#I really need to write more of her story one of these days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mirisss · 3 days ago

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Not So Little Anymore

Non-idol Nishimura Riki (Ni-ki) x 2 years older! female reader

Warnings: Niki is down bad for the reader, Niki is 2 years younger than reader (so reader is an 03-line), some jealousy, insecurities, Niki being angry, eating, food, reader is shorter than the guys, reader passing out, Niki injuring his arm (nothing serious), I think that’s it,

Wordcount ≈ 14.5 k (I got carried away, as usual) Not proofread, also I wrote like 10 different versions of this so at this point, I'm not sure if everything is correct for this story but I think it is

Obsessed with Niki at the moment so I had to write this

Also featuring the other Enhypen members and some &team members, mostly Nicholas and K(Kei).

Please reblog and like!

Third Person POV

From the beginning, (Y/n) had always thought of Niki as the “kid” of the group — younger, a little clumsy, full of endless energy and reckless smiles. Even now, when she looked at him, she still saw the boy who used to trip over his own feet trying to keep up with the older guys. To her, Niki had always been something sweet, something safe, someone who needed her looking out for him — not someone to fall for.

But Niki?

He had stopped being a boy a long time ago, at least in his own eyes.

At almost twenty, with a frame that stood tall and broad, with eyes that burned a little too intensely whenever she was near, Niki wasn’t that little kid anymore.

Not that (Y/n) seemed to notice.

She still ruffled his hair sometimes. Still smiled at him like he was made of something breakable. Still called him “little one” when she was teasing — something that made the rest of their friends either wince or fight the urge to laugh.

Because everyone knew.

Everyone but her.

Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jungwon had all picked up on it ages ago — the way Niki’s eyes would soften when he looked at her, the way he sat a little closer than he needed to, the way he’d stiffen with quiet jealousy if she laughed too brightly at one of them. It was written all over him, plain and painful.

But (Y/n) never saw it.

To Niki, the others were all men in her eyes — strong, confident, worthy of her admiration. But him? He was just… Niki. The little brother. The kid who followed her around and looked at her like she hung the stars herself.

It wasn’t fair, really, the way his heart ached every time she glanced past him.

But that didn’t stop him.

He would make her see.

Someday soon, he would show her he wasn’t just the “cute younger guy” anymore.

He was hers — if only she would realize it.

~~~

The living room of the shared house buzzed with low conversation and the sound of a movie playing half-forgotten in the background. It was a little cramped — eight people living together in a house meant for six — but somehow it worked. They fought, sure, over stupid things like dishes and bathroom schedules, but at the end of the day, they were family.

Even Heeseung, who had graduated last year, still lived with them.

He said he was “too emotionally attached” to move out, though everyone suspected it was more about the fear of missing out.

Tonight, they were all gathered around — Jake sprawled across the floor, Sunghoon and Jay sharing the bigger couch, Sunoo and Jungwon squished together on the other end, (Y/n) perched comfortably between them, and Niki sitting alone in the old armchair by the window.

He tried not to look too miserable.

He failed.

“So then,” (Y/n) was saying, waving her hands animatedly, “he shows up twenty minutes late, and when I asked if he got stuck in traffic, he just said, ‘Nah, I lost track of time playing video games.’”

The group groaned collectively.

“You’re kidding,” Sunoo said, making a face. “That’s so—ugh.”

“And!” (Y/n) continued, her voice rising with disbelief, “he spent the whole dinner talking about himself. I don’t think he asked me a single question. Not one!”

Jake whistled low. “Oof. Major red flag.”

Jay shook his head. “People have no game these days.”

Niki bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt, trying to keep the words locked inside. Of course he didn’t deserve you. No one does.

His hands tightened around the armrests of the chair, knuckles whitening.

He wished he could just say it — scream it if he had to — that she didn’t need to waste her time on idiots who didn’t even see her properly.

Because he saw her.

Every little thing.

Every smile, every sigh, every frustrated roll of her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

But he stayed quiet.

He always did.

“Honestly, (Y/n),” Sunghoon said with a teasing grin, “at this rate, you’re gonna have to lower your standards.”

“Or raise them,” Heeseung offered, smirking. “You deserve someone who actually pays attention to you.”

Niki’s chest twisted at Heeseung’s words, half wanting to hug him, half wanting to punch a wall. Yeah. Someone like me.

(Y/n) laughed, tossing her head back a little, unaware of the silent storm brewing just a few feet away. “Maybe I should just stay single forever. Less hassle.”

“Or,” Jungwon piped up, glancing meaningfully at Niki, “maybe someone closer than you think already likes you.”

The room went still for a split second.

(Y/n) laughed it off, thinking Jungwon was just being playful.

“Aww, Wonnie, if you’re volunteering, you’re a little too young for me,” she teased, ruffling his hair.

Niki felt like sinking into the floor.

“Hey!” Jungwon protested, slapping her hand away with a mock glare while everyone else chuckled.

Niki stared down at his hands, jaw clenched.

Too young.

That’s how she saw him. Always had. Always would.

The movie flickered across the screen, ignored.

The others fell back into easy chatter.

But Niki sat there in his chair, sulking quietly, heart pounding, wishing he could be brave enough to change her mind.

One day.

Just not yet.

~~~

The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, a golden haze slipping through the windows. (Y/n) stood in front of the cabinets, pajama pants hanging loose on her hips, hair still messy from sleep, and a deep frown creasing her features.

She hopped lightly on her toes, fingers stretching toward the highest shelf, where — cruelly — her favorite cereal had been stashed. She barely brushed the bottom of the box before it shifted farther out of reach.

“Ugh,” she groaned under her breath, glaring up as if the cereal had personally offended her.

Behind her, footsteps padded softly against the floorboards. Niki strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily, hair sticking up a little in the back. He caught sight of her struggle instantly and smirked — a slow, lazy smile that lit up his whole face.

Perfect.

Leaning casually against the counter for a second, arms crossed, he watched her jump again — completely ineffective but adorable.

Then, pushing off the counter, he stepped up behind her.

“Need some help, shorty?” he drawled, voice still husky from sleep.

(Y/n) turned, blinking up at him, clearly just noticing he was there. “Huh? Oh—” she started, but before she could finish, Niki reached effortlessly above her, muscles in his arms flexing slightly beneath the loose sleeves of his t-shirt as he grabbed the box in one smooth motion.

He handed it to her with a cocky little grin.

And for just a heartbeat, he lingered close — close enough for her to notice that he had gotten taller than her. Way taller. Close enough for her to see that the angles of his face weren’t those of a boy anymore but of someone growing into his own.

But if (Y/n) noticed, she didn’t show it.

She just grinned, taking the cereal from his hand. “Thanks, skyscraper,” she said teasingly, ruffling his hair before turning away to sit at the table.

Niki froze.

Hair ruffled. Again.

He stared after her, heart dropping straight into his stomach.

Skyscraper.

Thanks.

No second glance. No lingering look of surprise at how tall he’d gotten, how broad his shoulders were now. No blush, no flustered stammering. Nothing.

Just the same old (Y/n).

Niki dropped heavily into the chair across from her, sulking without even trying to hide it this time.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her pour her cereal, completely oblivious to the battle raging inside of him.

One day, he promised himself.

One day she would look at him and see.

But for now, he shoved his frustration down deep, focusing instead on memorizing the way her nose scrunched a little when she concentrated on pouring just the right amount of milk.

Still his girl.

She just didn’t know it yet.

~~~

I’m really glad you like the tone so far!

And yes — I completely understand what you’re asking: you want Niki’s insecurity about being younger, especially after what (Y/n) said about Jungwon, to be a little more obvious here. I’ll weave that in naturally through Niki’s dialogue and inner frustration without making it feel forced.

Here’s the updated version of that part of the story:

(Y/n) scarfed down the last few bites of her cereal, totally oblivious to the stormy cloud hovering over Niki’s head. She checked the time on her phone and jumped up with a little gasp.

“Ah! I’m gonna be late!” she said, shoving her bowl into the sink with a loud clatter.

Niki stood up halfway from his chair, almost like he wanted to say something — anything — to make her stay just a little longer. But all he managed was a quiet, “Good luck,” as she hurried out of the kitchen, throwing him a distracted thumbs-up over her shoulder.

The second she disappeared down the hall, the kitchen door swung open again — and in strolled Jake and Sunoo, both looking far too energetic for this early in the morning.

Jake immediately caught sight of Niki’s face and snorted. “Man, you look like someone kicked your puppy.”

Sunoo dropped himself dramatically into the seat next to Niki, eyeing him with a knowing smirk. “Or like someone stole your girl.”

Niki scowled, slouching further down into his chair. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Jake laughed as he made his way to the fridge. “Bro, you’re so obvious it’s painful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna start crying into your cereal.”

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Seriously, what’s eating you this time? She just thanked you.”

Niki let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Yeah. She thanked me. Called me ‘skyscraper’ like I’m some little kid who just happened to get tall overnight.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You did get stupid tall overnight.”

“That’s not the point!” Niki groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He stared at the tabletop like it had personally betrayed him. “She still thinks of me as a kid. She doesn’t see me, not really.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “She’ll come around, Niki. It’s just gonna take a little time.”

Niki shook his head, bitterness rising in his throat. “No, you don’t get it,” he muttered. “The other day — when we were all in the living room — she said Jungwon was ‘too young’ for her.”

He looked up at them, voice tight. “Jungwon. He’s only a year older than me. If he’s too young for her, what the hell does that make me?”

Jake’s teasing grin faltered slightly, replaced by something softer.

Sunoo winced. “Damn. That’s rough.”

“I’m never gonna be anything more than the kid she grew up babysitting,” Niki mumbled, sinking lower into his seat.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. “You’re taller than half the guys she’s dated,” he said eventually. “You’re more mature than most of them too, even if you don’t always act like it.”

Sunoo smiled encouragingly. “And honestly, you grew into your face pretty nicely,” he teased, elbowing him lightly. “You’re not the same kid anymore.”

Niki didn’t look convinced.

He let out a sigh, propping his forehead against the table dramatically.

“One day,” Jake said with a small shrug, grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge, “she’s gonna look at you and realize you’ve been standing there the whole time. Waiting for her.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo chimed in, patting Niki’s back. “And until then, we’ll be here… making fun of you mercilessly.”

Niki groaned again into the wood. “Best friends ever.”

Jake laughed, ruffling his hair as he passed. “You’re welcome, skyscraper.”

And as the early morning light filled the kitchen, Niki stayed slumped over the table — stuck between wanting to grow up faster and desperately wishing (Y/n) would just finally see that he already had.

~~~

The final class of the day was always a drag, and today was no exception. The low hum of the lecture hall filled the air, students already half-zoned out before the professor even started speaking.

(Y/n) trudged in, dragging her backpack behind her like a defeated soldier. She slumped into her usual seat, rubbing her tired eyes.

A soft thud on the desk in front of her made her look up.

Niki stood there, holding out an iced tea and a small bag of snacks — her favorites.

No words, just a quiet offering.

Her whole face lit up in surprise, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking the drink eagerly. Without thinking, she reached up and ruffled his hair — again — like she always did. “Such a good little kid.”

Niki stiffened.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Little kid.

Good little kid.

He forced a strained smile as he dropped into the seat beside her, but inside he was burning. He stared straight ahead as the lecture began, arms crossed tightly over his chest, tapping his foot in a restless rhythm against the floor.

(Y/n) sipped her tea happily at first, then glanced sideways at him.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t joking around like he normally did.

He wasn’t even pretending to listen to the lecture — he was just sitting there, sulking, a storm cloud practically hanging over his head.

Frowning, she leaned over and whispered, “Hey… you okay?”

He opened his mouth, ready to brush it off, when another voice cut through the small space between them.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

They both turned.

Standing next to their row was Nicholas — tall, handsome, charming. He was friends with Jake and Heeseung, a familiar face around their house parties and study groups. He flashed (Y/n) a confident smile, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

“I was wondering,” Nicholas said casually, “if you’d wanna grab coffee with me sometime? Or, uh—tea,” he added quickly, glancing at the drink in her hand with an easy laugh.

Niki felt something ugly twist in his chest.

Before (Y/n) could even answer, Niki was already shoving his books into his bag with jerky movements.

She turned toward him, startled. “Niki—”

But he didn’t look at her. He didn’t say anything. He just stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder roughly.

And then he was walking away, his long strides carrying him toward the door without a single glance back.

(Y/n) watched him go, confusion knotting in her stomach.

Nicholas shifted awkwardly beside her. “Was it something I said?”

She shook her head slowly, forcing a small, distracted smile. “No. It’s not you. Sorry.”

But even as she turned back to face Nicholas, her thoughts lingered somewhere else — trailing after Niki’s retreating figure and the hurt he hadn’t even tried to hide.

~~~

(Y/n) shifted awkwardly in her seat after Niki left, still feeling the strange weight in the air he’d left behind.

Nicholas, seeming to pick up on the tension, scratched the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile.

“Uh — just to be clear,” he said, lowering his voice, “when I asked you out… I meant like, as friends. Not, like, a date date.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise before laughing softly. “Oh, thank God.”

Nicholas grinned. “No offense — you’re super hot and all. Just… not really my type, y’know?”

She snorted, taking a sip of her tea. “Right back at you.”

The easy banter melted the lingering awkwardness, and when the lecture ended, they decided to walk to a nearby café together. It was nice — casual, relaxed. Nicholas was easy to talk to, which was probably why he got along so well with the guys at the house.

But still, somewhere in the back of her mind, (Y/n) kept replaying Niki’s sudden exit over and over.

It bothered her.

More than she wanted to admit.

As they sat down at a small table with their drinks — hers a sweet tea, his a plain coffee — she hesitated for a moment before blurting out, “Hey… do you have any idea what’s going on with Niki?”

Nicholas lifted his cup, thinking for a second.

“I mean…” he shrugged, noncommittally. “He seemed fine earlier when I saw him. Maybe he’s just tired? It’s been a long week for everyone.”

(Y/n) frowned, swirling her straw in her cup distractedly. “Yeah, but… he usually doesn’t just storm out like that.”

Nicholas looked at her carefully, choosing his words.

He had his suspicions.

It wasn’t exactly hard to notice the way Niki’s eyes always followed her around the house, or how he lit up the second she smiled at him — or, conversely, how he visibly deflated when she joked about him being a kid.

But Nicholas also knew it wasn’t his place to say it out loud.

Not like this.

Not when it clearly wasn’t something (Y/n) had figured out for herself yet.

So he just smiled a little and said, “Maybe he’s just… dealing with stuff. You know how it is. Sometimes people have bad days.”

(Y/n) nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, but letting it go for now.

Still, the image of Niki’s face — the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes, the frustration written all over his shoulders — stayed with her.

And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if maybe there was something about Niki she hadn’t quite been seeing.

~~~

Later that evening, the house was filled with the delicious smell of dinner. (Y/n) and Jungwon were at the kitchen counter, working together to prepare a meal. The chatter between them was light and easy, with Jungwon laughing at something (Y/n) said.

Jake, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the couch, looking half-dead from an entire day spent immersed in math. His eyes were barely open, and his hand instinctively reached for the bag of chips beside him as he mumbled something incoherent, too tired to care about anything else.

When the boys came back from the gym, they didn’t say much. Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged a few words with Jungwon and (Y/n) as they grabbed snacks from the pantry, but there was something about Niki that stood out. He didn’t laugh along with the others. He didn’t joke. He just silently moved around, quietly trying to help clear the table after dinner, like he was trying to make himself useful to avoid being asked about the obvious injury on his arm.

It wasn’t until he pushed himself to the sink that (Y/n) noticed.

“Wait a second…”

She froze, eyes narrowing as she looked more closely.

Niki had a bandage wrapped around his bicep, and the way he was holding his arm — stiff, almost guarded — immediately caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, what happened to your arm?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with concern.

Niki didn’t immediately look up. He was pretending to focus on rinsing the dishes, his expression unreadable.

“It’s nothing.” His voice was flat, dismissive.

(Y/n) didn’t buy it. She was already moving closer, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as she guided him toward one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Niki.” Her voice softened, more insistent now. “Come sit down. Let me look at it.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when she gently urged him again, he sighed in defeat and sat down.

She knelt in front of him, her fingers gently peeling back the edge of the bandage to see the injury underneath. The muscle looked strained, and even just touching it caused him to wince slightly.

“You’re hurt,” (Y/n) said softly, frowning as she studied him closely. She felt a sharp pang of worry — for him, for how much he was clearly hiding.

Niki looked away, trying to pull his arm back, but she was insistent. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his tone stiff. “Just… strained it while lifting weights.”

“That’s not fine,” she said, looking up at him, her face now marked with genuine concern. She got up to grab some soothing ointment from the medicine cabinet. As she walked back toward him, she couldn’t help but lightly scold, “You’re so reckless sometimes, Niki. You should have known better than to push yourself like that.”

Niki clenched his jaw. He was starting to get frustrated, his shoulders tight with the tension he couldn’t seem to shake off. He’d been trying to just get over it — to bottle everything up — but the more (Y/n) hovered over him, the more it felt like he was going to snap.

She sat down beside him, gently applying the ointment to his strained muscle, her touch soft but firm.

But then he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled back, his voice sharp with frustration. “Stop!”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise, her fingers pausing. “Niki?”

“Stop treating me like a kid,” he snapped, his gaze fierce. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult.” His chest rose and fell with the intensity of his words. “I don’t need you to coddle me. I don’t need you to act like I can’t take care of myself.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. His words hung heavy in the air, the hurt and frustration in his voice undeniable. (Y/n) opened her mouth to say something, but he quickly stood up, his movements stiff as he threw his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not your little brother, (Y/n). I’m not… the kid you grew up with. I’m me.” His voice was raw, laced with an anger he hadn’t quite known how to release until now.

(Y/n) stood frozen, her heart pounding. She had no idea how to respond. This wasn’t the Niki she was used to.

She had never seen him like this — so angry, so frustrated. But more than that, it hit her hard: maybe she had been the one holding him back all along, treating him like someone he wasn’t anymore.

The room felt tense, the air thick between them. (Y/n) finally took a breath, her voice quieter but still filled with worry. “Niki… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

He didn’t answer, his back to her as he stood by the table, his jaw clenched tight.

It felt like the walls between them had gotten taller in just a few seconds. He had always been the younger one, the “little brother” to everyone. But now… the truth was clear. He had changed, grown, become someone different, someone who was no longer content to live in the shadows of others.

And (Y/n) wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

~~~

The sound of water running filled the otherwise quiet kitchen.

(Y/n) stood at the sink, mechanically washing dishes, her shoulders slightly hunched and her head bowed. She blinked hard a few times, willing away the stinging in her eyes — but it didn’t help much.

She didn’t even hear Jungwon approach until he was right beside her, towel in hand, quietly taking a plate she had just washed.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his voice low so that only she could hear.

(Y/n) startled slightly, then gave a weak smile. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t look fine.”

That was all it took.

(Y/n) let out a shaky breath and bit her lip, focusing a little too hard on scrubbing the next plate.

“I think I upset Niki,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just a little. “I… I didn’t mean to. I just… I’m worried about him. And he got mad. Really mad.”

Jungwon nodded, taking the plate from her hands and setting it aside to dry.

“What happened?”

She sniffled softly, drying her hands before leaning against the counter. “I saw he hurt his arm, and I got worried. I guess I was treating him like… like I always have. You know? Like a little kid who needed taking care of. And he just… snapped. Said he’s not a kid anymore. That he’s an adult now.”

Her voice cracked a little on the word adult, and Jungwon could see the genuine worry in her eyes.

She wasn’t upset because he yelled.

She was upset because she had hurt him, even without meaning to.

Jungwon sighed, resting the towel over his shoulder, thinking for a moment before he spoke.

“(Y/n)…” he started carefully, “we’ve all seen it happen. Niki growing up, changing. He’s not the same kid he was when we all first met.”

(Y/n) glanced up at him, her brows knit together tightly.

“You’re not wrong to care about him,” Jungwon continued. “But…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You’re the only one who still treats him like he’s stuck in time. Like he’s still that teenage boy who needed someone to tie his shoelaces for him.”

He gave a small, almost fond smile at the memory.

“But he’s different now. He’s taller than all of us, stronger. He’s been through stuff you haven’t seen. And… as one of the youngest in this house, I get it.”

He picked up another plate, drying it absentmindedly as he spoke.

“When people look at you like you’re still a kid, even when you’re trying your hardest to prove you’re not… it kinda feels like they don’t see you. Not really. It hurts.”

(Y/n) stared down at her hands, guilt blooming in her chest.

“I think,” Jungwon said softly, “he just wants you to see him for who he is now. Not who he used to be.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Jungwon gave her a little nudge with his elbow.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said gently. “You care about him. That’s the most important part.”

(Y/n) finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, blinking quickly to clear her eyes.

“Thanks, Wonnie,” she murmured.

He smiled warmly at her, grabbing another dish.

“Anytime. Now hurry up — if we leave these last dishes for Jake, they’re gonna be sitting here ‘til morning.”

Despite everything, (Y/n) laughed softly, and the heaviness in her chest lightened just a little.

But even as she scrubbed the next plate, she couldn’t help but wonder:

When did Niki grow up so much… and how had she missed it?

~~~

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the campus yard, where groups of students gathered between classes, laughing and talking. (Y/n) sat at a table outside the café, picking half-heartedly at her sandwich as her gaze wandered across the lawn.

And there he was.

Niki.

He was with a group of friends, laughing easily, tossing a soccer ball back and forth. His body moved with a natural grace, all long limbs and effortless strength.

She watched as he spun the ball on his finger, grinning proudly when his friends cheered, then danced around in a mock celebration, his familiar laugh floating through the air.

It was the same laugh she remembered from when he was younger — pure, loud, a little uncontrollable. But everything else…

Everything else had changed.

His face was sharper now, his jawline more defined. His features had matured, lost the roundness of youth. His hair was longer, messily styled in a way that somehow made him look even older, even more untouchable. His shoulders were broad, his posture confident without being cocky. Even the way he laughed felt different — freer, maybe, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore.

And his voice — when he called out to one of his friends — was deep, low, and rich with a maturity she hadn’t fully registered until now.

(Y/n) felt a tight knot form in her chest as she watched him, a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside her.

When did this happen?

When did he grow up so much… and how had I missed it?

The thought gnawed at her.

Maybe she hadn’t missed it.

Maybe… she just didn’t want to see it.

She rested her chin on her hand, her sandwich forgotten.

When he was younger, he’d clung to her side like a shadow — eager for attention, desperate for affection. He used to beam whenever she praised him, used to puff up with pride if she called him her “little man.”

She had been important to him back then.

Someone he needed.

But now…

Now he didn’t need her like that anymore.

He had friends, dreams, a life that didn’t orbit around her.

He had become someone independent, someone strong, someone who could stand on his own without needing her to hold his hand.

And that realization cut deeper than she expected.

Maybe she had kept seeing him as a boy because it was easier.

Because if he grew up…

If he didn’t need her anymore…

Where would that leave her?

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she watched Niki toss the ball high into the air, laughing when one of his friends missed it.

He was still her Niki.

But he wasn’t a boy anymore.

And if she didn’t figure out how to see him for who he was now…

She was going to lose him.

Not as a little brother.

Not as the boy who needed her.

But as the man who had been standing right in front of her all along — hoping she would finally see him.

~~~

Niki wasn’t in a hurry to go home.

He knew he should be — he knew he owed (Y/n) an apology for snapping at her.

It wasn’t her fault she saw him that way.

But even knowing that, the sting of her words, her touch — ruffling his hair like he was still a kid — made something heavy settle in his chest.

He wasn’t ready to see her yet.

Not if it meant standing there while she smiled that soft, maternal smile at him again.

Not if it meant feeling like nothing he did would ever make her look at him differently.

So he stayed out.

Played a few more rounds of basketball at the gym with some friends.

Grabbed late night food at a 24-hour diner.

Laughed at dumb jokes, scrolled mindlessly through his phone.

Anything to avoid going home to her.

It wasn’t until past midnight that Niki finally gave up.

His legs ached, and the exhaustion was catching up with him.

He trudged up the familiar walkway to the shared house, his bag slung loosely over his shoulder, hoodie pulled up to shield him from the chill in the air.

Pushing the door open quietly, he was greeted by the soft hum of the TV left on in the living room.

He paused in the doorway, his heart sinking at the sight before him.

There, curled up on the couch, was (Y/n).

She was fast asleep, still in her clothes from earlier, her head tucked against the armrest.

Even in sleep, her expression wasn’t peaceful — her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

And —

Was that… tear stains on her cheeks?

Niki stood frozen for a second, guilt flooding his chest.

He swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair.

Idiot, he cursed himself.

Despite still feeling like he needed space, he couldn’t just leave her like that.

He crossed the room slowly, crouching down beside the couch.

“(Y/n),” he whispered softly, reaching out to gently shake her shoulder.

She stirred, blinking blearily at him, her body slow and sluggish from deep sleep.

“Niki?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and small.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant. “You should go to your room. It’s late.”

She sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes.

For a moment, she just looked at him — and in the haze of sleep, maybe in the haze of regret too — she whispered, so quietly he almost missed it:

“I’m sorry, Niki… for treating you like a kid.”

Niki’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He hadn’t expected her to say anything.

Not now.

Not like this.

For a second, he didn’t know what to do.

The part of him that was still angry, still hurt, wanted to retreat.

But the bigger part — the part that had been hopelessly, stupidly in love with her for as long as he could remember — just wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it was okay.

He exhaled slowly, standing up straight.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer than before, offering her his hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

(Y/n) gave a small, tired nod and took his hand without hesitation.

Her fingers curled trustingly around his, just like they used to when he was little and she was the only person he’d ever looked up to.

But this time…

This time, Niki didn’t feel like a little kid being led around.

This time, he was the one steadying her.

And maybe… just maybe…

things were starting to change.

~~~

The tension between Niki and (Y/n) lingered, a heavy thing that settled between them like an invisible wall.

They had talked — in a way — but it wasn’t enough to clear the air completely.

Not yet.

The others noticed, of course.

Shared glances across the dinner table, silent conversations with their eyes.

But no one said anything out loud.

And maybe that was why it was so easy for everyone to miss how exhausted (Y/n) was getting.

At first, it just seemed normal.

Exam season was brutal.

Everyone was running on fumes, pulling all-nighters, surviving off instant noodles and cold coffee.

But as the days wore on, Niki started to notice the little things.

The way (Y/n)’s head would droop during study sessions.

How she’d stare blankly at her notes, blinking slow and heavy.

The dark circles that had bloomed under her eyes like bruises.

The way her hands would tremble when she thought no one was looking.

Still, he convinced himself she’d be okay.

(Y/n) was strong.

She always pushed through.

But today…

Today was different.

Their shared class had a big presentation — the final one before exams.

The room was packed, students nervously shuffling papers, tapping their feet.

Niki sat toward the middle, restless, his knee bouncing under the desk.

When it was (Y/n)’s turn, she stepped up to the front of the room, clutching her notes in shaking hands.

Niki sat forward slightly, sensing something off immediately.

She looked… fragile.

Pale.

Her voice, usually steady and confident, was thin and wavering.

As she spoke, Niki’s eyes never left her.

He saw everything.

The slight sway of her stance.

The way she gripped the edge of the podium like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

The way her sentences started to blur together, her eyes unfocused.

His chest tightened.

Something wasn’t right.

Then, just as she wrapped up her last sentence, it happened.

Her knees buckled.

Her body tilted sideways.

And before anyone else in the room even processed what was happening, Niki was already moving.

He didn’t remember standing up.

Didn’t remember pushing his chair back so fast it screeched against the floor.

All he knew was that suddenly he was beside her, catching her just before she hit the ground.

“(Y/n)!” he gasped, panic surging through him.

He cradled her head carefully, easing her down as gently as he could.

Her face was deathly pale, her breathing shallow but steady.

The professor rushed over, the class erupting into murmurs and concerned whispers.

But Niki tuned it all out.

It was just him and her.

“Hey, wake up,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face with trembling fingers. “Come on, (Y/n)… please…”

She didn’t stir.

Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon appeared out of nowhere, pushing through the crowd.

Jay knelt beside him, his face tense.

“She needs to get to the nurse. Now.”

Niki didn’t hesitate.

Carefully, he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the sting in his strained bicep, ignoring the shocked gasps from their classmates.

(Y/n) was light — too light — and limp against him.

“Move!” he barked, voice rougher than he’d ever used in class, clearing a path as he carried her out the door.

His heart hammered against his ribs with every step.

All the tension, the anger, the awkwardness from the past few days melted away, replaced with one overwhelming thought:

I can’t lose her.

~~~

The sky outside had long since fallen into darkness, the faint glow of the campus lights filtering through the small window of the nurse’s office.

It had been four hours since (Y/n) first passed out, and finally, her lashes fluttered open.

The room swam before her eyes, the world moving sluggishly as her body struggled to fully wake up.

For a moment, panic clutched at her chest — unfamiliar ceiling, sterile smell of antiseptic — where was she?

But then… she felt it.

The solid, grounding weight in her hand.

Slowly, she turned her head, her vision clearing just enough to see a familiar messy head of hair resting on the edge of the bed, Niki’s fingers still loosely intertwined with hers.

Even in sleep, he held on.

Her heart ached, too full with something she couldn’t name.

Without thinking, she lifted her free hand and ran it through his hair, her fingers gently brushing against his scalp in a soft, affectionate touch.

Niki stirred almost immediately.

Blinking blearily, he sat up straight, his eyes finding hers with a sharpness that instantly shifted into frantic worry.

“(Y/n)!” he gasped, sitting up so fast he almost knocked his chair over. “Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt? You need water— wait, don’t sit up too fast!”

She blinked at him in stunned silence.

He was… yelling at her.

Half-scolding, half-panicking — but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

He wasn’t the kid she used to babysit anymore.

This was a young man, one who was terrified for her but standing steady, not running away from the fear.

“(Y/n),” he huffed, exasperated after seeing her still dazed expression. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His voice cracked just a little on the last word.

Her chest squeezed painfully.

“I…” she started, her voice hoarse. She had to swallow before she could speak properly. “I’m sorry, Niki.”

He shook his head immediately, squeezing her hand lightly.

“You should be apologizing to yourself, not me,” he muttered. “You push yourself way too hard.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, the tenderness of his scolding washing over her like warm water.

Then, slowly, she smiled — soft, tired, but genuine.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “For staying with me.”

Niki’s gaze softened at that.

He squeezed her hand again and shrugged like it was obvious.

“Of course I stayed,” he said. “You hate being alone when you’re sick.”

(Y/n) froze slightly at that.

Her smile faltered for half a second.

That was… something she had told him years ago.

Back when she first started babysitting him, when he was just a little boy clinging to her side, scared of thunderstorms and fevers.

She had never mentioned it again.

Not once.

And yet, he remembered.

All this time.

She blinked rapidly, forcing back the sudden sting of tears that weren’t from exhaustion this time.

Instead, she let herself smile wider, a soft, touched kind of smile that made Niki’s heart stutter.

“You remembered that?” she asked, voice cracking slightly.

He ducked his head shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I remember everything about you.”

The words hung between them, thick and heavy and unspoken.

For the first time, (Y/n) looked at him — really looked at him.

And for the first time, she didn’t see the boy who needed her.

She saw the man who had always, quietly, chosen her.

~~~

The moment (Y/n) stepped through the front door, she was ambushed.

Jake was the first to reach her, throwing his arms around her like a koala, nearly knocking the air out of her tired lungs.

“Don’t ever do that again!” he whined dramatically, pulling away to look at her face as if to double-check she was really standing.

Before she could even respond, Sunghoon was there, gently ruffling her hair and scolding her with a worried frown, while Sunoo hovered by her side, shoving a blanket into her hands.

Jay appeared from the kitchen, a proud smile on his face.

“I made your favorite,” he announced. “You’re eating everything, no arguments.”

Heeseung leaned over the couch with a soft grin. “And we got snacks. Like, a lot of snacks. Enough for a whole week of feeling sorry for yourself.”

(Y/n) felt her heart swell at the sight of all of them — her odd, chaotic little family — fussing over her like she was something precious.

She laughed, the sound a little hoarse but genuine, and let herself be guided to the couch where Jungwon had already made space for her.

The evening passed in a warm, happy blur.

The boys kept the conversation light, switching between ridiculous debates about movies, funny childhood stories, and bad impressions of each other.

(Y/n) found herself relaxing, her body still weak but her heart lighter.

The fatigue of the past week started to lift, replaced by the familiar comfort of being surrounded by people who loved her.

And yet, somewhere in the middle of Jay arguing passionately with Jake about whether cereal counted as soup, something flickered at the back of her mind.

A memory.

Or maybe… a dream?

The nurses office.

Niki’s voice, low and serious, saying:

“This is just what you do for the person you love. Being in love makes you stupid.”

(Y/n) stiffened slightly, the blanket slipping a little off her lap as the memory came into sharper focus.

Had she imagined it?

Had she been so out of it that her brain invented the words she had secretly wanted to hear?

Or had Niki actually said it?

She wasn’t sure.

But even the thought — even the possibility — made something stir deep inside her.

Something unfamiliar.

Something terrifying.

Something… exciting.

Almost as if pulled by a force she couldn’t control, her eyes drifted across the room.

And there he was.

Niki.

Leaning back in the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, laughing at something Heeseung had just said.

The golden light from the lamp softened his features, but it didn’t hide how sharp they had become — the strong jawline, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled, the way his entire body moved with a casual confidence he hadn’t had just a few years ago.

(Y/n) stared at him, really stared, and suddenly, her heart gave a small, traitorous skip.

It had never done that before.

And in that instant, she realized —

Maybe it wasn’t that Niki had changed.

Maybe it was her who was finally seeing him for who he truly was.

~~~

Of course! Here’s the continuation, keeping the emotional tone and flow consistent with your story:

After two full days of being confined to the house — much to her frustration but to the boys’ immense relief — (Y/n) was finally feeling well enough to step back into the world of university life.

Wrapped in a cozy sweater and with a strict promise to “take it easy” weighing heavily on her shoulders, she headed onto campus, the spring morning air crisp and fresh.

Yet as she walked, her thoughts weren’t on classes or exams.

They were on Niki.

Specifically, on the words that had been haunting her ever since that night in the nurse’s office.

“This is what you do for the person you love. Being in love makes you stupid.”

Had he really said it?

Or had her feverish, delirious mind invented it because deep down, she wanted it to be true?

She needed answers.

And she needed someone to help her untangle the knot that had formed in her chest — someone outside of her chaotic household, someone she could trust to be honest with her without immediately running off to tell Niki.

There was only one person she could think of.

Nicholas.

Their last conversation had been easy, natural, and she had a feeling he could help her make sense of the whirlwind inside her.

So the second she arrived at campus, she started looking around, scanning the familiar courtyard until she spotted him sitting at one of the picnic tables under a tree, laughing with two other guys she vaguely recognized — EJ and Yuma.

Without much thought, she hurried over, slowing only when she got close enough to not look desperate.

“Nicholas,” she called softly.

His blood red dyed hair bounced as he turned at the sound of his name, his easy grin lighting up his face.

“Hey, (Y/n)! Feeling better?” he asked, his tone genuinely kind.

“Yeah, a lot better, thanks,” she said quickly, shooting an apologetic smile at EJ and Yuma before adding, “Would you mind if I steal him for a little bit?”

The two boys shared a look, then chuckled, waving her off like they already knew better than to get involved.

Nicholas stood up without question, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Of course. You okay?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.

“I… don’t know,” she admitted, fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater. “That’s kind of why I need to talk to you.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, following her toward a quieter corner of campus where they could sit under the shade of a tree away from the rush of students.

Once they sat down, Nicholas gave her his full attention, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something more serious and patient.

“Alright. What’s on your mind?”

(Y/n) hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip.

How was she even supposed to bring this up without sounding ridiculous?

But Nicholas waited, no judgment in his eyes.

“It’s about Niki…” she finally said in a small voice.

Nicholas leaned back, crossing his arms loosely.

“Figured.”

She gave him a half-hearted glare, but her heart wasn’t really in it.

“I… I think he might feel something for me. I mean— I don’t know for sure. And even if he did, it’s not like I ever… I mean, he’s younger and I always just…” She trailed off, frustrated with herself.

Nicholas chuckled softly.

“(Y/n), slow down. Breathe. Talk to me.”

She did, inhaling deeply before explaining everything — the words she thought she heard, the way Niki had taken care of her, the way he had yelled at her with worry in his voice, the way he had changed in her eyes seemingly overnight.

The way her heart had jumped for the first time.

When she finished, she sat there, staring at her hands in her lap, feeling vulnerable and stupid.

Nicholas was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice gentle.

“You know… sometimes the people we’re closest to change right in front of us, and we don’t notice because we’re so stuck on how they used to be.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly, nodding.

“And honestly?” Nicholas continued with a small, knowing smile, “If you’re feeling even a little bit like your heart’s skipping because of him… doesn’t that already tell you something?”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

Nicholas shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t look at someone like that unless you care about them a lot more than just a friend. Or a kid you used to babysit.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, a lump forming in her throat.

Nicholas laughed a little to lighten the mood.

“Besides, Niki’s not exactly subtle. If you even think he said something like that about love, I’m willing to bet he meant it.”

(Y/n) bit her lip, her heart pounding.

She still didn’t know exactly what to do — but for the first time, it felt like she was seeing the path ahead a little more clearly.

Nicholas nudged her with his elbow.

“You’ll figure it out. Just… don’t take too long. Some things are worth being a little brave for.”

And as she sat there, the sun shining through the leaves above them, she realized he was right.

Maybe it was time she stopped being afraid of seeing Niki for who he had become — and maybe… for who he had always been.

~~~

What (Y/n) didn’t see — too caught up in her whirlwind of emotions as she sat talking with Nicholas under the tree — was a figure standing across the campus yard.

Niki.

He had just been on his way back from grabbing some lunch, planning to maybe — just maybe — find a way to talk to her if he spotted her.

But now, there he was, frozen in place, a bag dangling from his fingers as he watched her sitting with Nicholas, their heads bent close together, deep in conversation.

The sight made something sharp twist in his chest.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance, but he didn’t need to.

It was the way she leaned in, the way Nicholas smiled at her — relaxed, easy, familiar.

He felt the jealousy and insecurity bubble up inside him like a volcano about to erupt.

Did she like him? Was that why she had gone looking for him?

Had he lost before he even had a chance?

The irrational urge to storm across the grass and pull her away was almost overwhelming.

His fists clenched at his sides, his heart thundering in his ears.

“No,” he told himself, trying to take a deep breath. “You can’t just… pull her away like that. You don’t even know what they’re talking about.”

But the ache didn’t lessen.

Until—

He saw it.

Nicholas reaching out, ruffling (Y/n)’s hair, laughing as he did — the same way (Y/n) always ruffled his hair when she was teasing or comforting him.

And just like that, something inside Niki deflated.

Nicholas didn’t like her — at least not in that way.

The gesture was too casual, too brotherly.

It wasn’t the way you touched someone you had romantic feelings for.

Relief flooded through him, enough that his tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

But even then, a small twinge of jealousy remained, stubborn and bitter.

It wasn’t just about romance.

Nicholas could talk to her easily.

Could make her laugh.

Could listen to her worries without the complicated mess of emotions weighing every word.

And Niki wanted to be that person for her.

More than anything.

He stayed there for a while longer, watching from afar, the bag of food forgotten in his hand, before finally turning away with a heavy heart.

He would give her time.

Time to figure things out.

Time to maybe… start seeing him the way he saw her.

He could only hope she would.

~~~

Before Nicholas left to rejoin his friends, he gave her a warm, brotherly smile and said,

“If you’re really thankful, do something for him. Something that shows you see him — not as a kid, but as Niki.”

(Y/n) tucked those words into her heart like a secret treasure.

It was a great idea.

Only… what exactly should she do?

She wanted it to be perfect — something that said thank you but also quietly whispered I see you now.

She thought about buying him movie tickets — he loved going to the theater after all — but almost immediately scrapped the idea.

Too basic.

Too safe.

Too impersonal.

Niki deserved more than a quick trip to the movies.

He deserved something that really showed she had been paying attention.

Her mind buzzed with possibilities as she walked to her exam room, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the test.

By the time she sat down and the papers were handed out, her brain was running in two different directions.

One half struggled to answer questions about history and theories and dates.

The other half — the bigger half — was tangled up in thoughts of Niki.

What was his favorite thing lately?

What made him light up the way she loved seeing?

What could she give him that no one else could?

Her pen tapped restlessly against the desk, her foot bouncing under her chair.

Every few minutes, she caught herself staring off into space, lips pursed, mind painting images of Niki laughing, Niki dancing, Niki pulling her into conversation with that bright-eyed eagerness that was all his own.

At this rate, she was going to fail her exam.

But honestly?

For once, it didn’t even matter.

(Y/n) knew one thing for sure.

She needed to find the perfect way to show him she saw him.

Not as the little boy she used to babysit.

Not as the younger guy who trailed behind her and the others.

But as Niki.

Someone who mattered.

Someone she maybe — just maybe — was starting to see in a whole new light.

~~~

Even as (Y/n) pushed open the front door of the house, her mind was still a messy swirl of half-formed plans and dead ends.

She dropped her bag by the stairs and slipped her shoes off, half listening for any signs of Niki — but the house was unusually quiet.

Good.

She wasn’t ready to face him yet — not until she figured this out.

Without even thinking, her feet carried her to Sunoo’s room.

If there was anyone she could trust with this — someone who wouldn’t judge her messy feelings and would actually help her — it was Sunoo.

They were the same age, they understood each other, and most importantly, Sunoo was amazing at stuff like this.

She knocked lightly before peeking in.

“Hey… can I steal you for a second?” she asked in a small voice.

Sunoo blinked up from his phone, immediately sensing her seriousness.

Without a word, he got up and followed her into her room, where she shut the door behind them.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

(Y/n) sat beside him, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

“I need your help. It’s about Niki.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened a little, curiosity sparking instantly.

“Go on,” he urged, like he was settling in for a juicy story.

“I want to… do something for him,” she said slowly. “To say thank you. And… to show him I don’t just see him as a kid anymore.”

Sunoo’s smile softened at that.

He could see it — she was trying so hard, her heart on full display, even if she hadn’t realized it herself yet.

He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

“Okay. It has to be personal. Thoughtful. Something only you would think to give him.”

(Y/n) nodded eagerly, hopeful.

“Exactly. But I don’t know what!”

They sat in silence for a moment, until suddenly Sunoo’s face lit up like a lightbulb.

He snapped his fingers.

“His dance shoes!”

(Y/n) blinked, confused.

“What about them?”

Sunoo laughed gently.

“You haven’t seen them up close lately, have you? They’re completely worn out. He keeps meaning to get new ones but keeps putting it off. Either because he’s too busy… or because he spends his money on other people instead of himself,” Sunoo said knowingly.

(Y/n)’s heart squeezed at that.

It sounded just like Niki.

Always giving. Always putting others first.

“Buy him a new pair,” Sunoo said, grinning. “Something he can actually use — and something that shows you see the real him. The dancer. The dreamer. The guy who’s grown up right in front of you.”

(Y/n) didn’t even hesitate.

She bolted upright, grabbing her bag from the floor.

“I’m going now before the stores close!” she said, excitement rushing through her veins.

Sunoo laughed as she nearly tripped over herself on the way out.

“Make sure you pick something stylish!” he called after her.

“You know he has standards!”

“I know!” she yelled back, already halfway out the door.

The sky was darkening fast as she raced down the street, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t dare name yet.

This wasn’t just about saying thank you anymore.

This was about showing Niki — really showing him — that she saw him for everything he was.

And maybe, just maybe, it was about showing herself too.

~~~

(Y/n) practically ran the last block to the store, the “20 minutes until closing” sign glaring at her from the window as she yanked the door open, setting off the little chime above. A tired employee looked up from behind the counter but said nothing, just offered a polite nod. She gave a breathless smile in return and bolted for the back, where the athletic shoes were lined up in neat, glossy rows.

Her eyes scanned the shelves in a panic. Too flashy. Too boring. Not the right cut. Not his vibe.

It was like the clock was taunting her — every tick slicing her focus thinner.

But then — there they were.

Black with subtle gold accents, breathable but durable, made specifically for movement. They weren’t flashy, but they had personality. Stylish without screaming for attention.

Just like Niki.

She grabbed the last pair in his size, hugging the box like it was a golden trophy and practically sprinted to the register.

“Cutting it close,” the cashier joked as she rang it up.

(Y/n) gave a sheepish laugh. “I needed something perfect.”

“For a boyfriend?” the cashier teased with a knowing grin.

She hesitated… and then smiled softly.

“Something like that.”

With one minute to spare, the receipt printed, the shoes were bagged, and she was back outside — the store lights flickering off behind her as the lock clicked shut.

Standing on the sidewalk, the evening breeze brushing her face, she looked down at the bag in her hand.

A small box. But filled with so much meaning.

Please like them, she thought. Please understand what I’m trying to say.

Because this wasn’t just a thank-you gift.

This was her first real step toward showing Niki that she saw him now — not as the little boy who clung to her side all those years ago, but as the man he was becoming.

As someone who mattered to her.

She took a deep breath.

Now she just had to give them to him.

~~~

Earlier that afternoon at the University Dance Studio

The sharp beat of the music echoed through the studio as Niki spun, landed, and slid across the floor with practiced ease. Sweat clung to his neck, his breath steady but strained, his eyes locked on the mirror in front of him. The competition was just days away — everything needed to be perfect.

“From the top,” he called, trying to push through the growing ache in his arms and legs. Jungwon looked at him worriedly from across the studio but didn’t protest. Everyone knew better than to argue when Niki was like this — focused, relentless, a little bit dangerous to himself.

As the music kicked in again, Niki launched into the choreography. Halfway through the set, he pushed off for a quick jump-spin combo, but as his foot hit the ground, a sickening rip echoed beneath the music.

His body faltered.

He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself. Looking down, he saw it — the sole of his right shoe had torn completely from the upper. It flapped uselessly as he stood there, frozen.

“Niki?” Jungwon rushed to his side. “You okay?”

Niki didn’t answer. He just stared down at the ruined shoe, his jaw tightening.

“Damn it…” he muttered, voice low but sharp, like he was trying to hold in something bigger.

“You’ve had those forever,” one of the other dancers commented carefully. “Guess it was time.”

“Yeah,” Niki bit out. “Just not now.”

He dropped the shoe on the bench with more force than necessary and grabbed his bag, ignoring the looks from the others. Jungwon scrambled to follow him.

Back at the house – Present time

The front door slammed hard enough to shake the entire living room.

Heeseung jerked upright from the couch, nearly dropping his phone. “What the hell?”

Jay peeked out from his room, brow furrowed. “Is that—?”

Before either could finish their thought, Niki stormed through the house, expression thunderous, one shoeless foot only in a sock, the other still in the ruined sneaker. His dance bag was slung aggressively over his shoulder, and he didn’t say a word as he stomped past them and slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.

Jungwon entered seconds later, breathless and clearly flustered. He dropped his own bag by the door and held up his hands like he was surrendering.

“He’s pissed,” Jungwon sighed. “His shoe gave out mid-practice. Ripped all the way open.”

Heeseung winced. “No wonder he looks like he wants to murder someone.”

Jay crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe. “Can he even get new ones in time?”

“Nope. He has a full day of classes tomorrow,” Jungwon explained. “No time to go out, and he doesn’t want to skip practice, so…”

“And if he doesn’t have shoes,” Heeseung finished, “he can’t perform.”

“He said he’s not dropping out,” Jungwon muttered. “But I honestly don’t know what he’s planning.”

The three of them exchanged looks — worried, helpless ones — unsure what to do. Niki was the kind of person who didn’t ask for help, who bottled things up until he burst. And now, with the competition looming and everything else boiling beneath the surface…

“He needs a win,” Heeseung said quietly.

None of them knew that one was already on its way — wrapped neatly in tissue paper, swinging from a black paper bag in (Y/n)’s hand as she rushed home with a gift that might be more perfect than even she realized.

~~~

When (Y/n) stepped through the front door, the familiar chaotic noise of the shared living room greeted her like always — the sound of her roommates yelling over each other about which team would win the soccer match currently blasting from the TV. Jay and Heeseung were standing, practically nose to nose, arguing over a replay, while Jungwon sat on the arm of the couch like a referee, munching popcorn and trying to keep the peace.

But one person was missing.

Niki.

Normally, he’d be sitting cross-legged on the carpet, eyes locked onto the screen, fists clenched as he yelled at the players like they could hear him. But now, the spot where he always sat was empty.

Before she could ask where he was, Sunoo appeared at the end of the hallway, spotting her. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately walked toward her, grabbing her wrist gently. “Come with me.”

Without a word, (Y/n) followed him into her room. He closed the door behind them and turned to face her, voice low and serious.

“He’s in his room,” Sunoo said. “And he’s in a bad mood.”

“What happened?” she asked, concerned.

“His shoes broke. During practice. Jungwon said it happened mid-routine, and it wasn’t just a tear — the sole ripped clean off.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened. “Oh no…”

“He was already kind of on edge,” Sunoo added. “And then when he found out he doesn’t have time to buy a new pair before practice tomorrow… He stormed in here, slammed every door in his path, and hasn’t come out since.”

(Y/n) let out a long breath, her heart racing now. She glanced down at the paper shopping bag still in her hand, the new shoes tucked safely inside. She had bought them just in time.

“Sunoo,” she whispered, her voice full of disbelief. “I didn’t even know… I just— I thought it would be a nice thank you. I didn’t know he needed them.”

Sunoo smiled faintly. “Well, lucky him then.”

She nodded slowly. “Do you think… he’ll talk to me?”

Sunoo paused for a second, thoughtful. “Maybe. He probably doesn’t want to talk. But you’re you.” He gave her a look. “If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Her grip tightened on the bag.

“Thanks, Sunoo,” she said softly, and then turned toward the hallway, her pulse thudding in her ears.

She had no idea how this would go — if he’d even open the door for her. But she knew she had to try.

Because for the first time, it wasn’t just about a thank you gift. It was about showing him that she saw him — truly saw him — and that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to stop seeing him as the boy he used to be… and finally acknowledge the man he was becoming.

~~~

(Y/n) stood in front of Niki’s door for a moment, her fingers clenched tightly around the shopping bag handles. Her heart was thudding like it might break free from her chest. Finally, she lifted her hand and knocked — once, twice, soft but firm.

“Go away,” came the muffled grumble from inside. His voice was flat, defeated.

She closed her eyes briefly, then pressed her forehead gently against the door. “Niki… it’s me.”

There was silence.

Then the faint creak of bedsheets shifting. Footsteps. A pause.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Come in.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she turned the knob. As she stepped in, she instinctively tried to hide the shopping bag behind her leg, but Niki’s eyes were already on her. He was sitting on the edge of his bed now, hair messy, one socked foot bouncing in frustration. His gaze flickered to the bag, but he didn’t say anything.

(Y/n) made her way over and sat beside him. The air between them felt thick, quiet but not cold.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently, keeping her voice soft.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Bad.”

There was no point in pretending otherwise.

“I thought you might say that,” she said, her voice a little brighter this time. “So I… might have something that could cheer you up.”

He turned to look at her, skeptical but curious. “What?”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “Close your eyes first.”

He gave her a look — one that clearly said Really? — but slowly, reluctantly, he closed his eyes with a huff.

(Y/n) reached down and placed the bag into his hands. “Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can open them now.”

He opened his eyes.

Pulled apart the tissue paper.

And then he froze.

There, nestled inside the bag, was a brand-new pair of dance shoes — sleek, clean, high-performance, perfectly his style. He stared at them for a long second, like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. His fingers ran along the fabric slowly, reverently.

He didn’t speak.

“…Do you like them?” she asked, almost timidly.

His head turned to her, eyes wide. “You… how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “I just wanted to get you something to say thank you. For helping me. For staying with me. I didn’t know your old ones broke until I came home.”

Niki blinked hard, still trying to take it all in.

“I know it’s not much,” she continued, suddenly nervous. “And it doesn’t fix everything I said before, or how I—how I made you feel like a kid. But… I don’t see you that way anymore. Not really. Not after everything.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Niki carefully set the shoes aside, his fingers lingering for a second before turning fully to her.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice deeper than she remembered. “But you did. And I… I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

His expression was soft now — no longer guarded, but honest.

And for the first time, she saw him not just as someone she used to care for, but someone who had grown into himself, piece by piece, day by day.

And maybe… someone her heart was slowly starting to beat for.

Niki moved before he could think.

In a heartbeat, he reached out and wrapped his arms around (Y/n), pulling her into a sudden, desperate hug that knocked the air from her lungs. The motion sent them both toppling gently backward onto the bed, her landing half on top of him, half against the mattress.

(Y/n)’s breath caught, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his beneath her palms — his chest, broader and firmer than she remembered, reminding her once again just how much he’d changed.

She blinked, stunned, her hands splayed against him as if unsure where to go.

“You’re… hugging me,” she mumbled, a little dazed.

He didn’t let go. If anything, his arms tightened around her, holding her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

“Just for a minute,” he murmured, his voice muffled in her shoulder. “Stay. Just for a minute.”

And she did.

How could she not?

The warmth of him, the quiet rise and fall of his breath, the weight of everything unsaid hanging gently in the silence — it made her chest ache in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. Her eyes fluttered shut, her cheek resting lightly against the side of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat too, and it felt just as fast as hers.

For the first time, there was no tension, no pretending, no need for words.

Just them.

Close.

Still.

Breathing.

Together.

~~~

After a few quiet minutes, Niki finally loosened his hold, though he did so reluctantly. He wished she could stay like that — in his arms, head on his chest, fitting so perfectly like she belonged there. He had imagined this moment a thousand times in the quiet of night, wondering what it would be like to hold her like this, to be close to her without pretending he didn’t want more.

And now that it had happened, it already felt too far away.

(Y/n) slowly sat up, smoothing her shirt, her eyes lingering on him with a softness he hadn’t seen before. She smiled — small, warm, meaningful — and then stood.

She reached out her hand to him. “Come on, let’s go eat dinner. The others are probably already halfway through it.”

He looked up at her, her hand extended in front of him, her eyes waiting. For a second, he just stared — not at her hand, but at her. The way the light hit her hair, the gentle curve of her smile, the way she didn’t treat him like a kid in that moment, but as someone she wanted to be around. Maybe even needed.

And just like that, his mood shifted.

How could it not?

It was her.

So, he took her hand — without hesitation, without a word — and stood up, their fingers briefly brushing as she turned to lead him out of the room.

Of course he would follow her.

He’d follow her anywhere, if she asked.

The sound of laughter and casual bickering floated from the kitchen as they approached, the warm aroma of Jay’s cooking still lingering in the air. Heeseung was seated with Sunoo and Jungwon at the table, chopsticks in hand, arguing over who had eaten the last piece of grilled chicken, while Jake, already on his second helping, was too invested in his food to contribute.

As soon as they stepped in, all eyes shifted to them — just for a second. A subtle glance. The quiet kind of acknowledgment that didn’t need words. Maybe it was the slight flush on (Y/n)’s face, or the way Niki walked a little closer than usual, or how their shoulders almost brushed as they sat down. Whatever it was, it was noticed — especially by Sunoo, who offered her a small smile and a very knowing look across the table.

(Y/n) passed Niki a bowl of rice before serving herself. “Eat,” she said gently, nudging him. “You’ve been sulking all day.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head but accepting the food. “Only because my shoes died a dramatic death.”

“You mean exploded mid-dance move,” Jungwon muttered with a grin.

The table burst into light laughter, and the tension that had been sitting on Niki’s shoulders all day began to ease.

(Y/n) looked over at him just then — really looked — and caught him smiling again, mouth full, eyes shining, the way they used to. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, something soft blooming quietly in her chest.

She didn’t know what would happen next.

But for the first time in a while, she wanted to find out.

~~~

The last few days leading up to the competition passed in a blur — a mix of early lectures, late-night practices, stress naps, caffeine, and mounting nerves. (Y/n) had only caught glimpses of Niki in passing, but he had always offered her a small smile or a wave, and somehow, that had been enough to make her entire day feel a little lighter.

Now it was Saturday. The auditorium was buzzing with excitement, teams filling the backstage areas while the stands quickly packed with students and supporters. (Y/n) sat in the middle of their group, surrounded by Sunoo, Jay, Jake, Heeseung, and — freshly returned from a trip to see his family — Sunghoon, who was currently leaning in as Sunoo gave him a very animated rundown of everything he had missed. His eyebrows rose higher with each sentence.

“Wait—she got him shoes?” Sunghoon whispered.

Sunoo nodded eagerly. “And they cuddled.”

“Cuddled?”

“Fully horizontal.”

Jay elbowed them both. “Shut up, they’ll hear you.”

(Y/n), sitting just a few seats down, was trying to focus on the stage setup and pretend like her ears weren’t burning.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, energy was high. Music blared from a portable speaker, sneakers squeaked against tile, and sequins glinted off a few team jackets under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Niki sat at the end of a bench, lacing up his brand new shoes — the shoes (Y/n) had given him. Just the thought made his fingers slow down. They fit perfectly. They were light, flexible, made for dancing. She had really paid attention. Every time he looked at them, he felt something warm settle in his chest, no matter how nervous he was.

Jungwon flopped onto the bench beside him, stretching his arms overhead.

“You good?”

Niki shrugged. “Just… usual nerves.”

Jungwon smirked. “Well, I’ve got a deal for you.”

Niki gave him a side glance. “What kind of deal?”

“If we win this thing,” Jungwon said, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “you ask (Y/n) out.”

Niki nearly choked on air. “What?!”

Jungwon just grinned. “You heard me.”

“Are you insane?”

“She’s clearly been looking at you differently lately,” Jungwon said, nudging him with an elbow. “You’ve grown up. She sees that. You’re not the kid from two years ago.”

Niki shook his head, voice low. “She’s just being nice.”

“No, she’s not,” Jungwon countered. “You carried her to the nurse’s office like some kind of romantic anime lead. She got you shoes, man. She cares.”

Niki sat there in silence, staring down at the laces in his hands.

“She’ll say no,” he muttered.

“She might,” Jungwon admitted. “But she also might say yes.”

For a moment, all Niki could hear was the thudding of bass outside the room, the muffled cheers of the crowd, and his own heartbeat. Then he let out a shaky breath and nodded once.

“Okay. If we win, I’ll do it.”

Jungwon clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my guy.”

Just then, one of the coaches poked his head into the room. “You’re up next. Line up.”

Niki stood, rolling his shoulders back, his nerves momentarily overtaken by adrenaline. He took one last glance down at his shoes before jogging after his team, Jungwon falling into step beside him.

And somewhere in the stands, (Y/n)’s eyes scanned the stage, waiting for him to appear — completely unaware of the quiet deal that could change everything.

~~~

(Y/n)’s eyes never left the stage.

As the music started, the crowd’s energy shifted — a hush falling over the audience as the beat dropped and the team began to move. But to her, it was like no one else existed. She was completely captivated by Niki.

His movements were sharp, powerful, yet impossibly fluid — like water sculpting through air. Every motion was precise, confident, with that same fire she’d only recently noticed in him. And somewhere between a spin and a leap, he locked eyes with her. Just for a second.

Then he winked.

Her breath caught in her throat. Heat rushed to her face as her heart skipped a beat. Did anyone else see that? Her hands went to her cheeks automatically, trying to calm the sudden flush rising beneath her skin.

Sunoo leaned closer. “He winked at you, right?” he whispered with a grin.

“I—I think so?” (Y/n) stammered, not taking her eyes off Niki as he moved with such control and confidence, as if he owned the stage.

After the final pose hit and the music cut out, the crowd erupted into cheers. The entire group on stage panted, sweaty and grinning as they bowed, and then jogged off backstage. (Y/n) stood with the rest of their friends, clapping and hollering with all their strength.

The waiting period before the results felt like an eternity. The announcer took their sweet time, calling out other teams for various smaller awards first, dragging out the suspense.

Niki, backstage, paced in the hallway with Jungwon and the rest of their team, still buzzing from the performance.

“You nailed it,” Jungwon said. “Seriously, that solo? People are gonna talk about that one for weeks.”

Niki didn’t answer, his mind already jumping ahead — to (Y/n), to the wink, to the ridiculous deal Jungwon had made with him.

And then the announcer’s voice boomed across the speakers:

“And the first place winners of this year’s University Dance Showcase… Team Zenith!”

A roar exploded through the auditorium. (Y/n) shot to her feet with the others, screaming as loud as the rest of them, clapping so hard her hands stung. She turned to Jay, who was hooting beside her, then to Sunoo, who was bouncing on his toes. Her eyes finally landed on Niki again as he and Jungwon returned to the stage for the winner’s photo — and he looked straight at her, smiling from ear to ear, like he couldn’t believe it either.

Somewhere between the nerves and the thrill of victory, Niki found it. The hope.

Maybe Jungwon had been right. Maybe she had seen him. Maybe, just maybe, she’d say yes.

~~~

Now, several courses and endless rounds of chatter later, Niki found himself deep in conversation with Kei, the captain of the university’s dance team and one of the most respected upperclassmen in their department. Kei wasn’t just a skilled dancer—he was a solid mentor, calm under pressure and always able to read people better than they read themselves. Over the last few months, he and Niki had grown close. Kei had seen the way Niki danced with a different kind of energy whenever (Y/n) was in the room, had caught the glances, the silent yearning in his eyes. Niki had even confessed to him once, in a moment of vulnerability after a grueling practice, that he was in love with her—had been for a long time.

So when Niki leaned in now, animated and passionate as he recounted the adrenaline of the competition and their team’s unity, Kei listened with an amused smile.

“You were on fire out there, you know?” Kei said, swirling the ice in his glass. “I haven’t seen you dance like that in months.”

Niki laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck, “It felt different this time. Like… I had something to prove.”

Kei raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Or someone to impress?”

Niki didn’t respond to that, only looked down with a shy smile and a shake of his head.

Just then, Kei’s eyes drifted past him and softened. “You’re not even noticing, are you?”

“What?” Niki asked, confused.

Kei gave a slight tilt of his head toward Niki’s shoulder. “Look.”

Turning his head slightly, Niki’s breath caught. (Y/n)’s head was resting gently against his shoulder, her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even. Somewhere between the shared bites of food and the conversations around them, she had grown quiet and slowly dozed off.

Niki froze. Completely and utterly froze. He didn’t even dare to move his arm.

She was sleeping… on him.

His heart skipped more than one beat, the sensation of her warmth against him, her presence this close, made everything else around him fade. She looked peaceful, and her hand was loosely curled in her lap, her body turned ever so slightly toward him—as if she had naturally gravitated to where she felt safe.

Kei leaned in again, voice low. “You’ve waited for so long, Niki. I know it’s scary, but… she doesn’t treat just anyone like this. She trusts you. She’s comfortable around you. That’s not nothing.”

Niki swallowed hard, unsure what to say. His free hand rested near hers, aching to reach out, to hold it, but he stayed still.

“You think…” he whispered, barely audible. “You think I have a chance?”

Kei smiled softly. “You already had one. You just have to be brave enough to take it.”

Niki looked down at (Y/n) again. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, her lashes fanned out across her cheeks, and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She looked like home. And for the first time in a long time, he felt something warm bloom in his chest that drowned out the doubt.

He didn’t know what would happen next. But in that moment—sitting there with the girl he’d loved for what felt like forever, her head on his shoulder and Kei’s words echoing in his mind—he finally began to believe that maybe, just maybe, this story wasn’t one-sided after all.

~~~

The cool night air wrapped around them as they walked side by side, the soft hum of laughter from their roommates fading ahead as the group slowly made their way back home. The streetlights cast a golden glow across the pavement, their shadows stretching behind them in rhythm with each step.

(Y/n) had just woken from her nap not long ago, still slightly groggy but smiling as she listened to Niki talk. Their conversation meandered from silly jokes to random memories—things they’d both long forgotten but now laughed about like it was yesterday. It was easy, it was natural. Like it always was with him.

But even as he joked with her, Niki’s mind was racing. His heart beat too fast. His palms felt clammy. Every step brought them closer to the house—and closer to him missing his chance.

Then, just a few minutes from their street, he reached out without thinking and gently grabbed her hand.

She stopped, her head tilting slightly as she looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Niki didn’t answer at first. He was looking at their hands, hers soft in his, fitting perfectly like they were always meant to be there. He forced himself to look up, into her eyes, the nerves threatening to choke his words before they could leave his mouth.

“I…” he started, then paused, inhaling deeply. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Something I’ve been holding back for a while.”

(Y/n)’s expression shifted—curious, attentive.

Niki’s voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “I know we’ve been… close for a long time. And I know I haven’t always acted like someone worth taking seriously. But these last few weeks, I’ve realized just how much you mean to me.”

He looked down again, then back at her with a determined softness in his eyes.

“So… if you’re not already seeing someone, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime. Like… a real date.”

The words hung between them in the silence, fragile and full of hope.

Niki waited, heart thundering in his chest, eyes locked on hers, afraid to breathe too loud and scare the moment away.

(Y/n) stood frozen for a heartbeat, eyes searching his. Her mind was still catching up with her heart—two weeks ago, this would’ve seemed ridiculous. Just two weeks ago, she still saw him as the eager, wide-eyed kid who used to follow her around, begging for more playtime, grinning whenever she ruffled his hair. She had clung to that version of him because it was familiar, safe… easy.

But now?

Now she saw him. The real him.

The one who had stayed by her side when she was sick. Who remembered the smallest details she hadn’t even realized she’d told him. Who held her with such gentleness and conviction that she felt safe in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The boy was gone. In his place stood someone who had grown up right in front of her, someone patient, kind, and quietly brave.

Her eyes drifted down to where he was still holding her hand. She brought her other hand to it, cupping his palm gently in both of hers. It was warm—larger than hers, strong, but still soft. Familiar and new all at once.

She could feel how tense he was, holding his breath like the world was hinging on what she’d say next.

And maybe… it was.

She looked up at him, her heart suddenly calm in the center of its storm.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Niki blinked. “Wait—yes?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, Niki. I’d love to go out with you.”

His breath finally released in a shaky laugh, his whole body relaxing like he’d just been told he could breathe again. The glow from the streetlights danced in his eyes as he grinned—wide and boyish but unmistakably different. Older. Real.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

(Y/n) chuckled softly. “Well… you finally got your answer.”

And hand in hand, they took the final steps home, hearts full and lighter than ever before.

129 notes · View notes

illyrianbitch · 2 hours ago

Text

Somewhere, There Was Love

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel meets you on a Saturday. He loses you on one, too.

Warnings: angst, some hurt/comfort, slow burn in reverse, bittersweet ending, love and everything broken it brings

Word Count: 3k

For @sjmxreaderweek Day 1: Beginnings/Endings

re-read one of my fav works of mine and got tempted to write in present tense again. enjoy this last min work <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Some poets argue that the greatest stories end in the same place they began.

Azriel is’t sure what he thinks about that— what he thinks about poets, and poetry, and pretty words in general.

He only knows this: He met you on a Saturday. And he lost you on one, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s evening when Azriel sees you for the first time.

He’s trailing behind his family, half-listening to Cassian grumble about something or other as they stroll through the River District. His wings ache, the sky’s too blue, and he’s already planning how to disappear before dinner even starts. That’s when his shadows twitch, a subtle ripple of attention tugging him slightly off course.

Your eyes lift at the same time his do. You meet.

You’re standing across the street, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. Your hair catches in the wind and your sleeves are rolled up past your elbows. There’s a smudge of dust on your cheek.

For one, suspended second, you hold each other’s gaze. There’s nothing dramatic about it, not really—no lightning bolt, no crackling bond. Just a glance. But it hooks something in his chest.

He thinks, absurdly, that you must be a dream.

He almost asks if you need help. Almost. But Cassian shouts his name, and by the time Azriel turns back, you’re gone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You arrive with Feyre a week later.

She introduces you as her friend. A traveler who’s decided to settle in Velaris—for now.

“She’s been all over,” Feyre says. “Autumn, Day, even parts of the mortal lands.”

“I like movement,” you explain. “The idea of not belonging anywhere.”

Azriel watches the way you speak. The way your eyes flick toward him sometimes, like you remember him from that moment in the street. Like it meant something to you, too.

After what feels like forever, Feyre steers you straight to him.

You smile at him like you know exactly what she’s doing. There’s amusement behind your eyes, mischief curling at the corners of your mouth. “Hi.”

Azriel’s shadows still. And his heart—traitorous, stupid heart—stutters. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Cass elbows him.

“Azriel,” he says, holding out a hand. He’s never done that so naturally. “Nice to meet you.”

You shake his hand and hold his gaze. “I saw you when I was moving in.”

Azriel nods, caught.

“You didn’t offer to help.”

“I almost did.”

Your smile deepens. “Almost doesn’t lift boxes.”

He’s never felt his shadows this interested in anyone before. They lean forward, curious. So does he. He’ll think about this later. How simple it all seemed. How dangerous it already was.

He knows, deep down, that he’s a goner.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You start showing up more.

Azriel considers you a friend, even.

Dinner invitations. Walks. Late nights spent sitting near each other while everyone else is loud and laughing. You tease him, lightly at first, then with more confidence. Azriel isn’t used to someone challenging him like that. You laugh at his dryness, at the way he reacts. He finds himself smiling more than he ever has.

One night, you brush your foot against his under the table. A test. He doesn’t move away. You tilt your head. He mirrors you. There’s a private smile between you, and Azriel feels young. Reckless. Seventeen again.

That night, he tells you you’re beautiful.

He means it like a prayer.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first kiss comes two weeks later. Azriel isn’t sure if thats fast or slow for him. Time doesn’t really exist when it comes to you, he’s noticed. It never feels real.

You’re sitting beside him on the roof of your apartment.

You talk about the world. About places you want to go, cities you want to see. Azriel listens like he always does—with everything he has.

“It’s fun,” you say, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder. “To think about all the places you and I can go.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. "It is."

He turns to look at you. Your eyes are already on him, and there's something soft there. Something he thinks might be meant just for him.

He kisses you then. Slowly. It feels like he’s beginning to learn the language of you.

And when you pull away, breathless, you whisper, “You taste like rain.”

He kisses you again.

You make a small noise of contentment and curl your fingers in his shirt. He thinks, for a terrifying, beautiful second, that he could love you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You redecorate all the time. Az thinks its funny—how unattached you are to furniture, how quickly your possessions cycle out of your hold.

He helps you carry a shelf upstairs, and you thank him with a crooked smile and a story about the city you lived in before this one. You always talk like you're halfway out the door, like everywhere is temporary. But still, you stay for now.

He flies with you one night. You giggle against his chest at the way the wind tickles your skin. You land on the roof of a nearby apartment, your knees brushing as his shadows curl protectively around your shoulders.

You talk about traveling again. How you want to see every court, every continent. You tell him about the sea-glass beaches of the Summer Court, the northern stars in Winter, the caves in the wilds.

You want to see everything. “Even the places no one thinks are beautiful,” you say. “Because I think they are.”

Azriel listens. Nods. Smiles when you do.

You don’t notice that he never once says he wants to go.

He doesn’t know if you’ll ask him to come.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say if you do.

It’s all a fantasy anyway.

So he just says, “Tell me where we’d go first.”

And you do.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He finds a small bag in your closet one night. Just sitting there. Like it’s been packed for a while.

“You going somewhere?” he asks.

“I always keep one ready.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “In case I wake up one day and the air feels wrong.”

Azriel doesn’t ask if you’ve ever done it before. He doesn’t want to know the answer. But it sits with him for days, like some sort of warning. Some sort of promise.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall asleep on the couch beside him. Head tipped toward his shoulder.

Azriel doesn’t move for a long time. Not even to breathe too deeply. As if the whole room might shift and you’ll wake. Or worse—vanish.

His shadows curl toward you and brush lightly against your hair. One of them flicks your wrist like it’s counting the beat of your pulse.

You don’t stir.

You trust him. That knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

Azriel gently reaches down, brushing a hand over your temple. He’s going to miss this moment. It’s already a memory.

He thinks—not for the first time—that he should leave. Walk away before it means something he can’t undo. Before you mean something more.

But his shadows refuse.

They’ve already decided.

And Azriel is starting to think he has, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall into a rhythm. Slow mornings. Rooftop evenings. Shared coffees. He reads journal entries you’re too shy to show anyone else. You sketch him once, from memory, and it unnerves him how well you capture the softness he tries to hide.

He tells you that you smell like smoke and sweet things. You kiss him in the quiet of his room. He starts keeping your favorite fruit in his kitchen. His nightstand looks like you.

“I’d like to disappear,” you say one night, sprawled across him. “Just pick a direction and keep walking until it feels like enough.”

“You’d get tired,” he murmurs.

“Maybe. But I’d get free, too.”

He falls asleep to your breathing, only to wake up an hour later. You’re still lying on his chest, fingers trailing across his exposed skin. His shadows are asleep and he can barely pry an eye open.

It’s funny how exhausted he is around you. In a good way. He’s never slept this good.

You trace shapes—stars, maybe. Then words.

“What are you drawing?” he murmurs.

“Nothing important.” He feels the pull in your cheeks as you smile against his skin. A teasing, little thing.

He tugs you closer, closes his eyes, and welcomes sleep again.

Before he succumbs to the darkness, he focuses on the pattern of your fingertips. You’re writing something. Words. He can’t help it. He decodes them.

I love you.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, afraid to breathe, afraid to say it out loud and shatter it. But he feels it. Deep in his bones.

And the feeling already hurts.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s an early morning when he says something dry and sarcastic. You roll your eyes and call him a liar. He doesn’t deny it. You lean forward and say, “You’re not nearly as mysterious as you want everyone to believe.”

And then you kiss him.

He smiles into this kiss, as he always does now, and his hands come up, fingers curling around your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His shadows wrap around you both like instinct.

Later, he tells you that being with you has made him afraid in a way he’s never been before. You frown and ask him why.

He tells you the truth. He’s never had anything of his own to lose.

You tell him, “Yeah. Me too.”

You make love that night and Azriel finds himself memorizing every part of your body— every sound, every movement. Like he knows, somewhere in his bones, he is bound to lose you.

Azriel has always loved like this—as if time is already running out. He holds joy like it’s a ghost.

That night he says, “Stay.”

You blink. “I am. I’m spending the night.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are wide and pleading. He’s sure he looks like a hopeful child. “No,” he says, “You know what I mean.”

Your brow furrows. You still. Think. Then answer, “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Just—stay.”

You stare at him for a long time. Then nod.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The cracks start small.

You ask him where he’s going. He says he doesn’t know. Just a lead. Just a hunch. You tell him that it worries you. That he can’t expect you to be okay with these constant missions.

He says, “I’ll be fine.”

You say, “You don’t know that.”

He tells you he’d never leave you. You say, “You do. Every time you walk out that door. And I’m not always going to be here when you come back.”

Azriel pretends he doesn’t hear it. For both of your sakes. He goes on the mission anyways.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Still, you stay. Because when it’s good, it’s so good. Azriel cooks you breakfast. You read to him while he sharpens his blades. He writes little notes and slips them into your journals.

You teach him how to write poetry. He never lets anyone else read it.

One night, Azriel props himself up on one elbow.

“Okay,” he says, grinning proud and pink-cheeked. “I think, if we had a daughter, she'd be dramatic. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Tiny. Stubborn. Would boss me around.”

“She sounds amazing,” you say, a little breathless.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I’d marry you, you know.”

You swallow hard enough for Az to track the movement.

“I’d marry you tomorrow.”

The wine is burning in his chest. He doesn’t look away. “We could do it barefoot. Somewhere stupid. I wouldn’t care. I just want—”

You kiss him before he finishes. Az keeps his eyes closed, floats in this dream of a life, as you murmur against his lips, “The Autumn court has beautiful chapels.”

You’re happy like this, Azriel thinks. Even when there’s a slight fantasy to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You don’t go to dinner with his family. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t realized it before Rhysand brings it up.

Azriel asks, “Are you coming tonight?” while pulling on a jacket.

You don’t look up from the book in your hands. “No, I’m alright.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for you to feel it settle. Then—

“You don’t like them,” he says. Not a question.

You sigh. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

You close the book. “They’re your people, Azriel. Not mine.”

“I thought you were friends with Feyre.”

“I’m friendly with Feyre.”

He frowns. “That’s different.”

“I know.”

Az studies you. “I’m not trying to be cruel,” you say. “But this isn’t my home.”

Something shifts in him — not all at once, but a tilt. A slow dawning. He realizes, maybe for the first time, that you don’t want it to be.

Later, in bed, he turns toward you and whispers, “I used to think I liked being alone, too.”

You smile at the ceiling. “You don’t.”

Silence again.

“I need them,” he says eventually. “I need my family.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He wants to ask if you have anyone like that. Wants to ask why you don’t need anyone the way he does. But he already knows you won’t answer. Not out loud.

So he doesn’t ask. It’s probably some answer about how you’re bound to leave, anyways.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re concentrating awfully hard,” you muse, propping your chin in your hands. “It’s just a silly report, baby.”

“It’s not just a report,” Azriel mutters, still focused, his eyes never leaving the paper. “And you’re in my light.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “In your light? And here I thought I was the light of your life.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, eyes narrowed as he shifts the paper to the side. But his lips twitch, just slightly. He likes when you say things like that. When you acknowledge that, maybe, you have an important place in his life. Somewhere you fit.

You shift closer. “It must take an incredible amount of focus,” you muse, “I mean, what if you get distracted?”

“Won’t happen.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, considering. “You don’t get distracted?”

“Never.”

“Even if I do this?”

You lean in, tracing your fingers over the ridges of his spine. Your fingers wander further, brushing over the sensitive base of his wings.

A slow inhale escapes him, but still, he doesn’t falter.

You lean closer, close enough that your lips nearly graze his ear as you whisper, “What about now?”

Azriel’s movements still.

Without warning, he turns, his wings flaring slightly, blocking your view of the table as he cages you in with his body.

His duties are long forgotten as he pushes you back onto his bed and devours you for the night. The way you say his name makes him shiver. Tonight, though, it also makes him sad. He’s mourning, he realizes. He’s preparing himself for a loss.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Az traces the beginning of the end back to a stormy Thursday night.

It’s two in the morning when he comes back home. To your apartment. Not his. He stops in the doorway. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket still on, staring at the floor.

You don’t look up. “Were you going to tell me?”

Azriel hesitates. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It was a suicide mission.”

“I knew I’d make it out.”

“But what if one day you can’t?”

Silence.

You let out a quiet laugh. “How can you be so sure of yourself and still hate yourself like this?”

He flinches. He doesn’t think that’s a fair thing to say. “You’re angry.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then come to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I’m not that kind of tired.”

Azriel kneels. Reaches for your hand. You pull away.

“You keep doing this,” you say. “Throwing yourself into these dangerous missions, acting like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s what I’m meant to do.”

“No. It’s what you’ve convinced yourself you’re only good for.”

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you like he’s hearing it for the first time.

“Love’s not enough if you don’t want to stay alive for it. What's the point of staying for a ghost?”

Azriel apologizes. You send him on his way and, for the first time in months, he lays awake in his own bed. Alone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There’s a lull. You try. You both do. He brings you dinner. You sit on his lap and kiss his cheek and he murmurs that he loves you before making love to you like you’re something holy, something divine, and he’s desperate for salvation.

But he’s always leaving. And you’re always waiting. Azriel knows it can’t last. Waiting is not in your nature. Not really. You’ve been inching toward the door for weeks. He’s been pretending not to notice. Pretending not to feel it.

Until one day, you sit across from each other, knees barely touching. And neither of you has the energy to lie about it anymore.

You say, “This isn’t working.”

He nods. There are tears in your eyes and he’s not sure if he’s allowed to wipe them when they fall.

Azriel says, “But I love you.”

“I know,” you say. “I love you too.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because love wasn’t enough. Because it was love. So much love. And still—

He thought heartbreak would be louder. More cinematic. Shouting or slamming doors. But it’s this: A quiet room. Your knees touching. And the terrible understanding that you both meant it—all of it.

Azriel doesn’t cry.

He just sits there, blinking. Wondering why his chest feels cracked open and hollow and free, all at once. How grief and relief can sit beside each other like old friends.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s Saturday evening when Azriel sees you again.

It’s been weeks since that night.

He’s walking beside his family—shoulder to shoulder with Cassian, wings stretched and taking up space as they pass through the River District. The sky is a perfect, boundless blue. His shadows drift lazily in the sunlight.

He’s already smiling. It's a family dinner night. They’re having his favorite —Nyx’s favorite now, too. The boy has begged to help make it, and Azriel is going to let him, even if half the sauce will end up on the floor. Az is excited for his hands to smell like basil and roasted garlic for the rest of the night.

Then his shadows stir—not with warning, but recognition.

Azriel glances across the street.

You’re standing there, sleeves rolled up, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. There’s a smudge of something on your cheek. You laugh at something someone says, head thrown back in that way he used to love. Still does, maybe. A little.

Your eyes lift and meet his. A quiet ache settles in Azriel’s chest. Not the sharp kind it used to be. Not grief that grips the ribs or hollows him out. Just something soft. Lingering.

For one suspended second, he sees you as you are — happy. Free. You smile at him, and he breathes through it. He smiles back.

Cassian calls his name. Azriel turns, says something back, distracted. And when he glances over again, you’re gone. Just like the first time.

He never sees you again.

Eventually, he stops searching for your face in crowded streets.

But sometimes—when the air is quiet and the night feels like a memory—he lets himself think of you. Wonders where you are. If you found a place to settle. If you're happy.

He hopes you are. And he hopes he never hears about it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: it feels diff when i write in present v past tense. like past tense is my usual writings, fun little stories with fun lil plots. present tense always makes me sad and nostalgic, strangely enough

i'm a bit scatter-brained rn bc of some family issues, but yall best believe ill post all my random wips soon!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon @glam-targaryen

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @yesiamthatwierd @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@feyretopia @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna

@anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

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@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls @louisa-harrier

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction

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bangtanbeom · 3 days ago

Text

’*•.¸undeniably yours¸.•*’ 3

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧ pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff (this part leans more to angst) , strangers to friends to ? , college AU, slow burn (trying to), summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. w/c: ~4.2k warnings: not entirely proofread, couple of curse words, bit angsty a/n: i still can't thank everyone enough! your comments, reblogs and likes make me sososo happy. i check and reread every comment at least 10 times a day <3 i was so deep in my own imagination while writing this, that i made it more angsty than i wanted to, i'm sorry. i really wanted to make an all fluff story for once, but i guess i like pain, agony and drama, i did enjoy writing it but sorrysorry oops LOVE LANGUAGE IS FINALLY OUT AAAA i pulled an allnighter for this while writing and waiting, im going to bed now bye <3 taglist: for the cuties who wanted to be tagged <3 @thearcherbeomgyu | @georgeweasleys-gf | @urfavmaknae | @eumpappasmom | @jisungooner |

the sunlight poured through the cafe's large windows, painting stripes of gold over wooden tables. outside the cherry blossoms filled the street, their petals swirling like confetti against the blue sky. a girl sat across from him, her fingers curled around the edges of his notebook like she owned it. her smile as bright as the sun combined with her effortless beauty.

and beomgyu—

he was smiling—not his usual lopsided grin, but something softer, intentional, his fingers tapping the table to a rhythm only they seemed to know.

your stomach twisted.

soobin nudged you. "they've been working on that song for weeks. it's good."

"cool," you said, too quickly. the words tasted sour.

you turned to the counter, where the barista—who knew your order by heart—was already sliding a steaming mug your way.

"banana latte, extra cinnamon," she said with a wink. "he paid ahead. said you'd need it after your exam."

the mug burned your palms. he'd remembered. of course he had. beomgyu always remembered—the way you took your drink, your fear of the dark, the fact that you hated studying for exams alone.

you took a sip. it was perfect.

and it made you furious.

because right then, he was leaning toward the girl, his brow furrowed in that way it only did when he was truly listening, and—

she reached out.

just a brush of her fingers against his wrist, a fleeting thing. but beomgyu didn't pull away.

your throat tightened. the sweet latte tasted bitter on your tongue.

you set the mug down too hard, the sound drowned out by the cafe's chatter.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "you okay?"

"perfect," you lied. "but i have to go."

the door jingled again as you left, the warmth of the latte still lingering on your palms.

your feet carried you blindly through the streets, past laughing couples and slow-walking tourists. the world snapped into clarity—the too-loud scrape of a chair against the pavement, the shriek of a child's laughter, the sound of a text notification that wasn't his.

you pulled out your phone. unlocked it. closed it.

unlocked it again.

you found it. the girl's instagram was right there. you told yourself you wouldn't.

but you did.

her latest post was a blurry shot of sheet music spread across a cafe table—our table—with beomgyu's hands just visible in the corner.

your thumb hovered over the photo. if you clicked it, you'd see his comment. if you didn't, you'd imagine it.

so you imagined it.

the replay in your head was worse than the actual moment.

the way she touched his notebook, the cherry blossoms swirling outside, through the window behind them—looking like a scene from a romantic drama.

the notebook—the same notebook with your stupid doodles in the margins, the one he'd shoved at you last week with a grin,

"write something here. make it deep."

his smile. not the teasing one, not the one he used as armor—the real one. the one you thought—

no. it doesn't mean anything.

so what if he was sitting next to her? so what if she touched his wrists?

it didn't have to mean anything.

you'd seen him like that a hundred times—laughing with soobin, nodding along to some professor's rambling, humming under his breath while he scribbled lyrics.

this wasn't different. was it?

you kicked a pebble. it skittered across the sidewalk and smacked into a trash can with a hollow clink.

your stomach twisted, over and over again.

why did it bother you so much?

you were just friends.

the friend who stole his hoodies and laughed at his stupid jokes. the one who noticed the way his voice softened when he was tired, or the way his fingers tapped restless rhythms against his thigh when he was thinking.

just—

your steps faltered.

oh.

oh no.

this wasn't just annoyance. this wasn't just friendship.

this was—

no. no. no.

you couldn't. you wouldn't.

because if you admitted it, even to yourself, everything would change, and you couldn't lose him. you couldn't.

unbelievable.

you were overreacting.

maybe you were just tired. maybe you were reading into things. maybe the way your chest ached when he smiled at her was just—

indigestion.

this wasn't jealousy. it couldn't be.

except your chest tightened when he smiled at her.

your phone buzzed, a notification lit up your screen.

beomgyu: you left?

the three dots appeared. disappeared. so did your breath.

then—

nothing.

you stared blankly at your textbook, the words swimming before your eyes. your phone buzzed for the third time in twenty minutes, the screen lighting up with another message from beomgyu. you didn't need to look to know what it said—another attempt at his usual banter, another question—another attempt to close the distance that was created by you.

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. last week, you would have responded with a sarcastic joke or ridiculous meme. now, your thumbs moved mechanically.

you: sorry, busy studying. talk later.

you hit send before you could second-guess yourself, immediately feeling the emptiness of the words. the message stared back at you, its distant tone—a stark contrast to the colorful, emoji-filled exchanges that used to fill your chat history.

beomgyu sat in his apartment room floor, guitar resting on his lap. his phone screen lit up as your message appeared, his chest tightening at your short response.

soobin watched from his bed seeing the way his roommate's shoulder slumped slightly.

"still nothing?" soobin asked gently, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in sympathy.

beomgyu shook his head, thumbs brushing over his phone screen.

"she's just... different now." he forced a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "maybe i finally annoyed her into hating me."

beomgyu tried to rationalize it.

maybe you were stressed about midterms. maybe you were mad at him for something he didn't remember doing. maybe you were just tired.

but then—

you stopped sitting next to him in lectures.

you stopped laughing at his jokes.

you stopped looking at him.

and that—that stung.

one afternoon, he cornered you after class, blocking your exit with his body, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "did i do something?"

you blinked. "what?"

"you've been avoiding me."

your throat tightened. "i haven't."

"bullshit." he rolled his eyes, his tone light-hearted, but lingered with a slight tone of frustration—desperation, maybe.

you forced a weak laugh.

his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn't know if he was allowed anymore.

beomgyu exhaled, his cheerful facade slightly disappearing, he was running a hand through his hair. "just—tell me what i did."

you didn't do anything. it's me.

you opened your mouth. closed it.

beomgyu's jaw tightened, not able to hide his expression anymore. "if you don't want to be friends anymore, just say it."

your chest ached.

"that's not—" you cut yourself off, shaking your head. "i don't—"

i don't want to just be friends.

the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken.

beomgyu waited, hurt, concern, written over his face.

but you couldn't do it.

you gently pushed his body to the side. "i'm just really busy. i have to go."

campus was nearly empty. you didn't expect him to find you.

but of course he did.

because this was beomgyu. and beomgyu always found you.

when he found you sitting on a bench, your back against the sun-warmed brick wall. he approached with caution, holding two iced coffees like a white flag—almost looking like a peace offering.

"thought you could use this," he said, offering you the drink, the condensation dripped onto his fingers as he waited for you to take it.

you accepted the cup automatically, the cold shocked against your palm mirroring the discomfort twisting in your stomach. "thanks," you murmured, setting it beside you on the bench without taking a sip.

beomgyu's smile faltered. he took a long sip from his own cup just to have something to do with his hands.

"so... that midterm was brutal, huh? i swear, the professor takes pleasure in our suffering."

"yeah," you nodded without looking up from your notebook. "brutal."

silence stretched between you, thick and unfamiliar. beomgyu shifted his weight from foot to foot, the usual easy rhythm of your conversation nowhere to be found.

he tried again, forcing lightness into his voice, "you know, if you keep giving one-word answers, i'm going to start charging you per syllable."

the joke landed with a thud. you offered a weak smile. "sorry. just tired."

he studied your face—the way you avoided his gaze. the tense set of your shoulders. this wasn't tired. this was something else entirely. the realization settled heavy in his chest—you were pulling away, and he didn't understand why.

spring showers—the rain pattered against the music building's windows as you hurried down the hallway, desperate to make your next class on time. the sound of familiar laughter made you freeze mid-step.

through the practice room's small window, you saw beomgyu sitting at the piano, the same girl from the cafe perched beside him. her fingers danced over the keys as he leaned in to point at something in the sheet music, his face alight with that particular enthusiasm he only got when talking about music.

their heads bent close together, her dark hair brushing against his shoulder as she laughed at something he said. you watched, rooted to the spot, as beomgyu reached out to adjust her hand positions on the keys, his touch lingering onto hers just a second too long—in your opinion.

the scene burned itself into your retinas. you turned away sharply, your chest aching with something too close to jealousy for comfort. this was ridiculous. you had no claim on him. no right to feel this way.

yet the image followed you all the way to class—his easy smile, their comfortable closeness. the way he looked at her with none of the awkwardness that had crept into his interactions with you recently.

but this was what you wanted—the moment you decided to create that same distance between the two of you.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you weren't supposed to care this much, but here you were—again—lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers, replaying every stupid interaction, every laugh, every moment that had somehow led you here—to this.

you groaned, pressing the heels of your hand into your eyes until stars burst behind your lids.

idiot.

you had one job—keep things simple. keep things easy. and what did you do?

you went and fell for him.

the same person who still laughed with milk dripping down his chin, who stole your fries just to get a reaction, who looked at you like you were the only person in the room even when the room was full.

the same boy who was probably sitting in a cafe—strumming his guitar—with her, smiling like she'd hung the stars.

you squeezed your eyes shit.

stop.

but you couldn't

because the truth was, you hated this. the way your stomach twisted when you thought about him, the way your chest ached when he texted someone else. hated that you'd become that person—the one who reads too much into every glance, every touch, every stupid banana milk he handed you like it meant something.

and you messed up.

because right now, every time he looked at you, you froze, every time he joked, you forced a laugh. every time he tried to close the distance, you moved away.

and he noticed. of course he did.

and instead of fixing it, instead of just telling him—you ran.

"hey, by the way, i think i might be in love with you, and now i can't even look at you without wanting to scream. cool, right?"

no.

that wasn't happening.

because the second you said it out loud, everything would change. you couldn't—wouldn't—risk losing him. not when he meant this much.

so you did the only thing you could.

you pulled away, trying to get rid of those feelings.

and now, here you were—lying in bed, hating yourself for being weak, for being scared, for being the one who ruined the best thing you'd ever had.

all because you were stupid enough to fall for him.

your phone buzzed. again.

you didn't need to look to know who it was.

beomgyu—always beomgyu.

you sat back against the couch, the faint scent of him still clinging to the fabric of the hoodie he'd left behind.

the knock on your apartment door was sharp—impatient. you barely had time to set down your mug before your sister let herself in, her coat slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

"you're ignoring mom's calls," she announced, toeing off her shoes. "and don't say you're 'busy'."

you groaned, flopping back onto the couch.

she flopped beside you, stealing your half-eaten bag of chips. "is this about that guy? beomgyu?" the way she said his name—like it was a secret she'd caught you writing in a diary—made your throat tighten.

"no," you said too quickly. "we're just friends."

she raised a brow. "the kind of friend you ignore calls for?" she smirked. "or the kind you like?"

you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, averting your gaze. "god, you're so delusional. he's just—" you waved a hand, scrambling for the right word.

annoying. loud. not at all the kind of person who makes your chest ache when he laughs.

"—he's a friend. barely. more like a nuisance."

"a nuisance who brought you banana milk every morning?"

"a nuisance who's super clingy," you snapped, harsher than intended. the words tumbled out, desperate—like if you said them loud enough, you'd believe them. "he's everywhere, all the time, with his stupid jokes and his stupid grin—"

"wow." your sister blinked. "you hate him that much?"

"yes."

no.

"he's insufferable." you continued, your voice cracking. "i could never—never—fall for someone like him." a mocking laugh escaped from your lips. yet the lie burned your tongue.

a moment of silence. then—

a floorboard creaked.

your blood turned to ice. your sister's eyes flicked to the door—then back to you, wide with realization.

she forgot to close it.

your stomach dropped. slowly, you turned. the door was slightly ajar. not enough to notice at first, but enough to see the shadow retreating. enough to hear the muffled thud of someone stumbling back.

no.

you lunged forward, yanking the door open—

rain. empty hallway.

and a single, half—crushed banana milk carton abandoned on your welcome mat.

the silence was unbearable.

beomgyu had stopped texting you. no more random updates, memes. no more banana milk left on your doorstep. completely nothing.

you'd catch yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact, only to pull away.

you didn't know what to say.

"sorry i lied about hating you?" "sorry i ran?"

pathetic. you tried texting him—once, twice, a hesitant "hey", then a more desperate "can we talk?"

no response.

worse—the new semester has started, this time he wasn't in any of your shared classes. he wasn't at the cafe. he wasn't anywhere. it was like he'd vanished, and the realization made your stomach twist.

you might have ruined everything already.

the thought clawed at you—what if he was done? what if he'd finally realized you weren't worth the trouble?

you considered going to his apartment, but the fear stopped you. you weren't sure if he even wanted to see you. maybe he would shut the door in your face, his eyes cold in a way you'd never seen before.

you were sitting on a bench outside the library, staring blankly at your untouched coffee, when someone cleared their throat.

you looked up to see soobin standing there, his usual easygoing expression gone—replaced with a sharp expression.

"wow," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "you look about as happy as beomgyu these days."

your fingers tightened around the coffee cup. "what do you—"

"save it," he cut in, plopping down beside you with enough force to make the bench creak. "i'm not here to play therapist. but someone needs to knock some sense into one of you, and since he's currently wallowing in our living room like some tragic romance protagonist, that leaves you."

your breath caught.

soobin raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. "do you have any idea how annoying it is to live with him right now? the sulking, sighing? the way he keeps opening his damn phone, staring at it for five minutes, then throwing it across the couch?" he shot you a look. "and don't even get me started on the guitar playing at 3 a.m."

the words settled heavily in your chest.

"i don't know what happened between you," soobin continued, his voice losing some of its edge, "but it's been over a week. a whole week of this... whatever this is." he turned to face you fully. "so here's my question—are you going to fix it, or do i need to start hiding his guitar?"

you swallowed hard. "is he... does he hate me?"

soobin barked out a laugh. "if he hated you, do you think he'd still be keeping banana milk in our fridge? if he hated you, would i be finding him walking around in your unwashed hoodies, that still has your scent?" he leaned in.

"use your head."

the lump in your throat grew heavier. you stared at the dark liquid in your cup, watching the light reflect off its surface.

soobin dragged both hands down his face with an exasperated sigh, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension left them. when he spoke again, his voice had lost its sharp edge, replaced by weary sincerity.

"look," he said, rubbing his temple, "i'm not trying to be an ass about this. but you two..." he made a vague gesture between you and the general direction of his apartment. "this whole thing is ridiculous. just go talk to him, okay?"

he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing through it before turning the screen toward you. a recent photo of beomgyu filled the display—slumped over his guitar in their living room, hair messier than usual, crumpled sheets of paper scattered on the floor.

"see this?" soobin tapped the screen. "this is what avoiding each other looks like. and frankly? i'm tired of this."

he pocketed his phone and gave you one last, long look. "so do us all a favor and end this weird standoff before i lose any more sleep and break his guitar."

as he walked away, you noticed his steps were slower now, less agitated than when he'd arrived. the fight had gone out of him, leaving only exhausted concern in its wake.

you stared down at your coffee, the cream forming pale islands in the dark liquid. the bench creaked slightly in the breeze, the empty space beside you suddenly feeling vast and hallow. somewhere across the campus, a guitar chord rang out, or maybe you just imagined it. either way, your fingers curled tighter around the cooling cup.

you missed him.

your phone screen glared back at you—another unanswered text, another call that went straight to voicemail.

you tried catching him between classes, lingering by his usual haunts—the library, the cafe, even the music practice rooms. but he was always either just leaving or already gone, slipping through campus like a ghost.

so you did the only thing left.

you went to his apartment.

the walk there felt endless, your pulse hammering with every step. what if he refused to see you? what if he looked at you with that same cold distance that had settled between you?

this was your fault, so you had to fix it.

your fingers tugged nervously at the sleeve of your sweater, the fabric stretching under your grip.

you raised your hand to knock—hesitated—then forced yourself to do it before you lost your nerve.

the door swung open.

soobin stood there, eyebrows lifting in surprise before he nodded. his expression shifting into a knowing look. he didn't say a word, just stepped aside, grabbing his jacket from the hook in one smooth motion.

"beomgyu is in his room," he said simply, shrugging into his coat. "i'll be gone for a while."

you opened your mouth—to thank him, to ask him to stay, you weren't sure—but he was already brushing past you, tossing a quiet, "don't overthink it," over his shoulder before the door clicked shut behind him.

silence.

the apartment smelled faintly of banana milk and guitar polish mixed with his cologne. a half-empty carton sat on the counter, next to a crumpled bag of the chips you always teased him for eating too much of.

your chest ached.

you took a shaky breath and walked down the short hallway, stopping in front of his door. music played softly from the other side—a familiar melody, one you'd heard him hum absentmindedly before.

you knocked. the music stopped.

a beat of silence.

"yeah. come in."

his voice was quiet. rough.

you turned the knob and stepped inside.

the door creaked as you pushed it open.

beomgyu sat on the edge of his bed, guitar resting across his lap, fingers still hovering over the strings. his head snapped—then froze when he saw you.

for a second, neither of you moved.

his expression flickered—surprise, then something guarded, before settling into careful neutrality. his fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the guitar.

"oh..." he said, voice flat. "it's you."

he said it like he'd been expecting soobin. like he hadn't been expecting you at all.

the words didn't sound angry. they sounded hollow.

you swallowed. "yeah."

silence.

his gaze dropped to his guitar, fingers plucking at a string absently. "didn't think you'd actually show up." he paused, his voice quieter than before. "you never did before."

the words hit like a brick.

his room was dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp. there were crumpled sheets of paper scattered on the floor—lyrics? maybe. a half-empty water bottle. a hoodie tossed carelessly over his chair—your hoodie, the one you'd left at his place weeks ago.

the silence stretched, thick and suffocating. the air between you was thick with unsaid words, the kind that clogged your throat and made your chest ache. you could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of traffic outside—mundane noises that felt too loud in the silence.

you opened your mouth—

"don't," he cut in, still not making eye-contact. his voice was rough. "don't say you're sorry if you don't mean it."

you swallowed hard. "i need to say this—"

"and i need you to leave," beomgyu cut in, finally lifting his gaze. his voice was sharp, but wavered at the end, cracking like he wasn't sure he even meant it.

something in you snapped.

"no," you said, louder than you meant to. "no, you don't get to do that. don't shut me out, i... i'm trying—trying to fix this, us—just, listen!"

his fingers stilled on the guitar strings.

you barreled on before you could lose your nerve. "i missed you. every damn day. and it killed me because—because i realized something, and it scared the hell out of me, and i didn't know how to say it—"

his head jerked up at that, eyes widening slightly before his expression shuttered again.

"winter break—i realized things. about us. about me." your voice cracked. the confession spilled out like a secret too long kept. "every time you texted me, my heart would race. and it terrified me. what if i ruined everything? what if you didn't feel the same? what if—"

beomgyu's guitar pick clattered to the floor.

you sucked in a sharp breath.

"and when i saw you with her—"

your voice broke, the words tumbling out now, messy and raw.

"and i—god, i felt like i'd been punched in the gut. how she touched your wrist, how you smiled at her. and i—i couldn't even look at you without—" your hands were shaking.

"what if i was too late?" you whispered.

"and then," you let out a shaky laugh, pressing your nails into the palms of your hands. "—and then i told to my sister i hated you. said you were nothing. and you heard it, and i—" you dragged a ragged breath. "fuck, i didn't mean it. i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry, i was just—god, i was so scared of losing you that... that i—"

beomgyu moved so suddenly you flinched.

the guitar hit the floor with a discordant twang as he stood, his hands hovering in the air between you, trembling. like he didn't know what to do with them. his eyes were wide, his breathing uneven.

"her?" he repeated, voice rough. "the—the girl from the music department?"

you nodded, unable to speak.

beomgyu let out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. "god—she's—" he exhaled sharply. "she knew. she knew how i felt about you, and she still let me ramble about you for hours like some—some idiot—"

your pulse stuttered.

his hands finally settled on your shoulder, his grip almost too tight. "she was helping me write a song," he said, voice cracking. "about you."

the world tilted. your stomach fluttered, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest.

beomgyu's thumbs brushed your hands, hesitant. "i kept the banana milk carton from our first meeting," he admitted quietly. "it's in my desk drawer. soobin thinks i'm insane."

a choked laugh escaped you.

his fingers tightened slightly. "say it again," he murmured. "please."

you swallowed. "i like you."

his breath hitched.

"yeah," he breathed, like he was savoring the word. "yeah, me too."

and then—slowly, carefully—he kissed you.

his lips were tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission, and when you didn't pull away, he leaned in fully, one hand lifting to cup your cheek. you could feel the tremble in his fingers, the way his breath shuddered against your skin.

you kissed him back, his other hand resting around your waist, pulling you closer. your hands finding the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it like you were afraid he might disappear.

and just like that—everything fell into place.

#txt #txt fic #choibeomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu fic #beomgyu imagines #txt imagines #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x female reader #beomgyu x you #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #beomgyu au #txt au

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fawnme1 · 8 hours ago

Text

THE SOFEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER TWO

previous part ,, next part

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

You hadn’t slept properly in two nights.

The final mix had come in late Wednesday. You’d listened to it on repeat until your ears went numb — second-guessing every breath, every layered harmony, every beat. But somewhere in the chaos of self-doubt, something clicked. It was ready.

And now, it was Friday morning. Release Day.

Joe had offered to come over and celebrate, but you’d waved him off. Same with Alfie. You needed a minute to process this one on your own.

“Dangerous” wasn’t just a song. It was a confession you hadn’t meant to write.

You’d meant to draft something catchy, something vibey for the spring — maybe about confidence, reclaiming your power. But instead, the melody had wrapped itself around your ribs and forced out every emotion you’d tried to ignore. It wasn’t about someone specific. Not really. It was about almosts. The danger of wanting someone you know you shouldn’t. The weight of feeling too much, too quietly.

And once it was out, there was no putting it back.

The premiere hit YouTube at noon sharp.

Your Instagram story updated shortly after.

[caption] “this one’s for the ones who almost let themselves feel something. hope it finds whoever needs it x”

You watched the views start to climb. 1.2k in twenty minutes. Comments already pouring in.

“she’s insane for this. this is too raw”

“this song is everything i’ve never been able to say out loud”

“the bridge??? THE BRIDGE”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding. It wasn’t about happening.

That’s when your phone started blowing up. Joe. Alfie. Your manager. A few people from your team group chat. All variations of “DUDE” and “this is your best yet” and “I’ve got chills.”

Joe called fast.

“Are you kidding me?” he said before you could even say hello. “You wrote that? You actually WROTE that?”

You laughed nervously. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Like, in a good way. This is different. It’s…” He paused. “It’s intense. In the best way.”

“Thanks,” you said, and even though your voice was calm, your whole body felt like it was vibrating.

“You good though?” he asked gently, tone shifting. “It sounds… personal.”

You hesitated. “I’m fine. I just… had a lot I needed to get out.”

“You’re gonna break people with this one.”

“I hope not.”

“No, like emotionally. In the way only you can.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled too. “Alright, Shakespeare. Go hype me up in the comments or something.”

“Already did. AB says he’s gonna pretend it’s about him so he can feel something for once.”

You laughed. Loudly.

By that evening, Dangerous was everywhere. TikTok clips. Reaction videos. Fans tweeting lyrics in all caps. You’d even gotten a few DMs from verified artists, complimenting the production and asking if you wrote your own stuff.

And that night, sitting in your room with your laptop and half a cold coffee, you felt something shift. It wasn’t subtle. Not success exactly, but momentum. Like the world had taken a small step closer toward seeing you properly.

You checked your notifications again — more reposts, tags, comments like:

“who HURT her???”

“she’s too single for this level of pain.”

And of course, from Alfie:

“i’m starting a rumour that this song is about a secret ex who’s now married and bald. just letting you know in advance.”

You texted back, “Bold of you to assume he’s bald.”

Joe had left you a voice note earlier that just said, “I know we tease you a lot, but this? This proves you’ve got nothing to prove.”

You listened to it three times.

And still… even with all the noise, all the support, all the validation — you felt that same tug in your chest. The feeling that inspired the song in the first place.

Loneliness dressed up as longing.

Not for just anyone, but for something real.

Something dangerous.

You’d always loved open mics — not the overly-rehearsed, influencer-heavy ones, but the real ones. The underground ones. The kind that took place in dim basements with scratched-up mic stands, sticky floors, and an audience of strangers leaningg just a little too close.

Tonight’s venue was one of those. Somewhere tucked between a bookshop and a fish and chips place in East London, where no one expected you to show up. And that was the whole point.

Joe and Alfie came with, of course. Alfie insisted on calling himself your “tour manager” the entire night, despite doing nothing except carrying your coat and eating half your fries before the show.

“You’re not slick,” you said as he popped another one into his mouth.

He shrugged. “Tour managers gotta stay fueled.”

Joe just laughed, already filming a bit for his story, zooming in on your nervous expression. “Pre-show panic face — iconic,” he said.

Your stuck your tongue out and turned away, heart already racing. It didn’t matter how many gigs you’d done. This kind of show always got to you. There was something about small crowds and the possibility of silence that made it feel more raw. More dangerous, in a way you chose.

You stepped onto the stage. Adjusted the mic. Took a breath.

And started to sing.

“This is dangerous…”

The moment the first chorus hit, the room changed. You could feel it. Heads lifted. Phones came out. You didn’t look directly at anyone — you never did — but you saw people nudging each other. Whispering. Staring.

Somewhere near the back, Alfie let out a low “yesss” like he was watching a football match. Joe was smiling too, phone up, proud and obnoxiously obvious.

When it was over, the silence hung for a second — then applause. Big. Loud. Honest.

It wasn’t just a good set. It was a moment.

You were still buzzing when the three of you stumbled out into the cold night air. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking — not from nerves, but from adrenaline.

“That was actually illegal,” Joe said, pulling his hoodie up. “Like, you should be fined for causing that many people emotional damage in one room.”

“Alfie almost cried,” you teased.

“I did cry,” he corrected. “But in a hot, masculine way.”

You laughed. “Define that.”

“Like… Ryan Gosling in The Notebook.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “More like Ryan Reynolds in Deadpool.”

“Still counts,” Alfie said smugly.

You shook your head, heart still fluttering, not from the show now — but from how good it felt. How seen you felt.

“You know what’s wild?” Joe said after a beat. “You wrote that song about nothing.”

You gave him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he clarified, “you haven’t dated in five years, haven’t even looked at someone sideways. And you still managed to write something that sounds like a breakup anthem. That’s talent.”

“Or trauma,” Alfie added helpfully.

You shoved them both playfully, but the teasing stuck — because they weren’t wrong.

You’d written a love song from memory. A heartbreak from theory. You wondered what it would feel like to write one from experience again.

Not that you had time for that.

You had press now. Comments. An inbox full of inquiries. People suddenly cared in a way they hadn’t before. You were buzzing — and slightly overwhelmed.

But somewhere in the middle of all the noise… something quiet was coming.

A message you hadn’t seen yet. A name you hadn’t expected. A familiar face who’d just watched your video.

And for the first time in a long time, someone you’d never meant to think about like that… had started to think about you.

#fawnme1 #willne #will lenney x reader #willne x reader

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89pedri · 1 hour ago

Note

a scenario where Pedri is nervous about meeting his partner's family and vice versa 😃

Home Advantage

⤑ Summary: Meeting Pedri's family for the first time. Fluff.

⤑ A/N: I hope something like this is what you wanted. I can write the second part of this, if you're still interested. :3

⤑ Word count: 4,000+

Her stomach churned as she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one last time. She applied another coat of lip gloss, not because she needed it, but because it gave her something to do with her trembling hands. The perfume she'd chosen—light, floral, not trying too hard—lingered in the confined space of her car. Was it too much? Too little? Or just another thing she was overthinking?

"It's just dinner," she whispered to herself. "Just dinner with his family."

But it wasn't just dinner. After nearly two months of dating, the invitation had taken her by complete surprise. She'd convinced herself their relationship was casual—fun and exciting, but ultimately temporary. How could it be anything else? He was Pedri, the FC Barcelona midfielder whose face graced billboards throughout the city, whose name was chanted by thousands across the country every weekend. And she was just... her. Normal. Ordinary.

He talked about his family constantly: his mother Rosy's incredible cooking, his father Fernando's dry humour, and especially his older brother Fer, who was his favourite person. Yet despite all the stories, he had never suggested she meet them.

Perhaps, she thought, he was keeping his "real life" separate from whatever this was between them. Maybe he compartmentalized — football star in public, regular guy with his family, and then whatever role he played with her. The thought made her throat tighten.

Until yesterday.

They'd been walking along Platja de l'Ocata, the setting sun painting the waves in amber and gold, when he casually mentioned Sunday dinner at his parents' house. "Quiero que los conozcas," (I want you to meet them) he'd said, as if it were the most natural progression. She had nodded, smiled, and immediately felt panic rise in her chest.

Now, parked outside their modest but well-kept home in a quiet residential neighborhood—she took several deep breaths. The house surprised her somewhat; it was nice but unpretentious, with a small garden out front meticulously maintained with rows of bright flowers. Nothing flashy or ostentatious to signal that one of Spain's most promising young footballers lived here.

A familiar black Porsche was parked in the driveway — Pedri's car. She recognized it immediately from their dates, when he'd pick her up in it wearing a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses, his small attempt at anonymity. He never brought attention to his fame, and sometimes she wondered if he was trying to forget it when he was with her.

Her friends would bombard her with questions: What's he really like? Is he arrogant? Is he as quiet as he seems in interviews? She hadn't known how to explain that with her, he seemed to shed the persona of the football star, becoming just a thoughtful, sometimes shy young man who talked about his hometown in Tenerife and asked questions about her day as if her ordinary life fascinated him.

"It's just dinner," she whispered again, finally gathering the courage to step out of her car. But as she walked the short path to the front door, her fingers twisting nervously at the hem of her carefully chosen dress, she knew it was much more than that.

In her experience, meeting the family changed everything. It meant the relationship was serious. It meant expectations. It meant the possibility of heartbreak if things went wrong.

And with Pedri — so deeply woven into his family, like he was just one thread in a much bigger, tightly knit fabric — if they didn't like her, it wouldn't matter how many sunsets they'd shared or how many times he'd held her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth. It would be over before it even had the chance to begin.

"You're smart, you're kind, and you brought a good bottle of wine. You can do this," she whispered to herself, clutching the bottle of Rioja she'd spent forty minutes selecting at the store.

The front door opened before she had the chance to knock. And there he was, Pedri, his warm brown eyes crinkling with a smile that made her forget, for a moment, how scared she'd been.

"You came," he said softly, like he'd been holding his breath all day, afraid she might change her mind at the last second.

"Of course," she replied, offering the wine with a small smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

He took her hand — gently, like it was something precious — and led her inside. The smell hit her first: garlic, olive oil, and something warm and deeply Mediterranean, like comfort wrapped in steam. The house was alive, filled with voices, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of home-cooked love.

Family photos lined the walls and crowded every available surface — snapshots frozen in time. Pedri as a toddler, drowning in a too-big Barcelona jersey. Pedri and Fer, identical grins beneath matching haircuts, holding trophies from some local tournament. Pedri with his signature on a pro contract, his smile tight and nervous. And then the ones she recognized — blaugrana colours, arms lifted in celebration, Camp Nou roaring behind him. A quiet, proud shrine to their son's journey, each frame a heartbeat of his story.

"They went a bit overboard with the photos," he whispered beside her, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "My dad doesn't throw anything away."

Before she could respond, they stepped into the kitchen.

"Mami, Papi, Fer — esta es... mi novia," Pedri said, the words easy and proud, like he'd rehearsed them in his head and was finally getting to say them out loud. She froze for half a second.

Novia. Girlfriend.

It was the first time he'd said it—out loud, in front of anyone, in front of her. They'd never talked about labels, never even tiptoed around that word. She'd assumed he preferred to keep things unspoken, unboxed. A young football star with his name on jerseys and the world watching didn't exactly scream "public relationship." But here he was, standing in his family's kitchen, declaring it with absolute clarity. Her heart stuttered. The word settled between them, small but seismic. She kept her expression steady, offered a polite smile, even as her thoughts spun.

His mother, Rosy, a woman with the same warm eyes as her son, wiped her hands on her apron and embraced her immediately. She was shorter than expected, with laugh lines around her eyes and a maternal presence that instantly put her at ease.

"¡Por fin! Finally! We meet the woman who has our Pedri checking his phone every five minutes."

"Mami," Pedri groaned, but his embarrassment was clearly mixed with affection.

His father, Fernando, was next — a firm handshake weathered skin, and the quiet pride of a man who had worked hard his whole life. A steady, grounding presence.

"Welcome. Anyone Pedri brings over is family here."

"Thank you for having me," she managed, relieved her voice didn't betray her nerves.

Then came Fer. The older brother. Confident, relaxed, the kind of guy who always seemed to know more than he let on. Shorter than Pedri, with the same warm colouring but a rougher edge.

"So you're the mysterious girlfriend," he said, teasing but friendly. "Little bro's been impossible lately. Even his teammates are complaining that he's distracted during practice. Keeps checking his phone and smiling at nothing."

"Fer," Pedri warned, flushing red, but she laughed — something in her eased, even as the word girlfriend echoed loud in her mind.

"Not so mysterious," she said, surprising herself. "Just... kept in reserve, apparently."

Fer grinned. "I like her," he announced, punching Pedri lightly on the shoulder. "Keeps you sharp. You need that. You've got enough people telling you you're amazing already."

"Don't mind Fer," Rosy said, waving them toward the dining room. "He's been Pedri's biggest fan and worst critic since they were kids. Someone has to keep his head from getting too big."

"I think his head is perfectly normal-sized," she blurted out — and immediately blushed at how ridiculous it sounded.

Rosy's eyes sparkled. "And that's exactly why we needed to meet you."

Dinner was served at a large wooden table that had clearly hosted countless family gatherings. The table itself told a story — nicks and scratches from years of use, a burn mark near one corner that suggested a candle left too long, rings from hot dishes set directly on the wood — all signs of a home where meals were about more than just food. The food was abundant and delicious: grilled fish with mojo sauce, papas arrugadas, and a fresh salad. She recognized some of the dishes from the Canarian restaurant Pedri had taken her to on their second date.

"I've tried to teach Pedri to cook properly," Rosy explained as she served her generous portions, a playful glint in her eye. "But between training and matches, there's not much time. At least he can make a decent papas arrugadas now."

"He made them for me last week," she admitted, surprising Fernando, who paused with his fork mid-air.

"Did he?" The older man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Well, that's new. He doesn't cook for just anyone."

She smiled, a little nervous.

"So," Rosy began once everyone was seated, her voice warm and inviting, "Pedri tells us so much about you. We've been dying to meet you."

She nodded, swallowing quickly, trying to steady her nerves. "All good things, I hope."

"She's amazing," Pedri interjected, his eyes never leaving her face. There was an intensity in his gaze, the kind that made her cheeks heat. It was the same look he gave her when they were alone — that focused, present attention that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. "I could talk about her all day."

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't realized he thought so highly of her.

"We can tell." Fernando gave them both a knowing smile, eyes twinkling with humour. "Our son has good taste."

"Thank you," she said, surprised by the compliment, the warmth of the moment settling in her chest.

"Pedri says you didn't believe him when he first asked you out," Fer chimed in casually, spooning more salad onto his plate, a playful glint in his eyes. "Thought he was joking, right?"

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Pedri, who now wore a sheepish expression. "Well," she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, "footballers do have a certain... reputation, don't they?"

Fer let out a low whistle, shaking his head with mock disappointment as he looked at Pedri. "Ouch, bro. That's gotta hurt."

"She's not wrong," Pedri admitted with a grin, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. "I actually had to ask her three times before she said yes. The first time she thought I was just being polite. The second time she thought I meant as friends."

"You were wearing sunglasses and a hat pulled down to your eyebrows," she defended herself, smiling at the memory. "Standing outside of my work like you were about to rob a bank. How was I supposed to know you were serious?"

The table erupted in laughter, and she felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen.

The conversation flowed more easily after that. Fer asked about her work, seeming genuinely interested. He had a talent for asking questions that made her forget her nervousness—about her favourite books, her childhood obsession with astronomy, the time she'd spent a summer learning to surf (badly, she admitted). Rosy shared stories about Pedri as a child, making her laugh and Pedri groan in mock horror. Rosy described how little Pedri would sleep with his football, refusing to let it out of his sight even during meals. Even Fernando, who she had pegged as the quiet type, opened up about his passion for running their restaurant back home.

It was during dessert — a traditional bienmesabe that Rosy had prepared — that the conversation fully turned to Tenerife.

"Have you ever visited the Canary Islands?" Rosy asked while serving her a generous portion of the almond cream dessert.

"No, but I've always wanted to. Pedri's shown me so many beautiful photos."

"You must come with us sometime," Fernando said casually, causing her to nearly choke on her dessert. "We go back every summer to visit family."

"This year might be tricky with the tournament schedule," Pedri interjected, shooting her an apologetic look. "But maybe during the winter break…"

"You're always working," Fer teased his brother. "Football, football, football. Give the poor girl a proper holiday."

"The beaches are incredible," Fer added. "Nothing like the crowded tourist spots you see on postcards. Our cousin Javier knows all the hidden coves."

"And the mountains," Rosy said. "El Teide is magnificent. The landscape looks like another planet."

For the next half hour, the family took turns sharing their favourite memories of the island. Pedri described hiking through laurel forests as a teenager, the mist creating an ethereal atmosphere around the ancient trees. "We used to go before dawn," he explained, "when it was still dark. By the time we reached the lookout point, the sun would be rising through the clouds below us. It felt like standing on top of the world."

Rosy spoke fondly of the small village where she grew up, where neighbours still left their doors unlocked and shared their harvest with one another. Fernando explained the traditional irrigation systems that had been used for centuries, his practical mind appreciating their elegant simplicity.

"The food," Rosy sighed happily. "Nothing compares to fresh fish grilled over volcanic rocks, or potatoes grown in that rich soil."

"Don't forget the gofio," Fer added with a grin, before turning to her, "it's this toasted grain flour that's in everything. Sounds weird, tastes amazing."

"Pedri didn't like it as a child," Rosy confided with a laugh. "He would hide it in his napkin when he thought I wasn't looking."

"I was five!" Pedri protested. "And now I love it. I even have some shipped here sometimes."

As they spoke, she noticed how animated they all became, hands gesturing, eyes bright with nostalgia and pride. Pedri had mentioned his islands with pride, but seeing his whole family light up when talking about them gave her a new perspective on this part of his identity.

"It sounds wonderful," she said sincerely. "I can see why you love it so much."

"It's in our blood," Rosy explained. "Even though we've been here for a while, Tenerife will always be home in some way."

"It keeps us grounded," Fernando added, giving his younger son a meaningful look. "No matter how many trophies fill the cabinet or how many people chant your name, you're still just our Pedri from the island."

She watched Pedri nod at this, accepting his father's words with a humble smile that made her heart swell. She'd seen glimpses of this before — his groundedness despite the fame, the way he deflected compliments, his discomfort when recognized in public — but now she understood its source.

After dinner, Pedri disappeared to help his father with something in the garden, while Fer excused himself to take a phone call. "Probably his girlfriend," Rosy explained as Fer went to his room. "The way those two talk, you'd think they'd run out of words eventually." Rosy began clearing the table, waving away her offers to help.

"Go sit on the terrace," Rosy had insisted. "I'll join you in a minute. The night air is lovely."

She hesitated only briefly, feeling a flutter of nervousness at being alone with Pedri's mother, but made her way to the small terrace overlooking the backyard. The space was intimate and peaceful, with potted plants creating a sense of privacy and small lights strung overhead that cast a warm glow in the gathering darkness. She could see why this would be a favourite spot for family conversations.

Rosy joined her shortly after, two glasses of sweet dessert wine in hand.

"Sit," Rosy said again, gesturing to the chair across from her. "It's too nice to be inside."

She settled into the chair, accepting the wine gratefully. The sweet, honeyed flavour reminded her of something Pedri had brought her once in a clumsy attempt at being romantic, claiming it was his mother's favourite. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of traffic and the closer melody of crickets in the garden.

"So," Rosy finally said, "how are you really feeling? Overwhelmed?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. "A little," she admitted. "Everyone's been so welcoming, but I wasn't expecting... this."

"This?"

"To meet you all so soon. And Pedri calling me his girlfriend... he's never used that word before." She surprised herself with her candor, but something about Rosy's warm, maternal manner made it easy to be honest. "Sometimes I wonder if I fit into his world. Everything about his life is so... extraordinary."

Rosy studied her for a moment, her expression softening. "You think because he plays football for Barcelona, he needs someone 'extraordinary' too?"

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Sometimes. Yes."

Rosy's laugh was gentle and knowing. "Oh, cariño. He's been calling you his girlfriend to us since your first date."

She blinked in surprise. "He has?"

"Absolutely. That night he came home and announced he'd met someone special. The next week it was all 'she said this' and 'she thinks that.' He made us watch that show on Netflix you recommended. He even started listening to that obscure band you like."

She felt warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the wine. "I had no idea."

"My son," Rosy said with fond exasperation, "has never been good at expressing his feelings directly. On the pitch, he knows exactly what to do with the ball, but with words…" She made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Not his strongest skill."

Rosy leaned forward, her expression serious but kind. "He wanted us to meet you weeks ago, but he was worried it would freak you out. Said he didn't want to come on too strong and scare you away."

"Scare me away?" She echoed, remembering her own fears about the relationship becoming too serious too quickly.

"Mm-hmm. And he wanted to be sure before he brought you here. Pedri doesn't introduce just anyone to the family. The last girl he brought home was over two years ago, and that was only because they'd been dating for six months."

Her mind was reeling. All this time, she'd been convincing herself their relationship was casual, while Pedri had apparently been just as serious as she'd secretly hoped.

"I've worried," she admitted softly, "that maybe I'm too… normal for him. That he needs someone who understands his world better."

Rosy's expression turned serious. "Normal? Do you know what Pedri values most? Authenticity. Genuineness. In his world, those qualities are rare. Everyone wants something from him — journalists, fans, sponsors, even some friends. But you? He says you're the most real person he's ever met."

"He's crazy about you," Rosy continued, seemingly unaware of how deeply her words were affecting her. "But he's also careful. Family is everything to us, and Pedri takes that seriously. He wouldn't have invited you here, let alone called you his girlfriend, unless he thought you might someday be part of this family."

Her hands trembled slightly as she set down her wine glass. "That's… a lot to process."

Rosy reached across the table and squeezed her hand with motherly affection. "I'm not telling you this to pressure you. I just want you to know where he's coming from. My son pretends to be this laid-back, go-with-the-flow guy, but when it comes to the important things — like you — he thinks deeply."

"Sometimes after matches, when thousands of people are chanting his name," Rosy continued, her voice softer now, "he comes home and sits right where you're sitting now, looking so lonely it breaks my heart. Fame has isolated him in ways I never anticipated when he was that little boy with the ball always at his feet."

She took a sip of her wine, her eyes distant with memory. "He told me once that with you, he feels like himself again. Not Pedri of FC Barcelona, not the wonderkid, not the celebrity — just Pedro González López from Tenerife, who still gets nervous asking a pretty girl for her number."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of Rosy's words settling over her like a warm blanket.

"For what it's worth," Rosy finally said, "we all like you. A lot. Even Fernando, and he's usually the toughest critic."

"Really?"

"Really. I knew I'd like you when you made that joke about being 'kept in reserve.' Anyone who can laugh at this crazy family situation is good in my book."

The sliding door opened, and Pedri appeared, looking between the two women with slight apprehension.

"Everything okay out here?"

"Perfect," Rosy said, standing and giving her son a quick kiss on the cheek. "We were just getting to know each other better." With a meaningful smile at her, she slipped back into the house.

Pedri took the seat his mother had vacated.

"Did she give you the third degree?" he asked, running a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture she had come to recognize.

She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. "No. She just told me some interesting things."

"Like what?" he asked, looking slightly nervous.

Instead of answering directly, she reached across the table and took his hand. "So… your girlfriend, huh? That's the first time you've called me that."

Pedri's cheeks flushed slightly, but his eyes remained steady on hers. "I should have asked first, I know. But that's what you are to me. That's what I want you to be."

"Since the first date?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His blush deepened. "My mom talks too much."

"I like her," she said, smiling. "I like all of them. They're exactly how you described."

Relief visibly washed over his features. "Really? You're not overwhelmed? I was worried it might be too much, too soon."

"It was perfect," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "Although..."

"What?" Anxiety immediately returned to his expression.

"I think turnabout is fair play," she said, her voice casual even as her heart began to race. "Next weekend, I think you should come to my family's Sunday lunch."

Pedri's face froze in what could only be described as controlled panic. "Your... family?"

"Mm-hmm. My parents, my siblings—all huge football fans, by the way—my grandmother who will definitely pinch your cheeks and tell you you're too skinny, and probably a few aunts and uncles who will 'just happen' to stop by once my mother tells them Barcelona's rising star is coming to lunch."

Pedri swallowed hard. "Are they... are they nice?"

She tilted her head, enjoying his discomfort a little too much. "Oh, they're lovely. Especially my brothers. Did I mention they're all very, very protective?"

"Hey," he said weakly.

She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him softly. "Now you know how I felt today. But don't worry—I'll protect you." She paused, growing more serious. "They'll love you. Not because you're Pedri the footballer, but because you make me happy."

He visibly relaxed, though apprehension still lingered in his eyes. "I can handle it. I think."

"Good," she said, standing and pulling him to his feet. "Because I already told my mother you're coming."

"You're a cruel woman," he muttered, but the way he looked at her —like she was something precious and rare — told a different story.

"Only when necessary," she replied lightly. "Consider it home advantage — you had yours today, I get mine next weekend."

As they walked back inside to join his family, hand in hand, she felt a new sense of certainty settle over her. Whatever this was between them — this unexpected, wonderful thing that had blindsided her two months ago when a nervous man in a baseball cap had asked for her number — it was real.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future where she wasn't just visiting the González López family home — she was part of it.

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