-gesture on the trackpad. “Honestly? I want to travel. I want to see somewhere far away. Somewhere where no one knows me.” You tried to keep your voice light, casual. “I wanna sit on a train that cuts through foggy mountains, or eat food I can’t pronounce off a plate I don’t recognize. I want to…disappear for a while.” You nodded with something distant in your gaze, as if you were on that train already. Eating that food and trying and failing to make friends with the locals.

Jay’s eyes didn’t move from yours. He didn’t offer sympathy. He didn’t soften. He just regarded you like he was simply encoding the information you were giving him, like he couldn’t relate but he was trying to understand anyway. “That’s not impossible,” he said plainly.

You waved him off but let out a smile right after. “For you? Probably not.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t work to get where I am?”

You looked at him, dry. “Did you have to beg the financial aid office for three weeks straight and pray someone lost your paperwork just so you could get more funding?”

He was quiet again. And then, “No.”

You turned back to your laptop. “Exactly.”

Jay didn’t apologize. He didn’t offer a solution. He just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Then maybe you should get better at begging.”

You froze.

It wasn’t said with malice. He wasn’t being cruel. But still—it hit like a slap. Cold, clean, and sharp enough to draw blood.

You blinked down at your laptop, suddenly unable to see the screen clearly. Your throat tightened and a piercing rush of fury made haste to your stomach.

“…Right.” You said it lightly. Like it didn’t matter. Like you weren’t already replaying the words in your head on loop, wondering if he meant them as an insult or advice or some strange mixture of both.

Jay shifted slightly in his seat. If he noticed the change in your tone, he didn’t say anything. He just went quiet again—returning to that wall of silence you’d gotten so used to at the beginning.

And just like that, you were reminded exactly why you never talked about stuff like this with people like him.

—

Later that night, Jay along with the guys—sans Heeseung, he was out on a date with his current girlfriend—along with their freshman friend, Jungwon, were playing Fortnite.

As Jay sat in his bedroom, eyeing his PC with his blue-light glasses, he heard muffled swears and screaming through his headphones as one of them was downed. “Yo Jay, revive me, what the fuck!” Jake yelled into the mic as he was downed during a gunfight. 

Jay instinctively hit the key combo to crouch and build cover, shielding Jake’s fallen avatar as bullets whizzed past them.

“You’re too far out,” Jay muttered, reviving him anyway. “You always do this. Every time.”

“Bro, just say you love me and go,” Jake huffed.

“He’s not gonna say that,” Sunghoon laughed. “Jay probably hasn’t said ‘I love you’ since he was, like, six.”

“I say it when I mean it,” Jay replied coolly, tone dry as ever.

“Oh, so never,” Jungwon piped in, and the rest of the guys lost it.

Jay rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Focus up. We’re top twenty.”

But just as he adjusted in his seat, Jake broke the flow again. “Wait—how’d that interview go earlier? You were with my girl for a minute.”

Jay deadpanned, “She’s not your girl, she doesn’t like you. She’s rejected you multiple times, she will never want you. Ever, in your life.” He concealed a smile, trying not to laugh at his own cruelty.

The call went silent then Sunghoon and Jungwon ended up bursting into their own laughter. Jungwon’s being the loudest of course. 

Jake smiled too, trying to seal his laughs as well—though he was defeated. “Shut up! She’ll come around one day.”

Jay adjusted his headset, the smirk still tugging at his lips. “Sure, bro. Just keep telling yourself that.”

“Nah, I’m serious,” Jake said through a laugh. “Girls love the long game. I’m just giving her time to realize I’m the love of her life.”

Sunghoon snorted. “More like time to block your number.”

“Or file a restraining order,” Jungwon chimed in, wheezing.

Jake gasped dramatically. “I would never harass! I’m a gentleman.”

Jay hummed, casually looting a nearby chest. “A gentleman wouldn’t call her ‘my girl’ when she’s clearly not interested.”

Jake exhaled, letting the teasing roll off. “Alright, alright. Point made. How’d it go though? Actually.”

Jay leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing on the screen like he was thinking more about earlier than the game. “It went fine.”

“Just fine? You were with her for hours.” Sunghoon inquired, looting in one of the bunkers they arrived at just in time. 

Jungwon followed suit as he axed at some gold, “Wait, what girl are we talking about?”

Jay said your name blankly, eyes still very glued to the screen as he came out of the bunker and got in the car to drive them across the map.

Jungwon’s eyes widened, “The cheerleader? The captain?” He hopped out of the car to shoot other stragglers behind some trees. “Bro, she’s so fine.”

Jake perked up, “I’m telling you! I’ve been saying this for years!” He knocked an opponent and immediately went to shoot at his teammate.

Jay’s eyes, still not leaving the screen as he muttered, “She’s alright.”

Sunghoon laughed, “You’re trippin’, that girl could tell me to bend over and I’d do it yesterday.”

The boy in glasses furrowed his brows, “I’m not tripping over anything. I’m sitting down, what are you talking about? And Hoon, are you alright?”

“You piss me off…” Jungwon sighed. “And yeah, that was crazy. Valid, but crazy.”

Jake laughed, “Trippin’ as in, you’re crazy. Losing your mind. What you said or did doesn’t make sense.”

Jay snorted, adjusting his loadout as he drove past an enemy squad without flinching. “That sounds stupid as fuck. But, okay I get it. I just don’t agree.”

“You’re telling me,” Jake said, incredulous, “that you sat across from her for all that time and didn’t once think she was hot?”

Jay shrugged. “Didn’t say that. I said she’s alright.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon muttered. “You’re lying through your teeth.”

“I’m not,” Jay insisted, swerving the car expertly through an ambush. “She’s highly intelligent. Thorough. Articulate. Actually listens when you talk. But yeah—sure. The first thing you focus on is that cheer skirt.”

Despite the fact that was in fact lying through his teeth, Jay found you incredibly attractive and there was no denying that. But he wouldn’t dare admit it because then that would make it seem real. He respected you, a whole lot more than one would think. And the fact that he was so quick to defend you in this instance made him cringe at the thought, but satisfied that he stood for something in the name of you.

Jake gasped again. “How dare you reduce me to a stereotype!”

Sunghoon barked a laugh. “You are a stereotype.”

Jake ignored him. “But wait, what was the vibe though? Like, did y’all actually talk or was it just, like, all questions and shit?”

Jay hesitated, the car slowing slightly as the storm closed in around the map’s edges. “She just asked questions about me.” He shrugged, “my life, what I want to do, the things I’ve always wanted to do, et cetera.” 

“And…you said?” Jungwon pried.

“I just answered her questions, but it got weird on the last one.” 

Jake narrowed his eyes, even though Jay couldn’t see it. “What was the last one?”

Jay scratched the side of his neck, still focused on the screen. “She asked me what I’ve always wanted to do. So I told her the truth. That I’ve done most of it already—travel, service, the academic stuff.”

Sunghoon hummed. “Okay,”

Jay ignored him. “But then I asked her the same question. And she said she wants to disappear.”

“Disappear?” Jungwon echoed, his voice dipping.

“Not in a scary way,” Jay clarified quickly. “Just…like go somewhere far. Somewhere no one knows her. Ride trains. Be unrecognizable for a while. Just be somewhere new.”

Jake went quiet, his fingers pausing over his keys. “That’s…actually pretty cool.”

Jay nodded once. “She meant it too. Said it like she’s been dreaming about it for years.”

“And what’d you say?” Sunghoon asked, a little more gently now.

Jay sighed, his voice getting quieter. “I said that’s not impossible. That if she really wanted it, she could do it.”

Jungwon blinked. “Okay, not the worst response—”

“But then she waved me off and was like ‘for you, probably not.’” He reflected as he leaned back against the back of his chair. “And I took it a little personally and assumed that she thought that I didn’t work for what I have.”

“Oh no…” Sunghoon groaned, already smelling something negative from a mile away. He knew how Jay got at times, he genuinely didn’t—and still doesn’t—know how to talk to people. It’s not like he means to be this way, but it just takes him time to warm up to people. If it’s not his family or his friends—that he’s known for the last twenty years—then he really doesn’t know how to navigate emotional nuance. Jay’s not cruel, not cold, but he’s clinical. Methodical. He speaks in facts and solutions. And sometimes, that means he ends up sounding like a dick when he doesn’t mean to.

“Then she said that wasn’t what she meant but then asked me if I ever had to beg financial aid for more money. I, obviously, said no. But then I told her that she should get better at begging then.” He sighed. 

“Oh, you’re shitty.” Sunghoon laughed as he rubbed his eyes, groaning. “Dude, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know!” Jay snapped, a little defensive, but mostly just frustrated with himself. “It came out before I could stop it. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jake winced. “You told a scholarship student to get better at begging. Like she hasn’t already had to do that a hundred times.”

Jay dragged a hand through his hair, clearly regretting everything. “It was supposed to be a joke—like, a dry one. I thought she’d get that I wasn’t being serious.”

“She’s not one of us, Jay,” Jungwon said, unusually pointed. “She doesn’t know your humor. And even if she did, that’s not funny.”

“Yeah bro, she’s a girl, you can’t talk to her like she’s a fucking man.” Jake said, trying to lighten the mood but still firm. “Like, guys are different, we can take jabs and laughs, but with girls...you can’t just throw shit like that around.”

Jay paused, processing. “What does gender have to do with this?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, exhaling like it was obvious. “It’s just how it is, man. Girls already hate men as is. I curse at you, call you names, sure, but I would never say any of those things to a woman, ever.” He shook his head as he leaned back into his chair. “It’s also a respect thing too.”

Jay frowned, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think that’s about gender. If anything, I’ve known you for years. If I can take shit from you, she should be able to handle a dry comment. You guys joke with her all the time.”

Jake shook his head. “You don’t get it, dude. Like, you see how I curse at you? Call you a dumbass every other minute? I know you don’t take it personally, but if I said some of that stuff to a girl, she’d think I was being an asshole, not just joking around. It’s different.” He perked up, making his final point. “Also, the way you talk to her—when you rarely do—is like you can’t stand her already so how do you think she’d take that?”

Sunghoon chimed in, his voice light but understanding. “Exactly, man. You’ve got this wall of sarcasm, and some people—especially if they don’t know you well—can’t see it as anything but you just being a dickhead. She probably heard that, and it didn’t feel like a joke.”

“I don’t even think it’s that, it’s the fact that she was vulnerable enough to be real with you and you just shit on her.” Jungwon said idly, landing the last shot before winning a victory royale for the squad.

Jay sighed, “Yeah, I don’t feel great about it.”

“Good. You can actually feel something other than disdain and dejection for once.” Sunghoon said as he bit his apple and tapped on his desk.

“Those are big words for Elmo,” Jay muttered, half under his breath as he reached for his water bottle.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “You see what I mean? That’s exactly the shit I’m talking about. You deflect everything with sarcasm.”

Jake pointed at his screen. “And that’s cute when we’re roasting each other during a game, but when someone’s opening up to you…”

Jay swirled his water bottle before taking a sip. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just…don’t always know what to say.”

“We know,” Jungwon said, cracking his knuckles. “That’s why we’re saying think next time. She wasn’t trying to play you or be dramatic. She was sharing something real, and you basically made a joke out of it.”

Jay was quiet for a second too long. His screen dimmed slightly, signaling how still he’d gotten. 

Jake noticed the silence and took the opportunity to cut the tension. “Anyway,” he said, stretching in his chair, “she’s still bad as hell though.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Dude, facts. Like, no offense to your emotional growth or whatever, Jay, but she’s gorgeous.”

“Deadass,” Jungwon chimed in. “When she walks by in that uniform? Everything drops. My jaw, my heart, my stomach, my GPA, my balls—”

Jay interjected, returning to the conversation. “I said she’s alright.”

The call fell silent for a beat.

“…Are you gay?” Jake asked bluntly.

Jay blinked. “What?”

“Like, respectfully,” Jake said, leaning forward. “You just said she’s alright and not, like, ethereal, which is a crazy take.”

“Right,” Sunghoon nodded. “Like, it’s okay if you are. Just tell us now so we stop wasting time setting you up with every fine girl we meet.”

Jay stared at his screen, unamused. “I’m not gay.”

“You sure?” Jungwon teased. “Because saying she’s just ‘alright’ when she looks like that is wild.”

Jay sighed. “I’m just not interested in her like that.”

Jake leaned into the mic, grinning. “So you admit she’s fine, though?”

Jay hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “I acknowledge she is conventionally attractive, sure.”

Sunghoon snorted. “You sound like Siri.”

“I’m just saying,” Jay shrugged, sipping his water again. “I’m not blind. I just don’t base my entire personality around girls I’ve never had a conversation with.”

Jake clutched his chest. “I have had conversations with her—”

“She called you delusional to your face,” Jay deadpanned.

“And I respect her honesty!” Jake defended.

Sunghoon pointed out, “There’s a lot to like, Jay.” He nods affirmatively, “Once you get to know her, she’s so sweet. She’s a great girl.”

Jay deadpanned, “So why don’t you date her then?”

“Because he knows not to play with me.” Jake said passively as he stood up to stretch. 

Jungwon rolled his eyes, “Shut the fuck up, bro.”

Jake scoffed as he twisted at the waist, cracking his back. “She wants me and you know it. You’re just mad because I don’t fumble every conversation I have with her.”

Jay didn’t even look up. “You fumble every other one though.”

Sunghoon wheezed. “He’s got you there, man.”

Jake put his hands on his hips, mock offended. “You’re just jealous because when she talks to me, she laughs. You get ‘that’s not what I meant’ and a pity smile.”

Jay blinked slowly. “But she’s also the one that really wants to be my friend so…”

“Okay,” Jungwon interrupted, dragging his chair closer to the screen. “We’re spiraling. Let’s just agree none of us are winning with her right now.”

“I am,” Jake said under his breath.

“Bro, shut the fuck up,” all three of them said in unison.

Jake raised his hands in surrender, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Just saying. Some of us have charm.”

Jay looked dead at his screen, monotone. “You’re wearing a Naruto headband.”

Jake held it up proudly. “And I still get more girls than you.”

Jay smiled, “That’s by choice.” He laughed, “Believe me,”

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Nah, bro, be serious. You haven’t had a proper crush since we were fifteen.”

Jay leaned back, utterly unbothered. “That’s because I have taste. And standards.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing his temples. “Here we go.”

Jake was not letting it go. “What, so every girl I’ve liked is beneath your standards now?”

Jay shrugged. “I didn’t say it. You did.”

Sunghoon laughed, wheezing now. “This man really thinks he’s better than the rest of us just because he’s emotionally constipated.”

“I’m selective,” Jay corrected, folding his arms.

“You’re allergic to joy,” Jungwon said flatly.

Jay pointed. “Selective.”

Jake crossed his arms. “Alright, selective—so what’s the deal with you and her then?”

Jay blinked. “What deal?”

Jake leaned forward, grinning now. “You think she’s pretty?”

Jay paused for a half-second too long. “She’s…alright.”

The silence was deafening.

Sunghoon leaned toward the mic, deadpan. “Do you like men?”

Jay didn’t even flinch. “Only your dad.”

—

So in some weird, fucked up way, after that meeting your life has seemed to spiral even more. 

It’s only been two days since, and while you had to return back to class soon—you hadn’t even looked Jay in the eye since. And respectfully so. 

But it’s like he just put some weird curse on your life. Your hair has been frizzy, the gel in your wash and go was giving out which resulted in you having to slick it back. Which wasn’t bad, it just meant you had to put extra time into your appearance—which means you have to get up earlier—and gel is not cheap!

You’ve been having cramps because your period has come back with a vengeance, it’s been raining, and to make matters worse…your laptop gave out. 

Was the laptop like ten years old? Yes, but that’s not the point as if she couldn’t wait to give out at a better time? 

Luckily, all of your files and anything worth keeping were all saved on cloud. But besides your phone and tablet, you had no convenient device to access them on. And it wasn’t like you could just get up and buy a new one. Money was tight at home right now and you weren’t going to have a job until the upcoming summer. Which even then, still wouldn’t give you enough money for another computer.

So as you sat at your desk in your dorm, hands shaking over your laptop keyboard as you eyeballed the blacked out screen—you pondered what the bond for an arson offense would be. 

Your chest heaved as your head grew tight, tears threatening to release tears as you quickly grabbed your phone. You needed to let this out.

you: are y’all at the dorm?

sunghoon <3: yeah why?

heeseungie <3: mhm

jakey <3: yes beloved

jay: no, at my place

you: ok well besides jay, everyone evacuate

blowing up this entire campus rn, me included

sunghoon <3: ?????

heeseungie <3: um ???

jakey <3: HELLO ??/1!1!/1/??

you: me included

EVERYBODYS dying bro idc

heeseung <3: what happened kiddo?

you: bro my fkn laptop is GONE

like not working

dead

conked out

DONE-ZO

NIENTE

jakey <3: wasn’t she like rly old tho??

you: that’s not the point

the point is that I NEED HER NOW MORE THAN EVER BRUH LIKE WTF ????

ngl this has not been my week

sunghoon <3: yeah that’s gotta suck omg i’m so sorry

heeseungie <3: no fr like if i had an extra one or something i would seriously give it to you

jakey <3: yes srsly i’m so sorry love

jay: does this mean our sessions are over?

you: yes for now, i have to speak to my professor and ask for an extension or some accommodation for rn

guess ur off the hook for a while, i’ll just let u know

jakey <3: i mean you could always use my laptop when you need to

you: oh thanks jake

jakey <3: you just gotta come over to my dorm to get it tho

you: i am going to put my hands on you

jakey <3: i’d actually really like that

heeseungie <3: you just…

—

It took everything in Jay’s power to not bust a gut in this situation. It was almost pathetic really, like this was laughable. He had to sit there with you and the other guys as you continuously ranted about the minor inconveniences that were throwing off your routine. Your hair, the fuckass weather, him, and now your laptop.

And maybe that’s what made it so funny. That you were actually stressed. Not in the performative, “oh my god my life is ending because I chipped a nail” kind of way, but in the “I’m one inconvenience away from crying in public” kind of way. And Jay could see it in your eyes—even through the screen. The way your hands trembled around your phone. The way your voice cracked mid-rant when you started talking about your files. The way you tried to play it off with drama and threats of arson, but the bags under your eyes said you were just really fucking tired.

It was that—more than the jokes, more than the laptop, more than the insult you texted him directly—that stayed with him.

Jay wasn’t good with feelings. But he knew guilt. He knew it very well.

That night, he stared at his ceiling with one arm flung over his head and the other scrolling through his phone. His Apple store cart sat open, untouched for twenty minutes. The MacBook Air (15”, Midnight, 256GB) hovered near checkout. He added a sleeve. Then deleted it. Then added it again.

Then he opened Amazon against his better judgment, typing ‘macbook air 15 inch case’ into the search bar. So as he perused some of the options, he saw a clear, glittery one that mirrored the one you had on your last computer. Okay, nice. Add to Cart.

 Then he caught himself looking at a bunch of stickers, some funny ones, some cute ones, some aesthetic ones, he didn’t care he just added all of them. Add. Add. Add. Then purchased them quickly then switched back to the Apple page and added the extra annual eighty dollars for insurance and pressed buy without a second thought. Labeling both orders as gifts so he could avoid putting his name.

“I’m not doing this because I feel bad,” he muttered to himself. “I’m doing this because…she needs it. That’s it.”

The confirmation email popped into his inbox a few seconds later, notifying him that both orders would be in your P.O. box in two days. 

He didn’t say anything to the group the next day. Just went to class like normal. Looked right through you when you walked into lecture, wet hair tied up, hoodie swallowing your shoulders. He watched as you opened your notebook and used your tablet to follow along with the slides on the projector screen.

And the whole time, he said nothing.

—

You didn’t check your P.O. box until late that evening. You only stopped by because the notification wouldn’t stop popping up on your phone and you thought it was maybe a bill or another random spam from that shitty Mediterranean place off campus.

Confusion, the expression on your face as you got two slips for your box and brought two different packages back to your room. You don’t recall ordering anything this size but you just chalked it up to the seller not having small enough boxes to fit your skincare into.

So when your eyes laid on a thin, sleek white box with a fraction of its logo out of it…your stomach dropped. As well as a sleeve.

You scrambled to the other box to open it, seeing a boatload of stickers, a case, and everything else. The air around you shifted, what the fuck. 

Tears misted your eyes as you scanned for a note, something, any indicator of this not being a fluke. Fortunately for you, a note was printed in the package with the stickers and case:

first math notes, now a laptop?

whatever happened to hello, my name is…?

well let me start, my name is

— a friend

p.s. the laptop is insured. if anything happens to it, just give it to them under your name.

You didn’t know whether to be creeped out and deeply troubled or appreciative and suddenly in love? For someone who threatened arson and assault on a trusted friend, you weren’t exactly within your right mind and that’s okay!

But despite feeling scared—you were going to worry about that later—your chest convulsed a bit as you sat down at your desk. Tears biting at your eyes and eventually giving way to the oncoming ones. 

You wanted to leave the tears to your period, or maybe even the mild seasonal depression. But this was truly surreal, again creepy, but surreal. 

This might sound super dramatic—hello, if not then what are we even here for—but you sobbed, hands shaking as you hugged the laptop to your chest. Your forehead resting on your desk as tears pooled onto the surface. 

You didn’t know who to thank. The universe? God? Allah? Buddha? Your ancestors? Whoever it was to thank for sending this mystery person into your life that so obviously had the means to help you in such an urgency and dire situation.

Your whole life was this laptop, it had stuck with you through part of middle school, high school, the first two and half years of college and you hadn’t really known how much it had meant to you until you didn’t have it anymore.

For now, you weren’t going to focus on who did it. Just the moment and the gratitude of your problem being solved. 

Small—well—Major victories.

—

After time had set in, you had time to rest and recalibrate. Having this time for yourself definitely helped alleviate the stress. 

With this, though, you started to make sense of things. 

The only person you had even told about your struggles in math were your mother. No one else as you didn’t want anyone to think you were stupid for being in danger of failing. Academic insecurities, they’re never rational. As if you’re the only person in the world to be bad at math.

Then, you had only told your Flower-4 about the laptop situation. 

Nothing made sense. There were major discrepancies in this. When you had told your mom about your math quarrel, you were in a public place where anyone could’ve seen or heard you. Okay, whatever. But there is something to note that you definitely do need to scan the places you walked into from now on. 

Plus, the laptop thing happened so quickly that you didn’t even have time to complain about it for long before there was a new one in your hands. But clearly this was the same person.

Despite that, you loved your new computer. It was nice, sleek, slim, a lot faster than the last one and that was a major step up. Plus, at least it was insured. You kept open beverages too close to your electronics more than you’d like to admit. 

You sat in the courtyard at some random table as you typed away on your new device. The weather had been better the past few days and you decided to take advantage of the cool weather. So here you were, hoodie and sweats in tow, hunched over your laptop as you hurried to catch up on the work you had put off the last two days. The wind blew your coily hair all kinds of ways so you just put it up and out of the way for the time being. 

Blasting music in your headphones, you couldn’t hear a thing and that was more than enough reason for you to lock in on your assignments. Until you felt a tap on your shoulder and saw someone plop down at the chair right across from you.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” The annoyingly attractive Jake sat with a smile that shone the light of a thousand suns. 

You let out a small laugh as you moved one of your ear pads to the side so you could hear him. “Hi, Jake.”

“How are y—Woah!” He leaned in closer to inspect your shiny new toy. “When did you get this? I thought you were assed out!”

Jake was nothing if not nosy, and as much as you loved him as an older brother—only a few months difference—you could not bring yourself to be real with him right now. Unless he was the culprit, a culprit wouldn’t act as surprised as he was now. He’s such a transparent person that anyone could tell if he was lying, it didn’t take much. 

Not to mention, you really didn’t want anyone having eyes and ears on this until you knew for sure what was going on yourself. 

“I thought so too. But I just had to dip into my savings.” You sighed as you peered up at him. 

“Damn,” Jake said, leaning back with a low whistle. “That’s kind of...wow. This thing’s beautiful. Is that a matte finish?”

You hummed noncommittally, already returning to your screen in an effort to change the subject. “Yeah. It’s...nice.”

But he didn’t drop it. Of course he didn’t.

Jake tilted his head, watching you type with narrowed eyes. “Wait, so you bought this, like, yesterday?”

“Day before.”

“And had it shipped that fast with a custom case and glitter stickers?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

He blinked. “Yo. That’s...kind of a lot for someone who was mourning her last laptop like a dead relative.”

You shot him a dry look. “What, you want me to carry its ashes around?”

“No, but I do want the truth,” he said, brows raised. “Because this isn’t adding up. You don’t move like that.”

You took a slow breath through your nose. You could feel the words building in your throat, the itch to say I didn’t do this, someone else did, to say it wasn’t me—but I don’t know who to thank, and it’s killing me, but you held back.

Instead, you shrugged. “Maybe I panicked. Retail therapy and all that.”

Jake gave you a long look, then nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll drop it.”

Jake wasn’t a good liar, I said. Never said he wouldn’t try. But you made peace with the moment you had.

“Still, I’m happy you got this situated. Seeing you mope around all day was killing my fucking vibe.” He smiled as he pulled out his phone. 

You kicked him beneath the table, “Shut up,” 

Jake winced dramatically, clutching at his shin. “Abuse. Wow. Witnessed and documented.”

“Document this,” you muttered, flipping him off with zero conviction as you refocused on your screen.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through something on his phone, but didn’t leave. Jake was like a cat in that way—once he found a sunny spot, he’d stay there until something more interesting came along. You didn’t mind. It was comforting, having him nearby. The silence felt less loud with him in it.

A soft breeze passed through the courtyard, rustling the trees overhead, and you let it wash over you. For the first time in days, the knot in your chest didn’t feel like it was going to strangle you. The world kept turning. You had your laptop. You had your hoodie. You had Jake, annoying and radiant and grounding as ever.

But still, your fingers paused on the keyboard.

Because that didn’t mean you weren’t wondering.

It didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him.

Not Jake.

The other him. The one you hadn’t dared to name yet.

The one whose voice lingered at the back of your mind whenever things went quiet. The one whose long, steady glances made your stomach flip. The one who you hadn’t told anything to—but somehow already knew everything.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the courtyard out of pure instinct.

But no one was watching.

Just Jake, kicking his feet under the table and muttering to himself about a sudden scrimmage they had tomorrow morning.

Still, now you were getting paranoid and this was starting to bug you.

—

Eventually, you did have to meet with Jay again. 

Regretfully so.

The one class he had got cancelled and he really didn’t feel like driving to campus to meet you. So you had to Uber to his house which was around twenty minutes away by car. You didn’t mind, Jay sent you the money for the ride, apologizing for the inconvenience. 

Okay, someone’s probably feeling bad.

You stared down at the payment notification on your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

It wasn’t that you were suspicious of Jay. Okay, maybe a little. But he was just...weird. Not creepy weird—just closed-off weird. Methodical. Particular. The kind of guy who would vacuum the inside of his car twice in one day because “you can never be too careful.” The kind of guy who would write down your Starbucks order with a diagram to get it right the first time.

The kind of guy who, if he had done something nice for you, would absolutely never admit it.

Still, none of it made sense. Jay was smart, sure. Quiet. Observant, sometimes to the point of unsettling. But you hadn’t told him anything. Not about the laptop, not about the math midterm stress meltdown, and definitely not about the nights you cried yourself into a spiral because everything felt like too much.

So why were you getting this itchy feeling in your chest?

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you and stepped out of the Uber when it rolled to a stop in front of his house. He’d texted the gate code already—because of course he had.

Jay opened it just as you raised your hand to knock.

His expression was blank. Not unfriendly. Just...blank. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You stepped inside, sliding off your shoes and scanning the familiar layout of his living room. “Thanks for the ride.” You placed them onto an empty spot on the rack, hoping this wouldn’t throw him off. But he didn’t seem to mind.

Despite being friend-adjacent to Jay for three years, this was the first time you had been to his home. His very contemporary, modern home. Weirdly enough, it had looked so eco-friendly and smooth on the outside but inside, the architecture and formatting was so homey. It felt like someone actually lived here but…robotically.

All you saw in your view were the meticulous details: a symmetrical shoe rack with each pair facing the same direction, a wall-mounted calendar color-coded to an extreme degree, and a bookshelf that seemed more like a display case than a personal collection. Each book aligned perfectly at the spine. No dust. No clutter.

The couch looked like it had never been sat on. The throw blanket draped over the back was folded into a triangle. Who folds things into triangles?

Jay walked ahead of you, already moving with that same silent efficiency he always did—like a ghost who had a schedule.

You followed him into the kitchen, unable to stop yourself from scanning everything as if there were a clue hidden somewhere. Everything here was so spacious, like this was meant for a family rather than just one person. The lighting was warm, the countertops spotless, and there were two matching mugs on the counter already set out. One for him. One for you.

Okay. Oddly considerate for someone who barely speaks.

He poured water into a kettle like it was muscle memory, and you leaned against the counter, eyeing him.

“You do this for all your guests?” you asked lightly, half-joking, half-curious.

Jay didn’t look at you. “Don’t really have guests.”

He said it like it was a fact. Not sad. Not defensive. Just how things were.

You tilted your head. “So what am I?”

He glanced up at you then—finally—and there was a flicker of something in his expression. Not quite surprise. Not quite amusement. Just the ghost of a smile. “Exception.”

The kettle clicked to life behind him, and the kitchen settled into quiet again.

You blinked.

Okay, what?

You didn’t know what to make of that. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it. Maybe you misheard. But he turned back to the counter, calm as ever, and went back to his tea prep like he hadn’t just said something vaguely intimate and haunting.

Nonetheless, you cleared your throat—just to simmer the tension. “Anywhere you want me to set up?” You said as you toyed with the adjusters on your backpack. 

His gaze was still glued to the mugs, but he hummed in thought. “The table right there sounds good, thank you.” 

Without a word, you padded over to the kitchen table as you took out your materials needed to start. First, your journal. Then, your pencil case. Your folder, then lastly your computer. 

You hadn’t looked at him for a reaction, the same one that Jake had given you. Calm, slightly uncomfortable—not from him. If Jay made you uncomfortable then you wouldn’t be around him nor would you have asked all of this from him. Just nerves, the tension in the air from some weird mix of prior history between you two—not much to go off of as you could swear he hated your guts—and lust. 

Jay had always stood out to you. Out of all of his friends, he was the least flamboyant, the quieter one, the one that minded his business and didn’t speak unless spoken to. Something about his blunt, structured, logical ways was so alluring to you. As you are more of an emotional person, a huge part of you had always yearned for more pragmatism in a partner and his maker might have sprinkled a bit much of that in him and you’re not sure if you’re fine with this or not.

Despite the attraction toward his personality, Jay was undeniably sexy. In a very—this word is very overused but it fits—nonchalant way. He didn’t try too hard, he didn’t try nor want to be seen and that made a part of you feel glad that not many people had access to him. 

Contrary to Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung—even though they’re great people—they’re whores. They have their fun and are not scared to spread all the love they have to give to the world. They either jumped from girl to girl, or they just slept around. And while nothing was wrong with that, that’s not the type of man you wanted. 

Something about the lowkey ones always turn you on a whole lot more.

And despite Jay being a major dickhead at times, he wasn’t totally evil and that makes you have even an ounce of respect for his character. He stuck to the same people, no drama, intelligent, well-rounded, charitable, and honest—in more ways than one. 

So as he sat at the table with you, mugs in hand, he carefully slid the hot tea in front of you and a little ways from your belongings.

You offered a quiet “Thanks,” watching the way he handled the cup—deliberate, steady, like he thought through every movement before making it. It wasn’t just how he moved, it was how he existed. Controlled. Precise. Like he didn’t have time to waste being clumsy or accidental.

He didn’t say anything, just took a sip of his own tea and settled back against the chair, manspread in one of his forty different pairs of black sweats. 

You sipped yours too, still feeling that flicker of heat in your chest from earlier. Exception. God. Who even says that? And so casually. Like it didn’t carry a ridiculous amount of weight for someone who barely let anyone in.

Jay didn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, he looked…blank again. Not closed-off. Just unreadable. Like he was used to people not trying to figure him out. Or giving up halfway through.

But you decided to break the ice, “So last time we spoke, we just did a little questioning so that I could get a feel for your personality. Remember? The basic stuff, then the more fantastical, hypothetical ones?”

He nodded, “I remember, I was there.” He opened a package of cookies and dipped them in his tea, then quietly slid them over to you in offering. 

You raised your brow in suspicion but accepted the cookie nonetheless. “Yeah…” You looked down at your notes you took on your computer from last time. You scanned as you sighed, “Okay, well now we’re due for the observational stuff.”

Jay’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Observational? As in—”

“—as in I watch you,” you cut in, tone casual but your eyes sharp. “I observe your behavior in a natural environment. Not scripted. Not prompted. Just…you.”

Jay stilled, cookie halfway to his mouth.

You smiled at his hesitation. “Relax. It’s not like I’m writing your psychological profile for a government file. It’s just for class.”

He looked vaguely unconvinced. “And what does that entail? You sit here and stare at me for an hour while I drink tea?”

“Pretty much.” You shrugged, clicking your pen open. “I’ll ask a few small questions here and there, but I’m mostly just looking at your patterns. How you respond. The language you use. Your microexpressions.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So…you’re people-watching. But with a clipboard.”

“Basically.” You jotted something down—nothing major, just a note on his posture, how he sat with one leg crossed, his arms loosely on the table, totally unguarded yet somehow unreadable. “But it’s more than that. I’m trying to understand the link between your expression and your personality. You know—body language, tone, subconscious cues.”

Jay looked thoughtful for a beat. “So if I start acting weird, it’ll ruin your data?”

You being a Psychology minor, it was almost irresistible to incorporate these elements into your work. This is what made you and your works stand out—asking questions work, yes. But seeing how someone moves gives you all the answers you need.

“Jay,” you deadpanned. “This is a journalism project, not the DSM-5.”

He blinked. “Same difference.”

You huffed a laugh, typing something out just to mess with him. “Noted: subject shows signs of paranoia under minimal pressure.”

—

For the next hour, you sat on Jay’s couch in his expansive living room. Watching as he read a book in the complete silence of the house. But before you could even sit on the couch, he made you change into one of his sweats. He didn’t like the grime of outside being on his clean couch. Which…fair enough.

He’d handed you the pants wordlessly, just held them out like it was routine. Like this happens all the time.

“I—what?”

“I don’t like outside clothes on indoor furniture,” he said, already walking away. “The fibers cling.”

“…Okay, Sheldon Cooper.”

But you’d changed anyway, mostly because they were soft as hell and a part of you didn’t mind being in his clothes. 

Okay then.

But Jay lived a very simple life, he spent a lot of his time reading, watching animal documentaries, and working on his assignments that are due for weeks in advance. You had noticed that throughout your observation of him, he had hardly touched his phone. It was actually all the way across the room and he had been peacefully going about his afternoon without so much of a thought. 

Before, there was jealousy on your end. As in, how could someone be so productive and put together? Jay was so infuriatingly patient, calm, and he had such a knack for making time for everything. He was able to get work done and lounge all within the hour and it made you feel so incompetent. A one hour assignment turns into a three hour assignment because you can’t stop checking your socials and finding the right songs to fit your vibe: 50 Cent or Lana Del Rey? One can never tell.

But he’s been watching some documentary on Ancient Greek Mythology for the last 30 minutes and you’d be lying if you said it was boring. 

As your eyes kept flitting from the mounted 75” TV and your notebook, there were flurries in your mind at this point. 

I don’t even want to do this right now.

A nap sounds great.

Jay is still an asshole, but he’s disgustingly attractive and I want to kill him for that.

Take a break, you’ve been watching him do nothing all day.

Which, your subconscious was absolutely right. A little break wouldn’t hurt and you can guarantee he’ll still be in the same position, doing the same thing that he’s been doing.

With that, you sigh and place your notebook on the coffee table right in front of you. Plopping back into the plush, almost cloudlike cushions of the couch. 

“Tired of me, already?” Jay poked, eyes looking over at you briefly before falling back onto the screen. 

You smiled, “Never,” He didn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. But his eyes lingered on you for a second longer this time. Just a flicker of a glance, like he heard more than what you said. Or maybe you imagined that. You shifted, suddenly aware of how his sweatpants pooled a little too comfortably around your thighs. How warm the couch was. How warm he was, just a few feet away.

The documentary droned on in the background, but your thoughts were no longer tracking anything remotely educational. The quiet between you was heavy again—but not awkward. Just…thick. Like honey.You fought the urge to say something else, something stupid or clever, just to fill it. But instead, you closed your eyes. “I’m not gonna fall asleep,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

Jay’s voice was low and amused. “You already are.”

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “You’re just boring.” You pout as you look around. “This big ass house and you don’t even utilize the space, or even—do you even—what do you do here, Jay?”

Jay didn’t answer right away. He reached for the remote, lowering the volume just a touch before setting it back down with precision—like everything he did was measured, controlled. He looked over at you, one brow slightly raised, a lazy half-smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I exist.”

You blinked. “That’s it? That’s your whole itinerary?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “I read. I cook. I clean. I work. I take care of myself. I sleep. I don’t need to fill every second of my day to prove I’m living.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you’re boring on purpose.”

He chuckled—low and deep. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to sit still.”

Ouch.

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “I can sit still.”

“Mm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced. “Then do it.”

It wasn’t a challenge, not really. Just a simple invitation, like he was offering you the calm he lived in every day. Daring you to match his stillness, to see if you could last. “You’re actually right,” You stood up and plopped right next to him on the sectional part on this massive couch. It was about the size of a queen size bed so both of you could fit there comfortably, but it didn’t take much to close the distance. “Still. I’m being still, still I am.” You cuddled one of the pillows to you as your eyes fell back to the TV and he raised the volume.

Jay didn’t look at you right away, but you saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting a grin. He adjusted his leg slightly to give you a bit more room—not that you needed it, but he noticed anyway.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “An achievement. Gold star for staying still for fifteen seconds.” You nudged him with your shoulder, still hugging the pillow to your chest. “Give me a break. These are parts unknown. I don’t know how to…chill.”

He let out a soft breath—half sigh, half laugh. “That’s sad.”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes narrowing. “It’s not sad. I’m just used to chaos. To movement. Noise.”

“I know,” he said simply, eyes still on the screen. “That’s why I’m surprised you even asked to do this project on me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the opposite of what you’re used to.”

The room fell into that thick, thoughtful silence again. Not awkward, just…weighty. Like everything between you two was slowly layering, brick by brick. And yet, you stayed exactly where you were. Still. Quiet. Unmoving. Not because you were trying to win, but because it felt strangely okay to be still with him.

You could hear your heartbeat in the silence—and his breath, steady, controlled, like he had nothing to prove and never did.

“I’m a cheerleader, it’s literally my job to have pep.” You smile as you look up at him, humored by him. 

Jay finally turned to look at you, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah,” he said slowly, eyes scanning your face like he was seeing something new, “but you don’t have to perform here.”

That made your smile falter for just a second—not because it hurt, but because it hit. Quietly. Truthfully.

You blinked at him, your voice a little softer now. “What makes you think I’m performing?”Jay tilted his head a bit, resting it against the back of the couch. “You fill every room you walk into. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just…I don’t think you’ve ever really had the option not to.”

Your throat tightened just slightly, the way it does when someone clocks something about you that you hadn’t said out loud yet. You stared at the screen for a beat, though the documentary had long since faded into background noise.

“So what,” you said, trying to lighten it even as your voice stayed low. “You see through me now?”

Jay gave a small, amused breath. “No,” he said, almost shyly. “But I’ve been watching.”

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t even trying to be intense. He just…was. Honest and low and matter-of-fact in a way that made your chest do something weird and clench-y.

You nudged his shoulder, “Hey,” laughing as you slowly edged closer to him. “That’s my job,” Jay’s lips twitched again, but he didn’t smile all the way. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking back to the screen, though the weight of what he said still lingered in the air. “Guess I’m just trying to understand the person who keeps watching me.”

Usually, your problem is that you find and figure things out too late. But something about the words that he threw your way felt layered. Like they didn’t just mean one thing, something else was resting behind the words. 

This was very unusual with someone like Jay. Everything that he had to say was layered with fact and reason rather than allure and mystique. Not to beat a dead horse, but as pragmatic and objective as he is—it’s so weird to hear anything that could be interpreted as more than what it was. 

Though who he was made him even more attractive to you: you didn’t have to guess with Jay. He let you know how he felt, if he liked, if he didn’t, if he thought you were irritating him, you would know. 

He didn’t waste anyone’s time nor his own. Growing up with two entrepreneurs and businesspeople for parents, he learned at a very young age that time is money. And time—yours or someone else’s—is valuable. So he was very quick to let someone know what was going on. Never was anyone unsure of his stance on them or a situation. 

Except for you. One minute he was indifferent, the next he didn’t like you, now y’all are sort of friends. He was already so hot and cold and you could never guess with him.

You didn’t reply to it, just wanted to brush this under the rug. “I have an idea,”

He hummed, eyes still locked on the screen.

“How about we do things my way? Just for the day?”

Jay didn’t look at you right away. He let your question linger, absorbing it while the glow from the TV flickered across his face. “Your way,” he repeated slowly, not skeptical—just curious. “And what exactly does that entail? Glitter? Screaming? Matching outfits?”

You snorted. “Wow, okay, stereotype much?”

He gave a light shrug. “You’re the one with the pep.”

“Well,” you sat up straighter, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe a little glitter. Maybe a little chaos. Maybe…” You tilted your head, playful but with a flicker of sincerity, “...something simple for now. You won’t even have to leave the house.”

Jay finally turned to look at you, eyes catching yours in that calm, unreadable way he always had—but this time, there was something else there. A flicker of curiosity. Trust, maybe. Or at least the beginnings of it.

“Alright,” he said slowly, the faintest edge of a smile ghosting his lips. “I’ll bite. What’s your definition of simple?”

You grinned. “Let’s build a fort and watch Disney movies.” You shrugged, like it was such a great way to spend your Wednesday evening.

“I’m a grown man, I’m not watching Ariel and—”

You hold up your finger, “DCOMs, we’re watching those. I never said Disney Princess movies.”

He furrowed his brows, “What’s the difference?” 

He could laugh again at the look of disgust on your face. “I was more of a Cartoon Network kid, so…”

That threw you even more, “What?! You?! Park Jay?! Park Jongseong?!”

He held up his hand, now mirroring your repulsion, “Ew, don’t call me that.”

You laughed, “Sorry, but that just doesn’t make sense. It’s like,” you sit up to look at him. He was lying down partially and you were sitting up fully. So in some makeshift way, you were sitting above him and looking down at him as you spoke. “What you watched as a kid sort of…shapes you for the rest of your life. That’s because children are very impressionable. So a lot of adults that watched Disney Channel as kids tend to be a little peppier, a little witty in some cases, sometimes a little cynical.” You gestured around your hands as you ranted, Jay looking you in the eye as you did. Never wavering. “Meanwhile Cartoon Network kids grow up to be…class clownish, goofy, weird, but not weird-weird. More like…really niche and weird senses of humor because they grew up watching weird shows.” You smile, “Like Regular Show and Chowder are not for normal people. You kinda give me Disney XD, maybe Nickelodeon on a good day.”

As he watched you ramble he felt this strange thing called his heart soften. The way you went on about something as silly as children’s television made him rethink himself entirely. 

Your heart was genuinely so soft and pure.

Despite how cold and rude he’s been to you, you’re still so sympathetic and genuinely kind. Since then and his conversation with the guys, he knows how much of a dickhead he’s been. You had always tried to be his friend and he understood why—not always but—you guys had been in the same circle for years and it’d be weird to not make friends. But now that you had kind of used this project to get to know him…he was more grateful than you would think. Sunghoon was absolutely right, you really are great. Such a sweet girl at heart.

He was rude to you but you let it go, didn’t hold it against him, and still tried to bond with him. At least from his perspective, but the last session was the worst he’s felt about himself in a long time. Which is exactly why he’d been dialing it back. Not as snippy, smiled a little more, he just relaxed and it all wasn’t intentional.

Jay felt indebted to you and the only way he knew to repay you was to be nice. Ease up a bit. Plus, given the math and laptop thing, a huge part of him—the affectionate, good part of him doesn’t want to see anyone struggle if they don’t deserve it.

You sighed, the tiredness setting back in as you dropped onto your back beside him, the pillows cradling your head. “Anyway,”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose—almost a real laugh. You smiled to yourself, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“Alright,” he said after a pause, voice quieter, more honest. “We can build the stupid fort.”

You peeked an eye open at him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was a softness around his eyes that betrayed him. “Could be worse ways to spend a Wednesday.”

Your smile was slow and bright, spreading across your face without even trying. And for the first time, maybe ever, Jay didn’t feel the instinct to roll his eyes or snap at you for it. He just let it happen—let you happen.

—

You clapped in glee as you eyed the massive, cushion-y fort you and Jay had put together.

It really was a masterpiece.

Layers of couch cushions, pillows, and throw blankets were stacked and draped over chairs and the sectional. A string of fairy lights Jay had begrudgingly dug out from some drawer wound around the makeshift walls, giving everything a soft, magical glow.

Jay stood with his arms crossed, surveying the chaos like he was trying very hard not to look impressed.

You turned to him, hands on your hips, beaming. “Admit it. You’re proud.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, but his mouth twitched. “It’s…structurally sound. I’ll give you that.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “High praise from Park Jongseong himself. I’m honored.”

“Stop calling me that,” he groaned, but there was no real bite to it.

Still grinning, you held up your hand signaling for him to wait a second. You scampered to your backpack to grab two adult coloring books, pencils, and markers. You flashed them in his direction in offering. 

Jay smiled, “Why do you have coloring books?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, why not? Ask the girl I was written by.”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he took one of the coloring books from your hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, flipping through the pages with the kind of quiet curiosity he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

“And you’re boring,” you teased lightly, plopping back down into the fort with a dramatic flump. “It’s so relaxing, watching movies and coloring.”

He smirked, low and fleeting, and settled in across from you. The two of you laid on your stomachs, the fairy lights casting soft halos around your heads as you both set to work, the markers squeaking faintly against the pages.

For a long time, it was just that—soft music from the movie, quiet coloring, the occasional bump of your legs when one of you shifted.

Jay found himself glancing over at you more often than he was coloring. The way your face scrunched up in concentration when you picked a color, the way you hummed under your breath when a song you liked came on.

He hadn’t realized how easy it was to be around you until right now—no pressure, no weird tension, just quiet company. Which he could never say no to.

You caught him looking once and made a silly face at him, sticking out your tongue. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small, genuine laugh that escaped.

Somewhere in the middle of coloring a crooked sun in the corner of his page, he heard you yawn—a soft, muffled sound. When he looked over again, you had your head tucked into the crook of your arm, marker still loosely held between your fingers.

You blinked slowly, fighting it, but it was over before it even started. You drifted off, face relaxed and peaceful under the glow of the fairy lights.

Jay set his marker down carefully and just... watched you for a second. It was stupid how something this simple—this innocent—could hit him so hard.

The teen pop music from Starstruck still played in the background, and he almost hated to move, to ruin it.

But then his phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: “warzone?”

Jay groaned quietly to himself, dragging a hand over his face. He should wake you up. He should say something.

But you were so peaceful…your face was smushed against the pillow you leaned on. Your coily hair had fallen in your face as your plump lips stared back at him. How could he move you right now?

Instead...he tucked a throw blanket over you, the movement careful and clumsy all at once. He hesitated for half a second longer, then finally tore himself away.

—

Jay went upstairs to his room, leaving the door ajar subconsciously. He plopped down at his PC to load up with the guys. 

“So what y’all been up to today?” Heeseung says in the mic.

Jungwon sighed, “Some fuck ass group project. Tell me how all of my classes got cancelled today and I had a meeting with my group for the project. And I didn’t go because…duh, I had no classes.”

Jay furrowed his brows at the logic but let him talk nonetheless. 

“Then I get an email from my professor telling me that I haven’t been doing anything for the project. Like, dickhead I’ve been doing all the work!” 

They all laughed at his anger which probably wasn’t something they should’ve been doing. But regardless, none of them cared. It wasn’t like Jungwon cared either.

“I love making you guys feel like shit over your problems.” Jake sighed dreamily as he rushed through the map.

Sunghoon remarked, “I think you’re just a bad person.”

“That too,” Jay said, half-distracted. 

“Fuck you guys, anyway, Jay what did you do?” Jungwon smiled with a roll of his eyes. 

Jay hadn’t exactly told the guys that you were coming over at all. 

He paused, thumb hovering over the “Deploy” button as his teammates waited for his reply. He tapped his mic, clearing his throat. “I—um—she came over for the project. Said she had to observe me and whatnot so we just did that.”

Heeseung smirked, “Observed what exactly?” 

He wiped his eyes beneath his glasses as they were itchy. “Just me. We didn’t do much—” 

“Much?” Jungwon called out. 

“Yeah, I just watched a—”

“Watched?” Sunghoon and Jake chimed in.

Jay burst out, “Bitch stop interrupting me!” 

Laughter exploded through his headset, each one of his friends reveling in his rare outburst. Jay closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Y’all are so fucking annoying,” he muttered.

“Okay, okay, we’re listening,” Jake said, but Jay could hear the barely contained amusement in his voice. “Continue, Mr. Observed.”

Jay sighed, clicking through his inventory absentmindedly. “We just watched a movie and now she’s just taking a nap.”

Silence. Too much silence.

Then—

“A movie?” Sunghoon drawled, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “What kind of movie?”

Jay hesitated.

Jake gasped. “Nah. Nahhh. Don’t tell me you let her make you watch—”

“Starstruck,” Sunghoon cut in, deadpan. “You watched Starstruck, didn’t you?”

The silence stretched for a half-second too long.

Jay closed his eyes. “Shut up.”

Chaos erupted.

“No fucking way!” Jake howled. “That’s crazy! You—Park ‘I Only Watch Documentaries and War Films’ Jay—sat through Starstruck?”

“I’m sick,” Sunghoon wheezed. “Like, physically ill.”

“I need a second,” Heeseung said between laughs. “I can’t—”

Jay let them get it out of their system, clicking his tongue as he loaded up another round as he had died. They weren’t even playing together at this point, just playing at the same time. “You guys act like I haven’t done worse things.”

“Yeah, but this is so—random,” Jungwon wheezed. “Like, were you actually paying attention or were you just sitting there?”

Jay opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Another wave of hysteria hit them.

Jake gasped. “Wait. Did you like it?”

“I tolerated it,” Jay corrected.

“No, bro, you liked it,” Sunghoon shot back. “Say it.”

Jay rolled his shoulders, his lips twitching. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. “I’m focusing on the game.”

Heeseung laughed, “No, that girl will fall asleep standing up if you let her.”

Jake wiped fake tears. “I love this timeline. First, you’re buying mystery laptops, now you’re watching childhood rom-coms with her, bruh? What’s next? Matching pajamas?”

Jay froze, “Wait, what?” His hands froze on his keyboard and mouse. 

He hadn’t told anyone about his deeds, the notes nor the laptop. Mainly out of fear of judgment, shame because that meant that some part of him liked you. But also because of the guilt of how he treated you and Jay wasn’t necessarily an affectionate person. 

He just didn’t want to draw attention to himself, nor scare you off. Even though this situation could be considered stalking or maybe something that could make someone uncomfortable.

But if Jay didn’t know anything, he knew Jake. He knew that Jake was as nosy as a Toucan Sam and once he found something to sink his perfectly aligned teeth into, he wasn’t going to stop until he found out what he needed to.

“Don’t play dumb, I know.” He could practically hear the smirk in Jake’s voice.

Jay’s hands started shaking a bit, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But of course, he tried to play it cool.

Jake snorted, “Yeah okay, and I’m the President.”

“Bro, for real, what are you talking about?” Jay pressed, voice steady but his knee was bouncing so hard under the desk he thought the floor might give out.

There was a pause—long enough for Jay’s anxiety to spike—then Jake spoke, casual, too casual.

“She told us in our group chat—”

Jungwon perked up, “Y’all have a group chat?!” He gaped at the new information, “Add me please!”

Heeseung brushed him off, “Shut up,”

Jungwon smacked his teeth, “I’ll get her soon, trust.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “No you won’t,”

Jay also laughed to himself, “Aren’t you like sixteen?”

Jungwon groaned in exasperation. “I’m two years younger than you guys, chill. Plus, young guys do it the best.”

Sunghoon sighed, “Jake, you were saying.”

Jake leaned in closer, lips to the mic. “Thank you,” he backed away. “Anyway, in the group chat she literally had a breakdown and threatened arson on Decelis because of her broken laptop. Like two days later, she somehow gets a brand new—better laptop with cute ass accessories? Especially when she was telling us how she couldn’t afford to buy a new one.”

The rest of them, sans Jay, hummed in understanding. 

Jay was still refuting all claims, “That doesn’t prove it was me, I didn’t do that shit.”

Jake smacked his teeth, “Bro, we didn’t do it. I damn sure didn’t. Literally I saw her the other day, like a day after she got it and she told me she had to go into her savings to buy a new one. Which I know was a lie.”

Heeseung interjected, “How would you know?”

Sunghoon chimed in, now putting the pieces together. “Because if she had the money she wouldn’t have complained about not being able to afford a new one. Whining about the inconvenience, yeah that makes sense. But she would’ve just replaced it that same or next day.”

Heeseung hummed, “Yeah, that makes sense. She wouldn’t have gone without if she knew she could just get a new one immediately. Her mood was horrible for the entire two days she didn’t have it.”

Jay stayed silent, his throat dry. His friends’ casual deductions were piecing everything together too cleanly, too quickly.

“And not just any laptop, either,” Jake said, practically grinning through the mic. “A fucking Macbook Air with the custom shit, bro. Like, pink keyboard cover, matching case, cute little charms—”

Heeseung cut in, “Wait, charms? Like, keychain charms?”

“No, dumbass,” Jake said, laughing. “Laptop charms. Like a lil’ matching aesthetic.”

Sunghoon whistled. “Yeah, nah. That’s intentional.”

Heeseung agreed, “You don’t accidentally buy that kind of shit unless you’re trying to impress.”

“Or if someone feels guilty…” Jungwon mumbled off-handedly.

Jay’s heart punched against his ribs so hard he almost couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

Guilty. That sounded about right.

He flexed his fingers on the mouse, willing his hand to stop shaking. His throat tightened like he’d swallowed a stone.

Heeseung must’ve caught on to the tension because he went, “Damn. It’s that serious?” He wasn’t there for the conversation about what he had said to you during y’alls last session. But Sunghoon had filled him in and needless to say, Jay definitely got another earful from him.

Saying someone should ‘get better at begging’ after talking about economic disparities, wasn’t exactly something that could brag about. And the fact that you were still nice to him after that only added salt to the wound. 

If he didn’t feel bad then something was definitely wrong with him, more so than what was already.

But at this point, his pride was entirely too much to admit that some part of him liked you. Even before this, he thought you were out of his league. Intimidating. And the only way he could combat the budding interest in you was by acting uninterested. 

So he couldn’t stop now. 

The silence on Jay’s end stretched on, suffocating, but he forced out a scoff, light and dismissive. “You guys sound insane.”

Sunghoon snorted, “If we’re insane, it’s because you drove us there with your denial.”

Jake chuckled lowly. “Just admit it, man. It’s not even a bad thing.”

Jay clicked around idly, pretending to load his next weapon loadout, pretending he wasn’t breaking out in a cold sweat. “There’s nothing to admit.”

Heeseung’s voice softened a little, losing some of its usual teasing edge. “You don’t gotta lie to us, bro. You’re allowed to like somebody, you know.”

Jay pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, swallowing words that felt too heavy to say out loud. Like somebody. That sounded so…simple. Easy.

But it wasn’t. Not for him.

Because liking you came with consequences. With vulnerabilities he wasn’t ready to show. With guilt for every sharp word, every dismissive glance, every time he chose to push you away instead of pulling you closer.

Jungwon piped up again, voice thoughtful. “Honestly, if you did get her the laptop, that’s, like…one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen you do.”

As Jay heard them all politic and conspire around him, anger grew in the pit of his stomach. “I told you I didn’t do it. And I don’t like her like that. You guys spent like twenty minutes badgering me to admit that she’s hot and I told you she was but she’s not my type and I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.”

The call fell silent and tension grew in the air at Jay’s outburst. Even though they couldn’t see each other, Jake nodded with a defeated sigh. He knew better than to take heed to anything that Jay was saying right now. He was trying more so to convince himself rather than them. So he let it go. 

Though unbeknownst to any of them, you were walking up the stairs to find Jay and were made privy to his words. 

You froze at the top of the stairs.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—you hadn’t even realized you could hear them until it was already too late. Until the words had already ripped through you.

I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag before you even realized you were moving.

Not running—that would’ve looked desperate.

Not crying—that would’ve given him too much.

Just…packing up. Quiet, mechanical. Like you were never there in the first place.

You could still hear them upstairs, muffled and awkward now, but you tuned it all out, your heart pounding in your ears as you shoved your laptop, charger, coloring books, pencils, markers into your tote. Your jacket slipped on and the sweats he gave you now folded neatly on the couch as yours were already on.

You didn’t have a ride, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away before you embarrassed yourself further.

The door clicked shut behind you, soft and final.

And then you were walking. Down the driveway, past the cars, past the basketball hoop, past the old street lamps humming in the early evening air. You didn’t even check your phone until you were three blocks away, until you were sure nobody was going to come after you.

Even though, deep down, you already knew he wouldn’t.

—

At first, Jay didn’t notice.

The game restarted. His headset buzzed with chatter. He wiped his palms on his own sweats and leaned back in his chair, trying to shove down the ugly feeling clawing up his throat.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

He figured you were still downstairs, maybe still napping.

And when Heeseung joked, “Damn, she’s still asleep?”

“Not sure, let me check.” He ripped the headset off without a word and jogged down the stairs, two at a time. Then made a right to the living room.

Empty.

The fort was no more, your stuff was gone, the pants he’d lent you folded beautifully on the couch. You even put their chairs used for the fort back to their original place.

It was like you had erased yourself.

Jay’s heart stuttered.

“No way,” he breathed, turning in a slow circle, like maybe he’d missed you somehow. Like maybe you were hiding. “No, no, no, no—”

He rushed to the window, throwing the curtain aside. Nothing. Street empty. No car. No you.

A cold sweat broke out across his back.

He sprinted to the door, ignoring how loud his stomping was and yanked open the front door, stepping out into the street barefoot. His eyes scanned everywhere, frantic.

But you were gone.

Gone.

And all at once, the weight of what he said—what you heard—crashed over him. The ugly words he had thrown out to save face.

To protect himself.

And he realized, sickly, that protecting himself had cost him the one thing he hadn’t even let himself want until now.

You.

—

As he went back into his house, sullen and gloomy as ever—game long forgotten. Jay went to scan the living room one more time, just hoping that you would appear. Maybe you were just pranking him, that’s something you would do.

He plopped down on the couch, looking around and sighed painfully. Covering his eyes with his hands as it took everything in him to not demolish everything in this room. 

But no, he had more self-control than that. 

Jay gathered himself, scanned the room one more time and his eyes fell on your journal. 

Jay’s eyes flicked back to your journal on the coffee table. It sat innocently there, untouched, a silent witness to everything that had just happened. His heart pounded with an unsettling mixture of guilt, curiosity, and frustration.

He had no right to open it. None at all. But as the minutes passed, the pull to understand you more—to fix this somehow—grew unbearable. His fingers twitched, itching for something to give him the answers he couldn’t seem to find on his own.

What had you been writing in there? Was it about him? Was he the villain in your story now? He sure felt like it.

With a heavy sigh, Jay leaned forward, grabbing the journal. His mind screamed at him to stop, to just put it back where it belonged, but his hands had already opened the first page.

The handwriting was neat, beautiful even, but there was an undeniable rawness to it—words that weren't meant for anyone else to read. He couldn’t stop himself. His eyes skimmed the first few lines, and something heavy settled in his chest.

“He told me I should get better at begging.”

Jay froze. His breath hitched. The words were simple, but the weight of them hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even want to recall that day, but it seemed like it was all he could think of these days.

He kept reading, each line pulling him deeper into your mind. Your pain was written in stark black ink—raw, honest.

“I don’t understand why he keeps pushing me away. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, he pulls back. But it’s like he doesn’t even care. I just don’t get it. Why does he act like I’m not worth his time? Maybe it’s because I’m used to getting attention that I just don’t know how to act when I’m dismissed?”

The words stung. Jay had never thought of himself as someone who could hurt people. But now, reading this, he realized just how much damage he’d caused without even realizing it. He wasn’t the same person he’d thought he was.

“I miss the days when I didn’t care what people thought of me. Now, it’s like every time I see him, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, hoping he’ll look at me, talk to me, not act like I’m invisible. Am I too much? Or am I not enough?”

Jay shut his eyes for a moment, the weight of your words crushing him. He felt like he was drowning in all the things he’d never noticed, all the things he’d pushed aside in favor of hiding behind his pride.

The journal seemed endless, each entry within the last few weeks about him or about things he’d never even seen. But one thing was clear: you had been hurting for far longer than he’d ever realized. You weren’t the peppy cheerleader he’d always dismissed. You were someone who had quietly endured every time he pushed you away, every time he made you feel like you weren’t worth his attention.

Beneath the shell, you were just a girl that wanted to be validated. 

Beneath the stunning, gorgeous shell of you, there was just a little girl that wasn’t told she was enough. And he hadn’t even cared enough to ask or pay more attention.

He swallowed hard, unable to continue. His fingers were trembling, the journal still open in his hands.

But there was something else, something that caught his eye. A final entry that was left today:

“I’m observing Jay today, and he’s being nice and it’s kinda freaking me out. But he’s being his typical, geeky self and watching some documentary and I’ll say it is interesting. But his home is very beautiful, very him. A part of me feels like I don’t deserve to be here. But I know that he’s been so mean to me for no good reason, but I’ve still tried to be nice. “Being mean doesn’t get you anywhere” daddy always says. So I’ve tried to be respectful, which I think I’ve done a nice job of. As much as this is just one person, I really do want him to like me. Some parts of me want to just say fuck him and that he doesn’t matter. But I also wanna fuck him so it does matter.”

Jay cracks a smile at this, but he decides to keep reading.

“Seriously though, he seems to be a great friend to the other guys. I just wish for one day where he can be good to me.”

Jay felt his breath catch in his throat. This was it. The final blow.

It wasn’t just about the laptop. It was about all the moments he’d let you down, brushed you off, all the ways he’d treated you as disposable. He had been so focused on pushing his feelings down, so convinced that he needed to guard himself, that he’d never noticed how much you were giving just to stay close to him.

And now, as he sat there, holding your journal with the weight of all his mistakes pressing down on him, he realized that he had nothing left to protect. Not anymore.

The journal slipped from his hands, landing softly on the table. Jay ran his hands through his hair, his thoughts spiraling.

Jay sat there, the weight of the journal in his lap. His fingers were still trembling, but now it wasn’t from the act of reading. It was from the shame, the sudden suffocating realization that he had done this to you. That he was the one who had been unkind, who had kept you at arm’s length while you silently endured.

A hollow feeling spread through him, worse than any disappointment or anger he’d ever known. It was the feeling of finally understanding the damage he’d caused, of realizing that he’d been blind to something so painfully obvious. He had dismissed you as just another part of his world to ignore, never once stopping to wonder why you might be so desperate for his attention.

He could still hear your voice in his head. The little things you’d said over the past few weeks, the hints he had brushed off. The way you made the effort to show kindness, even when it wasn’t reciprocated.

“Maybe it’s because I’m used to getting attention that I just don’t know how to act when I’m dismissed?” Those words echoed in his mind, and the guilt twisted harder.

He had always been caught up in his own world, too proud, too distant to even ask you how you were really doing. He was so absorbed in his own insecurities, in his self-imposed walls, that he never bothered to notice yours.

And now...now, it was too late. He had let this slip through his fingers.

The entry about him being “nice” to you hit like a punch to the gut. He could see it—you trying to make the best of a situation where he was cruel. And yet, despite everything, you still wanted him to like you.

He had seen the cracks in you, but had he ever tried to help fill them? No. He had been too wrapped up in his pride, in his need to keep distance.

With a low curse under his breath, Jay ran his hand through his hair again, standing up abruptly. He couldn’t sit here anymore. He needed to do something, anything, to stop this feeling from crushing him entirely.

But what could he do? What could he even say?

The room was too quiet. The silence hung heavy between him and everything he had just discovered. He had been the one pushing you away. He had been the one making you feel invisible.

He looked at the journal one last time. A small part of him wanted to close it, to forget about it, but the rest of him knew that was no longer an option. He couldn’t keep pretending this was someone else’s fault.

The answer was simple, but it felt impossible.

He had to apologize.

—

Jay spent the rest of the night replaying the journal entry in his head. The weight of what he’d read crushed him, but it also woke something up in him—something that had been buried beneath his pride and self-protection. He knew that he needed to change. Not for anyone else, but for you, and for himself.

The next day, he found himself standing outside your 10:30 class. It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t figured out the right words yet. He just...knew he couldn’t stay in the same place anymore. With his heart hammering, he waited for everyone to file out. His mind raced, but luckily he was tall enough to be able to see everyone, then his eyes landed on you and he hurriedly approached you. Stopping in front of you and not caring if he had bumped into other people. 

You let out a grunt at the thud that your shoulder had made with his firm chest. But you had quickly gripped your tablet that was in danger of falling, but luckily your reflexes won. You looked up to see a tall man with glasses and dark hair, oh…him. “Jay, what the fuck?” You rubbed your sensitive shoulder. Doing the sport that you do, you’re no stranger to taking a few tumbles. But his chest might as well have been made of steel.

He held up his hands in panic, “Sorry!” 

The tension in the air was thick, and Jay immediately regretted the way he’d approached you, but there was no turning back now. He could feel the rush of anxiety in his chest, but he forced himself to stand firm, his gaze locking with yours.

“I didn’t mean to...I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. The words he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head felt foreign now, his mouth dry, and his heart hammering.

You eyed him suspiciously, still holding your tablet close. He could see the mixture of confusion and frustration in your expression. You were trying to keep your cool, but it was obvious something was off.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice firm, and Jay felt a pang of guilt deep in his gut. You didn’t trust him anymore—he’d made sure of that.

Jay exhaled sharply, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He could see the way you were holding yourself, trying to keep your distance. And damn it, he deserved it. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

“I—um…” He played with the hem of his form-fitting black long-sleeve. Trying to work up the courage to speak, or even look you in the eye. 

You sighed, “I can’t do this with you right now, I have a class in fifteen minutes and it’s all the way on the south-end of campus. If you’ll excuse me,” You said as you brushed past him.

Jay watched you step away, the gentle sound of your footsteps against the pavement echoing in his ears. His heart clenched. He had expected this—shit, he deserved it—but that didn’t make it any easier. He watched you for a moment, conflicted, as you began to walk toward the next building.

What if this was it? What if you never gave him a chance to fix anything?

The thought hit him like a punch to the chest.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving again, this time with more urgency in his steps. He hated the way his own hesitation had kept him from being the person he needed to be before. He hated how many times he had let you down.

“Wait!” Jay called out, his voice louder than before, his pulse racing in his throat.

You didn’t stop. But there was a slight pause in your stride. He saw it. He wasn’t sure if it was out of curiosity or frustration, but it was there.

He took it as a sign.

Jay quickened his pace until he was beside you again, walking beside you as you left out of the building, still unsure how to breach the gap he’d created between you two. He swallowed, trying to steady his nerves. “Look, I—I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even stop them. “I know I’ve been a jerk to you. And I know I’ve made everything worse, but I...I just need you to hear me out.”

You stopped walking, but you looked at him with complete disgust. Jay retracted a bit as he saw the look in your eye. He’d never seen you look at anyone like that ever. Unless it was a smile, laugh, or maybe a playful glare at Jake then anything else seemed like foreign terrain. He could feel the weight of your silence pressing on him, but he didn’t back off.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know you don’t even want to talk to me right now,” Jay continued, feeling the frustration and desperation in his words. “But I read something I shouldn’t have. I said something I shouldn’t have. And I’m not here to make excuses. I just...I need you to know that I’m sorry for all of it. For pushing you away. For acting like you didn’t matter when you did. And I hate that I made you feel invisible.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even move.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he added quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “But I need to be better, for you...and for me. And I get it if you don’t want to talk. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just couldn’t leave without saying this.”

He reached into his backpack, shuffling through it frantically as if he were afraid you’d walk away mid sentence. Eventually, he pulls out your journal and your eyes widen at the fact that he read your own private thoughts. 

You snatch it from him, even though the damage had already been done. He read it already, but somehow you felt that holding it to your chest would magically erase the words he’d read. 

In any other case Jay would be irritated that someone had snatched something from him. But couldn’t even utter a word, he just stood there—as resigned as he could be. Nonetheless, he gestured to the book. “In case you were wondering…I bought the laptop.”

You already had an inkling, but the fact that you were getting confirmation had made your heart drop to your stomach. A knot forming there and in your throat as you were at a loss for words. You still weren’t able to speak. 

“The invoice is in there if you don’t believe me. And I gave you the math notes too.” 

Your grip on the journal tightened, but the weight of it felt unbearable in your hands. You were still reeling from the fact that he had read your private thoughts, your most personal reflections, and yet here he was—standing in front of you, holding out a piece of your life like some kind of... offering.

A slow wave of disbelief washed over you, and for a moment, you could only stare at the journal in your hands, as if hoping the pages would disappear. Or that the situation would change—just reverse itself.

Jay didn’t move. He stood there, waiting for your reaction, but the silence between you was suffocating. He had just broken something. He had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross, and you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t just about the journal. It was about everything that had led to this moment. All the little things. The moments he pulled away. The things he didn’t say. The things he didn’t care enough to notice.

You couldn’t even look at him. You didn’t want to. You weren’t sure if you could. The tension in the air was thick, like you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t ready to face yet.

The silence dragged on, and Jay shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I—uh, I wasn’t sure how to tell you all of it, but the invoice...it’s in there,” he said quietly, his voice hesitant, almost unsure. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just wanted to help.”

Your voice came out, raw and nearly obsolete. “Why?”

He groaned as he put his head in his hands, his rings glimmering in the sunlight. “The notes, it—I’ve always liked you. This feeling I couldn’t explain—just…attraction. And one day, I was in the cafe and I overheard you speaking to your mom about you having trouble with math. I had taken the class before so I just thought giving you my notes would help. I felt bad because I couldn’t not do anything. So I just printed them out and attached your email. That’s it.”

Tears started to mist your eyes, clutching your book and tablet closer to your chest. “The laptop?”

Jay was quick to explain, “After our first session, I had hurt you really badly with that ‘begging’ comment. I still haven’t apologized to you for that and I’m sorry but, you came on the chat and you were really upset. I thought it was just my way to give back to you.” He stepped forward, putting a small distance between you. To which you were nailed right to where you stood. You were too shaken to move.

The air between you two was thick with the weight of his words, the confession, the apology—and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of the journal. It felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to something solid in the storm that had suddenly engulfed you.

You couldn’t speak for a long time, your throat tight, your chest aching with the conflicting emotions that swirled inside you. Jay was still standing there, his body tense, eyes searching your face as if he could find a way to undo everything he’d done.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued softly, his voice breaking just slightly. “I never meant to cross any lines. I thought I could make it right, but I see now... that maybe all I’ve done is make things worse.”

His words felt like a quiet admission of guilt, and for a moment, you just stood there, unable to reconcile what he was saying with the hurt that still lingered inside you. All those moments, all those interactions—you felt as though they were being rewritten in this very instant. Could you forgive him for everything that had built up to this?

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and when you opened them again, you finally spoke, your voice shaky but filled with the weight of everything you had been holding back.

“Why didn’t you just...talk to me?” you asked quietly, the pain of the question evident in your tone. “Why did you have to hide behind these...gestures? Why did you think giving me things would fix everything?”

Jay flinched at your words, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. I thought—I thought I could do something to show you I cared without saying it. I’m not good with words. I’m not good at explaining myself, and I’ve always been good at running from things instead of facing them. But I know now that I’ve been running from this, from you. And I can’t do that anymore.”

You smile bitterly, “So you call me perky and desperate to your friends.”

He shook his head, “No, no, no—”

“Don’t try to deny it, I heard you. You said ‘I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.’ That came out of your mouth, Jay.” You looked away from him. 

“I’m not trying to deny it. I did say that—I was—” He sighed, closing his eyes to get a hold of himself. “The guys kept bothering me about the laptop and I just wanted them to st—”

You laughed bitterly, this sent something through you. “So a simple ‘I didn’t do it’ would have sufficed. But no, you always have to go for the jugular don’t you?”

“Please, I didn’t—”

You held up your hand, “No, Jay. If you wanted to keep it a secret then that’s fine, it doesn’t make me a fucking difference. But not at my expense.” You slowly back up, “Since you read my fucking journal, I guess there’s no secrets so I don’t have anything to hide anymore. But I’m so done with getting you to like me. I will not be weighed down by this anymore and it’s not even your fault. It’s me, I won’t hold you accountable for my insecurities but I will be damned if I let any man make me feel like I’m not the baddest bitch walking.” You ball your fist that settled on your journal in your hand. “I’ll finish the project with what I have, I’ll leave you alone. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Jay.” 

The words hit Jay like a punch to the gut. Each one cut deeper than he could have anticipated, and his stomach twisted with regret. He opened his mouth to respond, but every time he tried to speak, his words stuck. There was no defense, no justification that could make this right. He had hurt you, plain and simple.

You were fierce, no denying that. Your words were sharp, but they weren’t meant to tear him apart—no, they were meant to protect yourself. And Jay knew it. He had pushed you to this point.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t undo what he’d done, couldn’t erase the damage.

But you weren’t waiting for his apologies anymore. You were standing there, eyes fierce, jaw set, making it clear that you were done.

“Goodbye, Jay.” Your voice was steady now, cold even, and the finality in it made Jay’s chest tighten with something heavier than guilt.

You turned away from him, the journal still clutched tightly in your hand, and he stood frozen. He wanted to call after you, to beg you not to leave, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. He knew it was over. And he knew that this time, you were walking away for good.

He watched you go, each step you took like a door closing that he would never be able to open again.

And in the silence that followed, Jay realized that the worst part wasn’t the apology he hadn’t given or the damage he had done. It was the fact that he had made you feel so small, so desperate for his attention, that you had to pull away completely just to hold onto yourself.

It was his fault.

For the first time, he understood what it meant to truly lose someone.

-

part 2

Copyright: © zorange13. 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Meaty Post Since It's All You're Getting for a Bit

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

*** This blog will be on mini hiatus for most of May 2025. Not dead just busy. You'll be fine without me. Don't burn down this hellsite anymore than normal while I'm away.

April 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 1-2 of 10 - Mflow's latest high heat office romance involves best friend's younger brother, boss meets intern, bit of a love triangle, GL crumbs, and few other tropes.

It's... raunchy.  And it's giving me Deep Night vibrations. So to speak. Similarly cringe but still fun to have on our screen. I don't mind a "teach me daddy" trope. The leads are serving up BossNoeul in LITA and the other pairs seem decent too. It’s messy gay but it’s low stakes high melodrama soap opera messy gay so I guess I'm okay with that style. Shall we call this "sloppy gay"?

I'm not mad about it.  

The BangkokBoy (Thai Sat Gaga) ep 1 of 12 - Action, crime, and revenge meets gangs, street fights, mafia, and more. Oh my. Intriguing premise. Not a bad beginning in terms of acting and family strife set-up. The terrible dubbing is sending me. The terrible fight scenes are sending me even further. They better give us some BL within the next two episodes or I don’t know if I can take this level try-hard.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - I am so happy to have Jimmy back on my screen. I can’t even tell you. No additional thoughts, only Jimmy in glasses.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 6 of 10 - this time I reminded myself going in that this is based on Japanese IP. But I still couldn't take it. I fast-forwarded through most of this ep. I knew it was coming but I still couldn’t stomach it.

Akin better get everything tested. And some counseling.

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 1-2 of 12 - Our only true high school BL from GMMTV this year and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. I want to like this (and be surprised by it) as much as My School President in 2023 but so far that is definitely not the case. I do love the teachers (shocker) and I like the sides but I’m not sold on the main couple. With a kiss already in ep 2 the pacing is off. If this were Japan I would 't be worried, but this is GMMTV messing with the formula and that could be rough for all of us.

Side note... how does Papong look so daddy in Not Me and do damn ingenue here? Best chameleon in GMMTV's stable? I think so. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 9-10 end - omg they are ridiculously cute dancing round each other. Please just kiss! Bah, this did take too long to resolve. I was worried about that.

The people (aka me) want more BL in our BL! Rah rah rah.

I also wanted more Heesu advising others and less of the hets hetting about the place. Sad we got not kiss but also no time to develop it.

Conclusion

What started out with a great core concept (KBL version of Sex Education) rather lost its way getting mired in the slowest of slow burns which effectively turned the BL storyline into a sub plot for multiple het dramas should have just added flavor. The acting was sweet all round, and sincere, and the lead character of Heesu very engaging. There was even some chemistry with his love interest, rare from Korea. The extra length (so rare in KBL) turned out to be just enough for them to hang themselves with. Should we be shocked that Korea didn't have enough faith in the queer romance thread? No, but I had hoped for better. This was almost great but missed the mark by simply not being gay enough. 7/10 

I will add the handling of the coming out sequence was... deft.

I think I need to go rewatch Light On Me.

Business as Usual (Korea Thurs Viki) Ep 4 of 6 - Gah this is so sad. They like each other so much and made such stupid mistakes! i guess Jin Hwan won't let it stick? Honestly I'm kinda glad this is a short one.

Something Is Not Right (Korea Weds Viki) ep 2 of 8 - The library scene made me laugh.  Every single on of them is such a drama queen. It's awfully angsty but i like it. 

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 6 of 12 - Oh this is getting kinda good. That fantasy was lovely. The rest of the story is rough. But the chemistry is great.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 12 end - Pretty much just a wrap up episode with lots of sex and a double wedding (never a good idea). But all of it was very pretty. 

Summary 

Taiwan gave us this weird premise of funeral home + mafia + secrets, yet somehow no excitement or real tension because they then slapped it with a pathetic excuse for a plot. Everybody in it was pretty, but the chemistry really wasn’t what I’ve grown to expect from Taiwan. The suits were nice, i guess? Ultimately, given the initial concept, this is remarkably forgettable. 6/10 

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2.

Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks so bad.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) 12 eps - dropped at ep 5. Recent thought process as follows: Oh, I think I would have loved this if it were OffGun.

What a thing for me to think.

Still, I'm not wrong.

The Rewatch BLigade!

Jazz for 2. I wasn't sure about this when it aired and I'm still not sure about it. I think I like it. But how much do I like it?

Cherry Magic Thailand. Still very enjoyable but there are more slow and lagging episodes than I remember. Lots of fast forwarding through the slow bits. But TayNew still deliver like only they can. Now I kinda wanna do a Deep Blue Kiss rewatch.

Wandee Goodday. I fast forwarded through everything that wasn't YakDee on screen together. Solid choice. I love them so much, and I suspect they might be the healthiest sexual relationship we have ever seen depicted in a BL. (On Viki these days)

Unintentional Love Story. Yeah a regular rewatch for me. I put it on to check something, and then just ended up running through the whole series. Will I ever recover from Gongchan's eyes? Not in this lifetime.

Your Sky. Yeah I finished the 3 ep special and then immediately rewatched the whole darn show. This is my 3rd or 4th time. I love it, totally my type of so bad it's good, so sweet it hurts, BL pulp. I don't ask for much from my BL. This show gave me exactly that much and no more.

Mr X & I - Us Against The World. One of those obscure shorts I love, this one from China pre 2016 crack down. Yep. Still love.

I'll be doing a ton of rewatching over the next month because of all my travel. Wish me luck!

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming in May

5/2 Pit Babe The Series 2 (Thai Fri iQIYI) 13 eps - More conspiracy and struggles and past coming out to play but even less omegaverse.

5/3 The Next Prince (Thai Sat iQIYI) 14 eps - Hotly anticipated 3 yr production featuring ZeeNewNu in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince fighting for his right it inherit. Plus Jimmy with a new partner. Should be pretty and hot if nothing else.

5/16 Knockout (Thai Fri WeTV ) 12 eps - A low quality less fun/funny version of Wandee Goodday?

5/19 I Promise I Will Come Back (Thai Mon WeTV) 10 eps - A Thai Taiwanese colab. Stars two Thai actors and Taiwanese identical twins from H3. However the lead and co-producer Tontae is actually a very good actor, so this could be good unless it's oen of those mostly intended to be a tourism advert for the Thai countryside. We shall see!

5/16 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) 12 eps - I admit I wasn't sold on this one from the trailer but Saint is back and I'm disposed to be intrigued by the kind of script that would pull hm in. But it is certainly not my kind of script.

May? Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked, must we?

May ? Sweetheart Service (Korea Gaga) - Strongberry is back with a fake dating trope?! After being pressured by his family to get married, Min U proposes to Yu Ha to pretend to be his fiancé. As they spend time together, feelings begin to develop between them.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Lap sit kiss teaching sesh with this boy you kinda hate who is now also kinda your boss... sure, why not?

(last week)

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