#I never want to repeat this experience again in my life

[asexualbookbird]

It sure has been a Year huh. Ups and downs this month, as life happens. Saw friends I haven't seen in years, went into the city and met new friends, tried new foods, saw some birds, tried new crafts, read new books.

The Fireborne Blade by Charlotte Bond ⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Hm! Interesting! Didn't hate it, but something feels missing? Almost like it could've benefited from being at the very least a short novel. It needed more. I also have qualms at this being pitched as sapphic when there is no romance at all and the main character talks a lot about being betrayed by her last romance with a man. One mention of Woman With Hot Thighs. Not mad I read it, might even read it again.

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming ⭐️⭐️ ‐ I'll be honest, one star is Mean but I had a lot more fun reading Fourth Wing and that was two stars. The tone is what dragged this one down for me. It reads like YA, but it's very much not. I do not believe for a second the MC is 24, she doesn't act like it at all. The sex scenes. Are there. I could make an entire post about the book ending on them having penetrative PiV sex. Part of my grievances are me not liking the genre, but I truly think this just isn't that good. Plenty of people on the internet write better more filthy works for free. Why was this sitting unassumingly on the library shelf.

*amended to two stars if this is indeed satire

The Dead Cat Tail Assassins by P Djèlí Clark ⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Fine. Not much to say because it was Completely Average. Not mad I read it, but don't wish to repeat the experience. I think maybe Clark isn't an author for me, as I recall feeling similarly about A Master of Djinn. It's not so much that the characters or world feel flat, but something definitely feels missing. It was silly and lighthearted and gory and I did like that though!

The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Another hit from Sarah Beth Durst. I see your Themes. I see your Tropes. Kindness. Found family. Accepting help. All personal attacks on me. Adorable, fun, some sort of cross between T Kingfisher and Becky Chambers, I didn't want it to end, and now have a name for my spider plant. It also seems like I need to get my spider plant a friend.

The Woods All Black by Lee Mandelo ⭐️⭐️ - I have very mixed feelings about this that are really summarized as This Wasn't For Me. I like the idea that yeah you're a monster but someone loves you anyway. I like using the monster to punish those who called you one. I think there's some very specific midwestern religious trauma that I'm missing to really Get It, though. On top of that, while I recognize the themes and significance in the age gap, a 30 year old going after an 18 year old icks me out. I'd still recommend it with very very heavy reservations.

The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal ⭐⭐ - Going to be honest, I just finished this and I'm already moving on. The writing was fine and I'm not put off of the author entirely, but I never felt wowed. I was annoyed more than anything. I didn't love any of the characters, but I didn't really hate anyone either. The amount of people Tesla let pet her service dog drove me nuts. The ending felt slapped together. It never really felt cohesive. I feel vindicated reading that fans of her other books also were unimpressed with this. I wouldn't steer people away from it, but I didn't have a lot of fun.

I'm tentatively excited for February. I have art ideas I'd like to get started on, I am working on a craft thing that I might be able to profit a bit off of, I'm flat out ignoring the world, book club is approaching. I'm looking for good things in the world, and I will find them. That is a threat.

[yellowaugustnights]

true

[tenok]

.

[kira-akira]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[p1utofairy]

holy shit, the glow-up vibes are potent as fuck in this pile! people are going to be in absolute awe of you, pile one. your energy, your body, your face card, and your personality are going to have people bowing the fuck down to you. i'm not feeling any sense of arrogance or conceitedness either – you're just truly about to step into your most powerful and authentic self. this was always destined, pile one. this innate magnetism was always inside of you, but you just never truly knew how to wield it entirely. it's like you were dipping your toes in and out of the water, not sure if you should fully submerge yourself in it and become who you've always known you were, or stay digestible and dim your light so others around you could shine. no more of that. this is, and will continue to be, all about you, pile one. you are shedding the people-pleasing tendencies that have held you back for so long.

you are reclaiming your power. you have such a kind heart with a fierce spirit, and you've been suppressing that fierce side of you in fear of what others may think of you or say about you. too many times, you've had your back kicked in at the expense of sparing another person's feelings, and your spirit guides are getting restless from the sidelines watching you repeat these same situations time and time again. they're giving you the green light to boss the fuck up and show these people what you're made of. they're telling me that this is a rebirth for you.

i see you experimenting with your wardrobe and appearance: more sexy, more bold, and more alluring. dark eyeliner, sheer stockings, red tops, lace, denim, corsets, etc. showing more of yourself but still keeping it classy. i'm being drawn to alexa demie, 2000s meagan good/megan fox, and gabriette. very siren-like and hard to miss. this is going to be completely new to you, but it's going to feel sooo good and rewarding. a lot of what you used to say yes to is going to turn into straight no's.

you're going to notice a shift in the people, opportunities, and love offers you attract as well – more fruitful and abundant. they align more with the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself now that you're rejecting the projections and expectations that no longer serve who you are at the core. you will not be settling for less, pile one, that's for sure! i'm hearing that it's basically giving your pinterest boards come to life lol. i love that for you. things that you've been specifically journaling about and manifesting for yourself are going to come to you with no effort – it's almost going to be alarming. it's like you've been waiting, waiting, waiting, thinking someone was going to come along and shift your reality for you, when really you were the key all along.

i'm seeing a lot of yellow and orange, so your solar plexus and sacral chakra are going to be so fucking activated. you're going to be very selective and protective of your energy, as you should. you'll just be like, wow, what took me so long to lean more into this side of myself? it was necessary, though, because it opened your eyes to the world we live in and how you have to operate and not short-change yourself in spite of what others want or expect from you. some people might not like this transformation of yours, but that's simply not your problem, and those people are not on your same frequency. you already spark a lot of jealousy, but this energy shift right here?! whew. hoes mad, pile one! i'm like seeing tiktok edits in my head of the hot villainous characters like katherine pierce and jennifer check lmao. you're winning, and they're not, my loves!

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

ashwini, ballin' by partynextdoor, unhealthy codependency, anuradha, tall in height, 1st house, neptune energy, neptune-asc, blick sum by latto ft. playboi carti, manifest it, shatabisha, fashion/modeling industry. scorpio, aries, aquarius.

things have been seeming very redundant lately, pile two. you've been craving change for a while now. i'm picking up that you're really at your wits' end in regards to the job you're currently working at and/or all the responsibilities you have on your shoulders. you've been pushing yourself so hard, but you're starting to wonder if any of it was worth it because you're not seeing the payoff just yet. you might be feeling overlooked or undervalued at the moment, but i definitely see things changing for you.

i see a new job/financial opportunity making its way to you, and it aligns more with what you love to do. it's an offer definitely worth taking, pile two! this is the beginning of something that's going to catapult you to the next level. i see this one opportunity leading to an elevation of your life. it's a chance of a lifetime. you're closing out this current cycle of stagnancy and getting the ball rolling on your desires and the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself. this isn't on a small scale either, this is huge. it's damn near like whiplash – so sudden and unexpected but very well deserved.

i see you gaining more friends and networking with people that advance you and pour into you as much as you pour into others. this is oddly specific, but i feel like some of you have some very mean-spirited co-workers around you. do not tell these people your plans or anything personal, because they really don't like you (projection because they really don't like themselves lol), and they're secretly sending you the evil eye. if you don't have an idea of who specifically this could be, just know they definitely smile in your face and pose as someone who likes you but say things behind your back that prove otherwise. they're not stopping shit though, so your spirit guides want me to tell you that you have nothing to worry about.

for my singles, i was also picking up on a new romantic suitor having their eyes on you. this person could have a charming and bit of a cocky vibe going for them – they usually like to be chased rather than do the chasing, but something about you is intriguing to them. for some of you that have just gotten out of a relationship, i see you have a couple of options to choose from. there's this energy of being amused and entertained. a lot of people are going to find you to be very irresistible, and the way you carry yourself so gracefully will have many heads turning.

for those of you that are in a committed relationship, i see you two becoming even closer and more vulnerable with each other. any walls you've built around yourself in fear of disappointment or regret will finally be dropped as you learn to trust not only yourself but your partner fully as well. one more thing i will say is that you should make sure you're budgeting your finances properly and remember to take care of any debts you may owe, okay? 444 on the clock. everything is working out in your favor you shall soon see.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

6th house, krittika, dark skin, when one door closes another one opens, revati, transformation, jyestha sprung, ideal partner/dream person, taurus, pisces, scorpio moon, nasty by tinashe, fever by dua lipa & angèle.

you've really been keeping to yourself huh, pile three? you could be clashing a lot with your parents/family or just feeling misunderstood by the people closest to you. i feel like things have been a bit chaotic and unstable in your life, especially in regards to your home environment. one minute things are good, but when things get bad, they get pretty fucking bad. ugh, pile three.

i feel like you're very sensitive to your environment, and whatever is going on around you, you absorb it like a sponge. there's inner child wounds that you're working on, and it's really not easy, but your spirit guides want you to know that they're so fucking proud of you. you're doing the work that others weren't brave enough to do in order to heal yourself and your bloodline. some of you might have a very dysfunctional family, and it weighs heavy on you; most times you have to tiptoe around your emotions in order to keep the peace.

i'm also picking up that some of you might have older sibling syndrome – there's immense pressure and expectations put on you since you were a child. whatever the case may be, i feel like you actively doing the work is going to unlock a part of yourself you never really knew was inside. i can feel the passion, the dedication, and the motivation buzzing off you, pile three. 2025 is gonna be your year. the martian energy is strong in this pile. i feel like you had to learn the lessons and really sit back and observe the dynamics around you to come to the realization that NO, you do not want that for yourself and the ones that come after you. you want something stable, something emotionally fulfilling, something that makes you feel free in so many ways than one. you're a very compassionate and selfless person, and you will find someone who will pour equally into you as you do them.

this person that you're attracting is deeply committed, patient, financially secure, thoughtful, and extremely grounded. you'll never be an afterthought when it comes to this person – they'll support you and guide you (if you need them to) every step of the way. you're so used to figuring things out on your own and having to think for others, but this person wants you to simply relax and just be. i can see you pacing back and forth, venting to them, and just going on and on, listing every single thing you need to get done and do for this one and that one. and i can just see them sitting but rising to their feet and slowly walking over to you with this calm demeanor, putting their hands on your shoulders, and it's like everything melts away. they want me to reassure you that you're not alone – they want to carry the weight and release the burdens off of you because they recognize that no one has truly showed up and out for you the way you do for others. this is very beautiful energy, pile three.

as you step into this new chapter, you’ll realize that some of your past connections were often just bandaids for wounds you hadn’t healed yet. there’s a lot of clarity about your self-worth here. some of you might be working through daddy issues, and this healing is part of why you’re ready for a deeper love now. this is very specific and may not apply to all, but i keep picking up on pregnancy energy, so if you're ready for that, i do see potential for that with this person you're attracting. if not, then just be mindful of that lol. on the flip side, the person could have a kid, but again, this is just some scenarios i'm picking up on for a small fraction of you. i do see you getting long-awaited closure with a specific person or family member. when that happens, it’s going to feel like a massive weight has been lifted. pile three, this is your time to heal, grow, and attract the life and love you deserve. it’s so beautiful.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

faking it by calvin harris ft. kehlani & lil yachty, bharani, pussy power, all of the answers are within you so trust yourself, big d energy, a father, purva ashada, having receipts, dhanishta, capricorn, aquarius, pyrmaids by frank ocean, sagittarius, aries, coffee fucking by miguel ft. wale.

mind over matter...hm. that's what i keep hearing, pile four. i feel like you're in your head about something regarding your work-life balance. it's like you deprive yourself of going out and having fun because you worry you'll be overspending or won't have enough time; but i feel like this mentality is causing you to miss out on some really fun moments and memories, especially with your friends.

you're very responsible (almost to a fault, according to your spirit guides lol), and because you're so practical and matter-of-fact, you don't give yourself enough room to be spontaneous and open. for example, if you just got off work and a friend invites you out, you might think about the laundry you could be doing or some work you could be catching up on instead of just saying, "fuck it, yeah, let's go have some fun." gatekeeping yourself isn’t going to get you very far, pile four.

you're meant to be seen, and you're meant to let your inner child run free and have fun. keeping yourself tucked away in your room or isolating yourself is doing more harm than good - your spirit guides really want you to know this. there are potential love interests you don’t even notice because you're not putting yourself out there enough! some of you might have bad social anxiety, and being around new energies might feel overwhelming, but your guides want you to know you can work through this, slowly but surely - you've just got to start somewhere.

your quirkiness could open so many doors for you, and you don’t even realize it yet. there are so many people you're destined to meet and connect with on a soul level because you have such a unique spirit. you have this way of making people feel seen and heard. if you're single, i feel like your next romantic connection will be incredibly healing in so many ways. some of your past lovers or friends might have made you feel misunderstood or undervalued, but that’s going to change. this is just a quick sidebar, but i feel like you’ve got people (unbeknownst to you) talking about you or your personal business. so, be careful who you confide in because not everyone is your friend, especially in a work or school environment. even if they don’t know anything about you, it seems like they’re speculating and gossiping about you with others.

but anyways i feel like this "mind over matter" mentality comes from wanting to control situations and outcomes, and while it’s great to have self-awareness and discernment, it can also be debilitating: if you let it. i feel like you’re about to start challenging yourself to socialize more and just not give a fuck. wherever the day or night takes you, it takes you. it doesn’t always have to be a club or party, but even if it is, you’re still giving yourself the freedom to have fun and live in the moment.

your job will still be there the next day, okay? your laundry too. but memories? they last forever. so please don’t deprive yourself of the good ones, pile four. you are so worthy of them.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

hit me hard and soft album by billie eilish, vishaka, want more for yourself, magha, pay attention to the signs, moon energy, this person is manifesting you, pisces moon, purva phalguni, co-workers gossiping about you, leo, scorpio, libra, 11:11.

[andivmg]

My experience with Luke (Punz)

CW: toxic relationship, racism, dubious consent

I know in the past i said that i would no longer speak about him publicly, and when talking about my experiences with abuse and emotional mistreatment i begged to keep it anonymous but after reflecting on this for a week and seeing so many incredibly smart and strong women tell their stories. they have given me the strength to say his name.

this is really scary to talk about because of the copious levels of harassment i have received from his fans in the past so if this spreads or gets out of hand i will simply log off.

If you read my last post, i nicknamed him 1.

So aside from everything i said there, there were a lot of things i didn’t include because they would’ve made it obvious that it was him and it could potentially backfire on me so, i’m very afraid to post this. but i’m going to do it scared anyway, because it’s not fair that he gets to just go and live his life worry-free as if he didn’t practically ruin mine.

Because I already made a very lengthy post about him, i won’t include everything i said last time to avoid being redundant but if i repeat myself, please bear with me.

In our year long relationship i had to endure emotional neglect, gaslighting, verbal abuse, one instance where there was dubious consent, and much more.

Starting off at the beginning of our relationship, that’s when i was getting copious amounts of hate and harassment from his fan base (warranted or not), he decided that our relationship must be kept private. he said it was to “protect” me from his fanbase when in reality it was to protect himself. it was so he wouldn’t get all the backlash i was getting. this is funny because one of the things i got called out for was saying the B slur (derogatory term used against mexicans/latinos). I won’t get into the nuances of if i could say it or not as a puertorican because that’s discourse that does not pertain to this specific situation. But you know who definitely can’t say it? A white boy from Massachusetts. When i was getting cancelled for this and getting thousands of tweets calling me names, he decided that was the perfect time to say “I mean you are a b***** aren’t you? my little b*****.” Now, he said this completely unprompted. I was in the process of writing my apology and he just said that. I tell you this because i immediately shut him down and told him that there was no universe in which it was okay for him to say that word and especially not one where he could just call me that. While i was reprimanding him, he was smiling and laughing. he apparently found it amusing to call me a slur. regardless, he gave me a half-assed apology and said he wouldn’t do it again. and he didn’t. but this wasn’t the only time he was weirdly racist to me. this was my first time being in an interracial relationship so i was led to believe that this was normal by all the white people around me at the time. But, sometimes my spanish accent would come out and he would make fun of me and the way i pronounced some words. He also refused to visit me in Puerto Rico when i lived there or come meet my family when i really wanted him to because he ���didn’t like the heat” or “it’s dangerous there isn’t it?”. Once, while we were watching season 2 of Bridgerton, he implied that the Sharma sisters were “too dark” for him to be attracted to them. This hurt me because they are brown skinned girls. I am a brown skinned girl. Then this, combined with the fact that he told me once he wasn’t attracted to me made me feel like my skin color was unattractive. These are only a few examples i can think of at the moment, but i’m sure there were more. Our relationship ended in 2022 so some of my memory is a bit hazy. But, I do remember feeling inferior to him throughout the relationship because he was white and I was not. I chalk that up to all the micro aggressions i had to deal with because i had never felt that way around white people before.

Another thing i had to endure was him constantly making me feel like he was embarrassed to be with me. Because i was cancelled, he didn’t want to associate with me too much. He did defend me on multiple occasions, I’ll give him that. But, he only did it because his name was getting dragged in the mud along with mine. Excusing my actions made him look better for being around me. In reality he didn’t really care. Because he was such a big content creator and someone i looked up to professionally, I took his advice as law. He told me to tone down my personality, to keep a low profile, to change things about myself to be more palatable to his audience. The same audience that spoke about me like “The pussy can’t be that good punz please stop defending her”. So i changed a lot of things about myself and my content to better suit what his audience liked. He made me feel like if his audience liked me, he would be public about our relationship and stop hiding it. He told me the reason why he wanted to keep our relationship a secret was because he didn’t want to get hate for it. But this wasn’t true. On my 20th birthday he went to Las Vegas for a twitch rivals event. That night i asked to facetime him to say goodnight and he refused because he was at a hotel room with his friends and he didn’t want them to know that we were together. It was as if my mere presence or the utterance of my name was a source of embarrassment for him. And he didn’t let me forget it. It wasn’t just a public thing at that point. He didn’t want people to know we were together, period. This was devastating to me because I would talk to all my friends about him. I was so proud to be with him and I was just one more problem to him. He made me feel so small and insignificant just because his fans didn’t like me.

He would berate me a lot. Not just due to getting heat online, although he did do that a lot. But in general whenever we would get into an argument or a disagreement he would always call me names like annoying or weird or stupid. He would raise his voice at me if i did something he didn’t like and call me an idiot. And that really hurt, i felt like i couldn’t bring up anything or do anything without getting insulted. If I hadn’t seen him in a few days because he was too busy streaming and i asked to hang out he would call me needy, clingy, and annoying. Granted, he might not have been wrong, but that is not something you say to someone you claim to love. He also insulted me when i was in depressive episodes. I have BPD and at the time i was not being treated properly for it. So, I was all over the place emotionally and he was what i clung to for validation, reassurance, and love. I talked to him when we first started dating about my disorder and told him that if it seemed like something he couldn’t handle that he could opt out of the relationship. I guess he didn’t think it was that bad or something idk because whenever i had really bad depressive episodes, he would tell me I was too sad to hang out with. He said that my sadness was a burden to him. Which would be fair. But, once my mother had a conversation with him about me. She told him that i am someone who needs a lot of love and caring. She said that if he wasn’t willing to put in that kind of effort into a relationship to just leave me alone. He reassured her that he would be there for me no matter what. He told my mother that he would protect me and my heart. He did not. He took all the warnings I gave him and ignored them and then made me feel like I was the problem. And even worse, he would say that i was pretending to be sad to get his attention when he would neglect for days at a time.

There were also some smaller things like the fact that he made me feel really guilty whenever he would spend money on me. Also, he would be really mean about my eating habits. For context, i used to suffer from an eating disorder. I was anorexic and had a really unhealthy relationship with food during high school and my first year of uni. This relationship began when i was recovering from my ED. For me, eating was really hard. So i had certain comfort foods that, while sometimes unhealthy, at least it was something to eat when i didn’t feel like eating anything. He knew this. Yet, whenever i would crave some of these foods he would call me fat. Constantly told me I’d gain weight from eating all that junk food. Saying that to someone with an eating disorder is crazy. Other smaller things were that whenever I would post tiktoks where i was lip syncing or just looking good he would yell at me and say i was looking for attention. Same with Instagram or Twitter whenever i would post photos where I looked hot. He never planned out a single date for us. I would beg him to get me flowers and he did maybe once but i’ll get into that in a bit. He would make fun of me in front of his friends to make himself look better. He let his friends say really degrading things about me in his presence. For example, once when i was showering, i overheard him on a discord call with George and Sapnap and i heard George say “if you don’t go in the shower and have sex with Andi, i will”. Once, when i was really struggling with my legs (for those of you who don’t know, i have arthritis and it’s very painful. at the time i wasn’t diagnosed but i was in a lot of pain) I literally could not walk. I had to beg him to take me to the ER because i didn’t know what was wrong with me. He didn’t want to take me but eventually i convinced him, and while we were there all he did was complain about how long it was taking and that he would have rather been at home streaming. Whenever I would talk about my interests that i was excited about like shows or books he would be incredibly uninterested and say that those things were stupid and he didn’t want to hear about them. I know all of these seem very silly or superficial but cumulatively it was awful.

Now for arguably the most serious thing i’m going to talk about. I want to preface this by saying i am just telling my side of what happened. You can come to your own conclusions about this.

On April 25, 2022 it was our one year anniversary, and i had made a dinner reservation for us. I expected him to plan something throughout the day for us to do. He told me he was going to spend the whole day playing Valorant so I got upset and cancelled the reservation. After a very heated argument, we calmed down and i asked him to come over. He came over about an hour later with flowers and drinks (I was 20 at the time so I couldn’t buy the drinks myself). He brought Smirnoffs and Trulys. For context, I am a lightweight. I always have been. I literally get tipsy on half a cocktail. And that day, I hadn’t eaten anything because i was in distress over our argument. So we get to talking and drinking. I blacked out after my second Smirnoff. Apparently I drank 3 but I genuinely cannot remember anything after finishing the second one. The next morning i woke up naked in my bed. I woke him up and asked him “Luke, why am I naked?” and he said “Because you didn’t want to put your clothes back on.” When I clarified to him that that was not what I meant, he got defensive and said that he didn’t realize how drunk I was. He proceeded to tell me that I initiated sex with him and that i was very enthusiastic about it. He said he didn’t know i could black out on three smirnoffs. He made fun of me for being a lightweight and continued to make light of the situation. Then he mentioned that i fell off the bed at some point in the night and that it was funny how drunk I was. I then questioned him. Because if he thought that me tripping and falling off the bed because i was so drunk was funny, how did he not know that i was too drunk? He responded by saying that i fell off the bed only after we were done. That day I broke up with him. I’m still really confused about what happened that night. I don’t remember anything and all I have to go on is what he said to me. We were in a relationship at the time and he says he didn’t know how drunk I was so I’m not sure what to call what happened. A while after that day, his friend that hmu while we were broken up and I started talking again and i confided in him about that night. He told me to be careful saying things like that because they could get me into trouble. I spoke to some of our other friends about it and they told me it was no big deal and that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know how drunk I really was. Because I don’t remember, I have been led to believe that this is not a serious matter. You can think what you want, come to whatever conclusions you want. That is just my side of the story.

I want to add that I’m not proud of how I acted after the relationship ended. I felt really angry at all the shit he put me through and I guess a part of me wanted him to hurt even a quarter of how I did. So I started talking to his friend and got involved with him. This backfired on me because his friend ended up really hurting me too so ig i got my karma. But the thing that hurt the most is that because of what I did, some of our friends took his side in the break up. I was told that I did something terrible by getting involved with his friend that he was already insecure about and that he didn’t deserve that. These are the same friends who were witness to the dumpster fire of a relationship we had and all the things he did to me. They turned their backs on me because of this one thing I did. But stood by and watched as he treated me like garbage for over a year.

I will conclude this by saying that while this relationship has been “over and done with” for almost two years now, I carry a lot of trauma from it still. I still talk about him in therapy and have had to put in a lot of work to heal from what he did and i still cannot say that i am okay. I am very blessed to now have a patient and understanding partner who has helped me heal from that trauma and i just want to quickly thank him for that. Nobody deserves to go through what I did. While yes, it was a toxic relationship, and I had a part in that, it does not excuse all the awful things he said and did to me. This is my truth, thank you for taking the time to read it.

[churipu]

STRAIGHT TO VOICEMAIL 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. cursing, mentions of death, gojo being sad and angry, 2006 gojo geto shoko.

note. for some reason i feel angsty today and i just saw this prompt on pin, just had to write it lol.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call — your very last call.

"i could've fuckin' saved them, suguru." gojo blankly stared at the ceiling, his head thrown back onto the couch's rest; he was conflicted, he didn't know what to do. it was as if his motoric abilities had just stopped all of a sudden.

"satoru . . ."

"i could've fuckin' saved y/n." the white haired male mumbled out, his face scrunching in frustration.

gojo has dealt with death. a lot. the concept of death isn't a stranger to him anymore, not in this world — and to think that he'd actually be alive to experience deaths of his loved ones, thinking he could have done so much more made him hate himself.

god, gojo hated crying in front of other people. the aura in the room was palpable. nobody spoke —nobody dared to speak— and the only sound resounding was the vague ticking belonging to the clock hanging on the wall.

"i could've fuckin' saved them," the male repeated for the third time, his voice breaking that he had to inhale sharply to stop himself from breaking down right there.

gojo pushed himself up, placing his palms above his eyes, pressing down on them harshly; he lets out a loud sigh, "where the fuck did it all go wrong?"

"y/n was killed in action . . ." god, gojo wanted to rip his hair out when yaga called him in privately to say that. the male had lost count of how many times the statement repeated in his mind.

frankly, it's haunting.

out of all the news he could have received today, he never expected to hear your death lulling into his eardrums. so soon. so many things swirling in his mind all at once that even he, deemed the strongest, felt the sensation of losing. he felt weak.

"hi, 'toru — you're probably busy since my call went straight to voice mail, but 'm just saying . . . i love you, and i miss you. so much." there was a slight pause and your breathing shallowed into the mic, every single detail in your last moments were graved in that file, "'m not sure if . . . i'll be back as soon as i promised, but, i just want you to know that whatever happens. happens."

there was a slight static before your soft voice recoiled back into the mic, "i've never broken any promises to you, but this might be the very first time — and just know that i've never wanted to do this, i fucking hate myself for this," your voice broke slightly, "'m bleeding. a lot. but 'm trying to stop it just like how ieiri taught me. and i think 'm doing shit at it . . . i don't know what happened, and how it happened; but 'm not doing okay."

"i don't want to die, 'toru." you whispered into the mic, hoarse and weak — feeling the life drain out, "i really don't want to die . . . i have so many things i want to do with you, and suguru, and ieiri . . ." you murmur out, inhaling sharply but it all ended up with you coughing out in pain.

"remember that time i said i wanted to open a pet hotel . . ? i don't know if you think i was joking, but i was really serious about opening one," you began to mumble out, all in random directions — none of your words make any sense anymore, and you could barely keep yourself awake.

"i don't want to die, please," you pleaded, desperate for life. no matter what you did at this point — the light inside of you was almost out, and you can't do anything about it, "fuck. i hate this. so much, 'toru."

"i want to see you again. i miss you. i miss you so so much," you softly murmur out, " . . . i love you. i love you so much, satoru."

and everything ended right after. including you.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call. your. very. last. call.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[theemporium]

[17.2k] nico hischier didn't expect to go first overall. he didn't expect to become captain of the new jersey devils. he didn't expect to become a dad to twins. and he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with the twins' nanny.

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Becoming a father was one of the best things that ever happened to Nico Hischier. 

It was one of those things that he always knew would happen in his life, something that fit with his other aspirations. It wasn’t like hockey. Not when the chances of him going first overall and becoming captain and leading his team to playoffs seemed like a series of right choices made to go down the right path. 

Becoming a father was something he kind of expected to happen in his life one day, one of those things he always saw in his future but never thought too hard about. 

He just never expected it to happen the way it did. 

If he was being completely honest, he assumed somewhere amongst the hectic life of being a NHL player, he would meet someone and they would fall in love and all the milestones would be reached together: anniversaries, marriage, children. It was a sweet fantasy many people had and Nico was just another one on the list. 

The series of events that led towards Marlene and Otto Hischier becoming a part of his life were unconventional, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

He still remembered the day he met them, clearer than any other memory he had. Clearer than his draft day, his first NHL goal, the day he was awarded captaincy. 

The day he met his children stood out, a mix of chaos and stress and fear. But also love and adoration and a step into a new era of his life that he welcomed, even if he was thrown into the deep end with little to no preparation. 

Before the twins, the most experience he had with kids was the boys on the team who had children. On family skate days, at team bonding events, even the odd babysitting here and there to give the parents a break for a night. 

But having two newborns suddenly under his care was a hurdle Nico never considered he would have to jump in his life. 

All things considered, the timing had worked out. 

Off-season was around the corner, he had no plans to play for Worlds and he had a few months to settle into some form of routine whilst coming to terms with the fact he was a father. 

The days were long, the nights were longer but he made it. He was never really alone, not with the insane support system he had in his team and in his family. Whenever he felt like he was spiralling, there was someone there to hold his hand. 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t shitting himself when preseason training came around again. 

He would be lying if he said his parents weren’t absolute saviours the first year of the twins’ lives, practically moving in as they followed him back to Jersey. 

It wasn’t easy, far from it. He couldn’t get rid of the fear that he was doing it all wrong, that he was going to somehow fuck up and ruin everything and not give his children the lives they deserved. He constantly felt on edge, wanting nothing more than to give them the best lives he could, the best childhood he could. 

Which led them to the twins’ belated second birthday party at his parents’ house in Switzerland, having what had been a recurring argument with his parents since the off-season started. 

“What was wrong with Mrs Holden?” 

Nico let out a sigh, already feeling a sense of deja vu washing over him. “She was too…traditional. She wouldn’t let Marley wear the blue dress she loves so much.” 

His mother hummed. “And that one that wanted to be a teacher, hm? Vanessa! She seemed sweet.” 

“Yes, until she started insisting my parenting skills were wrong because I wasn’t pushing the twins to learn their abc’s before they could say three words,” Nico scoffed under his breath, frowning as the memory of the woman repeated in his head. 

“And that nice boy, Felix? He was Swiss too!” Rino questioned. “The twins loved him.” 

“Yeah, and he loved telling people the twins were his kids too,” Nico deadpanned. 

“He said he was an uncle,” Rino corrected. 

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Nico muttered. 

“Fine then,” Katja sighed. “What about Olive? You liked her and she looked after the kids for months!” 

“Yes but,” Nico waved his hand in some incoherent gesture. “She wasn’t right for them.” 

“Nico,” Rino said in a heavy voice. 

“I know you think I’m being overprotective but I just want what’s best for them,” Nico insisted, his fingers lightly skimming over the side of the glass in front of him. “They are getting older and they are more impressionable. They need stability and I need someone I can trust will be a good influence on them.” 

“Yes but it’s been months of looking and you haven’t found anyone,” Rino pointed out. “Which is fine now, you have months until preseason starts. But it only gets harder the longer you leave it.”

Nico swallowed harshly. “I know, I know…”

“We know you care about them,” Katja spoke in a soft voice, reaching across the table to place her hand on his arm. “We get it. Trust me, we do. But the way you care about them is the way we care about you, and we are just worried about you being left to take care of the twins all by yourself when the season starts.” 

“I’ll find someone,” Nico said, and he hoped he sounded as determined as he did in his head. “It will be worth it. And they will be what the twins need.” 

Katja smiled, though it looked a bit sad. “We hope so.” 

“Where are the twins, anyways?” Rino questioned, steering the conversation away and giving Nico a chance to relax his shoulders. “I’m surprised they haven’t started demanding cake.” 

“Ah,” Nico smiled. “That’s because they are playing with—“

“TICKLE MONSTER IS GOING TO GET YOU!” 

“No!” 

“Yes!”

Nico’s grin widened even more as the sounds of his children’s giggles sounded through the house. “Tickle monster with Unkel Luca,” he finished eventually as the three of them raced into the room. 

Marley and Otto made a beeline for him, cheeks red and smiles wide as they jumped for his lap, screeching and squealing and laughing as they tugged on their father’s shirt. 

“Papa! Papa!” Marley giggled, hiding her face against his forearm as she clung onto him. “Unkel Luca is running!” 

“He’s running after you?” Nico asked, watching as both nodded quickly. He stole a glance at his older brother, watching as he stood there with an innocent smile before shaking his head fondly. “That’s not very nice of him, is it?”

“No,” Otto giggled. “Game, Papa, game!” 

“Oh, it’s a game,” Nico nodded in understanding. 

“Need to hide,” Marley explained, panting lightly. And then she blinked, big brown eyes staring up at him in a way that made him want to melt. “Help us?” 

Nico couldn’t help but sigh happily. “Yeah, baby, Papa will help.” 

He lifted the edge of the tablecloth high enough for the twins’ eyes to widen in delight at their new hiding place, both ducking their heads as they shuffled under the table and quickly planted themselves by their grandparents’ feet with high-pitched giggles. 

Luca grinned, waiting for Nico to drop the tablecloth before he let out an exaggerated sigh and placed his hands on his hips. “Oh no! Where did they go?” 

Nico could feel his heart melting even more when their giggles only got louder. 

Katja’s expression softened as she watched the way her youngest son slip into the role of a father so well. 

“You’ll find someone,” Katja nodded, smiling in a way only a mother looking at her child could. “And I’m sure they will be perfect for the twins.” 

Nico returned the smile, something quite like hope twisting in his stomach. 

…

June and July and August slipped away from him before he realised what was happening. 

He had taken the summer for granted, basking in life away from hockey and cameras and expectations. He was enjoying spending time with his kids and his family and his friends back home. He was enjoying living a normal, less-than-hectic life. 

Then all too soon, he was herding two hyperactive toddlers onto a plane back to Jersey with the overwhelming reality that he had done exactly what his parents warned him about and left everything far too last minute. 

“Papa?” 

He blinked, turning his head to find Otto slumped with his head on Nico’s thigh, blinking as he fought to keep his eyes open. 

“Uncle Jack come in car?” Otto questioned, something quite excited in his voice despite the exhaustion. 

“Yeah, Uncle Jack is picking us up,” Nico nodded with a smile as he reached to gently push his fingers through the young boy’s hair, watching as his eyes fluttered shut. “He’s excited to see you both.” 

Otto blinked. “Hugs?” 

Nico hummed, lightly scratching his scalp in the way that always made Otto sleepy—even as a baby. “Uncle Jack is going to give you so many hugs.” 

“Good,” Otto murmured before slumping back down against his thigh. 

Unsurprisingly, neither Otto nor Marley stayed awake by the time Jack arrived. It hadn’t stopped Jack from cooing and smiling and muttering a ‘finally back home’ before he helped Nico settle the twins into the car seats in the back. 

Nico hadn’t even realised how exhausted he was himself until he was settled in the passenger seat, his eyes closing as he let out a deep sigh. 

“So,” Jack begins. 

Nico let out a hum of acknowledgement. 

“I had lunch at Curtis’ the other day,” he continued, doing what he did best and beating around whatever point he wanted to make because he wanted to tell a story. 

“Is that so?” Nico muttered because he knew Jack and he knew the boy wouldn’t continue unless he played along. 

“He mentioned you were still looking for a nanny for the twins,” Jack said, his fingers aimlessly tapping against the wheel. “Said you asked him about any good agencies you could go through.” 

Nico slowly opened his eyes, turning his head to flash his friend a look. “Where are you going with this?” 

“Nothing,” Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Just wondering why you didn’t ask me too, you know?” 

Nico blinked. “Because Curtis has children, Jack.” 

“I could still find you a good babysitter,” Jack argued, his nose scrunching slightly. “You haven’t given me a chance.” 

“I don’t think I want to give you a chance,” Nico retorted. 

“Rude,” Jack huffed. “I’ll have you know, as the twins’ favourite uncle—” 

Nico made a small noise of disagreement (just to wind the younger boy up). 

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “As the twins’ favourite uncle,” he repeated a little more forcefully. “You gotta have a little faith that I would find someone suitable for the job.” 

Nico let out a deep sigh. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” 

Jack flashed him an innocent grin. “In my defence, Curtis had to listen to the fifteen possible candidates I found and narrowed it down to the one he would trust with his kids too.” 

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the desperation. Or maybe—though he would never admit it to Jack for the sake of the boy’s ego getting bigger—he could trust Jack to know the kind of person Nico needed around the twins. 

And there was the added bonus he could say ‘I told you so’ if it went wrong. 

“Fine,” Nico said eventually. “I’ll check out your nanny.” 

…

“So, you’re going on a date?” 

“Stop calling it a date,” you grumbled into the phone as you walked down the street, brows furrowed as you read the names of the shops you passed. “It’s just an interview.” 

“Back in my day, a man took a lady to a coffee shop for a date. Interviews were in offices.” 

You rolled your eyes a little at your grandmother’s words. “Coffee shop dates aren’t a generational thing, people still do them.” 

“So you admit it’s a date?” 

“Once again, it’s an interview for a new job, Nana,” you said, a voice in the back of your mind reminding you to not give into the conversation. But it was too late. 

“Well, excuse me for just wanting my lovely granddaughter to find someone instead of working herself to the bone.” 

“Nana,” you said with a sigh. 

“You jump from family to family, I just want you to have the same thing, honey.” 

“I know,” you murmured, feeling a little guilty as the sincerity in her voice sounded through the phone. “When I go on that date, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Actually, Bernice has this grandson—” 

“Bye, Nana!”

You winced a little at your phone, reminding yourself to visit her in the care home this weekend to make up for the phone call. And to bring those lemon bars she loved from the bakery down the road from you. It tended to soften her bad moods when you brought her sweet treats, and denying another one of her attempted blind dates was definitely going to put you in her bad books. 

But you pushed the thought away for now, straightening your back as you looked up at the sign above the cafe, double and triple checking it was the right place before walking in. Your eyes skimmed over the customers currently sat around the cafe, picking them apart until you paused on a man sitting alone, tucked away in the cosy book corner of the establishment. 

It was the white beanie on his head—the one he had mentioned he would be wearing—that confirmed to you he was the one you were meeting.

“Mr Hischier?” 

The man jumped a little, like his own name took him by surprise before he quickly schooled his features. Almost instinctively, he stood up from his seat before flashing you a polite and somewhat awkward smile. 

“Nico is fine,” he assured you before clearing his throat, gesturing towards the seat across from him. “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assured him, choosing to leave out the fact your heart was beating fast enough as it was. Caffeine wouldn’t help the interview jitters. “Just to make it clear from the start, your partner explained your situation and how the job might vary a bit from my previous schedules—” 

“Partner?” Nico repeated with a frown. 

“Yes, the one I spoke on the phone to originally for the job,” you said, keeping a polite smile on your face. “Uh, Jack, I believe his name was.” 

“I—” Nico’s face started to turn pink, a sheepish laugh escaping his lips. “No, Jack isn’t my partner. He is a close friend.” He paused before continuing. “Not close like that! Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just mean, he is a very good friend of mine because we are also teammates. Who work together. On the same team.” 

“Right,” you murmured, your lips twitching upwards in amusement. “I’m sorry, usually it’s the parents calling up and he seemed to know so much about your kids so I assumed—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Nico laughed, a little more relaxed than he was a few moments ago when you had walked into the cafe. “He really cares about the twins.”

Your smile softened a little. “From our short conversation, I could tell they mean a lot to him. And you do too, he seemed really persistent in finding the right person to help you out.” 

Nico nodded, but there was still a light blush on his cheeks. “It’s, uh, just me and the twins. The team helps out a lot but with our job, we travel a lot and the twins are getting older and I can’t always take them with me.” 

“You need someone who can provide them with structure and stability,” you guessed.

“Exactly,” Nico let out a short breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “I travel a lot. Sometimes gone for days at a time and I know that can be a lot—”

“Jack explained,” you assured him with a polite smile. “I’m aware of the arrangement, if that is what you’re worried about. It doesn’t put me off, especially with what Jack has told me. They seem like great kids.” 

“They are,” Nico said, beaming a little when he did.

You smiled, settling back against your seat. “Tell me more about them.”

…

Nico liked to think he was a good judge of character. 

And, though it would pain him to ever admit as much out loud, he couldn’t deny that Jack had made a great choice with you. It was overwhelming to think about but he should have never doubted Jack, not when the boy loved the twins almost as much as he did. Not when he and the others on the team treated the twins like they were family.

The boys had his back and that extended to his family too. 

After the initial interview, there was a little more back and forth between you and Nico, mostly discussing logistics and scheduling and further details. With preseason approaching, Nico preferred to have the twins established and comfortable with you before the regular season started and the long roadies began. 

And you were so cooperative, it honestly caught Nico off guard. It wasn’t like he expected you to make things difficult, but he had his fair share of babysitters and nannies who had made a point to be a bit hesitant about the schedule. 

It was refreshing to have someone on the same page as him. 

“Oh no, I wonder where they are hiding. I might never find them!”

Nico didn’t even bother to hide his smile as he stood in the middle of the living room, shaking his head fondly at the two pairs of legs peeking out from behind one of the couches. He had spent the last hour frantically cleaning the house for your arrival, wanting to make the best impression he could but the living room was a lost cause with a variety of kids' toys sprawled over the room.

With preseason starting soon, he was beginning to feel the heavy weight of the hockey season and his captain duties starting to settle in. But this was his biggest priority, his kids would always be his biggest priority. 

“I guess they don’t want me to meet our new fründ who was really excited to meet them,” Nico continued, letting out a theatrically loud sigh. 

It took seconds before Otto’s head popped up, eyes wide and curious. “New friend?” 

Nico smiled. “She is coming to meet you both today.”

“I want a new fründ!” Marley exclaimed as she popped up beside her brother, her grin matching his own and it made Nico’s chest tighten—in a good way, of course. 

“And what do we remember when we meet a new friend?” Nico asked, already crouching down as both twins ran towards him and happily tucked themselves into his arms.

“Be nice,” Otto said.

“Be kind,” Marley added.

“Good,” Nico praised, pressing quick kisses to both their cheeks as they giggled at the scratch of his beard against their skin. “Best behaviour, okay? This friend is going to be coming around a lot if you like her.”

Otto tilted his head. “Like the other friends?” 

Nico nodded. “Only if you like her.”

Because at the end of the day, that was what mattered most—that was what made him fire babysitters and nannies in the past. Credentials and first impressions only went so far compared to the opinion of his kids. He trusted their judgement. He wanted them happy and comfortable with the person who would be with them almost as much as he would be. He wanted the twins to choose their person too.

He knew his parents and even some of the guys on the team thought he was being picky, but Nico just thought he was being fair. His kids deserved to have someone they liked and trusted, he had a duty to find that person for them.

Even if their excitement was hidden by their own shyness and hesitancy when you finally rang the doorbell. 

“Hey,” Nico breathed out, smiling a little as he opened the door. “Come on in. The twins are excited to meet you.” 

“I’m excited to meet them,” you smiled back, stepping in and letting your eyes wander around the apartment. “Nice place.”

“Would you believe me if I said it’s never usually this clean?” Nico mused, trying to disperse the nerves bubbling in his chest.

“Potentially,” you retorted, still polite and lighthearted as your eyes continued to wander. 

“I appreciate the honesty,” Nico huffed out with a laugh, closing the door behind you before shifting his attention to the two toddlers who had now hidden themselves back behind the couch. “Otto, Marley, I thought you wanted to meet our new friend.” 

Your smile became less performative and more genuine as the two heads peeked from around the couch to stare at you curiously. They slowly wandered over, keeping close to Nico until they were practically hiding behind him with just enough visibility to keep watching you.

You crouched down, smiling softly as you offered them a wave. “Hi there, your dad has told me so much about you two.” 

Marley blinked before looking up at Nico, her little hands clinging onto the fabric of his jeans. “Papa?”

“It’s okay, baby, you can talk to her,” Nico assured, his thumb lightly smoothing over the back of her head as she tried to hide her face against his thigh.

It was Otto who tilted his head at you, looking more curious than anything. “Do you want to play mini sticks?” 

Nico watched your brows furrow with confusion but you kept a smile on your face. “I would love to! Is it okay if you teach me? I don’t think I have played before.”

Marley gasped, no longer bothered with hiding behind her father’s leg as she stepped around him. “You never play mini sticks before?”

You flashed her a sheepish smile. “I have never played any hockey before.” 

“We will teach you,” she said with a confident nod that made Nico grin.

“Watch out,” Nico commented, his words teasing but his gaze for his children adoring. “They are vicious. They are winners.”

“Just like Papa,” Otto confirmed with a nod of his head.

“We will teach you to win,” Marley said, also nodding her head.

You smiled at the two of them. “I can’t wait.” 

…

Over the next two weeks, Nico was pretty happy to report that his judge of character was, in fact, good. 

Despite his parents’ concern over leaving everything so last minute, the lead up to the preseason wasn’t as stressful as he imagined. As much as Jack joked about Nico being helicopter parent, he did tend to hover over the first few sessions just to make sure the twins were happy and content. 

Marley tended to take a little longer to warm up to new people, a little shy and cautious but still eager to make new friends. Otto was a little better but he tended to always look towards Nico when he needed to ask something, like a little confidence boost to make sure he wasn’t doing something he wasn’t meant to. And much to everyone’s amusement, they tended to be just as stubborn as he was. 

He just wanted to make sure they would be okay when he eventually left for training camp.

Nico was honestly a little dumbfounded just how much the twins liked you. Even more so at how quickly you seemed to pick up on their habits, on their personalities, on their quirks that most nannies had tried to change. 

He was glad the twins were happy but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little thrown off guard just how well you adapted to Otto and Marley.

One of the first times he really saw it was during a not-so-surprising morning tantrum from Otto who was being fussy and difficult and very, very loud. 

Nico had suspected he hadn’t slept well, and had his theory confirmed when the young boy started fussing and trying to wake his sister up in the early hours of the morning. Nico was already awake before his alarm went off, bleary eyed and exhausted and holding onto the guilt that the jet lag was still messing with the twins’ sleep schedule after being in Switzerland for the last few months.

You arrived at the apartment sometime just before eight in the morning, your face scrunched in sympathy as Nico opened the door—still dressed in whatever ratty sweatpants and thoroughly worn hoodie he threw on at five in the morning when there was barely any light in the room—looking like he kind of wanted his eardrums to burst already.

Nico opened his mouth, greetings and apologies ready to tumble out but you just shook your head with a sheepish smile.

“I get it,” was all you said before you slid into the apartment, closing the door before the screams could disturb the neighbours anymore than they already had. 

Nico had watched in a cloudy daze as you kneeled down on the floor beside the couch Otto had thrown himself over, your voice patient and soothing as you waited for him to lift his head before you finally reached out to lay a comforting hand on his back, like you wanted to make sure he saw you reach out first and make the decision on whether or not he wanted you to touch him. 

It took a while before he fully calmed down from the breakdown, still sniffly and red eyed by the time you coaxed the boy into enjoying some mini pancakes whilst some random cartoon played on the tv. 

Nico could only mutter his thanks so many times as he handed you a generously large mug of coffee.

And it continued like that over the introductory period. 

The twins started to pick up on the routine, and started to expect you in the house by the time they woke up. They started looking forward to you arriving, like a fun new step in their morning routine they welcomed far easier than they had with previous nannies. 

There were still moments where their eyes would look for him, look to their father to make sure he was still there and everything was okay. But the initial shyness disappeared, replaced with a familiarity they shared with few other people in their lives, like the team or family back in Switzerland. 

It made Nico feel a lot more settled by the time the preseason games came along. 

Nico had left the apartment during the twins’ afternoon nap, pressing two lingering kisses on their foreheads before he snuck out to head to the rink. He had been procrastinating, finding excuses to stay in the apartment until the last possible moment, clinging onto the last dregs of summer before the season truly started.

The game was as rough as one would expect after months without hockey. But it felt good. It felt even better when the final buzzer sounded through the Rock and the Devils came out the other end of their first preseason game of the year as the victors. It felt really good to have hockey back. 

And it felt even better to finally get back home to his kids. 

He knew it was past their bedtime and tried to tamper down his expectations, but it didn’t change the sense of relief that washed over him as he walked through the front door and let himself drop his bags by the entryway before walking further into the apartment. 

He was mildly surprised to find you sitting on the couch with the post game show on. 

He was even more surprised at the two sleeping figures curled up with their heads on your lap.

“Oh hey, you’re back.”

Nico stood a few feet away from the couch, staring at the scene in front of him with tired eyes. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” you laughed a little, an almost sleepy smile on your face as you looked down at the twins. “They insisted they wanted to watch the game and promptly passed out during the first break. But every time I tried to move them, they would get fussy and insist they were awake to watch you so I just let them doze off here.” 

Nico’s voice was soft when he spoke. “You let them watch?” 

You gave him a weird look. “Yeah? Was I not meant to? They really wanted to—” 

“No, it’s okay,” he assured you, a weird tightness in his chest as he wandered closer, his lips twitching when he saw Marley holding onto your ankle. “The other nannies usually sent them to bed. They didn’t want to sit and watch the games themselves.” 

“Well, I can’t say I knew what was going on,” you admitted sheepishly. “The twins tried explaining some of it to me but I have a feeling you don’t get penalties for nap times.” 

Nico snorted. “Jack told them once that if they get a penalty, they can take a nap in the box.” 

“Sounds like a fun rule,” you teased with a smile.

“Let me help you get them to bed,” Nico insisted as he leaned down, slowly and carefully picking Marley up into his arms.

“You sure?” You asked, even as you moved to pick Otto up without waking him. “You must be tired.”

“I’m fine,” Nico said, smiling a little. “It’s only the first game. Wait until we are halfway through the season.” 

“I may be strong but not strong enough to drag a two hundred pound hockey player to bed,” you told him, your smile widening as Nico let out a laugh—one he quickly had to muffle before he woke up the twins. 

“You might have to start increasing your bench press then.”

The tightness in his chest settled a little after you fondly rolled your eyes at him. It made the idea of the one day road trips on the preseason schedule a little easier to deal with. There were still a few more weeks before either of you had to deal with Nico being gone for longer roadies, but he didn’t fear the idea as much as he did.

…

“So.”

Nico let out a hum of acknowledgement, his eyes focused on the drill the third line was currently running. His lungs were still trying to recover from doing it himself a few minutes ago. 

“I was right about her, wasn’t I?” 

Nico blinked before he turned his head to look at the way Jack was leaning against his stick, a smug expression painted on his face. “What?” 

“The nanny,” Jack replied like it was obvious. “I was right about her, right? She’s perfect for the twins.” 

Nico resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Are you really trying to boast in the middle of practice?” 

“Yes,” Jack replied with no hesitation. 

“She is good,” Nico nodded because he wasn’t going to lie, even if said lie would stop Jack’s ego inflating. “The twins love her—” 

“More than me?” 

“Oh my god,” Nico groaned, shoving the boy away with a laugh.

“I’m serious, Nico, do they love her more than me? Because then you have to fire her.” 

Nico didn’t respond, just shaking his head before he skated towards where Jonas and Timo were standing a few feet away. 

“Nico, am I still their favourite?!” 

…

“So, what? You can just hit each other and no one says anything?” 

Nico laughed. “Basically.” 

“This sport feels barbaric,” you murmured, your focus on the vegetables you were currently dicing. It took you a few moments to process your own words before your head snapped up. “In a really cool way, obviously.” 

“It’s a part of the game,” Nico replied with a shrug. “And sometimes the fights are justified. Sometimes you are fighting for your teammate’s honour.” 

“How noble,” you teased. 

“Give it a few more games and it will be your favourite part of hockey,” Nico mused before his eyes briefly glanced over at the clock. 

His mother always liked to joke that if there was one thing that really assured the twins were his children, it was their napping abilities. It was almost impressive how quickly they could pass out, dead to the world and happy to stay that way for two or three hours. 

It rivalled the naps he took before games. 

“Okay, so hitting is allowed,” you commented, gently elbowing him out the way so you could pour the diced vegetables into the pan on the stove. “Otto said helmet kisses are essential. Is that true?” 

Nico’s grin widened. “Yeah, they are essential,” he nodded. “Like after a win or a good goal, it’s normal to just…bop your helmets together.” 

“Like gentle rhinos,” you mused. “Who would’ve thought hockey was such a cute and violent sport?” 

“You really didn’t know anything about it?” Nico questioned. He noticed the way you tended not to talk about yourself too much, nothing beyond the facts he could pick between random comments and conversations here and there. Mostly when he was listening to you talk to the twins. 

“We weren’t really a hockey family,” you admitted sheepishly. “Nana said she did have a baseball phase but only because she liked the way the boys looked in the uniforms.” 

Nico let out a surprised laugh. “She told you that?” 

“You’d understand if you met her,” you muttered, though it sounded fond rather than annoyed. “She’s shameless and crude and the most honest person you’ll ever meet.” 

“Think I could make her a hockey fan?” Nico asked, raising his brows. 

“She would probably love the violence,” you replied with a snort. “You might have a new coach on your hands.” 

“It would help you learn the game,” Nico teased. 

You let out a groan. “How was I supposed to know the twins were lying about the pancake rule?”

Nico pressed his lips together to hold back his laugh. “You really thought there was a rule called the pancake penalty?” 

“Well with the amount all of you fall on the ice over nothing, it wouldn’t surprise me,” you retorted. 

“Touché.”

…

Thankfully for Nico’s sanity, the season started with a string of home games. 

It helped to live in the delusion of summer a little longer. He would go to practices and go to games but he would always come home to his apartment at the end, come home to the twins and to you and to the little bubble the four of you had created over the last few weeks. 

And it was clear that the twins loved it too, loved having you around more than he had ever seen with any previous nanny. 

“GOAL!” 

You let out a cheer, lifting your arms up to mimic Otto before he rushed towards you and threw his arms around your neck. 

“We did it, we did it!” He continued to cheer, giggling away as Nico let out a playful groan from the mini net he had set up in the living room. 

“It’s okay, Papa,” Marley assured him, one hand placed on his cheek as she spoke to him. “You are not a good goalie but you are a good player!” 

Nico huffed out a laugh, pulling Marley close to him as she squealed. “I think we will leave Uncle Marky in the goals for now, yeah?” 

“Otto, honey, remember what we do after a game,” you reminded the young boy in a soft voice as he happily propped himself on your lap. 

“Be a good person,” he nodded before looking at his father with big eyes. “Good game. I like playing with you. I love you.” 

You grinned. “Perfect, honey.” 

Marley tilted her head. “Why do you say that?” 

You glanced up at her, raising your brows. “What?” 

“Honey,” Marley repeated, a crease forming between her brows as she looked between you and Nico. “I thought we eat honey.”

“We do,” you nodded. “But sometimes you call someone honey when you care about them. It’s like a nickname. My grandma calls me honey because she cares about me.”

Marley nodded like she understood.

“Does that mean we call you honey?” Otto asked, tilting his head back to look up at you. “We care about you.” 

Your lips twitched upwards. “Yeah, you can call me honey.” 

“It sounds funny,” Marley admitted with a giggle before turning back to Nico. “Papa, you have to say it too!” 

Nico nodded, his own smile widening when his daughter nodded in approval. “And do I get to call you honey?” 

“No,” Marley said with a shake of her head. “It’s Honey’s name now!” 

But before Nico could respond, Otto was back on his feet with a mini stick in one hand and the makeshift puck in the other. 

“Honey, we are the winners!” 

…

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad was the tantrum?” 

“Not bad actually,” Nico admitted as Jack settled into the free seat next to him. “I think the excitement of Honey having a three day sleepover with them took away from the fact I wouldn’t be there.” 

The bus fell silent. 

Jack looked far too smug.

Nico could feel his cheeks burning up.

Jonas turned around in his seat to look at him. “Honey?” 

“It’s not like that,” Nico rushed to explain but he had a feeling none of the boys were buying what he was saying. “The twins call her Honey and I don’t want to confuse them—���

“Uh huh,” Nate snorted. “Bud, those two are little Einsteins. There’s no way that would confuse them.” 

Nico’s cheeks burned hotter. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Timo asked with a grin.

“Shut up,” Nico muttered out, taking the bundled up hoodie Jack had been using as a pillow to throw at the other man a few rows down.

“Hey!” Jack gaped. 

“It’s nothing, don’t make it weird,” Nico said to the group, choosing to pointedly ignore the murmurs and looks of disbelief. “She’s the twins’ nanny.”

Nico also chose to ignore the way Jonas muttered ‘liar’ under his breath in Swiss German.

…

The call rang through three times before you picked up.

It was barely dinner time in Colorado, most boys happy to get settled in their hotel rooms and enjoy the night off to relax and prepare for the early practice in the morning. But it gave Nico the perfect opportunity to check in back home, have some time on the phone before the twins’ bedtime. 

His stomach was twisted in knots like it usually was when he left the twins until the sight of all three of you popped up on his screen.

“Papa!” 

His grin widened at the excitement in his kids’ voices. He didn’t think he would ever get sick of that.

“Woah, where’s all this energy coming from?” Nico questioned, watching fondly as the twins instantly broke into giggles, turning back to look at you before turning their attention back to their father.

“Honey said we would have dessert if we were good,” Otto told him, still grinning.

“We had chocolate!” Marley exclaimed.

“Well, you both were very good today,” you said, propping your phone up on the coffee table before letting yourself sit back on the floor, both twins determined to sit on your lap. “Good kids get good rewards.”

“And chocolate is the best,” Nico added, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Especially if it’s Swiss chocolate.” 

“Swiss chocolate is the best because Swiss is the best,” Otto nodded.

“Switzerland, schätzli,” Nico corrected with a small huff of laughter. “The country is called Switzerland but the people and the things are Swiss.” 

“Oh,” Otto said before turning to look at you. “Honey, we are Swiss!” 

You laughed, nodding. “My favourite Swiss people.”

“Including Papa?” Marley asked.

“Of course,” you nodded, shooting Nico an amused look. “All three of you.”

The twins beamed in response. Nico felt the odd urge to do the same.

“Are you excited for your sleepover with Honey?” Nico asked, feeling a little smug when the twins did exactly what he assumed they would and instantly started babbling away about how they had spent their day since he left for the bus earlier that morning.

It was around an hour or so later—after Nico had stayed on the phone for a bedtime story because the twins insisted he needed to hear one too—that Nico found himself just looking at you over the phone as you shuffled around the living room, cleaning up the last of the twins’ toys.

“Thank you,” Nico found himself saying before he could second-guess himself.

You looked confused. “For what?”

“Just being here this season,” Nico confessed, a lot more going unspoken. 

He wanted to tell you that he had never felt so at ease about leaving his kids with someone as much as he did with you. He wanted to tell you that he had never seen his kids so happy and bubbly around someone that wasn’t his family or his team. He wanted to tell you that he never thought he would find the person that fit the unreachable standard he made in his head when he was looking for a nanny for the twins and you seemed to go above and beyond. 

He wanted to tell you a lot but it was late and he didn’t think a facetime call during his first proper roadie of the season was the time to confess any of it. 

“Of course,” you said with a smile that made his stomach twist—in a good way. “You gonna win tomorrow?” 

Nico chuckled. “We’ll try.”

“Good,” you grinned. “You’ll have your biggest fans rooting for you back home in Jersey.”

His mouth was moving before he could even process his own thoughts. “Does that include you?” 

But you laughed and something in him eased.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand this whole hockey thing.”

Nico found his smile widening. “Good.” 

…

Nico felt like he blinked when suddenly the calendar was showing November. 

The pace of the season felt a lot faster than usual, and he was yet to work out if that was for better or for worse. But the team was feeling good, they had more wins than losses and—even if he wouldn’t say it out loud in fear of jinxing something before it happened—he had a really good feeling about this year’s team.

Even as the aches and pains and bruises that usually came after weeks of non-stop hockey started to return, Nico found himself really enjoying the season in a way he hadn’t really experienced in a while.

It felt good when everything was starting to click into place, even off the ice. 

“You’re doing it wrong!” 

Nico paused peeling the banana he was currently holding. “Wrong?” 

Otto nodded, pouting up at his father.

“You’re not doing it the Honey way,” Marley said, pressing herself against his thigh like she usually did when she was tired and barely awake and still a bit fussy from Nico waking her up.

“The Honey way?” Nico questioned, glancing down at the banana with a pensive look. He didn’t realise there were multiple ways to peel and cut a banana. 

“She makes the best!” Otto insisted. 

Nico let out a sigh as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of both of their heads. “How about you both go wait on the couch and I’ll call Honey so we can make breakfast the Honey way?” 

“Call?” Marley repeated, blinking up at him. “I wanna talk to Honey!” 

“Me too!” 

“It’s Honey’s day off,” Nico reminded his children in a soft voice. “We don’t want to disturb her when she is busy, yes?” 

His heart clenched at the way the twins both deflated. 

“Okay, Papa.” 

He didn’t get the chance to say much else before they rushed off into the other room, leaving him feeling sluggish and far too on edge as he reached for his phone, pressing your contact before he could let himself spiral over his children’s dejected faces. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Are the twins okay? Are you okay?” 

“I—” Nico blinked, taking a few moments to really process the words you blurted out the second the call connected. “Yeah, everything is okay. Sorry to call you on your day off.” 

“It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to keep you long,” Nico started, staring down at the bananas on the counter in front of him with a frown. “Just wanted to know how you make banana pancakes the Honey way.” 

“The Honey way?” 

“The twins seem insistent that it’s the only way to make them,” Nico nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. “Apparently I’m cutting the bananas wrong?” 

His chest tightened even more at the sound of your laugh. 

“You have to mash them in Marley’s Spiderman bowl,” you said, and even if he couldn’t see you, he swore you were smiling too. “It makes them taste better, apparently. Helps them be big and strong for the rest of the day like a real superhero.” 

“Of course,” Nico huffed out a laugh, already moving to the cupboard where the bowl was kept. “Thanks. And sorry for bothering you again.” 

“It’s really no worries. I was just heading over to visit Nana anyways. She won’t mind if I’m a few minutes late.” 

“Say hi from me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Bye, Honey.”

“See you tomorrow, Nico.”

…

“Oh, he’s pretty.” 

“Nana!” 

“What?” The older woman exclaimed, waving you off. “I am just calling it as it is. And he’s a pretty boy. Nice smile. Nicer body–”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, lightly smacking her arm as Bernice from the other table looked over with a bitter look. “Keep your voice low.”

“Ignore her,” Nana commented offhandedly as she reached for her teacup. “She is just bitter because I said you were too pretty for her grandson.”

“How are you the same woman who scolded me about manners?” You grumbled under your breath, letting out a small hiss when she pinched your side.

“I am not saying anything wrong,” Nana insisted. “You’re a pretty girl who deserves a handsome man. Bernice’s grandson is not that man. This one though—” 

“He’s my boss.” 

“You say that like it’s an issue.” 

You blinked. “It is.”

“Youths these days,” Nana huffed before she leaned back in her armchair. “Fine, forget the pretty European man. Tell me, are the kids better than those brats you watched in Manhattan?” 

“They weren’t that bad,” you tried to start but the look you got in response made you wince. “Okay, the Smythe’s weren’t the best. But, Nana, these kids are…perfect. The cutest kids ever, and you wouldn’t believe how smart they are.”

“You’re happy here, yes?” Nana asked, something a little more serious in her voice. “Because I don’t want you working somewhere for the sake of it if you aren’t—”

“I’m happy, I promise,” you assured her with a softer smile, placing your hand over hers. “They are a good family.” 

“As long as they are taking care of you,” she insisted.

“They are,” you promised.

Nana hummed. “Could also let that boss of yours take care of you in other ways—”

Your cheeks burned. “Nana!” 

“He has dimples, honey! Dimples!” 

“I thought you called me here to tell me the bingo gossip.” 

“Oh, you would not believe the stunt Janice pulled—”

…

“Quick, Honey, quick!”

You grinned as you walked through the door, barely letting it shut behind you before you were crowded by two little humans. It was barely eight in the morning and you felt far from being human yourself, but the sight of both twins smiling up at you like they were waiting to jump on you the moment you walked through the door made it easy to forget the fact the sun had barely peeked through the clouds outside.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you sang back, trying to take your jacket off and hug the twins back the best you could all at once. “You two are very hyper this morning.” 

“We are going to the park with Uncle Jack!” Otto said excitedly, his chin digging into your thigh as he looked up at you.

You raised your brows in surprise. “We are?” 

“Yeah,” Nico appeared from the kitchen, a sheepish expression on his face. “I meant to message you last night to come over later but I forgot.” 

“I can leave—” You started but a small whine cut you off.

“But we are going to the park with Uncle Jack,” Marley pouted. “You can’t leave!” 

“Marley,” Nico quickly moved to kneel beside his daughter. “Honey will come back later. But she doesn’t have to—”

“But Uncle Jack said we were all going to the park,” Otto frowned, looking between you and Nico with a wounded expression. 

“Then we are all going,” you promised as you kneeled down too, giving the twins a smile.

Nico looked over their heads, giving you a grateful smile. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” you waved him off. “It’ll be fun.” 

“Jack is basically a third kid,” Nico warned you, though his voice was playful.

“Good thing you’re not gonna have to deal with them alone,” you retorted, feeling a little more awake when he grinned back at you. 

…

“TAG, YOU’RE IT!” 

Nico beamed as he watched the twins running down the path, giggling and screaming as Jack chased after them. They were both bundled up, not causing as much of a fuss about the hats and gloves you coaxed them into wearing before they left the house. It probably had something to do with the twins being more excited about you meeting Jack than focusing on the extra layers.

“They really like him,” you commented, your arm lightly brushing against his as you walked side by side.

“He was there from day one,” Nico said, sounding nostalgic. “He’s probably one of their favourite people in this world.”

“And he loves them just as much,” you noted. “That much was clear from the questions he asked in the initial interview.” 

Nico laughed, turning to glance at you. “Oh god, I don’t think I ever asked what he asked you.” 

“A lot of hypotheticals,” you responded. “They started off normal, like what if they both wanted an apple but there was only one left or if they wanted to go to the park on a rainy day. Then they got progressively more unrealistic.” 

Nico’s eyes were still on you. “Like what?” 

“I think there was one about how I would protect the twins if the city was taken over by vampires,” you mused.

“And how would you?” Nico questioned, his voice serious but the expression on his face was lighthearted and teasing.

“Hunt the vampires, obviously.” 

Nico let out a loud but sudden laugh. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve watched Buffy The Vampire Slayer,” you insisted, trying and failing to keep a serious face. “What more research do you need?” 

“They wouldn’t know what’s coming for them,” Nico added, lightly nudging his arm against yours and silently being pleased when you didn’t move away from the touch. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Hischier,” you grinned, your eyes gleaming. “I may not be any good at mini sticks but I have other skills you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.” 

Nico could only shake his head fondly in response. 

“HEY, LOVEBIRDS, YOU’RE THE NEW CATCHERS!” Jack called out, each hand held by one of the twins as they all giggled. 

Nico liked to believe his cheeks were pink because of the cold weather, no other reason.

…

By the time December came along, Nico had forgotten all about how stressed and helpless he had felt that summer when everyone bugged him about hiring a nanny for the twins. 

Thankfully, his mother had not. She tended to remind him every time they spoke on the phone, in a passing but teasing comment here or there slipped into the conversation. But she did enjoy reminding him whenever the topic of you and the twins came up.

This time was no different.

“It looks like your stubbornness paid off.” 

Nico rolled his eyes, only to feel guilty by the action a few moments later even if his mother couldn’t see him right now. “I told you I would find the perfect person for the twins.” 

“And is she? Perfect for the twins?” 

“She gets them,” Nico said like that explained it all, and it did. Because even though the past nannies he had hired were good and treated the twins well when they cared for them, there was something about you that just clicked with the twins.

You didn’t just treat them like children. They were two humans in your mind, who had their own likes and dislikes and personalities, and you just seemed to understand them almost as well as Nico did. He knew from day one that the twins would constantly be placed together, that there would be many assumptions made of the two of them being the same because they were twins. But you had never treated them as such. 

It was different to past nannies who enjoyed the job but were ultimately there for the paycheck. Sometimes, it felt like you were really there for the twins. 

It settled something inside him that Nico had no idea he wanted until he met you, until he saw how you cared for his children. 

“Good,” his mother hummed, and he could almost imagine the way she was nodding as she spoke. “So we will see her at Christmas?” 

“I—“ Nico quickly cut himself off, focusing on keeping his car from jerking into the other lane. “No? I don’t know? I can’t expect her to work on Christmas—”

“She’s a part of the family, Nico.” 

“You haven’t even met her,” Nico found himself saying, which was true. Beyond a few waves and general greetings in the back of some FaceTime calls, none of his family had met you. 

But there was a voice in the back of his head that really wanted to change that. 

“Yes, but you care for her and so do the twins. And she cares for you three too. In my eyes, she’s a part of the family.” 

His chest tightened at his mother’s words. 

“I’ll ask her,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself. “But no promises.” 

…

If there was one thing you could always rely on, it was the shitty winter weather in New Jersey. 

The sky felt permanently grey over the last few days, dark clouds and overcast hovering over the state like a threat of the weather soon to come. The temperatures dropped and the forecasts of snow and sleet and rain started to trickle through the radio stations as you drove to and from Nico’s place and your own apartment. 

You thought it would be a nuisance at most.

As it would have it, you would be eating your own words mere days later when the snow only got heavier during the day and you were starting to wonder when experts could officially name it a blizzard. 

“Will the plane drivers still be allowed to fly the planes?” Otto asked, sleepy and sluggish as he fought the urge to finally close his eyes the second you finished their bedtime story. 

“The pilots will still be able to fly their planes,” you assured the young boy, pushing his curls away from his face. “Don’t worry, okay? They will be here for Christmas. You know how I know that?” 

Otto blinked slowly. “How?” 

“Because Santa will make sure your family are here for Christmas,” you whispered, watching as the boy grinned up at you.

“Santa will bring them?” 

“If he must,” you nodded, slowly pushing yourself to stand up. “But only if you’re good and go to sleep like your sister.”

Otto briefly turned his head to look at Marley—who was already fast asleep, cheek pressed against her pillow and small puffs of air leaving her mouth—before nodding to you. “I will sleep. Goodnight, Honey. Forehead kiss, please.”

“Goodnight, bud,” you grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead and then Marley’s before you made your way to the door. 

You slowly shut the door behind you, knowing full well that Otto would be out like a light in a few minutes. But you didn’t want to test your luck, trying to keep yourself from making too much noise as you made your way into the living room.

Nico was already sitting on the couch, a few storage boxes sprawled around him. He looked as though he was lost in his own head, a scrapbook sat on his lap that he slowly flipped through with a fond smile on his face.

“Reminiscing?” 

His head snapped up, a light blush on his cheeks from getting caught but the smile remained on his face. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and soft. “Nina said she wanted to add some pages with photos from the summer so I was just digging it out.”

You raised your brows. “May I?” 

“Please,” Nico insisted, patting the spot next to him and laying the scrapbook over your lap too. “She started it the first summer I took the twins to Switzerland. I would do it myself but she is far better at this stuff than I am.”

“Is this them as newborns?” You asked, your heart melting at the photos of the twins as babies as you flipped to the start of the scrapbook. “Oh my god, they were the cutest lil’ things ever.”

“Still are,” Nico answered proudly, puffing his chest a little.

“They are,” you nodded in agreement, your fingers lightly skimming over the photos before your eyes caught one of Nico fast asleep on the ground beside the twins’ crib, a Devils branded blanket thrown over him. “Oh wow.”

Nico’s cheeks darkened but his smile seemed softer. “They were only a few weeks old and I had no idea what I was doing. I think I was running on two, maybe three hours of sleep there. Jack took that photo, said it was funny seeing all three Hischiers down for a nap.” There was a small pause before he continued. “Jack took most of these photos in the first few weeks.” 

You turned to look at him instead of the scrapbook. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” Nico nodded. “I was a total mess the first few weeks, couldn’t even begin to consider picking up my phone to capture the moment. But Jack knew I would regret it after, took it upon himself to try and capture as many early memories as he could.” 

“Nothing can really prepare you for parenthood,” you said, lightly nudging your shoulder against his. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

“It’s harder to be prepared when you had no idea you were even having kids,” Nico added, but the joking tone fell flat. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“I mean,” you started, a sheepish smile on your face. “It’s none of my business and you don’t have to say anything but—”

“But you’re curious?” Nico finished. 

You nodded. 

“It was a one night stand,” Nico admitted, his shoulders dropping a little. “She didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I think she thought she would be fine by herself but…things changed.” 

You didn’t say anything, letting the boy get the story out but you did rest your hand on his arm, hoping the small touch would be comforting enough.

“I think we were a few games away from finishing the season,” Nico continued. “It was clear the Devils weren’t making the playoffs and I honestly wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly out to Switzerland to deal with the disappointing season back home. Then, child services were getting in touch and showing up at my door with these two babies and telling me they were mine and—” 

He let out a shuddering breath.

“She left me a letter,” he murmured. “Saying she was sorry for not reaching out sooner. Saying she didn’t want any parental rights, that I had full custody. Saying that she hoped I wouldn’t judge her for wanting to keep living her life, to not let kids hold her back.” 

You squeezed his arm. 

“I was a wreck,” Nico confessed, almost sounding remorseful. “Jack came over because we were meant to drive to the rink together for practice and I just…broke down. I don’t even know what happened in those first few hours, it was all a blur to me. I didn’t know the first thing about being a dad, let alone to twins and neither did he. But he stayed and he helped, because that’s the kind of friend he is.”

You smiled softly. 

“His mother, Ellen, was actually a huge lifesaver,” Nico said, his lips twitching upwards like he was remembering a fond memory. “She was already in Jersey for a few games but Jack called her, explained everything that was happening and she helped, at least until my own parents could fly out. That summer was…a mess. That whole year was but I wouldn’t have been able to do it without any of them.”

“You have a really good team behind you, Nico,” you said, the strongest urge to speak in a whisper and keep your voice low so you wouldn’t ruin the moment. “Both on and off the ice.” 

“I do,” Nico gave you a genuine smile. “You’re a part of that team too.” 

You returned the smile. “I am.” 

“Uh,” Nico cleared his throat. “About that.”

You raised your brows in questioning. 

“If you don’t have any other plans, you’re invited here to join us for Christmas,” Nico said, choosing to leave out the fact his mother had been insisting you join in every phone call he has had with her. “I know the twins would love to have you here and…so would I.” 

“Aren’t your family flying in?” You asked, a crease forming between your brows. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“You’re not,” Nico insisted. “We want you there. I want you there.” 

“I’m visiting Nana in the morning but I could come after,” you said, something twisting in your stomach at the way his face brightened. 

“Yeah, perfect,” he nodded, smiling broadly. “You’ll get to experience a proper Hischier Christmas.” 

“Should I be worried?” 

“Maybe.”

You opened your mouth, a teasing reply on the tip of your tongue when the moment was broken by a deep, booming gust of wind howling and hitting against the windows of the apartment complex. It snapped the soft, whispering atmosphere as the reality of the worsening weather outside hit you.

“Fuck,” you murmured, watching as the flurry of snow rushed down. “I should probably head back before the roads get worse.”

Nico turned to look through the window, frowning. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to drive so late?”

You shrugged. “I’ll go slow.”

His frown deepened.

“It will be fine,” you tried to assure him but Nico was already shaking his head.

“Nonsense,” he said, turning back to look at you. “You can stay in the spare room. I can give you some stuff to sleep in too. That weather isn’t safe to drive in, especially this late.” 

Your instant reaction was to reject the offer but you spotted the look on his face, the genuine fear and concern written so blatantly in his expression and you found yourself nodding instead.

“If you are sure,” you said with a nod.

“I’m sure,” he nodded, his lips twitching as he stood up from the couch. “Plus, the twins will be so excited to see you in the morning.”

And he was correct. The twins were crawling into the guest bed beside you before the sun had properly risen the second they caught wind of you staying over for the night.

…

“Meeting the family, huh?”

“Nana,” you groaned, ignoring the happy cackle she let out as you bundled up the scarf you were wearing moments ago and threw it in her direction. “It’s not like that.”

“But it should be like that,” Nana insisted with a wistful sigh. “What is taking this man so long? Look at you!” 

“Maybe because he is professional and only sees me as the caretaker of his children,” you deadpanned. “You know, that job he hired me for?” 

“Bah!” Nana waved you off, shaking her head. “I want his eyes checked. You’re a catch, honey.” 

“You are so dramatic,” you murmured under your breath, but there was something quite fond in your voice. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t want a relationship right now?” 

“No,” Nana replied bluntly. “Because you would never deprive your sweet grandmother of seeing her favourite grandchild finally find love before she kicks the bucket.”

“Sweet is not the word I would use,” you retorted, just managing to miss her fingers pinching your side. “Hey, that’s not very festive!”

“Yes, yes, Merry Christmas and all that,” Nana said as she leaned forward, taking your face in her hands as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Now, tell me your present to me is a ring that hot European boss of yours gave you.” 

You could feel your face heating up. “Nana!”

“I will also take a scarf, I’m not picky.”

…

If there was any doubt in your mind before (which there was not), spending Christmas with the Hischiers confirmed they were, in fact, the nicest family you had ever met. 

You had spent the last few months with Nico and the twins, knew their mannerisms and their personalities and the way they lived their lives. You had also nannied for many families before them and you knew what a draw of luck it was to score a job with a family as sweet and wholesome as them.

You just never expected the whole family to be like that. 

From the second you walked through the door, it was clear that that was just the way the Hischiers lived their lives.

Katja had you in a hug before you could even take your jacket off, squeezing you close and tight as she murmured something about how well you were taking care of her baby and her grandbabies. Rino had a glass of wine and a plate of finger foods in your hand before you could even think about your rumbling stomach. Even Nina and Luca had taken it upon themselves to take the seats beside you on the living room couch, happy to talk away like you had always been a part of the family.

It was heartwarming and overwhelming in the best way possible, but you were pretty sure that was just the Hischier effect.

“I wanna give Honey her present next!” Marley exclaimed, wiggling out of Rino’s arms as she rushed towards her father with an excited smile. “Please, Papa?” 

“Me too! Me too!” Otto called out, perking up from his spot on Nico’s lap.

“Here you both go,” Nico grinned, almost looking mischievous as he handed them both a wrapped present each. 

“Oh, for me?” You gasped as they rushed over to you, both presents extended out to you as they gripped them with their little hands. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, we do,” Marley said with a nod. “It’s Christmas!”

Your lips twitched upwards at their giggles as you carefully unwrapped the presents as quickly as you could, sensing their own childish impatience. Your surprise became a little more genuine and honest when you saw the gifts laid out on your lap. 

There were two separate sweaters—which were sweet and considerate in their own right, and undoubtedly chosen by Nico—but your focus was on the two framed photos underneath the sweaters. Each had been drawn by one of the twins, different versions of one of the many days you three and Nico had spent together.

“Honey?” 

You sniffled a little, looking up to find both twins standing in front of you with little frowns on their faces. “Thank you, both of you,” you said as sincerely as you could. “This is the best present I have ever gotten.”

“But you’re crying,” Otto pointed out with a frown.

“Do you not like it?” Marley asked, nervously playing with the hem of her dress. 

“No, no, I love it,” you quickly reassured the twins, carefully moving the gifts to the side as you pulled them both into a hug. “They are happy tears! Sometimes when you feel really happy, you can cry too. It’s not a bad thing.”

Otto looked up at you. “Happy tears?” 

“Happy tears,” you confirmed with a nod.

“We like happy tears?” Marley asked.

“We do,” you promised before leaning down to peck them both on the forehead. “Thank you for the presents and the happy tears.” 

Both of the twins beamed, leaning up to press their own kisses to either one of your cheeks before they turned to look at their father. 

“Papa, you’re next!”

Nico’s gaze was already on the three of you, soft and fond, before he snapped out of his own daze. He looked a little embarrassed as he reached for a box, letting Otto and Marley happily carry it back to you. “I don’t think I can compete with the twins but…Merry Christmas.”

You had barely ripped through the wrapping paper before the twins were squealing happily, their little hands helping remove the rest of the wrapping before pushing your present towards you.

“Honey has a jersey!” 

“My own jersey?” Your smile widened as you lifted the red jersey, grinning at the Devils logo and the number thirteen on the sleeves. 

“Your own lucky jersey,” Nico corrected, grinning back.

“Just like us!” Otto gasped happily. 

“Just like you,” you laughed, turning the jersey to find ‘HISCHIER’ printed across the back. You dropped the jersey to your lap as your eyes found Nico again. “Thank you, Nico.”

“And selfishly,” he started as he leaned over to hand you an envelope. “I am hoping the jersey will tempt you to accept this gift too.”

You shot him a confused look but accepted the envelope, quickly tearing it open and pulling out the contents to find two tickets. “Game day tickets?”

“Only fair that the new hockey fan gets to experience a game in person,” Nico beamed. “And there’s a second ticket for Nana too, if she wants to come.” 

“You seem so sure she will support the Devils,” you teased, swallowing the emotion that laid thick in the back of your throat at the idea of him including Nana in your gift.

“I got her a jersey too,” Nico retorted, looking far too pleased with himself. 

You could have sworn Luca muttered something like ‘ass kisser’ under his breath but you weren’t too sure. The slap on the back of the head from Katja was telling though.

“Thank you,” you repeated, softer than before. For a moment, you almost swore Nico was blushing in response.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.”

…

“Tell me you and Honey got caught under some mistletoe and finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Nico let out a heavy sigh, taking a long sip of his coffee as Jack settled into the passenger seat. “Good morning to you too.” 

“So that’s a no,” Jack huffed, shaking his head. 

“Told you so,” Luke spoke up as he climbed into the backseat, for once in his life looking awake at seven in the morning. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Shut up,” Jack grumbled. “God, Hisch, you had one fucking job.”

Nico’s brows furrowed together. “I did?” 

“Oh my god,” Jack groaned, leaning his head back against the rest. “It’s been ages. How much longer are you going to drag this out?”

“You are saying too many words,” Nico replied bluntly before he pulled away, letting muscle memory mostly take over as he began driving towards the rink.

“This is to spite me,” Jack insisted. “I find you a nanny who is perfect for the job AND for you, and this is how you repay me?” 

“What?” Nico muttered. “Jack, I swear to god if this is the girlfriend thing again—”

“It is!” 

“—I have other things to prioritise right now,” Nico insisted. “And Honey doesn’t feel that way. Our…relationship isn’t like that.” 

Jack gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re shitting me, right? You’re just trying to wind me up, right?” 

“I’m telling Timo to pick you up tomorrow if this is how you are going to act,” Nico muttered as he reached for his coffee cup again.

“I would wake up for morning skates way easier if I got this entertainment every time,” Luke commented from the backseat, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Shut up, Luke,” they both replied at the same time.

…

“You’re joking!” 

“I’m not!” 

“Oh my god,” you laughed, shaking your head as you turned to look at the boy in utter disbelief. “Nico, how could you—”

“I don’t know!” Nico groaned, even if he was smiling. “I just kinda…forgot English? And then I panicked and just found myself nodding before I even realised what I was agreeing to.” 

It was a cold January day when the four of you found yourselves in the park once again. The twins seemed to have more energy than usual the second they woke up that morning. They were bouncing off the walls, barely able to sit still during breakfast before they were begging to get out of the house. And after a less than satisfactory start to the season in the new year, Nico was also eager to get out and away from anything hockey related and have a day out at the park.

“So, how was it?” You questioned, nudging your shoulder against his.

“Smelly,” Nico confessed with his nose scrunched up. “I mean, the equipment team loved me for the rest of my time there but…I would not recommend volunteering to clean hockey gear after a long tournament.” 

“Gross,” you agreed.

“It prepared me pretty nicely for changing nappies though,” Nico admitted with a laugh. “I guess nothing can be worse than a hockey locker room.”

“Surely you’re used to it by now,” you pointed out.

“Yeah but doesn’t mean a break every once in a while isn’t nice,” Nico retorted, his eyes wandering over to where Otto and Marley were currently attempting to climb up the slide. “February can’t come soon enough.” 

You looked surprised by his words. “You get a break in February?” 

“All Stars,” Nico explained with a nod. “A few people get picked but everyone else gets a free week off to go somewhere hot and relaxing before the runup to playoffs.” 

You lightly elbowed him. “Come on, Captain, surely you were picked.” 

His cheeks burned a little but he shook his head. “Nope, I’m free this year.” 

“Big plans?” You questioned. 

“I wanted to do something for the twins' birthday,” he confessed. “Obviously, we will celebrate on the actual day but there’s going to be so much around hockey and playoffs and I just…I want them to have a proper celebration, even if it’s a little early and even if we do another one in Switzerland with my family.”

Your face softened. “That would be nice.” 

“So,” Nico wiggled his brows. “Got any ideas where we could go?” 

You tilted your head. “We?” 

“What? You thought it was just going to be me and the twins?” Nico grinned, shaking his head and nudging you back with his shoulder. “We are a team now, Honey. The four of us.”

His words made butterflies erupt in your stomach but you quickly pushed that feeling away, focusing on the boy beside you on the bench instead. 

“Well, in that case, I think Mexico is calling our name.” 

Nico only beamed in response. “I was thinking the same.”

…

“You know, your grandfather never took me to Mexico.”

You tore your eyes away from the hand of cards you were dealt, instead glancing at Nana who sat on the opposite side of the table with a certain look on her face. You couldn’t quite work out whether or not it meant trouble.

“He isn’t taking me to Mexico for the hell of it,” you reminded your grandmother, taking another card from the deck with a frown. “I’m just technically doing my job internationally.” 

Nana shot you a look over her cards. “You were meant to be the smart grandchild.”

You frowned. “Hey, rude.”

“Honey, one day it will hit you and I just pray that day happens in my lifetime,” Nana said, sounding wistful as she glanced down at her cards again. “Got any two’s?” 

“No, go fish,” you murmured before giving her a pensive look. “You really think it means something that he is taking me to Mexico with the twins for a holiday?” 

“Is he paying for your ticket?” 

“Yes,” you grumbled. “I insisted but—”

“Then, it means something,” Nana shrugged like it was obvious. “And if you share a hotel room, you owe me lunch at that nice deli.” 

Your cheeks burned. “Nana!” 

“Don’t be such a prude,” she waved you off. “Now, hurry up before this game bites into my afternoon nap. I’m already feeling sleepy.” 

You rolled your eyes before you asked for any three’s, even if your mind was preoccupied with three other people at that moment.

…

“You did well at All Stars, that second goal was a beauty.” 

“You’re killing me here.” 

Nico frowned. “Most people say thank you after a compliment.”

There was a buzz in the locker room that wasn’t there before the break. It was like reality was starting to sink in, the final run of regular season games ahead before playoffs had people itching to get back on the ice and prove themselves. The Devils have had quite a hot and cold season but Nico believes in his group, he knows they want this just as much as he does. 

Everyone was walking into the locker room with a kick of motivation to show the other teams in the league just what damage they could do on the ice.

Everyone minus Jack who seemed annoyed at Nico, despite only being in his presence for thirty seconds. 

“Dude,” Jack shot him a look. “Spill about the family holiday! Did you tell her? Did you make a move? Do I need to plan a wedding?” 

“I–” Nico felt his heart stutter a little. “What? Jack, no, nothing happened.” 

Jack blinked. “What?” 

Nico paused. “What do you mean, what?” 

“Nico,” Jack took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as the rest of the locker room fell silent. “Let me get this straight. You go on vacation to Mexico with your kids and the girl who you definitely have feelings for despite what you tell us and…you do nothing?”

“Yes?” 

“This is torture,” Jack muttered in utter disbelief, shaking his head. “You are beyond help.” 

“Jack—” 

“Fucking Mexico and you don’t make a move?” 

“Well—” 

“I’m overruling your captain title,” Jack interrupted, shaking his head. “You’re doing bag skates today.”

Nico blinked. “You can’t do that.” 

“Well, I just did and Sheldon would agree with me,” Jack said in a know-it-all voice before he turned on his heel to head back to his stall.

Theatrics aside, Nico did spend the rest of the practice silently wondering if Jack had a point. He was too tired to keep lying to himself, at least. He knew whatever he felt for you was beyond platonic and professional, but that didn’t change the fact he was sure those feelings weren’t returned.

The two of you had a good thing going and Nico was not about to ruin that over the fact his heart sped up every time he thought about you.

It was a fleeting crush, he told himself. A fleeting crush on someone who was intertwined with his life and his kids’ life. It was just misplaced gratitude that he was reading into. That was all. He was sure of it.

…

“Honey?” 

You turned away from the tv, glancing down to your lap to find Otto’s big eyes already staring up at you. “Yes?” 

“You are going to stay with us, right?” Otto asked, his words completely catching you off guard and leaving your chest uncomfortably tight. Suddenly, the game was the last thing on your mind. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, your brows furrowing as you tried to decipher his words. 

Otto shrugged, suddenly looking down at his own hands rather than you. 

You turned to find Marley looking just as downcast and it instantly made the hair on the back of your neck turn up. You reached over for the remote, neither of the twins awfully bothered when you muted the commentary before your full focus was on them. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” You asked, urging yourself to remain calm and cautious, to not instantly freak out to the worst case scenario. 

“All our friends leave,” Otto eventually muttered out, a frown on his face that made him look so much like Nico in those postgame interviews you had watched. “Papa says they will stay if we like them but then they go.” He paused before he lifted his head back to look at you. “I don’t want you to go, Honey.” 

And if that wasn’t heartbreaking, you didn’t know what was. 

Nico had told you briefly about some of the past nannies he had hired for the twins. The twins had liked a majority of them, had kept asking questions about where they had gone and if they were coming back. 

And you knew it was hard. It was hard to explain things to kids who couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening, who couldn’t understand their father’s decision to fire the previous nannies. 

But it also meant that their young minds were left to fill the blanks. 

“Oh, baby,” you shook your head, trying your best to give them both the most reassuring smile you could. “That has nothing to do with the two of you, I promise. You two are the best people ever. Your other friends had to leave for another reason—big adult things.”

Marley nuzzled herself closer to you. “Are you going to leave for big adult stuff?” 

Your hand was instantly smoothing the curls away from her face, watching her let out a happy sigh as your nails lightly scratched along her scalp. “No, baby, of course not. Not unless you want me to go.”

Otto’s grip on you tightened. “We don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t,” you promised, even if that was something you knew better to not promise young children who took things far too literally and personally.

“Good,” Marley murmured, even if half of her face was squished against the jersey you were currently wearing for the game.

You glanced back down when you heard a few sniffles, frowning when you saw Otto scrubbing his little hands against his watery eyes. “Otto, baby, are you okay?” 

He nodded, turning his head to look up at you. “Just happy you are staying.”

“Happy tears!” Marley said with a smile, like she was proud of herself for remembering it.

“You promise they are happy tears?” You asked, your chest tightening at the thought of the young boy being genuinely upset until he quickly nodded his head and held out his pinky to you.

“Pinky promise, Honey.” 

You hooked your pinky around his. “You know you can tell me if you are upset, okay?” 

“We know,” Otto nodded, settling his head back down on your lap with his attention on the game once again. “We tell you or Papa and you will help.”

Your hand instantly moved to tickle his back, smiling a little at the sigh he let out when you did so. Nico had told you the tip a few weeks ago but it was endearing to see how much he loved it. 

“Yeah, we will always help you both. Pinky promise.”

For what it was worth, Nico scored less than two minutes later and the twins’ initial moods were completely overshadowed by the excitement and cheering in their celebration around the living room.

…

“Oh, spit it out already!”

In all honesty, Nana had lasted a lot longer than you anticipated. It was clear from the moment you walked through the door of the care home that you were distracted. She had enough respect to not call you out on it instantly, letting you play the part of a doting granddaughter as you made two cups of tea and settled on the couch in the lounge of the care home.

However, three abysmal games of checkers later, she had reached her limit. 

“Nana, I’m fine.” 

“And I was born last Tuesday if I believed that,” Nana scoffed, having little to no patience left as she swiped the pawns off the board and quickly ended the attempted fourth game. “There. Game over. Now talk.”

You let out a sigh as you slumped back in your seat. “It’s nothing really,” you started before noticing Nana was opening her mouth—most likely to complain—and quickly continued. “Just something the twins said.” 

Nana paused, her voice a little softer as she spoke this time. “What happened?” 

“I think I’m the longest nanny they have ever had around and they just have this fear I am going to leave. And they were fine once I assured them I was staying, they never brought it up again so there is nothing to worry about,” you began to ramble, the memory replaying in your head over the last few days. “I guess it just made me realise…” 

“That you really care about these kids?” Nana finished for you.

You smiled a little. “Yeah, I do.”

“And that you care for their father too and it’s starting to hit you that there is a possibility that there will be a day that they may not need you anymore and it’s scaring you because of how fond you have grown of the family?” Nana continued. 

You blinked. 

“Too on the nose?” She had the audacity of asking with an innocent smile.

“Nana, what the f—” You quickly cut yourself, clearing your throat and, at least, having the decency of looking sheepish. “What the hell are you on about?” 

“Honey, please,” Nana waved you off. “I have seen you nanny for many families and kids and never once have you walked through that door and gushed about them the way that you do with the Hischiers.” 

You could feel your face heating up. “They are a good family! I don’t…it’s not like that.”

“Would you want it to be like that?” Nana asked.

You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just the nanny. I shouldn’t read into things that are never going to happen.” 

“That didn’t answer my question,” Nana pointed out. “If you’re not ready to admit it, then that’s fine. But it doesn’t change the fact that you have fallen in love with the family over the last few months and that they love you back.” 

You stayed silent.

“You have spent the last few years taking care of me and a dozen other families,” Nana said, her tone more gentle as she reached over to take your hand in hers. “I have seen you work yourself to the bone and put others’ needs before your own without a second thought. I have seen you put other families ahead of yourself. All I want for you is to have that family that cares back, that loves you back, that puts you first too.” 

“I have you,” you rasped, blinking away the tears lining your lash line. 

“And you could have them too,” Nana retorted softly. “Honey, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realise those kids love you back. And that their father does too.” 

“You’ve never met Nico,” you tried to argue but Nana was having none of it.

“I know more than enough from the stories you tell me and the way he treats you,” Nana said, squeezing your hand as she spoke. “I am not saying you have to jump in straight away or ring the wedding bells. But I can see that you are happy with them and I think you could be even happier if you let yourself.” 

“Is it not better to appreciate what you have instead of losing it all?” You questioned, lips pressed together in a tight smile.

“Maybe,” Nana answered. “But then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering how different things could have been if you had just taken that step out of your comfort zone. You’ll never know the answer if you never ask the question.”

You didn’t have a reply for her.

“I just want what is best for you,” Nana finished off with a watery smile of her own. “And I think they really could be the answer to that question, at least.”

…

Nana’s words lingered in the back of your mind.

They played on a loop as the days turned into weeks and time seemed to pass far faster than you could comprehend. Before you knew it, the calendar was showing March and you were beginning to see the behind the scenes reality of what pressures Nico was under with captaining a team desperately trying to cling onto a playoff spot as the end of the season neared. 

It was fucking awful, to put it lightly, and you didn’t really understand how he was managed to be the best captain he could on the ice, just to come back home and play the role of a father so well. But you could only admire it and admire him from a distance. 

However, it felt like Nana’s words planted a seed in your head, letting the thought fester and grow despite how desperately you had tried to weed it out over the last few months. It had a mind of its own and it felt like everywhere you looked, you were seeing the world that Nana saw for you with the Hischiers. 

You saw that future in the mornings when Nico left for practice, making sure to have a quick breakfast with you and the twins before he left the apartment after giving each one of you a kiss on the forehead (something the twins demanded he extend to you too because it was only fair in their eyes). And Nico did it happily every single morning. 

You saw that future in the nights where the twins were exhausted, passed out on the couch in their own jerseys whilst you kept your eyes glued to the screen, engrossed in the result of a sport you didn’t care about over a year ago.

You saw that future in the way the twins babbled about Switzerland and how excited they were to go back and all the things they wanted to show you. You didn’t even know what the plan was for the offseason, when Nico would return back to Switzerland and have all his family there to help him out. You were too scared to ask.

You saw that future in the way that your life became so intertwined in theirs. They were always on your mind, even during your off days. You would be eating lunch with a friend and think about how Marley would hate the dish because the carrots were too big. You would throw on a playlist whilst cleaning your apartment and smile when a random Swiss song would start playing because Otto insisted it was better (which also meant that Nico was teaching him to say as much). You would be having tea with Nana and giggle a little to yourself at the chocolates she would offer because you knew chocolate snob Nico would not approve. 

You saw that future in so many different ways and it made it a little hard to breathe the more you realised that you wanted it. You wanted it so fucking bad but it was March Madness and the twins’ birthday was coming up and there were a million other things that took priority over your lives than the growing feelings you had for this little family. 

So, you bottled it up and pretended like you couldn’t hear Nana’s disappointed sigh in the back of your mind.

…

Nico had been jumpy since the start of the roadie.

Usually by this point of the year, the road trips were more of a nuisance and the boys were done with them. Everyone was bone tired, exhausted and injured in some capacity, pushing their bodies to unreal limits with a sense of urgency to just get on with playoffs. They were done with the regular season, they were done playing games that didn’t matter in the lead up to the Cup. They were getting a taste of a possible Cup run and they were eager to start it. 

And Nico got that. He was usually one of them, letting the adrenaline and excitement for playoffs motivate him through the last stretch of regular season games. The travel days would usually be the time that he let himself catch as much sleep as he could whilst being pressed up against the bus window or sprawled out on a row of plane seats.

But he had been angsty since the first flight out, constantly checking his phone for updates that weren’t coming through. He was quiet and lost in his own head more often than not and it was concerning to the team. It took Jonas cornering him in the hotel lobby before he could run off for him to confess.

“The twins are sick,” he said with his lips turned down in a frown. “It’s nasty and they are barely sleeping and I just feel guilty for leaving Honey to deal with it alone.”

The sniffling had started a few days ago but the cold really hit last night. Neither one of them were settling down for bed, just whining and crying and fussing. Otto was complaining he was too hot. Marley was complaining she was too cold. One of them puked in the living room and the other in the bathtub after a heavy dinner that didn’t settle well in their sensitive stomachs. 

It was carnage and he had to leave you completely alone with it. 

You had reassured him multiple times that you would be fine, that you had dealt with multiple sick kids at once and this would be no different. But he couldn’t help but let the guilt eat him alive over the next few days. 

He remembered what it was like trying to deal with the twins when they were sick at the same time and it was far from enjoyable. But even then, he had his mother or someone else nearby to help. He was never taking care of them completely alone for days on end like you were. 

Nico knew he should have been more involved in the team bonding and dinners, that he should be hyping his boys up for the playoffs but he spent more time staring at his phone like he wanted to be prepared in case you messaged or called. Not that he would have been much help on the other side of the country.

He was practically itching out of his skin to get back home to you and the twins. The plane ride was torture, the minutes passing like hours and his body far too wired to even attempt to sleep (much to Jack’s dismay since he tended to use Nico as a pillow). He was practically sprinting off the plane the second they landed, making a mental note to make it up to his teammates somehow before playoffs started after they had to deal with his irritated mood for the last few days. 

His body was moving on muscle memory as he drove back to the apartment, urging himself to stay under the speed limit and take his time. He knew you were home. He knew the twins were home. Him getting home in two minutes or twenty wouldn’t change that. 

Nico was still running on pure adrenaline by the time he reached the front door, still panting from taking the stairs over the elevator as he pushed it open and quickly made his way inside. His bags were abandoned by the door and he opened his mouth to call out to the three of you when he froze the second he was in view of the living room.

He never really understood what people meant when they said they saw something so beautiful that they stopped in their tracks. Or at least, he never really understood until now. And he was aware that, to anyone else, there was nothing amazing or jaw dropping about the sight in front of him. But it meant everything to Nico. 

Because it was late by the time they landed in New Jersey and he had accepted the possibility that everyone would be asleep. But here you were, sitting on his couch, waiting for him even though he could see the bags under your eyes and the way you were already starting to nod off. Because he knew the sweatpants and hoodie weren’t anything groundbreaking, but it was a Devils hoodie with his number on it and some old sweats of yours that had a mysterious stain on it (probably from one of the twins) but you wanted to wait for him instead of heading straight for a shower and your bed.

Because here you were, sitting on his couch after you had probably experienced the longest few days of your life taking care of two sick toddlers (his two sick toddlers), still giving him a sleepy smile as soon as he walked through the door like you were genuinely happy to see him, and he just couldn’t help but think he had never met or seen someone as beautiful as you—both inside and out. 

“Are you okay?” You asked when he didn’t say anything, when he continued to stand in the middle of the room, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. 

And, if Nico was logical and not sleep deprived, there was probably a part of him that would have remembered that it was late and that you were both tired and his emotional epiphanies could wait until the morning. 

But Nico was not logical and he was very sleep deprived and he had spent the better part of the last few months fighting his team and himself over his feelings for you, and he was far too fucking tired to keep fighting them now.

Because he was staring at you from across the room and felt such a rush of warmth and relief and comfort knowing that he had you by his side and he couldn’t quite keep it in anymore.

“I think you look beautiful,” he blurted out without any further hesitation. 

You paused, staring at him for a few moments as you processed his words before glancing down at yourself. “Uh, thanks?” You managed to mutter out through an awkward laugh. “Maybe not as much right now but—” 

“I mean right now,” he said, his voice genuine and sincere and serious because apparently even sleep deprived Nico understood the importance of honesty. “And always. But especially now. And I feel very lucky that I get to come back home to you.” 

Your eyes widened and your mouth was moving but no words were coming out. 

“And you don’t have to say anything,” he continued because he was physically unable to stop himself, even taking a few steps closer to you as he did. “But you deserve to know.” 

“You can’t say that,” you whispered, shaking your head at him.

His brows furrowed together. “Why not?” 

“You can’t say stuff like that when you don’t mean it like—” But you cut yourself off, swallowing harshly as your gaze dropped down to your hands.

“Mean it like what?” Nico asked, his body still moving until he was kneeling on the ground in front of you, his hands on your knees as he ducked his head to catch your eye again. 

“Nico,” you said his name so softly that it made his stomach twist. 

“I meant what I said,” Nico said, his hands squeezing your knees as he spoke. “You look beautiful right now and every other day. I think it all the time and you deserve to hear it more. I think you are one of the best people I have ever met in my life.”

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“And I think I’m reading this right,” his voice dropped to a whisper, something cautious and vulnerable written across his face. “And stop me if I’m not because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable or—”

You grabbed his face and kissed him before you could second guess yourself. 

Despite the fact it wasn’t very long, Nico sunk into the kiss. He let himself lean into the touch, to savour the feeling of your hands cupping his face and your lips on his. He let himself enjoy the way your nose nudged against his as you pulled away, as you gave yourself enough space to rest your forehead against his.

“You’re not reading it wrong,” you assured him with a small, almost secretive smile. “But I didn’t think you would feel the same, especially with the twins—”

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut as he enjoyed just how close you were to him. “They don’t have to know right away, we can take things slow. But I…I want to do this. I want to give us a try.”

You tried to bite back the grin threatening to take over your face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Nico grinned. “I want to see where this goes.”

“And if it goes wrong?” You dared yourself to ask.

But Nico didn’t seem particularly worried, twisting his hand so he could intertwine it with your own. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Honey, but we make a pretty good team. Best of the league. No doubts about us.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Does that make me your A?” 

Nico snorted. “No way. We are co-captains. Equals.”

“Co-captains,” you agreed, nodding a little. 

And there was still a lot more that needed to be discussed. Both of you knew that. But it was late and you were both tired and there was no rush to figure everything out just yet. 

Becoming a father was one of the best things that happened to Nico Hischier. Meeting you was second. And maybe this year, he would add hoisting the Cup with his team as the third but only time would tell.

And, in the meantime, Nico was pretty damn happy with you and Otto and Marley—his perfect little family of four.

.

[airybcby]

We've Already Done It In My Head ;)

( kissing with the haikyuu boys )

a / n — was listening to guilty as sin? by taylor swift and knew i had to write something for my boys

content — haikyuu! boys x GN! reader, some suggestive parts, some characters repeated,

synopsis — just kissing with the haikyuu boys <3

✿.｡. “ without ever touching his skin, ” .｡.✿

Always feels like the first time

they're always so giddy to give you a kiss, whether it be a small peck or a full make out session, they are always bouncing up and down in excitement. while they're always the most excited to kiss you, they're also so insanely clumsy about it too.

you couldn't keep count of how many times the two of you had clinked your teeth together, accidentally headbutted each other, and even accidentally bitten each others lips.

maybe it wasn't always the most picture perfect kiss, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

after all, people do say they wish they could experience their firsts again, and you get that anytime you're around them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ HINATA SHOYO, shohei fukunaga, YAMAGUCHI TADASHI, asahi azumane, TOBIO KAGEYAMA

Always turns into a make-out session

if there was one thing that was 100% certain in your life, it was that you could never kiss them in a purely innocent way. you could be in a very - and i mean VERY - public place, and if you want to give them a small peck?

nope, it's turning into a whole pda session. sometimes you don't mind, but other times you're a little embarrassed because of their boldness.

even while you're at a big event, they have to have their hands on you at all times. "you look so good right now." ignore. "wanna kiss you so bad." ignore. "wanna go to the bathroom?" ignore, ignore, ig-freaking-nore!

if the two of you can get through the whole evening without a big display, maybe you'll reward him when you get home ;)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ATSUMU MIYA, korai hoshiumi, BOKUTO KOTARO, hinata shoyo

Always ends up in you getting what you want

it's not nice to manipulate people, especially not by kissing them until they can't tell you no. your boyfriend was a meanie. nothing more and absolutely nothing less.

all you wanted was to watch a rom-com for your weekly movie night, but nooo, they wanted to watch some boring history retelling film. you weren't sure if they really wanted to watch it or if they were only putting it on to piss you off.

so, of course, what else were you supposed to do besides slide yourself onto their lap and start kissing them until you could slip the remote from their hands and into yours.

" i hate you." he grumbled as you switched from the boring documentary to one of your favorite rom-coms of all time.

" no, you love me. " "...sadly."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KEI TSUKISHIMA, suna rintaro, OSAMU MIYA, TETSURO KUROO, yaku morisuke

Always gives the perfect kisses

they're literally a perfect specimen, it's really unfair.

you're sad? they're always there giving you small kisses on your head, forehead, and of course your lips. you're in the mood to just be hateful? he's there rubbing your back and kissing your temple while nodding along to your words.

there is no place in the world where they won't fit in perfectly.

and you're just lucky enough to be part of it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ AKAASHI KEIJI, koshi sugawara, KITA SHINSUKE, toru oikawa, HAJIME IWAZUMI

✿.｡. “ how can i be guilty as sin ? ” .｡.✿

thanks for reading!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[diorcities]

Nct dream calling their gfs loml (fluff)

⠀   ⠀ ── 💌. ִֶָ ᡴꪫ nct dream calling you loml !

so cute!!. library.

mark. you think you've heard it by mistake. “what's the love of my life doing?”. lifting your head from the book to bump into his serene, distracted countenance trying to see what you're reading. “what?.” he probably thought out loud, because he repeats it again without it this time. that until he realizes, getting flustered immediately and hiding his face on your neck. “no. say it again.” “oh, shut up.”

chenle. what a prick. he usually uses it to get away with getting his way after he's bothered you. he places kisses on your unresponsive mouth while clearly enjoying it. “you're the love of my life.” but the way he says it —with mockery in his annoying demeanor, doesn't hide the tint of affection when he pronounces it. so he drags you by the waist towards him, to continue kissing your smile.

haechan. he won't stop saying it now that he knows the reaction it has on you, but he knows that if he uses it a lot then it won't have the same effectiveness. picks the right moment, like when you're barely awake so he can wrap around your waist and bury his head on your neck. “how was your sleep, love of my life?” the way your skin bristles makes him decide that the best way to do it is to wake you up telling you that. little does he knows it'll always have the same effect because it's not just the meaning, it is also him.

jaemin. he says it all the time like it's your name, and you never get tired of hearing it. your heart still shrinks and warmth spreads in your chest. maybe he doesn't know the effect it has on you; that he says it even when he's distracted makes you want to explode. “what do you want for dinner, love of my life?” he kisses the crown of your head when you snuggle with him, and even though you're on top of him, he's not close enough for you.

renjun. he likes to surprise you with flowers every time he can. and he also likes to go on spontaneous dates on a weekday. when you ask him the reason for the special occasion, he simply answers with the greatest obviousness in the world, “because you're the love of my life.” and even though he usually says the same thing every time you ask him, you can't help but make your heart want to burst with love, and he can't help but not get tired of knowing it either.

jeno. you appreciate how hard he tries to help you with your homework, or when you're doing heavy lifting, or when you just want to reach the top shelf in the kitchen. he's always there when you need him without you knowing it. “do you need help with that, love of my life?” but it's the first time he's said it and you're too far off the ground to process it without the stool wobbling and almost falling to the floor, of course, if it weren't for your loyal helper boyfriend, catching you before you fall.

jisung. being away from you is the worst experience of his life. of course the first thing he when he's back is try to melt into a hug with you. you laugh at the effusiveness that emanates from him with his arms around you. “i missed you. love of my life.” you're both so fuzzy you don't pick up what he says at first. “what?” and because you're so close together you think you've felt his heart stop when he realizes what he's said. you stand there, laughing silly as a blush spreads down his cheeks, “you heard me.”

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 11

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 11 of 12!

Chapter 11

His sister's screams were bloodcurdling.

Charles had known that birth was a painful, messy affair, that it was never easy, but actually hearing his sister’s very real, very painful screams from the room beyond was a truly eye-opening experience. He didn’t know how women could survive this, frankly.

Arthur looked green around the gills, not helped by the white bandage on his forehead…which apparently had been the result of him fainting and being taken down by the corner of a hospital bed. 

"I am never having kids," Arthur said, swallowing heavily.

"I am rethinking my family planning as well," Lorenzo said weakly. "I don't think I can stand seeing Charlotte go through that pain."

Arthur grimaced as another scream came ringing out from the room. “I think I am scheduling a vasectomy tomorrow,” he said faintly. “This absolutely confirms it as a good life decision for me.”

"I think that's the concussion talking," Charles tried to assure his brother, as another scream rang out.

On second thought…maybe Arthur was onto something.

And just at that moment, Colette's scream suddenly broke off. They froze—all of them.

Absolute silence rang through the room. Charles was afraid to even breathe. He had no idea what was happening on the other side of the door, and that terrified him. Everything had been going well so far, hadn't it?

And then a cry rang out.

A baby’s cry: shrill, a little indignant.

All three men let out their collective breaths in a sigh of pure relief.

The whole room was silent for a moment, as they processed the fact that their sister and her baby were alright.

“Oh, thank god,” Lorenzo said feebly. “I thought something awful had happened.”

“No kidding,” Arthur agreed. He sagged back against the wall behind him, his skin regaining a proper colour again, instead of the sickly green it had been moments before.

Charles leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a brief second. It was over. Everything had gone alright. 

Colette and her baby were both going to be okay.

"We are uncles now," Arthur said suddenly.

A beat of surprise. And then:

“Oh god, we are, aren’t we?” Lorenzo said.

“We’re uncles,” Arthur repeated a slightly shell-shocked look on his face.

Charles couldn’t help it. A smile broke out over his face, a very real, utterly ridiculous one that he didn’t have the energy to hold back. “We are, aren’t we?” he repeated Enzo’s words.

“This is absolutely insane!” Arthur said, a grin creeping over his face. “We’re going to be the coolest uncles ever.”

“I thought kids are overrated?” Lorenzo pointed out wryly.

“The most overrated,” Arthur insisted. “But I’m going to spoil our niece or nephew absolutely rotten.”

It took a little while longer, but finally, the door opened, revealing Max. He looked…exhausted. Absolutely beat. There were dark circles under his eyes…but a look of relief was on his face like Charles had never seen on his friend before. And yet, Max was grinning.

Looking happier than ever.

“Max,” Charles said, a little hoarsely. He wanted to ask how they were, he wanted to ask about the baby, he wanted to ask if Coco was alright. But all he could get out was Max’s name, his voice too thick.

"Come meet your niece," Max said simply.

He said the word ‘niece’ like it was the best thing in the world, and it made Charles smile. He straightened up, following Max into the room, Arthur and Lorenzo trailing behind him.

Coco was curled up in her bed, her hair messy, her face pale, but she was smiling, a weak little smile tinged with exhaustion but so very, very happy. And cradled against her chest was the baby, wrapped snugly in a little pink blanket.

Charles just sort of stopped dead in the midst of the room. Seeing his sister with her baby in her arms… it was like his brain had stopped functioning in the space of a moment.

All three brothers were silent for a long moment, just taking in the sight of them.

Charles felt a lump rise in his throat,and swallowed heavily.

Lorenzo was biting his lip, trying to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. And Arthur was absolutely silent, all of the usual sass gone from his expression.

It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, as they all just stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed, just looking.

Finally, Coco looked up at them, and her smile widened faintly. “Well?” she asked. "Cha, don’t you want to hold your niece?"

His heart skipped, and he managed to pull himself forward so he could sit down on the bed next to her. “I get to hold her?” he asked, just to be certain.

"Of course, you do," Coco told him softly. "Here you go."

Charles could hardly believe it as Colette gently eased the baby into his arms, carefully supporting her head. And suddenly he was holding her, his niece, this brand new little life, in all of her tiny, delicate, vulnerable little glory, bundled up in a soft pink blanket.

"She's perfect," he said softly, swallowing. 

She was so…fragile, in his hands. He hadn’t expected her to be that small, somehow. Charles smiled faintly, running his fingers gently over her hair. Her eyes were closed, and one tiny fist was poking out of the blanket.  

"Does she have a name yet?" he asked his sister. 

"I get to pick," Colette told him with a grin. "Given that Max named the cats after Monaco's nightlife."

Charles had to admit that was a fair point.

“What, you aren’t going to let Max name your daughter La Rascasse?” he teased Coco who just rolled her eyes.  "What have you come up with?" he asked curiously, tearing his eyes away from his niece to look at his sister.

"If she was a boy, I would have named him Emilian Hervé after Papa," Colette said softly. "Sadly that doesn't work for a girl."

Charles smiled faintly at the mention of their father. Their father would have doted on this baby, he was certain. He would have spoiled her absolutely rotten.

"So I figured… somebody else needed to give their name for her," Coco continued. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course, I don't mind," Charles assured her at once. Why should he? "Whose name did you use?" he wondered. 

"Yours, you idiot, Cha," Coco told him, her voice soft. "Charlene Victoria Verstappen. We'll call her Charlie for short."

"Oh my god," Max's sister breathed somewhere behind him. "You.."

But Charles could only stare at his sister…could only feel the lump rise in his throat again. He swallowed hard. “You named her after me?” he asked with a waver in his voice, feeling like his heart might just explode in his chest.

"Of course, I did," Colette said softly. "You're my twin brother, why wouldn't I name my baby girl after you?"

Charles couldn't find any words to answer that with. He couldn't find any words at all. His eyes stung, and he couldn't look at her for fear he might cry. He looked down at the baby. His…god, his niece that was named after him.  

He gently ran his fingers over her hair again, marvelling at her tiny, perfect little body. "Hello, Charlie," he said softly, his voice a little choked.

The baby didn't even stir, and Charles smiled, shifting slightly to support her more securely. He couldn't believe that his sister had done this, that she had named her baby girl after him. It made his heart feel like it was fit to burst straight out of his chest, made him try to blink back tears and fail horribly. 

"Congratulations, you've made Charles cry," Lorenzo said from somewhere behind him, sounding a little choked himself.

Charles let out a noise that was half-laughing, half-crying as his brothers joined him at his side. "Shut up," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"Not a chance," Arthur said as he squeezed in next to him to get a better look at the baby. Lorenzo joined him, peering down at the baby in Charles' arms with a strangely soft expression on his face.

"You gave her my name too," Victoria said weakly. Charles looked up at Max’s sister, not knowing what to say. It had sounded so obvious, so natural to hear Colette say it, that Charles had completely forgotten that Victoria shared the same name.

But she did. 

"A sibling for each of us," Colette said simply. "Sorry, Enzo, Arthur. Maybe next time.”

“Nah, Arthurelle is a horrible name,” Arthur responded. “Totally see why you went for Charlene.” 

Colette laughed, but it was a very weak, exhausted laugh. Charles couldn’t blame her. She must be absolutely wrung out.

And still as he looked at her...as her eyes met his, he could feel how happy his sister. How utterly in love she was with her daughter. How this was everything Colette had ever wanted, and it was right there. 

"I am never driving you to the hospital again though, just so you know," Arthur said. “That cost me at least 30 years of my life.”

"But you did so well," Colette teased their younger brother. "Thank you for that, ma petite puce."

Arthur grimaced faintly, but he looked too tired and happy to actually bite back. Charles smiled faintly at all of them in turn.

Charles‘ eyes snagged on their mother.

"Well, Grand-Mère," he teased her. "How does it feel?"

For a long moment, their mother simply looked at the baby in Charles’ arms with an unreadable expression on her face. And then her expression slowly shifted into a smile. A true smile. A happy, proud Grandma smile.

“Your father would be so proud of you all.” 

[s1m0nth3swag]

Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE; Haven't written in a while, but thanks to Arlo, a friend (Hi Arlo, I know you're reading this), Inspiration about Francis Mosses struck (he bought me That's not my neighbor and then continued to freak out about Francis with me) so I wrote this. I have so many thoughts about Francis, so... tell me if you want more because i will deliver ngl. Enjoy (or don't, I don't dictate your feelings)

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Porn with little to no plot, Submissive Francis, a little non-consensual at the start (but not in a super weird way, imo?), Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used, tried to write as GN as possible with the compliments and thoughts about Readers appearance), not proofread nor have I thought about this much, more a drabble than an actual thoughtful story (not apologising because I had such a long break from writing anything and obviously it's gonna suck a little when I come back)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

The first time Francis had realised that he hadn't gotten any touch from another human being was when someone brushed up against him on his way home from work. He had felt like a creep afterwards because he hadn't stopped thinking about what could've happened if the person hadn't moved away and had just stayed pressed against him. That was a week before you started your job as a doorman.

The second time Francis had noticed was when a friend of his had spoken to him on the phone, talking about his new girlfriend. Said friend gave too much intel on their sex life. Francis had wondered if he could have someone the way his friend explained - he quickly brushed the thought off. That was two days before you started working as a doorman.

The third time, he noticed when you had smiled at him. It was your first day, and he was tired from work. You had repeated his name after reading it off of his ID, and he had looked at you for the first time since his eyes kept falling closed, and you smiled so brightly. You had told him his name was nice, and you said it again. Francis swore that the way his name rolled off your tongue was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Not even an angel could sound more wonderful. Suddenly, he was a lot more energised. Totally not thanks to the fact that he had immediately grown hard the second he had seen your smile. He had gone to his apartment that night and had jerked off for the first time in probably months. He had always been too tired to previously, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how you'd sound moaning his name. Maybe you were more of a groaner, or you'd whimper and whine. He came as he imagined how you'd look sucking his dick.

Since then, Francis has always looked forward to entry checks. What had normally kept him away from his bed and a good night's sleep was now the best experience of his day. He loved the way you spoke to him even though he was too nervous to respond. Sometimes, he deliberately didn't show his ID at first, just so you'd ask about it, and he could listen to you talk a little more. He felt guilty about it. He knew you had never agreed to feed into this weird little obsession of his. It was awful of him to do this - have you talk to him enough to give him more scenarios to think about that night.

A few weeks after all this had started, Francis had built up the courage to finally ask you out. Just something simple, dinner at his place. He had to cook for himself all the time. Cooking for you as well wouldn't be too different, right?

Francis was wrong. He was anxious that the food wouldn't taste good and kept tasting it just so he could make sure it hadn't mysteriously switched tastes in the last 20 seconds. When you knocked on his door, he took a minute to make sure he didn't look like a mess - though you wouldn't mind either way since he always looked like a mess when he came through during your shifts.

You looked so good when he opened the door. Your hair fell perfectly, your lips looked a little too kissable, and Francis had to stop his train of thought just so he wouldn't embarrass himself by having yet another boner caused by just the way you looked. You were a little shorter than him, smiling up as he let you inside.

"You look good." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He seriously had to lay off thinking like a high-schooler. His nervousness and awkwardness were getting really annoying - to him, at least. You grinned, chuckling softly as you took off your shoes. "Thank you. You do as well." His heart for sure burst at that - he knew something else would burst as well if he didn't stop thinking right this second.

Throughout the evening, ignoring his thoughts came easier and easier. The two of you had eaten, you had told him he was a good cook, he had almost excused himself to the bathroom because of it. Now you were sitting on the couch, drinking wine and talking casually.

"You know, when you first walked through, I swore I would die." You giggled, looking at him with a mischievous look. Francis was confused by that statement. "How come?" He asked, tilting his head at you in question. "I was sure you were a doppelganger. You looked too handsome to be real." You cheekily answered, cheeks slightly flushed as you downed your wine. Francis blushed heavily, looked away from you, and thought about your words for a moment. The silence was loud as he wondered what to answer. "..you think I'm handsome?" He questioned while looking at the floor. If he had looked at you, he'd have seen the way you stared at him, your own cheeks coloured a deep red. "Extremely." You muttered. It took him a minute before he could look at you, but when he did, his lips pressed against yours in a desperate kiss.

When you reciprocated, Francis groaned and pulled you closer until you sat on his lap. He was just a tiny bit embarrassed when you gasped and felt his dick press against you. In all honesty, he had held back the entire night, and he was allowed a little selfishness. "Sorry. Can't help it." He muttered between kisses. You just grinned against his lips before grinding against him. A whimper fell from his lips - that was the moment he was actually embarrassed. "That's cute.." You had mumbled, a cheeky grin on your face as you started placing kisses against his jaw and neck. One of your hands trailed down his body to rest right over his crotch, Francis unconsciously bucked his hips up against your hand, whining. He didn't notice anything else as you caught the skin of his neck with your teeth carefully, leaving the softest bite mark on him. He shuddered at the feeling and gasped before realising that you had meanwhile unzipped his pants. A groan slipped from his lips as you ran a finger over his dick, still hidden from sight by his boxers, but god knows he would cum the second you'd touch it without. "Is this okay?" You asked him, and he nodded faster than he even knew he could. "Yes. God, yes. Please, please continue.." he muttered, his breathing heavy as he watched you slide off his lap, settling in front of him and between his legs. His dick twitched at the sight, and he let out a heavy sigh. Minutes later, his pants and boxers were discarded, and the way you looked up at him, his dick so close to your face, made Francis feel the way his orgasm was approaching way too quick. The second you wrapped your hand around him he whined pathetically, bucked up into your hand and knew that he'd definitely cum too soon. Your hand was so soft, cool against his hot flesh, and you worked his dick so good he almost thought you were a professional. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, watched the way you bit your lip, and grinned knowingly. "Such a pretty boy, huh?" You chuckled, and that definitely sealed the deal for Francis. He came, probably ruining his shirt as he dirtied both it and your hand. His heart stopped for a second when you licked your hand while looking up at him. "You didn't give me enough time to taste you properly. Don't look at me like that." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. "You should probably take off your shirt so you can clean it later." You then winked. He swiftly shed the piece of clothing, entranced by your voice and the way you looked. "Sorry, didn't mean to cum that fast.." he mutters, his voice out of breath. "Jus'.. unused to... this.." he added, clearing his throat awkwardly. You laughed and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. We have all the time in the world to make you last longer. I'm gonna give you a real reason to be tired tomorrow." You winked.

Francis didn't even mind that he was in for a long night.

Your honour I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

[isak-dot-gov]

Bubblegum Pink

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Girly girl!Reader

Word count: 1137

My Matherlist :)

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You and Rhea had always been an odd pairing, but one that worked. Her brooding, gothic style was the complete opposite of your sunny, feminine aesthetic, but it never caused any problems between the two of you. In fact, you both liked the contrast. She loved how unapologetically girly you were, while you found her dark and edgy vibe pretty hot. 

But now, with the release of the new Barbie movie, your worlds were about to collide in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

It all started when you saw the trailer. You’d grown up with Barbie, and seeing your childhood icon brought to life on the big screen filled you with pure joy. Naturally, you couldn’t wait to see it. Even more so, you couldn’t wait to share the experience with Rhea.

One night over dinner, as you twirled your fork through your salad, you casually brought it up. “So, the Barbie movie comes out this weekend. Want to come with me?”

Rhea, who had been chewing on a piece of steak, glanced up at you with raised eyebrows. “Barbie?” she repeated, her tone filled with playful disbelief.

You nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah! It’s going to be so much fun. I was thinking we could, like, dress up a little for it? You know, something pink and Barbie-like. What do you think?”

Rhea leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a smirk. “Pink and Barbie-like, huh?” Her dark lipstick accentuated her teasing smile. “Babe, I don’t really do… pink. Or Barbie.”

You felt a pang of disappointment in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. You knew Rhea was right—dressing up in something so opposite of her usual style was a big ask. “I know, I know,” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “It’s okay, I was just being silly. You don’t have to. We can just go as ourselves.”

But deep down, you’d been hoping she might at least entertain the idea. Not because you wanted her to change, but because it would’ve been fun to share this experience together, dressing up and embracing the moment.

The rest of the week passed without much mention of the movie. You noticed Rhea hadn’t brought it up again, and you didn’t want to press her about it either. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, what was important was that she was coming with you, not what she wore. Still, a tiny part of you couldn’t shake the wish that she might try, just a little, to embrace your world the way you always embraced hers.

The day of the movie finally arrived, and you woke up early, excited to get ready. You’d been planning your outfit for days—a dreamy, pink flowy dress with cute accessories, glittery heels, and even a sparkly headband to tie it all together. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you smiled at your reflection, feeling like you’d just stepped out of a Barbie dreamhouse.

But when you turned around to check your phone, your stomach twisted a little. Rhea hadn’t said anything yet, and you weren’t sure if she was going to dress up at all. Maybe you had been silly to even hope she would.

You tried not to let it get to you as you waited for her in the living room, adjusting your purse strap and fidgeting with your phone. When you finally heard her footsteps, you stood up, ready to go, but bracing yourself for her usual all-black attire.

As expected, Rhea came in wearing her typical style—black jeans, a black band tee, and combat boots. Her dark eyeliner and signature smirk were firmly in place. But something caught your eye, and you blinked, not sure if you were seeing things.

Pink socks.

They were subtle, barely peeking out from the tops of her boots, but they were there. Bright, unmistakable, bubblegum pink socks. You stared for a second, processing the sight, and then your heart swelled.

Rhea shifted on her feet, her smirk faltering just a little as she noticed your reaction. “Don’t say anything,” she grumbled, glancing away with a slight blush rising in her cheeks. “It’s just socks.”

You were speechless for a moment, but then a wide, beaming smile spread across your face. “Rhea…” you whispered, your voice soft with affection. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged, still trying to play it off. “I know, but I figured, you know, it’s important to you. And they’re just socks. Not like I’m wearing a pink dress or anything.”

Your chest tightened with emotion. It wasn’t about the socks—it was about the gesture. Rhea had seen how much this movie and dressing up meant to you, and while she didn’t go all out, she’d made an effort. She’d stepped out of her comfort zone for you, even if in a small way, and that meant everything.

You rushed forward and threw your arms around her, squeezing her tight. “Thank you,” you murmured against her chest, your eyes stinging with happy tears. “This means more than you know.”

Rhea wrapped her arms around you, chuckling softly as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re lucky I love you,” she teased, though her voice was warm and tender.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at her with a playful grin. “I know I am.” You glanced down at her boots again, eyeing the pink socks with a twinkle in your eye. “And for the record, pink looks good on you.”

Rhea rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Don’t get used to it, alright?”

“Too late,” you teased back, leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek.

With her arm around your waist, the two of you headed out the door. As you walked hand in hand to the car, you couldn’t help but feel like this day was going to be even more special than you’d imagined. Rhea might not be covered head-to-toe in pink, but she’d met you halfway. She’d made the effort, and that was more than enough to make your heart burst with love.

As you drove to the theatre, Rhea glanced over at you, taking in how happy and radiant you looked. “Alright, so what’s this movie actually about? Are we gonna sit through two hours of Barbie just being… Barbie?”

You giggled. “Oh, you’ll see. There’s a lot more to Barbie than you think.”

Rhea smirked, giving your hand a squeeze as she rested her arm over the console. “As long as I get to see you happy, I’ll sit through whatever you want, babe.”

And just like that, with her pink socks slightly hidden under her boots, you knew you had the best girlfriend in the world by your side.

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[husbandhoshi]

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

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The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

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"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

[thebestsetter]

He has never been afraid of dying.

Death doesn't fright him. He sees it as a natural part of the cycle of life. One must be born, live their life, possibly reproduce so their species can keep on existing and then die. All animals, be it a big magnificient whale or a little insignificant ant, have to do this too. This is what they all have in common (and honestly, it's beautiful how all animals have to experience this. It brings humans and animals closer).

Everyone dies, be it the sinner or the saint, the rich or the poor. Death doesn't discriminate people. It just comes and takes everyone (which is kinda funny, since people think that money or looks make them different from the other. They don't. We're all equal. The bullet that kills the powerful is also capable of killing the weak). And frankly, he's okay with that. He knows it'll happen.

Given his work condition, he knows he's more inclined to die than the average person. Everyday, he has to go out there and risk his life, saving hundreds of people he doesn't even know and sometimes not even getting a "thank you" back. It's frustrating, but it's not like he's giving up. Before he dies, he wants to make this world a little bit better. It probably won't be much, but he still wants to feel useful. He wants to feel like he did something good.

"Oh God! You're okay! You're really okay! I was so worried about you!"

He doesn't fear death. Which is why he doesn't understand why he feels like crying when you visit him at the hospital he was staying at after a mission that went wrong. Death doesn't scare him, so he's not quite sure why his hands tremble when they reach to pat your head. He shouldn't react like this. He's never reacted this way before

"Please, don't ever do that again! Never ever!" Your grip in his waist tightens to the point where his lungs are burning for air, but he still doesn't want you to let go.

"You have no idea how scared I was. When the hospital called me saying you were here, I felt like my mind was going a hundred per hour! Please, don't die..."

How can you ask him this? You both know it's impossible. He's going to die one day, it can't be helped. You can't escape death's claws. No one can escape their funeral. You're torturing him. You know he doesn't like to lie to you. He can't just say "I won't die" cause it's simply not true!

"Please don't die" you repeat, and his hands movement comes to a halt "Because I'll be lonely if you die. Don't leave me alone, please."

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still isn't afraid of dying. But suddenly, the mention of death leaves an itching feeling at the back of his throat. It makes him sick thinking about you going on with your life, possibly mourning over his death for a long time (he doesn't ever want you to be sad, especially not because of him. Strangely, a sick, twisted part of him wants you to cry when he dies. To be sad. To not move on fastly. He quickly supresses those thoughts though) and then completely forgetting him and starting a new family (this thought makes him sick to the stomach. He feels like a very bad guy when thinking about how he doesn't want you to find another man to replace him. You always said he was irreplaceable after all).

He will forever be someone who was, not someone who is. He'll be lost in time, a name you'll mention once or twice on a conversation while smiling and thinking about the good times you had together.

He'll never hear your laugh and your voice again, will never take you out on extravagant dates and have movie nights watching silly movies and laughing at the special effects. Leaving you alone in this dangerous world feels almost criminal.

Death doesn't make him feel bad. Having you forget him after he dies makes him feel like absolute shit.

And so, even though he can't promise you that he won't die, he can promise one thing. He grabs one of your hands in his, looking at you as serious as he can be.

"You won't ever be alone." He says, and you feel like crying. He then smiles weakly "I promise. I love you. Our love is too strong to be stopped by death." He kisses your hand and then quotes the same sentence he uttered at your wedding day "Remember? 'And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every other timeline.'"

And just like he did that day, he props up in the hospital bed and kisses you.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, ITADORI YUJI, Gojo Satoru, Inumaki Toge (or maybe I'm just a glazer ☹️), Nanami Kento (idk, I just feel like it fits him), TODOROKI SHOTO, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Ejirou, Izuku Midoriya, Aizawa Shota, HAWKS + any character you think fits this!!

~ A/N: this can be read as a sequel of another fic of mine. It also can be read on it's own though (but please, do check the other one if you're interested!!). Also, you can see some Hamilton songs' references here and there (cause I'm a theater kid 😔) AND this was inspired by a line in "Cowboy Beebop"

Masterlist

[kikyoupdates]

Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟷

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

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“...you can do what now?”

“Hire someone to date you,” your friend, Ava, repeats. She chuckles and waves you off dismissively. “Come on, [Name]. It’s the modern age. People are always coming up with new things these days. I’m willing to bet there’s an app or website out there for practically anything.”

You blink in disbelief. Granted, there is all kinds of crazy shit going on in the world, and you’ve heard of companionship services before—like escorts or sugar baby arrangements—but to hear that something like this is trending nowadays is still undeniably a shock. 

“Here, look,” Ava gestures, pulling out her phone. “I was curious, so I downloaded the app the other day just to check out.” 

“Uh, don’t you already have a boyfriend?”

“He knows I was just browsing. I showed him too, and we scrolled through some stuff together. A lot of the profiles on here are wild,” she laughs. “It’s crazy what people advertise they’re willing to do. Get a load of this guy. He says he’s down to meet your family and make a total ass out of himself just so that he lowers your parents’ standards and the next real boyfriend you get will look way better by comparison.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. “I can’t tell if this is actually real, or just some new meme template.” 

“Of course it’s real! I think you’re underestimating how lonely people these days are. There’s definitely a lot of money to be made in this industry. Just look at how much people are willing to blow on their favorite streamer, even though they’ve never met them a day in their life. Dating’s gotten a lot more complicated lately, so I guess some people just want to skip past the troublesome parts and experience what it’s like to be with someone.” 

You furrow your brows. The whole thing sounds incredibly sad when you think of it that way. People would rather pay for a fabricated relationship than put in the time and effort towards building something real? Loneliness is starting to sound like an actual epidemic nowadays. 

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge people without understanding where they’re coming from,” you acknowledge. “It’s not like I know what they’ve been through. Times are changing and all. It sounds like this is actually starting to become pretty mainstream.” 

Ava nods chipperly. “Yep! I mean, I love my boyfriend, so I’m definitely not the target audience, but maybe it’s what some people need to gain a little boost of confidence and get back into the dating scene. I doubt everyone uses it in a romantic sense too. There are people out there that just want a bit of company every now and then. Isn’t it nice that they have someone to spend time with this way?” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true.” 

Honestly, you’re still struggling to fully wrap your head around this. You understand the premise well enough, but you can’t really get past the part about accepting payment just to provide someone with a fabricated experience. Then again, you suppose that’s the case for most things nowadays. People are willing to spend the brunt of their earnings on in-game purchases for video games and other things that aren’t tangible in the real world, because even though they aren’t necessarily organic, it still provides them with some satisfaction. 

Long story short, it’s not up to you to decide what does or doesn’t make someone else happy, and you suppose as long as it’s executed in a professional manner, there’s nothing wrong with meeting new people this way. 

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” Ava suddenly perks up. “You should join this app! You’re super pretty, smart, and nice. I bet you’d have loads of guys lining up to hire you as their girlfriend!”

“Me?” You blink repeatedly, shuffling backwards the closer she leans in. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. If it makes people happy, then I support it, but deep down, I worry I’d feel like I’m exploiting someone’s feelings just for a few extra bucks. Morally speaking, I’m not so sure I like the idea…” 

“It’s not exploitation,” she insists. “People know what they’re signing up for. At the end of the day, it’s a buyer-seller relationship. Someone pays for the service being advertised, and they receive it. As long as you’re not ambiguous about what you’re willing to do for the amount that you’re charging, people know what to expect. Of course, I’m sure there might be the occasional asshole here and there, but if they do anything inappropriate or violate the terms, you can report them through the app and they’ll be banned from using it.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that. Some extra money would be nice. You’re a university student with all sorts of loans, so it’s not like you’ve got excess cash lying around. And it’s also true that you’ve been looking to apply for a new job lately, since your old manager was a total ass and you ended up quitting. 

Still. A girlfriend-for-hire? Someone like you? It’s just really difficult to imagine. 

“I actually think it’d be a good experience,” Ava goes on. “You’ve never really put yourself out there before. I know everyone dates at their own pace and stuff, but you shouldn’t have to be afraid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some cool people and want to date them for real. And even if you don’t end up going for them, you still make some money, so either way, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You chuckle weakly. “Yeah, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m better suited for traditional jobs. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m glad you think people would actually be willing to pay to date me.” 

“Girl, you seriously need to believe in yourself more,” Ava sighs. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. But at the end of the day, it’s your call. You shouldn’t force yourself into anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

You smile and nod in agreement, and sensing your discomfort, Ava decides to change the topic.

But for some reason, you feel a twinge in your chest, and it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Later that same day, you’re lounging on the couch, mouth agape, having just downloaded the app on your own phone. 

“What the hell am I doing…?” 

You tell yourself that it’s just simple curiosity. Yeah. That’s all it is. Ava piqued your interest earlier, and now you just want to scroll through in more detail to get a better sense of what kind of people use this platform. 

The app is called ‘Partner For Hire’. The name isn’t particularly inspired, you have to admit, but you suppose it communicates its point rather effectively and leaves no room for ambiguity. Ultimately, this is a transactional relationship, and it’s probably for the best that clients know what to expect. 

You can use the app as either a buyer or seller. Meaning that you can create your profile and advertise your services, or simply list yourself as a prospective client and what your hobbies and interests are. In that sense, it’s kind of similar to most dating apps, since you have to take a flattering photo to go along with whatever blurb you’re providing. Of course, just because you try to solicit someone’s services doesn’t mean there’s any guarantee they’ll accept. This is an app where you can run everything yourself, and of course the company takes a cut of your profits, rather than an agency that matches you with a client regardless of whether you want to accept the job or not. 

There’s definitely a lot of flexibility, and you can easily choose who you want to pretend to date. If someone is interested in hiring you, they submit a request to be able to contact you, and once you accept, you can message them directly and establish the terms of the dating contract, such as the length and what particular services will be provided. 

You scroll through the list of boyfriends/girlfriends being advertised on the app, and honestly, it seems like there’s a decent amount of money to be made. Of course, a lot of that comes with building a good reputation and improving your ratings and visibility so more people will want to hire you, but it actually seems like a decent amount of people are able to make a living off this sort of thing. 

You bite down on your lower lip. Should you really go ahead and just do it? Like Ava said, there’s probably not much to lose. All the transactions are managed on the app, so you can easily report people who try to skip out on paying. Clients have to link their banking and personal info, so they’d be taking on a big risk by trying to scam people. You’re sure it might happen from time to time, but based on the reviews you’ve read, the company is really good at enforcing their policies and making sure everyone gets paid.

The money seems good, and it would definitely help take some pressure off your student loans, but ultimately, the biggest thing you’re struggling with is your moral compass.

People are willing to spend money for this kind of thing, and that’s entirely their choice to make, so it’s not like you’re extorting them or anything. Still… you wonder if it’s actually okay to profit off of someone else’s loneliness. You’ve never worked the kind of job that requires you to cater directly to another person’s emotions, and it kind of freaks you out.

But maybe Ava is right. There are all sorts of people in this world. Maybe some of them are just curious to try the app out. Maybe others just want to get their families off their back by pretending like they’re dating someone for a little while. There’s no way to discern everyone’s motivations, so perhaps there’s really no point in thinking about it at all. 

Most importantly, this could be a good thing for you. Life has been stagnant recently, and it’s true that you usually hesitate to put yourself out there. You’ll never learn what you do or don’t like if you keep on avoiding everything. This could be a chance to learn a lot about other people, but also, to learn more about yourself. 

Yeah. It’s time to stop overthinking for a change and just try something new. 

Thus, feeling unusually determined, you spend the rest of the day setting up your profile (finding nice selfies was the longest part of the whole ordeal), and with a resolved huff, you post it and officially go live on the app. 

You’re not really sure what you were expecting, but needless to say, there isn’t any immediate feedback. It probably takes a while for people to stumble across your profile, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with you. 

I guess I was getting worked up for no reason. Certain people might find success with this kind of thing, but it’s probably not as easy as it looks. 

You scratch your cheek, suddenly sheepish over how needlessly excited you got earlier. You’re not used to stepping out of your comfort zone, so you must have gotten a bit carried away. 

For the rest of the evening, you set your phone aside and come back to reality. You get some homework done, make dinner, and by the time you’re ready for bed, you’ve pretty much forgotten about the whole thing altogether. 

That is, until you check and see that you’ve missed a notification.

“Huh? Someone viewed my profile and wants to message me?”

You’re undeniably taken aback. Not just because it’s happening a lot sooner than you expected, but also because it means that contrary to what you first thought, people are interested in you. 

Having minimal experience when it comes to dating and romance in general, you have to admit, the thought of being viewed as desirable is immensely flattering. 

Curious to see who wants to hire your services, you click on the user’s profile.

His name is Isaac, and he’s twenty-one years old, set to complete his undergraduate studies at the end of the year. He goes to a different university than yours, thankfully, because you can’t help but feel like it would be incredibly awkward to bump into him on campus after pretending to be his girlfriend. He’s studying to become a doctor, which means he’s still got a lot of school ahead of him, but you’ve always had a lot of admiration for people who are willing to commit to their goals and work hard. 

Also, even though you don’t want to sound shallow or anything… he’s really, really attractive. 

You frown. Granted, there’s more to a person than their appearance, but based on how he comes across in his profile and what his future career is, he doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would struggle to date someone.

But again, you can never know what’s going on in a stranger’s life. And there’s no real way to find out why he decided to join the app.

Apart from speaking to him directly, of course. 

[𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

After a momentary delay, the screen loads into a messaging interface, allowing you to see what Isaac sent you and respond to him directly.  

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times.

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times. 

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling. 

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now. 

[𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞]:

You’re admittedly a bit nervous, especially since you want to do a good job and avoid letting him down, but mostly, you’re feeling excited. All of this is uncharted territory for you, after all. Never in a million years would you have imagined taking on a job like this. 

And you really shouldn’t have.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be the cause of many, many regrets. 

Shit. I’m starting to have second thoughts. 

Even now, you still can’t believe you’re really going through with this. After talking to Isaac and ironing out the finer details, you agreed to join him for a family gathering and pose as his girlfriend. You expected for him to have quite a few requests, but luckily, he seems pretty laid back about the whole thing. The better portion of your conversation was spent on getting your stories straight so as not to incur any suspicion, and since you’ve always been a good student and a hard worker, you promptly memorized everything there was to know. 

And now, it’s finally time to put this plan in motion. 

“Hey,” Isaac greets. “[Name], right?”

It’s the evening, since his parents are hosting a dinner party. The event is supposed to be pretty casual, but you still dressed up semi-formal in the hopes of making a good impression. He never explicitly mentioned how strict his parents are, but since they’ve been on his case about getting a girlfriend, it never hurts to go the extra mile. 

"Hi, Isaac,” you smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“You, too,” he nods. He’s considerably taller than you, and every bit as handsome as his picture suggested. Unless his personality is god-awful (which you probably would’ve picked up on after messaging him for so long), you’ve got a good feeling that most girls would be interested in him.

Still, everyone is different. He might have really high standards, or maybe he wants to focus on his studies, or perhaps it’s just a case of having never met the right person. Whatever the reason may be, his parents shouldn’t be pressuring him to date someone, and if you have the means to help him out, you’ll happily do it. 

“You look really nice,” Isaac says. He tilts his head to the side. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to dress up to impress anyone. The most important part is that they believe I’m seeing someone so that they finally ease up a bit.” 

“Oh, I just did this for my own peace of mind,” you reassure. “I made sure to memorize everything you told me in advance, so I’m confident I can convince them that we’re the real deal. Even though this is technically my first day on the job… I promise not to let you down.” 

You blush, feeling rather flustered. The idea of being someone’s hired girlfriend is still a lot to wrap your head around, and you certainly don’t want to make empty promises, but you have every intention of giving it your best shot. Isaac is in a stressful situation, and you’re resolved to do whatever you can to fix it. 

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” Isaac sighs. He opens the passenger door and gestures for you to step inside the car. “Don’t worry. I know you might be feeling a bit uneasy, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. I won’t hold it against you if you have 911 ready on speed dial until we get to my parents’ house.” 

“I trust you,” you insist. “I’ve heard good things about this app, and it sounds like they take safety seriously. They’ve got your information in their system, after all. Plus, I can tell that you’re a nice guy. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiles. “Anyways… I guess I’ve stalled for long enough. You can probably tell that I really don’t feel like going. But the sooner I get them off my back, the better.” 

“I’ll be the best girlfriend you can ask for,” you beam. 

It’s a promise to him, but also to yourself. You are committed to taking this new job seriously, and for the rest of the evening, you will do whatever it takes to blend into the role that’s been thrust upon you. There’s no reason to get worked up. At the end of the day, all of this is pretend. It won’t be anywhere near as complicated as a real relationship.

Right?

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