#I will go back to it and make the full picture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyubakeries · 1 day ago

Text

𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘃𝘀. 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 | k.mg

a/n: i have a lot of emotions rn. that's showbiz, baby! is my first collab ever, and i've had the most wonderful 7 months in this collab. starting off with the new year, tara ( @diamonddaze01 ) and kae ( @studioeisa ) invited me to their collab, and im so grateful that they gave me a place to make good friends (i love u all sm), be myself with no one judging me, and have some of the best caratblr writers i have interacted with helping me plan, plot, and execute several fics.

this fic, right down to the title and the main premise, wouldn't have existed if it weren't for rie ( @okiedokrie-main ) and his genius brain. bennie ( @miniseokminnies ) made this BEAUTIFUL banner, and i am in love with the way their brain works (hi actor vernon. looking at u.)

calli ( @hhaechansmoless ) and rae ( @nerdycheol ) were my emotional support beta readers, and i love you guys for encouraging me to overcome my writing block <3

this is only the first part of the fic, which feels anti-climactic, but the full story WILL come to you guys!! i promise. for now, please enjoy, loserboy vs. hatergirl.

this fic is a part of the that's showbiz, baby! collab. check out the main masterlist -- here <3

word count: 3.2k contents: kim mingyu x f!reader , social media intern!mingyu , IT specialist!reader , grumpy x sunshine trope , clumsy mingyu (because its canon) , mingyu is down bad here too. (is this canon) , featuring haechan and jaemin because they're the evil twins of nct

You like your job, you really do. Sure, you hadn’t envisioned yourself working in the IT department of Sebong Corp, one of South Korea's most popular media companies, but you were satisfied, somewhat, with the way you had put your computer science degree to use.

However, there were a few moments that really made you question your job, life, and entire existence.

One of those moments being this:

It’s 9:05 A.M., and you’re not even close to reaching the office. You just got off the subway and you’re booking it down the street to reach work before your department head launched off into another lecture on how ‘today’s youth is late to everything in life.’

Behind all the cafes, shops, and people on the crowded streets of the commercial hub of the city, the tall, glimmering glass building of Sebong Corp. comes into view. An eager tourist might stop to take a few pictures of the sight, but all you can focus on is entering said building in time for your meeting.

You swiftly avoid bumping into most pedestrians taking a lazy stroll down the street, and only when the doors of the building are in front of you, you let your guard down and reduce your sprint to a brisk walk.

Big mistake.

After you swipe your ID card at the main entrance, thereby triggering the large glass doors to open, you stop in the office lobby to catch your breath. You’re just about to wave at Sunjae, the new receptionist, when all of a sudden, you hear someone curse loudly behind you, and get abruptly pushed forward, and feel a strange wetness on your back. It smells a lot like coffee.

You’re not one for cursing in the workplace. Xu Minghao from HR is slightly terrifying when you see him deal with interns who forget to lower their voice while speaking in language inappropriate for work, and you like to remain in his good books.

Now, however, you feel every drop of that restraint leave you as you shout loudly, for even Minghao’s ancestors to hear, “What the fuck?”

—

“Y/N, I’m sure you know why you’re here,” Minghao sighs, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying something to worsen your situation.

“Was it the cursing? Are you going to write me up for it?” You ask innocently, and it’s clear from Minghao’s raised eyebrow that he’s not in the mood to tolerate bullshit.

“Cursing? Do you think that’s what I called you in for?” Minghao asks incredulously. “Y/N, you could go swear in front of the CEO if you’d like, but maybe we should address the fact that you, in the middle of the building’s lobby, deliberately dumped a glass of water on someone’s head?”

“What kind of idiot isn’t careful while carrying four cups of hot coffee?” You retort. “Only someone who lacks any sort of hand-eye coordination, which even toddlers possess, could be so foolish as to—”

The door to Minghao’s office swinging open interrupts your rant, and in walks a six foot tall man, with his shoulders so drawn up with tension that it makes his frame look broader than it already is. His hair is damp with the water you dumped on him, and his face is scrunched up, as if being in this situation physically hurts him, and that makes you laugh, considering that you were the one that just had hot coffee poured on your back.

“You’re Kim Mingyu, yes?” Minghao asks, and the man, Mingyu, nods, not daring to make eye contact. “Mingyu, please, have a seat.” Minghao says, gesturing towards the chair placed next to you.

Mingyu sits down next to you, positioning himself so close to the edge of the seat it makes it look like he’s preparing to sprint out of the room at any given moment. That’s when you notice a brown paper bag clutched in his hands.

“Mingyu, this is Jung Y/N, Sebong Corp.’s IT Specialist,” Minghao introduces you, and Mingyu hesitantly turns to the side to face you.

“Hi,” He gulps nervously. “I’m Kim Mingyu, the new intern at the—”

“Look, Kim Minju or whatever,” You cut him off. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s having my time wasted, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. You could have a million reasons to explain the fact that you spilled coffee all over me, but I don’t care for a single one, because I have other important things to do. So please,” You turn to Minghao as you finish your sentence. “Don’t bother with any apologies or introductions. If HR needs me to compensate in any way for my behaviour, please let me know via email.”

Mingyu stares as you push your chair back and stand up to leave the room. He looks at Minghao, wondering if the man had anything to say, but he just sighs as your heels click against the floor when you walk out.

“I hope you didn’t mind the way she spoke,” Minghao asks, sounding almost sympathetic.

“I think she hates me, and I haven’t even started working here,” Mingyu winces.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Minghao shakes his head. “She really just doesn’t care enough to. Y/N’s one of the best employees here because of her no-nonsense attitude, so don’t think it’s personal. If you do have any complaints though, you can always let me know.”

“Yes, of course,” Mingyu nods, and Minghao smiles.

“That’s all, then,” Minghao says. “You can head up to your department now. I’ve asked another colleague to make sure you get settled in comfortably.”

“Thank you, Mr. Xu,” Mingyu bows after getting up from his seat.

“Please, we’re the same age,” Minghao laughs. “Just call me Minghao.”

“Got it, Minghao,” Mingyu chuckles, turning to leave the room, when Minghao speaks again. “Mingyu, remember to not take anything Y/N said personally, okay? She’s nicer when you get to know her, so don’t be disheartened. She’s probably already forgotten about the whole thing, so don’t think too much into it, yeah?”

Mingyu nods and then leaves the room, but he can’t help but remember the way you left the office, with your shoulders hunched. Your posture looked uncomfortable, and Mingyu deduces that it must have been that way because of his own mistake. He glances down at the paper bag in his hands, and makes a decision.

“You can do this, Mingyu,” He encourages himself, before heading for the elevators. Once he’s inside, he presses the button for the 5th floor, two floors above his own department. When he gets off on the floor, he asks the nearest person where the IT offices are. After being directed, he quickly makes his way to your office. Minghao’s colleague will have to wait for a while.

“Ms. Jung! Trying out new fashion?” Jaemin, the new intern in your department, calls out when you enter the break-room. The already droopy shoulders of the blazer you’re wearing seem to weigh down on you even more at his comment.

“Uh, yes…?” You reply, shooting him an awkward smile and immediately heading for the coffee machine afterwards.

“I’m all for the oversized clothes trend,” Jaemin goes on, stirring his ‘death juice’ that contains a concerning number of espresso shots. “Baggy jeans? Whoever brought them back is a genius. But, isn’t your blazer a little too big on you?”

You’re glad your back is facing Jaemin, because you’re sure he’d sniff you out within seconds if he saw your terrible acting. “I ordered it online, and I got the wrong size, so….”

“Ah, the mishaps of online shopping,” Jaemin tuts, shaking his head. “What about that new cologne you’re wearing? Is it another online purchase?”

Your eyes widen when you realize that the clothes you have on are sprayed with a cologne completely different from the one you wear on a regular basis. You curse your bad luck before schooling your expression into a more calm one before turning to face Jaemin.

“Jaemin, I understand that I asked you to submit a report to me before lunch,” You say, hoping your voice didn’t shake too much. “How is it coming along?”

It’s Jaemin’s turn to look flustered as he hastily grabs his coffee. “It’s going great! You are definitely going to see it on your desk before lunch! Have a great day, boss.” With that, Jaemin is running out of the break-room, and you heave a sigh of relief.

“God, I wish this stupid day was over already,” You mutter, tugging at the sleeves of the blazer that completely engulfs you in it. You do, however, take the time to appreciate the soft material of the blazer, and the admittedly soothing fragrance of the musky cologne emanating from the fabric.

It smells all too familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why it does.

“Kim Mingyu, I’m going to kill you.”

. . . . .

A knock on the door of your office makes you pause in the middle of taking your coffee-stained blazer off. You grit your teeth at the uncomfortable sensation of your wet clothes sticking to your back as you put the blazer back on and call out, “Come in.”

You had expected one of the new interns to be walking into your office with yet another complaint about their employee IDs not working, but surprisingly, it’s Kim Mingyu who walks in, looking like a kicked puppy with his sad expression.

“Uh, hi,” He says, closing the door behind him and keeping at least a six-feet distance between himself and your desk.

“Hi,” You reply, and the conversation falls flat. After an awkward minute of Mingyu making eye contact with every object in the room and you trying (and failing) to maintain a neutral expression on your face, you break. “Did you need something?”

That’s when it strikes you—Minghao did mention that Mingyu was a new intern. Was he possibly in your department?

“Wait, are you my new intern?” You ask, unable to keep the mild terror out of your voice as you break the question.

“What? No, I’m joining the Social Media department,” Mingyu shakes his head vigorously, and you sigh with relief. “I just—I wanted to give you something.”

Before you could even ask what he needed to give you, Mingyu hesitantly shuffles forward and places a brown bag on your desk, which you recognize as the one he was holding in Minghao’s office earlier.

You scoff. Over the last six years of working at Sebong Corp., you’ve been hit on multiple times. There have been many hopeful interns and ex-employees who have tried to shoot their shot, but you’ve always shut their advances down. Now, a man who doesn’t even know you and has soaked you in coffee, has the audacity to flirt with you?

“Look, Mingyu, I’m flattered,” You chuckle, your tone lacking any mirth. “But I’m not interested in you that way, and I think it’s way too early to—”

“It’s just dry clothes,” Mingyu cuts you off, and you wonder why he didn’t do it before you made a fool out of yourself. “I had an extra set of clothes with me, and I noticed that you looked uncomfortable, so I got you these. If there’s any other way I can help you out, please just let me know.”

You’re too mortified to even give him any kind of reply, and Mingyu seizes the opportunity to slip out of your office, saving you from any further embarrassment.

“I’m such an idiot,” You mutter to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose. The combined shame from your hasty conclusion and the growing stickiness on your back makes you give in and open the paper bag in front of you.

Inside, there’s a neatly pressed blazer and a white formal shirt, which makes you nearly leap with joy. Without wasting a second, you head for the bathrooms to change into the fresh clothes.

It’s only after you exit the bathroom stall that you see how idiotic you look in a blazer and shirt three times your size. You had failed to consider that Mingyu’s frame is much bigger than yours, which meant that his clothes would look comically large on you.

Still, there’s no denying the comfort of wearing dry, clean clothes, so you decide to ignore all the possible consequences of wearing clothes that clearly aren’t your size all around the office and exit the bathroom.

You just hope no one asks you about it.

. . . . .

“I wasn’t expecting the new intern to be this cute,” The new voice makes Mingyu look up from his laptop to see someone unfamiliar. He’s spent a week at Sebong Corp. already, but he’s yet to meet the head of his own department, who was apparently on a week-long break in Bali.

Once he takes in the stranger in front of him, and the orange lanyard that hangs around her neck, he’s quick to realize that his boss was finally back from break.

“Good Morning, Ms. Shin,” Mingyu says, standing up from his seat to bow deeply. “I’m Kim Mingyu, the new intern.”

“Yes, Jaemin has told me all about you,” Ms. Shin smiles, stretching her hand out, which Mingyu gingerly shakes. “It’s time this department gets some fresh ideas, and I was impressed by your work. How about I have my assistant set up a quick briefing for the team and you can introduce your ideas to us?”

“Yes, of course, ma’am,” Mingyu agrees instantly. Ms. Shin gives him another dazzling smile before walking away to her office, leaving Mingyu buzzing with excitement at his desk. The company he used to work at previously had never given him much room to experiment with their social media pages, having preferred a more traditional and conservative approach to publicity. The lack of creative liberty had thrown Mingyu into a slump, which is when he came across Sebong Corp.

They were relatively a new name in the entertainment industry, and upon further research, Mingyu found out that the company was run by people who wanted to hire fresh faces and young, creative minds. Without any hesitation, Mingyu quit his old job the day he received an interview call from Sebong Corp.

The chance to share his ideas with people willing to execute them excited Mingyu to no end, which is why he doesn’t waste any more time before preparing a presentation for the briefing.

“Our promotions with Actor Hansol Vernon Chwe are starting soon, so I centered most of my suggestions around Mr. Chwe himself.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Mingyu,” Ms. Shin nods, gesturing for Mingyu to continue.

“Okay, so I did my research, and Mr. Chwe’s fans love him for how unintentionally funny he is,” Mingyu starts. “When he appears on variety shows, his delayed reactions, blank expressions, and comedic timing is what makes him attractive to most people.” He flips through viral tweets and clips about Vernon’s unique personality to enhance his statement.

“To make sure our promotions really reach our target audience, we need to emphasize on humor and comedy. Short-form content, like Tiktoks and Reels are also much more likely to grab attention from more viewers, so that should be our main focus. To make the content more relatable, we should also try to incorporate elements from current trends, even for our own company’s promotions.”

There’s silence in the room after Mingyu finishes his presentation, and there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach. Did I go too far? Do they hate me now? Maybe I should have gone a little more traditional—

“Kim Mingyu, you are exactly what this department was missing,” Ms. Shin interrupts his internal monologue. “I think this is perfect, and the team would be more than happy to implement your suggestions as soon as possible.”

“Wait, really?” Mingyu asks, surprised that his ideas were received so openly.

“Yeah! I think I can come up with some really good scripts for videos,” Yena, the team’s writer speaks up. “And Donghyuck is really good at editing videos and making them funny.”

“You should see the video we made for Ms. Shin on her birthday last year,” Donghyuck boasts, smiling smugly. “But yes, I agree with everyone else. This is new and fresh, and our audience will love it.”

“That’s that, then,” Ms. Shin claps her hands together. “Mingyu, lets take this week to develop on your ideas a bit more, and—”

The door of the conference room swinging open abruptly cuts Ms. Shin’s sentence short. Mingyu wants the ground to swallow him whole when he sees you walk in, brown paper bag clutched in your hand.

“Kim Mingyu, here are your clothes, which I never asked for, washed and dry-cleaned,” You say, thrusting the bag into his hands, when you realize that you just interrupted a meeting. Your mouth falls open when you see most of the Social Media department seated in the room, looking at Mingyu and you with utmost interest.

“I knew it! The clothes weren’t yours!” Jaemin speaks up from the back, and you squint your eyes at the mop of platinum blonde hair peeking out from behind Donghyuck.

“Jaemin, why are you here?” You ask, crossing your arms. “Have you forgotten which department you’re in?”

“Here for purely IT-related concerns,” Jaemin shakes his head. “No one here could get the projector to work, so I had to help out.”

You sigh when you don’t find any appropriate response to give Jaemin, which makes you finally realize that the Social Media department, combined with Jaemin, are the most effective channel of communication in the office.

Two years ago, when an ex-employee had spilled ramen all over Ms. Shin’s laptop and was spotted by Donghyuck, the entire office knew about it within 2 hours of the incident occurring. The thought of everyone finding out that the new intern was now lending you clothes made your head hurt, and you don’t waste a second before apologizing for the interruption and exiting the room immediately, heading up to your office to grieve the loss of your privacy.

Back in the meeting room, everyone files out soon after your exit, muttering to each other about everything that had happened. Donghyuck and Jaemin are the last ones to leave, and they walk up to Mingyu with twin smiles of mischief glinting on their faces.

“Say, Mingyu, you’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” Jaemin asks, and Mingyu blushes out of what he hopes is embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to it,” He denies. “I lent her my extra clothes because I spilled coffee on her because it’s the least I could do. I didn’t expect her to actually wear them.”

“I gotta say, the blazer looked nice on her,” Donghyuck adds on. “Maybe you should let her borrow from your wardrobe more often.”

Before Mingyu can even respond, the two men wink at him in sync and leave him alone in the meeting room, heart fluttering at the thought of you wearing his clothes.

Get a grip on yourself, Mingyu, he tells himself, trying to shake the strange feeling off him. It’s too soon for you to catch feelings for someone who probably hates your guts.

He doesn’t think that warning himself is effective, not when his heart never listens to him before falling for anyone.

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @wonuwrites @hearts4hee @t-102

@gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie @baseball-dokyeom

@4shypotato @rafayellegalwife @gyuhao365 @flickhurstyles @moonyxhcbi

@minwonwoozi @brownbunnyb @chanranghaeys @ceelesss @callmemadhatter

@iris65 @junplusone @fulltimedrunk @minwonwoozi @callis-corner

@rem-mp3 @supi-wupi @spookykryptonitegardener @dreamingofpcy @leigh-darling

@arianna-r13 @gyusaeri @honeybear-taetae @dcrlingyou @bobagukks

317 notes · View notes

all-my-love-for-harry · 18 hours ago

Text

Three for One

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; Jake Seresin never planned on kids—until he fell for a woman who came with two. Now he’s fighting for something more than love: a place in their family.

word count; 7.9k (yikes)

warnings; jake is in his late-thirties in this one, a bit angsty but nothing big, domestic!jake, the daggers giving him a hard time, english is not my first language happy ending!!!

a/n; i've just started writing for jake but i can't stop lol, i also can't stop writing him as a softie, if you have any other concepts requests are open!! thank you for reading <3

masterlist

Jake Seresin never wanted kids. Not in the casual, maybe-one-day kind of way, but in the firm, I’ll-pass-on-the-whole-diaper-and-daycare-deal kind of way. He liked his life just fine the way it was—clean, uncomplicated, and blissfully quiet. He was content to play the role of the charming, overenthusiastic uncle who showed up twice a year with expensive gifts, got everyone riled up on sugar and bad jokes, and then peaced out before bedtime. It was perfect. No PTA meetings, no meltdowns over mismatched socks, and certainly no existential parenting panic at two a.m. He wasn’t built for the full-time responsibility of small, emotionally complex humans. That was for other people.

And yet—here he was.

It was eight in the damn morning. On a Sunday. He was sitting in a flimsy folding chair that might have been made of recycled soda cans, parked on the sidelines of a grassy field that was already too hot, too dusty, and too full of screaming parents. He sipped burnt coffee from a paper cup that was somehow both scalding and lukewarm. And next to him sat a fifteen-year-old girl with crossed arms, a withering stare, and the kind of quiet contempt usually reserved for people who talk during movies. Olive. Your daughter. She hadn’t said a word to him since they’d arrived—unless eye rolls counted as conversation, in which case they were having a spirited debate.

Jake shifted in his seat and dared a glance at her. She was scrolling on her phone, earbuds in, gaze flicking up occasionally just to make sure he didn’t get any bright ideas about speaking.

Right, he thought. Definitely would push me off a cliff if she thought she could get away with it.

Maybe he was being dramatic.

But maybe not.

After all, she had muttered “God help us” under her breath when he offered her a donut that morning. He was trying, damn it. He’d gotten up early, worn the team shirt (even though he didn’t know what sport this even was until last night), and brought snacks. Snacks! That had to count for something.

He sighed and looked back toward the field, where your son—Matthew—was running after the ball like his life depended on it. Jake smiled a little despite himself. The kid had hustle. Grit. And sure, maybe he hadn’t said more than three words to Jake all week, but he also hadn’t told him to go to hell. Yet.

Progress. Probably.

Jake leaned back, trying to ignore the way Olive turned slightly away from him, as like even their folding chairs touching might contaminate her. This wasn’t exactly the version of his life he’d pictured for himself.

And yet—he hadn’t thought about leaving once.

You met exactly a year ago. Jake swears the moment you walked into the Hard Deck—laughing at something your friend said, eyes scanning the room like you belonged there—his whole world shifted on its axis. By the time you made your way over and introduced yourself, it was already over for him. Completely and hopelessly gone.

The version of him that had once thrived on casual flings and a phone full of first names and vague memories? Dead on arrival. The guy who used to change numbers every few months just to keep things light, to make sure no one ever got too close—that guy hadn’t stood a chance the moment you smiled at him.

Jake didn’t fall often. But with you, he didn’t fall.

He plummeted.

He didn’t care that you were divorced, or that you came with two kids and a complicated past shaped by an ex-husband who barely remembered to call on birthdays, let alone show up. None of it scared him off. Because you were worth it. You were worth early mornings and cold bleachers, worth waking up at six a.m. just to watch your ten-year-old sprint in the wrong direction on the soccer field with mismatched socks and untied cleats. You were worth every withering stare and dramatic sigh your teenage daughter aimed his way, as if his very existence was a personal offense. You were worth the nights spent helping with school projects he didn’t understand, sitting through animated movies he didn’t care about, and learning how to braid hair badly but with genuine effort.

You were messy and real and grounded, and he had never wanted anything more.

He was in love with you—undeniably, irreversibly, the kind of love that settled into his bones and made everything before you feel like a half-lived life. Truly, madly, deeply. But even in the glow of that certainty, Jake understood something crystal clear: no matter how deeply you loved him back, it wouldn’t be enough if he couldn’t find a way into the hearts of your children. Sooner or later, that unspoken wall would become too heavy for even the strongest love to carry.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

Not when—for the first time in his life—he was certain he’d found someone worth becoming more for. Someone who made him want to be softer, better, different.

You were the one. And he was determined to prove it… not just to you, but to the two people who mattered most to you in the world.

"You did so well! That was a great game, sweetheart!" you beamed, pulling your son into a hug the second he was close enough—not caring that he was dripping with sweat, covered in mud, and tracking grass across your shoes. He grinned, breathless and proud, his cheeks flushed from the effort.

"Nice job, buddy," Jake added, clapping a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. "You were the only one who scored a goal out there."

He said it just loud enough for a few nearby parents to hear, smirking when a couple of them shot him thinly veiled looks of irritation. Was it petty? Maybe. But he was riding high on team spirit—and frankly, their kids had sucked a little.

To be fair, so had Matthew, but Jake wasn’t about to let accuracy cost him stepdad points.

"You're such a liar," Olive muttered under her breath, arms crossed and tone dripping with teenage disdain. "He almost scored for the other team more times than his own."

Jake raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing.

"Honey, that’s enough," you said evenly, not missing a beat. Your voice was calm, practiced, the kind of tone that had been honed over years of parenting and wasn’t up for debate. "Why don’t you be helpful and take out the earbuds—maybe start folding the chairs?"

Olive sighed dramatically, like you'd asked her to lift a car instead of clean up after her own brother’s game. But she yanked out one earbud anyway and trudged toward the chairs, muttering something about child labor under her breath.

Jake watched the whole exchange with cautious admiration. You handled her like a pro—firm, loving, and entirely unshaken. Honestly? It was kind of hot.

“Thanks for coming, Jake!” Matthew grinned up at him, cheeks still pink from running, his voice full of that unfiltered, ten-year-old sincerity that made Jake’s chest tighten just a little. Then he turned and took off toward the car, eager to help his sister load up the gear.

Jake’s eyes lingered on him for a second longer than necessary, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t much—but it was something. A crack in the wall. A win.

“One down, one to go,” you teased beside him, slipping your hand into his just long enough to give it a squeeze and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Jake turned his head, not fast enough to catch your lips, but just in time to catch the warmth still lingering in your smile before you walked away to help your kids.

And God help him—he felt like he’d just been handed a trophy.

[...]

“Who would've thought a fifteen-year-old would be your downfall?” Rooster laughed, clapping a heavy hand on Jake’s shoulder as he took a long sip of his beer. “Hangman, taken down by a teenager. It's almost poetic.”

Jake rolled his eyes, leaning back in the patio chair with a groan. “Wait until you meet her—then we can talk.”

Rooster smirked. “What’d you even do to make her hate your guts so much? Steal her charger? Eat the last slice of pizza?”

“Nothing!” Jake threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ve been on my best fucking behavior since day one. I’ve carried grocery bags, I’ve watched musicals, I sat through a three-hour cheer competition in a gym that smelled like feet. And the most I’ve gotten out of her—the most—was a stiff, one-armed side hug after I gave her Taylor Swift concert tickets for her birthday.”

Rooster nearly choked on his drink. “You gave her Eras Tour tickets and she hugged you like you were a tax auditor?”

Jake stared off into the distance, hollow. “Didn’t even make eye contact.”

Rooster whistled low. “Brutal. You’re in deep.”

Jake shook his head. “Deeper than I’ve ever been. And I can’t even bribe my way out of it.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Phoenix asked, raising an eyebrow over her drink as she leaned back in her chair.

Jake let out a sigh that came from somewhere deep in his soul. “I have no idea. None. But if I can’t get her to at least stop rolling her eyes and groaning every time I walk into the room, I can kiss my beautiful girlfriend goodbye.”

Phoenix smirked. “That dramatic, huh?”

Jake nodded grimly. “She doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. I walk in, she sighs like I just ruined her whole life. I say good morning, she looks at me like I’ve personally offended her entire bloodline.”

Phoenix snorted. “Yeah. That sounds about right for fifteen.”

“I’m fighting for my life out here,” Jake muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she’s winning.”

Phoenix leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Okay, so… maybe stop trying so hard.”

Jake blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” she said, shrugging. “Teenagers can smell desperation from a mile away. If you’re going in guns blazing with snacks and fake enthusiasm, she’s gonna see right through you. Ease off. Give her space.”

“She has space,” Jake argued. “She has an entire closed door between us at all times.”

Rooster laughed. “That’s not space, man. That’s a fortress.”

Phoenix smirked. “Which you’re not getting into by showing up with concert tickets and forced smiles. You need to stop trying to impress her and start trying to understand her.”

Jake slumped in his chair. “I don’t even speak teenager. She talks in memes and sarcasm. I tried asking her about school and she hit me with a ‘that’s crazy’ and walked away.”

Rooster raised his beer. “Classic.”

“Okay, what do you know about her?” Phoenix asked, cutting in more seriously now. “What does she like—besides Taylor Swift?”

Jake thought for a second. “Um. She likes… sketching. I’ve seen her doodling in a notebook. She listens to those true crime podcasts. And she watches these weird movies where no one smiles and everyone stares out windows a lot.”

“So she’s an artsy, brooding little gremlin,” Rooster said, nodding thoughtfully. “Got it.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “She’s fifteen. It’s basically a requirement.”

Jake tilted his head, something shifting behind his eyes. “She had a pencil in her bun the other day. I asked about it and she looked at me like I was interrupting a sacred ritual. But she didn’t roll her eyes. Just kind of… blinked. And then walked off.”

Phoenix grinned. “That’s not nothing. Find a way in through that—her art. Ask her about it without being weird or fake. Be curious, not performative.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You think she’ll talk to me if I ask about what she’s drawing?”

“She might,” Phoenix said. “Or she might grunt and leave the room. Either way, don’t take it personally. Just show up. Be consistent. Let her see you’re not going anywhere.”

Rooster leaned in. “And don’t try to be cool. You’re not.”

“Hey!” Jake protested.

“You’re Hangman, not ‘cool stepdad TikTok guy.’ Know your lane.”

Jake huffed a laugh, then shook his head. “You guys are the worst support group.”

Phoenix raised her glass. “And yet, here we are—saving your ass one reluctant teenager at a time.”

Jake smiled, just a little. “One day, if she ever stops sighing when I breathe, I’ll buy you both dinner.”

“I want steak,” Phoenix said.

“I want her to not call you cringe at the table,” Rooster added.

Jake leaned back and sighed. “God, I’m doomed.”

But there was a flicker of something behind the complaint. Hope, maybe. Determination.

Because maybe he was doomed.

But he was going to keep trying anyway.

[...]

Jake pushed the cart with one hand, the other resting comfortably on your lower back as you wandered down the cereal aisle. It was a lazy kind of Sunday afternoon, the store humming with the sound of rolling wheels, distant chatter, and the occasional beeping of price scanners. The fluorescents buzzed overhead, but you didn’t seem to notice, happily weighing two boxes of granola like the fate of the world depended on it.

“This one has flaxseed,” you said, holding up a box. “That’s supposed to be good for digestion, right?”

Jake leaned over to glance at it. “Sounds like it tastes like mulch.”

You laughed—warm, unbothered, familiar. The sound settled in his chest like something sacred. “It does. But Matthew likes it for some reason.”

Jake tossed the box into the cart with a dramatic sigh. “Of course he does. The child eats like a seventy-year-old yoga instructor.”

You snorted, nudging him with your hip. “He’s trying to be healthy.”

“Right,” Jake said, steering the cart around the corner. “And Olive only eats organic chicken and lives off sarcasm.”

You didn’t say anything right away, but you reached out and took his hand, giving it a light squeeze. The simple gesture—casual, instinctive—hit him harder than he expected.

Jake glanced sideways at you as you pushed the cart together, and something in his chest gave a quiet, almost painful tug. The way your hair fell loosely down your back. The curve of your smile as you scanned a list on your phone. The comfort in how you moved beside him like he’d always been there.

This was your life—grocery runs, granola debates, two kids and a household full of routines he was slowly learning to fit into. It was ordinary and messy and sometimes chaotic.

And he wanted it. God, he wanted it.

He’d never imagined himself here—debating flaxseed cereal and comparing price-per-ounce on almond milk—but standing next to you, stealing a kiss near the end of aisle seven like it was nothing, Jake knew with stunning clarity:

He couldn’t lose this. He wouldn’t.

He’d take a hundred awkward side-hugs from Olive and sit through every chaotic soccer game Matthew played if it meant he could keep showing up next to you like this. Laughing in grocery stores. Holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, eyes flicking up from your phone, amused.

Jake smiled, a little slower, a little softer. “I just like watching you do normal things.”

You tilted your head, skeptical. “Normal like… read cereal labels?”

“Exactly like that,” he said, pulling you a little closer by the cart. “You’re hot when you’re being responsible.” You laughed again, shaking your head as you continued down the aisle.

“Careful, Seresin. You keep talking like that, and I’ll make you do the budgeting next time.”

Jake chuckled, following after you, already reaching for the next item on your list.

And in his mind, he was already planning dinner for four.

[...]

Jake didn’t get much detail—just a rushed call from the school saying you’d been stuck dealing with a work emergency and couldn’t make it in time to pick up Olive. It was already past six, and her practice had ended twenty minutes ago. Without thinking, Jake had grabbed his keys and left his half-full grocery bags on the counter.

He didn’t even turn off the engine when he spotted her sitting on the curb outside the gym, arms crossed, hoodie pulled over her head, glaring at the pavement like it had personally offended her.

“Hey,” he called as he rolled the window down. “Sorry I’m late.”

She didn’t answer, just stood and yanked the car door open. Slammed it shut behind her like she was hoping it might shatter. Jake swallowed whatever sarcasm was on his tongue and pulled away from the curb.

The silence lasted a good two minutes.

“Do you want to grab something to eat on the way back?” he asked carefully, glancing at her. “I know your mom won’t be home for a bit."

“No.”

“Alright,” he said slowly, trying to keep his tone neutral. “You don’t have to bite my head off. I’m just trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask for help,” Olive muttered, eyes fixed on her phone.

Jake’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Look, I get that I’m not your favorite person—”

“You’re not even a person to me,” she snapped, not looking up. “You’re just some guy my mom is dating who thinks buying popcorn and giving rides makes him part of the family.”

Jake exhaled hard through his nose. He made a sharp right and pulled over to the side of the road, throwing the truck into park with more force than necessary.

“What are you doing?” she asked, finally looking up.

“We’re not doing this passive-aggressive bullshit in the car,” he said flatly, turning to face her. “You don’t like me? Fine. But at least be honest about why instead of pretending I’m invisible.”

She blinked at him, stunned for a second, then shoved her phone into her hoodie pocket. “You want honesty? Okay.”

Jake raised his eyebrows, bracing himself.

“You’re not my father,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “You’re not even close. And you never will be. You can keep pretending like this happy family thing is gonna work, but it’s not. My dad doesn’t even care enough to call. He forgot my birthday. Again. So no, Jake, I don’t need another guy pretending to care when it’s convenient.”

The car went quiet, her words hanging in the air like smoke.

Jake blinked, stunned silent—not by her anger, but by the pain behind it. “Olive…” he started, but his voice caught.

She shook her head, eyes glossy now, but she blinked the tears away before they could fall. “Just drive.”

He wanted to say something—anything—but everything that came to mind felt like it would make things worse. So he shifted the truck back into gear and pulled away from the curb, the silence between them sharper than it had been before.

No more words. No music. Just the hum of the engine and the ache in his chest.

They didn’t mend things that night.

But for the first time, Jake saw the truth clearly. Olive wasn’t just angry—she was hurting. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix it with concert tickets or car rides.

Not yet.

But he wasn't giving up.

You knew something was off the second Jake walked through the door. He didn’t say anything at first—just set his keys on the counter a little too quietly, slipped off his boots, and ran a hand through his hair like he was trying to ground himself.

“Thanks for picking her up,” you said gently, glancing up from the dinner you hadn’t touched. “I know that wasn’t ideal.”

“She’s safe,” he replied, voice low. “But… it wasn’t great.”

Your stomach twisted. “What happened?”

Jake leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “We had a fight. She… she said some stuff. I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve.”

You nodded slowly, trying to blink back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Jake looked at you then, really looked at you. You weren’t crying, but you looked tired—bone tired. The kind of tired that didn’t come from work or errands, but from carrying too much for too long.

“She told me I’m not her father,” he said carefully.

“She’s right,” you whispered, pressing your lips together. “You’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t bitter. It was honest.

You turned away to busy yourself with clearing the dishes, even though they hadn’t been used. “You know… I didn’t expect my ex and I to stay friends. I didn’t even expect him to be particularly involved. We hadn’t loved each other in years, and ending it was mutual. We were better as two than we were as one.”

Jake stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“But I thought…” You swallowed. “I thought that at the very least, he’d show up for them. I thought no matter what happened between us, he’d still be their dad. And for a while, he was.”

You paused, gripping the edge of the counter like it might anchor you.

“And then one day, the calls stopped. The visits stopped. Olive made excuses for him for a while—said he was busy, said he forgot. But she knew. And Matthew… he still asks if they can call him at bedtime, like maybe tonight he’ll pick up. And every time he doesn’t, I have to lie through my teeth about why.”

Jake’s chest ached.

You finally turned to face him, arms crossed, but not in defiance—just holding yourself together. “Olive’s not mad at you, Jake. Not really. She’s mad at him. But you’re here, and he’s not. So she gives her anger somewhere to go.”

Jake moved toward you, slowly, giving you space to stop him if you needed to. You didn’t.

“I’m doing everything I can to keep them okay,” you said, voice cracking just enough. “But Olive grows colder every day, and Matthew still believes in people who have already left. And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I can. Some days I feel like I’m failing them both.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the distance between you and gently pulled you into his arms.

You let yourself fall into him, your forehead resting against his chest, breathing in the calm that always seemed to follow him—even if it wavered sometimes.

“You’re not failing them,” he said softly, his voice vibrating through you.

“You’re doing everything they need, even when they don’t know how to ask for it.”

He paused, then added, “And I’m not going anywhere. Even if Olive wishes I would. Even if she never likes me. I’m still here.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe him for a moment. Letting yourself rest, even if just for tonight.

Because if nothing else, you didn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

The next morning passed in the kind of hush that only comes after a storm — not tense, exactly, just careful. Olive had emerged from her room wearing headphones, sunglasses, and the universal look of don’t talk to me unless it’s life or death. Matthew, in contrast, was chatty and barefoot, eating dry cereal out of a mug like it was popcorn.

Jake was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of cautious determination of a man who hadn’t cooked for kids much but really didn’t want to mess it up. You leaned against the counter beside him, sipping coffee, giving him an amused but supportive look every time a pancake came out semi-round.

“Do I get a gold star if these are edible?” he muttered under his breath.

“You get two if no one cries before noon.”

“High stakes,” he said, flipping another one onto the plate.

From the table, Matthew asked, “Do I have to go to school today?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Yes. Nice try.”

Jake turned around with the pancake plate in hand. “Alright, team. Syrup's on the table. Who’s ready to pretend this is better than it looks?”

Matthew cheered and Olive rolled her eyes — but quieter this time, more out of habit than spite. She took a pancake, poured a little syrup, then sat down and picked at it.

You caught the glance she gave Jake — not warm, not soft, but not full of fire either. Neutral. Tired.

He didn’t expect anything. He just sat across from her and let the silence sit.

A few minutes passed before Olive spoke, voice low, eyes not leaving her plate.

“Sorry about yesterday.”

Jake blinked, surprised, but didn’t jump on it. “For what?” he asked gently.

She shrugged. “Being... a lot. I was mad. I still am. But you didn’t deserve all of it.”

He nodded slowly, meeting her halfway. “It’s okay. You’ve got every right to be mad. Just... for what it’s worth, I’m not trying to take anyone’s place. I’m just trying to be around. That’s it.”

Olive didn’t answer, but she didn’t flinch away either. She just nodded once and went back to eating.

Matthew, bless him, completely oblivious to the emotional breakthrough happening five feet away, asked, “Can we watch a movie tonight? The three of us?”

Jake glanced at you. You smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, bud,” Jake said. “We can do that.”

The living room looked a little different when it was dimmed down and filled with soft lamplight and the sound of popcorn popping in the kitchen. The couch was a chaotic mess of mismatched blankets and pillows, a fortress cobbled together by Matthew earlier in the day, complete with a sign made from notebook paper that read: "Cuddle Zone: Entry Requires Snacks." Jake had laughed when he saw it, then took it as a personal challenge and returned from the kitchen with a bowl large enough to feed a small army.

Now, the three of you were curled up in the fortress, the movie halfway through, glowing on the screen in that bluish tint that makes everything else look soft and tired. Matthew had claimed the spot in the middle, legs sprawled across both your laps, his head resting on a cushion balanced between your shoulder and Jake’s arm.

You’d chosen a movie everyone had seen before—an old animated favorite, predictable and comforting. Something that didn’t ask too much of anyone.

Jake had come prepared. He didn’t try too hard, didn’t make any awkward jokes or commentary. He just sat, present and warm, occasionally handing Matthew more popcorn or brushing your knee lightly when he passed the bowl. He wasn’t filling the silence with effort. He was just… there.

And Olive was there too.

She sat curled on the far side of the couch, knees tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a quiet presence at the edge of the moment. She hadn't said much since dinner, but she hadn't disappeared back into her room either. She’d chosen to be here. That was something.

At one point, Matthew mumbled something about a plot hole in the movie and Jake leaned over, voice conspiratorial. “I mean, the main character is a singing raccoon. I think we passed logical realism a while ago.”

To your surprise, Olive gave a soft snort, barely audible. She caught herself almost immediately and looked down, as if embarrassed.

Jake didn’t push it. He just offered her the popcorn bowl wordlessly.

She took a handful.

It was small. Just a passing exchange. But you felt it—the shift. The subtle way the room warmed just a little more.

You glanced at Jake and found him already looking at you, his expression open and gentle. There was something in his eyes, something that looked like awe. Like peace. Like this. All of this—blankets and popcorn and one-word apologies and fifteen-year-old silence broken by reluctant laughter—it was everything.

Jake had never wanted kids.

But now? He couldn’t imagine not wanting this.

Not the clean, filtered version of family life. Not the perfect dinners or the Instagram-worthy moments. No—he wanted this. The complicated, messy, real-life version. The half-mended relationships, the learning curve, the quiet victories of a single laugh or a shared couch. He wanted every sigh, every sarcastic eye-roll, every awkward moment that came with loving people who didn’t owe him anything.

Because he loved you.

And whether Olive knew it yet or not… he was learning how to love her too. In her own time, in her own language.

The credits started to roll. Matthew blinked up at the screen, then yawned wide and dramatic like he’d just climbed Everest. “I’m not tired,” he said, his voice sleep-drenched.

“You’re literally falling asleep mid-sentence,” you said, brushing his hair back.

“Can I sleep on the couch?” he asked, already halfway curled into your side.

Jake smiled. “I’ll get the good blanket.”

As he stood and stepped toward the hall closet, Olive shifted slightly, pulling her knees up to her chest, her voice soft in the quiet.

“You don’t have to try so hard,” she said.

You looked over at her, surprised. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, not looking at you. “Jake. I know he’s trying. I just… I don’t want him to think he has to do all this just to make us like him.”

You studied her, your heart aching in that complex way only a mother’s heart can. “He doesn’t think that, baby. He’s doing it because he wants to. Because he cares.”

Olive didn’t say anything right away. But when Jake returned with the blanket and tucked it gently around Matthew, she didn’t pull away when his hand brushed hers.

And for the first time, she looked him in the eye and said, “Thanks.”

Just that. A single word. But it was a door cracked open.

Jake gave her a small nod. “Anytime.”

The house had finally settled.

Matthew had been carried to bed without so much as a protest, half-asleep and mumbling something about needing more popcorn next time. Olive had disappeared into her room without a word, not slamming the door this time, which you counted as a solid win. The movie was long over, the lights dimmed low, and the living room was scattered with the remains of a cozy night: blankets askew, half-full mugs of cocoa on the coffee table, and a trail of popcorn Jake kept crunching underfoot.

“Okay, seriously, how did he get it this everywhere?” Jake asked, stooping to pick a kernel out from between the couch cushions.

“He eats popcorn like a wild animal,” you said, amused as you folded one of the blankets. “It’s part of his charm.”

Jake gave you a look. “Charm, huh? That’s what we’re calling it.”

You tossed a pillow at him. He caught it easily, laughing as he dropped it back onto the couch and crossed the room toward you. His T-shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair a little messy from where you’d run your fingers through it earlier, and he looked so completely at home it made something in your chest swell.

“You’re beautiful when you’re smug,” you said softly, reaching out to straighten the hem of his shirt just to have a reason to touch him.

Jake leaned in, resting his hands on your waist. “I’m always smug. Does that mean you think I’m always beautiful?”

You grinned. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

“Not fishing,” he said, dipping his head to kiss your cheek. “Just confirming what I already know.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into him, hands slipping beneath his shirt to press against his warm skin. He didn’t flinch or tease — just let out a long, contented breath and wrapped his arms around you like you were the thing grounding him.

There was something sacred in that moment. The late-night hush, the soft rustling of the house settling, the way your bodies fit together like you’d been built to find each other.

Neither of you noticed the hallway light shifting slightly.

Just down the corridor, Olive stood tucked in the shadows outside her bedroom door, barefoot and quiet, the glow from the living room casting long shadows on the floor. She hadn’t meant to spy. She’d gotten up to get water, headphones off for once, and she’d paused when she heard you laugh.

Not your mom-laugh — the one you used when someone spilled juice or told a corny joke. But the real one. The laugh that used to live in old photos and short-lived moments before things got complicated. The laugh that lit up your whole face.

And it wasn’t just that you were laughing.

It was him.

Jake had his arms around you like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. He was smiling into your neck, whispering something that made you swat at him half-heartedly, laughing again like the two of you were the only people in the world. You looked happy.

Not polite-happy. Not “holding-it-together” happy.

Just... happy.

Olive didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away, either. She stood there, quietly watching this version of you, one she didn’t get to see often. One she didn’t know if she even remembered.

And without knowing why, without even wanting to admit it yet, she started to understand something:

Maybe Jake wasn’t trying to take anything from her.

Maybe he was just giving something back to you.

Quietly, she turned and padded back into her room, the door clicking softly behind her.

In the living room, you leaned your forehead against Jake’s and whispered, “Thank you. For tonight. For all of it.”

His thumb traced lazy circles over your hip. “You don’t have to thank me. This is the best part of my day.”

“You say that even when we’re cleaning up popcorn at eleven-thirty at night.”

Jake kissed you again, slower this time. “Especially then.”

[...]

Jake glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Olive roll her eyes —again— though this time, there was no venom behind it. Just the practiced exasperation of a teenager being forced into an uncool weekend plan.

“A bar,” she deadpanned, arms crossed, legs kicked up on the back of the front seat. “Seriously?”

Jake smirked, shifting lanes. “It’s not like I’m dropping you off at a biker dive in the middle of nowhere. The Hard Deck has food, good views, and I didn’t feel like cooking. Plus, your mom said she didn’t want you guys surviving off cereal and vending machine snacks while she’s stuck at work.”

“You say that like cereal isn’t an elite meal option,” Olive muttered.

“Reese’s Puffs and orange soda,” Matthew added from the back, proudly. “A classic.”

Jake shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Well, luckily for everyone involved, Penny makes real food. Burgers. Fries. That grilled cheese with the fancy bread you liked last time.”

“I did like that,” Olive said, almost to herself. Then: “Is Phoenix gonna be there?”

“She might be,” Jake said, glancing at her. “Why?”

“She sounds cool.”

Jake tried to hide the pleased smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she is.”

There was a pause, just long enough to notice. Then Olive spoke again, her tone more curious than challenging. “So… how long have you known them? Phoenix. Rooster. The others.”

Jake blinked, surprised — but not wanting to spook her. “A while now. Since flight school, for some of them. Since Top Gun for most. The Navy’s big, but we all kind of circle back around eventually.”

“Are you all, like, best friends or whatever?” she asked, eyes fixed out the window.

Jake chuckled. “More like siblings. We love each other. We also want to strangle each other sometimes. Rooster leaves wet towels on the floor. Bob color-codes his spices. And Phoenix—well, she has this very charming way of calling me out in front of entire rooms full of people.”

Olive cracked a smile before she could stop herself. “So basically, she’s me.”

“Exactly,” Jake said, grinning. “You’d fit right in.”

Matthew leaned forward between the seats. “Do you fly with them all the time?”

“Not always, but when we’re all stationed together like now, yeah. We train together, run drills. And when we’re lucky, we just sit around Penny’s bar and talk about nothing.”

“That sounds kinda boring,” Matthew said.

“That’s because you’re ten and think ‘fun’ means screaming at soccer practice and losing socks at sleepovers.”

Matthew opened his mouth to object but then nodded. “Okay, yeah. That’s fair.”

They lapsed into an easy silence. The kind that didn’t need to be filled. Jake’s hands rested loosely on the wheel, the salt air drifting in through the open windows as they got closer to the beach. The radio played low in the background — some mellow '90s rock song that Matthew was humming tunelessly along with.

Then Olive spoke again.

“Why’d you even say yes to all this?” she asked, and Jake turned his head slightly.

“To lunch?”

“To… us,” she clarified, not looking at him but not bristling either. “Me. Matthew. All of it. You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

Jake took a moment. He didn’t want to brush it off or make a joke. He owed her more than that.

“I didn’t plan for it,” he said honestly. “I never thought I’d end up in a relationship that came with two extra humans and a whole built-in chaos package. But I met your mom… and suddenly, everything I thought I didn’t want didn’t matter anymore.”

Olive finally turned to look at him. Her expression wasn’t skeptical. Just thoughtful.

Jake smiled, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. “You and your brother? You’re not some inconvenience I’m putting up with. You’re part of the deal. And not in a bad way.”

Matthew piped up again. “Does that mean I get to be your copilot when you fly?”

“Absolutely not,” Jake said instantly, laughing. “You’d eject us just for fun.”

“I would,” Matthew agreed proudly.

Olive let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You guys are such idiots.”

Jake didn’t miss the warmth in her voice. The ease. It wasn’t a truce, not quite. But it was something better.

It was normal.

When they pulled into the Hard Deck lot and she unbuckled her seatbelt, Olive paused, hand on the door handle.

“I liked talking like that,” she said quietly. “Don’t make it weird.”

Jake gave her a soft smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She nodded, then opened the door and got out.

Matthew immediately shouted, “LAST ONE TO THE DOOR’S A ROTTEN BURRITO,” and took off sprinting.

Jake followed at a slower pace, the sun warm on his back and something lighter in his chest than he’d felt in weeks.

Progress.

The minute they walked into the Hard Deck, the scent of salt and fried food hit them like a wave—along with the sound of jukebox music, clinking glasses, and the easy, familiar laughter of the Dagger Squad. They were already gathered around their usual corner table by the open windows, nursing cold drinks and arguing over a pool game that had clearly gotten personal.

“There he is!” Rooster called out, tipping his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look. “Look who finally showed up with his entourage.”

Jake shot him a look. “Try not to scare them off in the first ten seconds, Bradshaw.”

Rooster put both hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m charming. Kids love me.”

“Bold of you to assume,” Phoenix said, leaning back in her chair. “Remember your goddaughter cried every time you looked at her for the first six months?”

“She had a very expressive face. I don’t think that was about me.”

Jake glanced sideways at Olive, gauging her reaction. She was standing just a half-step behind him, arms crossed, doing her best unimpressed-teenager impression. But her eyes flicked from face to face, quietly taking everyone in.

Matthew, meanwhile, had already made himself at home.

“Whoa, is that a real fighter pilot?” he whispered loudly to Jake, pointing at Payback as if he were spotting a celebrity in the wild.

Payback grinned. “Guilty.”

“You look like a superhero.”

Jake muttered under his breath, “Hey, I'm also a fighter pilot. And don't feed his ego,” but Payback was already puffing out his chest and striking a mock pose.

“You hear that, Phoenix? Superhero.”

“You fly like a sidekick.”

The laughter that followed was easy, unforced. Jake nudged the kids toward the table. “Everyone, this is Matthew and Olive,” he said. “Be cool.”

“Define ‘cool,’” Fanboy said, eyes twinkling.

Jake gave him a warning glance, but it was too late — Fanboy was already leaning across the table toward Olive. “So… what’s your favorite way to torment Hangman? We’re always looking for new ideas.”

Olive blinked, startled, and then — before she could stop herself — smirked. “Well. His taste in music is awful.”

“I knew it!” Phoenix slapped her hand on the table. “He tries to pretend he doesn’t listen to country on long flights, but I’ve seen the playlists.”

“You made one called ‘Maverick Would Hate This,’” Rooster added, laughing.

“I never claimed to be perfect,” Jake said, deadpan.

“Yeah, well,” Olive said, sliding into a seat with a little more ease now. “Neither did we.”

Jake met your daughter’s eyes — and saw it. That spark of dry humor. The subtle shift. The door staying open, just a little wider than before.

He smiled and slid in beside her.

Matthew had launched into a full monologue about his soccer team and how he definitely would’ve scored a goal last week if the referee hadn’t been “so obviously blind.” Bob listened like it was breaking news, nodding thoughtfully and asking follow-up questions like he was analyzing game tape.

“You’re gonna love Bob,” Jake said under his breath to Olive, handing her a menu. “He’s quiet, but he’s the smartest one here.”

“You say that like it’s hard to believe.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You trying to roast me in front of my friends?”

Olive didn’t smile exactly — but there was something dangerously close to it tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe.”

Phoenix raised her glass from across the table. “To Jake’s teenage nemesis. You’re already my favorite.”

Jake groaned. “God help me.”

But he was glowing. Everyone could see it.

And Olive, tucked between the teasing and the fries and the general chaos of fighter pilots acting like children, finally looked like she belonged — not just as your daughter, but as part of this.

Part of his world.

Everything was finally settling in. Then his orders came.

The tarmac was already humming with motion by the time you pulled up.

Waves of heat shimmered up off the concrete as the carrier loomed in the distance, the size of it enough to make Matthew’s eyes go wide. Planes gleamed in the morning sun, crews moving with swift, practiced efficiency. Everything smelled like metal, jet fuel, and goodbye.

You stood next to Jake near the open trunk of Rooster’s truck, your hand curled tightly around his. The duffel bag at his feet was heavy — so was the silence.

This wasn’t the first time he’d deployed. He was built for this life, raised for it, molded by it.

But this was the first time he was leaving you.

The first time he was leaving them.

And it felt different. It felt real.

You glanced to your left. Matthew was trailing a few feet behind, eyes locked on the nearby jet being prepped, quietly awestruck. But Olive was still near the car, arms folded, face pulled into that careful blankness she’d been perfecting since the day Jake told her about the assignment.

She’s come, though. That meant something.

Jake glanced down at you, brows drawn. “You okay?”

“No,” you said honestly, because there was no point pretending now. “But I will be.”

He nodded once and leaned in to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer than usual. “You’ll hear from me as soon as I can write. I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You forced a small smile, one hand slipping into the pocket of his flight suit, needing just another second of closeness before it was taken from you.

Then Matthew bounded up beside him. “Hey, Jake?”

Jake turned, crouching to his level. “Yeah, bud?”

“Can I still be in charge of bug killing while you’re gone?”

Jake grinned, eyes shining. “You’re my first choice.”

“And can we—” Matthew hesitated, glancing at you for a second before continuing. “Can we call you sometimes? Even just to say hi?”

Jake’s voice cracked just slightly when he answered. “If I get one of those calls, that’ll be the best part of my day.”

You tousled Matthew’s hair as he nodded and wandered back, already chattering about planes to Rooster nearby. Jake exhaled and reached down for his bag.

“It's time.”

But then—

“Jake!”

His whole body stilled. You turned.

And there she was.

Olive had moved before she even realized it — now jogging across the tarmac, ponytail bouncing, Converse slapping against the pavement. Her face was twisted in something caught between panic and fury, tears brimming and very much not contained.

She didn’t stop until she reached him, and then she threw her arms around his waist so tightly it knocked the breath out of him.

Jake froze for half a second — stunned — and then wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely. His eyes slid shut, his chin dropped to her shoulder.

“Be careful,” Olive mumbled into the fabric of his flight suit, her voice cracking. “I mean it. You have to come back.”

Jake’s hand rose, gentle, to the back of her head. His voice was low and uneven. “I will, kid. I swear.”

“I’m not a kid,” she shot back, tears slipping past her lashes, “but I will not be okay if you don’t come back. So you better.”

He gave a small, choked laugh. “Deal.”

You blinked through tears as you watched them, that hug — tight and trembling — undoing every ounce of distance she’d tried to keep between them for so long. No performance, no pretense. Just a girl scared to lose someone she never meant to love, and a man terrified to leave behind the family he never thought he’d have.

When Olive finally stepped back, her cheeks were wet and she immediately wiped at them with her sleeves. “If you die, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Jake laughed, raw and real. “That’s fair.”

Rooster called his name then — a signal, one final warning. Jake slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to you. Your arms were already around his neck, holding on like he was a lifeline.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more,” he said. “Take care of them for me.”

You kissed him like it had to last you six months. Because it did.

And then he stepped away.

He didn’t look back.

Not because he didn’t want to — but because if he did, he might not be able to keep walking.

The three of you stood there on the tarmac, shoulder to shoulder, watching him disappear toward the carrier — a green figure swallowed up by steel and sky.

Matthew took your hand.

Olive took the other.

And even with the ache in your chest, you smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, it truly felt like family.

313 notes · View notes

millermouth · 2 days ago

Text

joel miller x you

not that anyone asked but here's a fluffy drabble because my social battery has been so low from a weekend of social shit that today I literally couldn't wait to leave and wished joel miller could come save me. gooooodnight. sometimes I write these little drabbles and never post cause idk they're not smutty or even interesting. but I just love picturing joel in my regular life. so yeah. here you go I guess! warnings: brief mention of hard relationship with extended family

It was exactly as your Aunt Kathy launched into her third, inexplicably detailed anecdote about her goldendoodle’s latest grooming fiasco that you felt the last flicker of your social battery sputter out and die. You’d seen it coming, the warning signs blinking dimly in the corners of your mind like a low fuel light you always swore you’d heed earlier next time: the long, barely-stifled sighs, the aching behind your eyes, the zoning out during conversations. You had tried, by God, you really did, to stretch it a little longer, to hold out for dessert or maybe just until Sarah got tired enough to want to leave too. But it always crept up the same way, that sensation of being entirely alone in a room full of fifteen people who had known you your whole life and still couldn’t seem to really see you. The same people who spoke over you with affection or obligation but never understanding.

You were already shrinking into the lawn chair, your elbows heavy on the plastic arms, your gaze unfocused and blank as your cousin’s husband droned on about his golf swing, when you felt the warm weight of a hand settle on your shoulder—the only hand in the world that made your shoulders loosen instead of stiffen. Joel had moved in beside you without a word, like a second sense had guided him from across the yard straight to you. The denim of his jeans brushed your bare arm and you tilted your head to rest the side of his leg, seeking him like shade on a sun-drenched afternoon. His hand drifted from your shoulder to the bottom of your neck, fingers parting the hair there, scratching slow and absent-minded.

And then he pulled a little harder at the nape: You okay? It meant. How bad is it? Do you want out? Do you need me to be the bad guy and make an excuse? Because I will.

You tilted your face up to look at him. His cheeks were flushed red from running around the yard with Sarah and your nephew, his forehead damp with sweat, the neck of his t-shirt clinging faintly to his collarbone. There was a sheen on him that reminded you of something feral and sweet all at once. He was so sun-warmed and masculine, worn in and beer-laced breath with barbecue smoke woven into the threads of his shirt. Vaguely, your tired brain entertained the thought of what the salt on his skin would taste like if you had even a single ounce of energy to lean forward and lick it clean. But alas, you were running on fumes at this point, so instead, you just tilted your head up and looked at him.

Get me out of here, you begged with your tired eyes.

His fingers kept grazing the base of your skull, and then, lazily, his long middle finger curled around to pinch your earlobe. You smiled, lips twitching upward in something involuntary and grateful. He caught it and sent one of those conspiratorial little winks down at you over the rim of his beer can.

He turned only to scan the yard, “Hey, hon?” he called, eyes settling on Sarah as she trotted toward the garden with your nephew in tow. She glanced up at her dad, cheeks pink from the sun, braid coming loose, the whole day written across her in sweat and sugar.

“You ready to go?”

Her face fell a little, a flicker of disappointment at the corners of her mouth. Before she could say anything, your mom swept in from the patio, asking if Sarah might stay a little longer for dessert, maybe keep the kiddo occupied. Sarah looked hopefully back at her dad, and Joel, bless him, sighed, already caving.

“Alright, but you help clean up if you stay,” he said with a soft point of his finger. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Sarah grinned.

“Why, you headin’ out already?” your mom asked, voice raised just enough for the rest of the family to turn and notice you both rising to leave.

Joel answered before you had to, holding your hand and pulling you out of the adirondack chair with a groan, “Think it’s about that time. Early wake-up.”

You nodded in agreement, offering your mom a tired, apologetic smile, and let yourself be folded into the leaving ritual. There were Tupperware containers shoved into your hands, leftovers you didn’t ask for but would be glad to eat tomorrow night in front of the TV. There were quick hugs, soft goodbyes, a kiss to the crown of your nephew’s curly head, and Sarah giving you a side-hug before Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll come get ya in a bit.”

“Grandma said I could stay over,” she chirped back.

Joel raised a brow, eyes narrowed. “We’ll talk,” he said with a hint of amusement.

And then you were walking down the driveway a few minutes later, the summer heat still clinging to your skin and the sun low and honey thick behind the trees. Joel didn’t say much, but he stayed close, hand resting lightly against your back until you reached his truck. He opened the door for you and you climbed in slowly, arms full of food and mind heavy with fatigue. Instead of shutting the door on you, he leaned in against the door frame.

“Alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning your face.

You looked up at him, all warm light and soft affection, the fading sky painting him in peach and pale blue. His silhouette was golden, haloed in evening light, and for one moment, he looked so stupidly beautiful it made your chest flutter. You reached up, ran your hand along his bearded jaw, thumb brushing the scratchy edge of his cheek.

“Better now,” you said with a small smile.

He grinned back and leaned down into the cab to press his mouth to yours. It was long and gentle, almost lazy in its heat. You sighed against him, drinking in the taste of beer and smell of charcoal, the quiet hum of safety he always seemed to carry with him. When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye, something playful beneath the concern.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you faked bein’ on your last legs just to get me outta there.”

You smirked, still touching his face. “On the contrary, Miller. I was genuinely suffering. You just happen to be the only thing I can’t ever resist.”

His chest shook with quiet laughter, and he kissed you once more, quicker but no less affectionate, before finally closing the door and rounding to the driver’s side. He hauled himself in with a groan, the seat creaking beneath him.

“Let’s get you home. What’s on the docket tonight? Love Island?”

You hummed, head tilted against the window, already letting the starting hum of the engine soothe you. “I’m thinkin’ Titanic. In the mood to watch some rich people sink.”

He groaned lightly but nodded, already resigning himself. “Titanic sounds… great, baby.”

You shot him a sly look. “Wow. Must really love me to cave that easily.”

His eyes flicked toward you at the stop sign, the amber of the sunset caught in them.

“I sure do,” he said with a wide smile.

#idek bro #I was struggggglingggg through it today #joel miller gets me obvi #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #forever and always game joel #tlou #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller drabble

226 notes · View notes

science-hoes · 1 day ago

Note

After reading your ficlet, now I’m picturing Andrew begging the Reader to please not make him pull out, and he’s like shaking because he’s so close to coming. And Reader talks to him like a dog, “No. Off.” He cries a little bit when he comes on her tummy, and Reader has to soothe him back down.

You never let Pope know early on that you're revoking his privilege to come inside you. That's half the fun. To see how his pretty eyes shine at the thought of breeding you, of stuffing you full, of claiming you as his property. It's like a puppy that thinks he's going to the park but is actually destined for the vet.

You wait until his grunts become more strangled, a little higher in pitch, before saying. "Come on my thighs."

It's like you've snatched the ground out from under him. His thrusts are more shallow and less vicious. "W-why can't I come in you?" He asks so pathetically.

You just hum in fake thought. "Not feeling it tonight." You answer simply.

Pope begins to tear up, he really does. "No, baby, please. I've been so good for you, I-I've made you come." He's whimpering, and it's so sweet. "Please just let me come inside, it feels so good."

You tut and push at his shoulder, not roughly, but enough to move his body. "No. Off." You command.

You're evil, and you know it, but Pope is too in love to ever form such a thought. He pulls out, tears beginning to stream down his freckled cheeks, and jerks himself off into his hand. The orgasm is quick under his own touch, and his cum is hot and thick when it lands on your thighs just as you requested. But it doesn't feel as good.

Once he's spurted the last of his spend, he slinks down next to you on the bed, pouting into his pillow, the tears still rolling.

"Oh, Andy." You coo, wrapping your arms around his thick waist, peppering his shoulders with little kisses. "You can come in me next time."

Pope's brow is furrowed in frustration, but he still turns to meet your eyes. "Promise?" He grumbles wetly.

You grab his face, smooshing his cheeks with your fingertips, and pull him in for a long kiss. "I promise." You affirm before wrapping your legs around his, spreading his cum against his skin. "I'll even skip my birth control."

#pope cody #andrew pope cody #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #animal kingdom #shawn hatosy

191 notes · View notes

itzpookiepooh · 1 day ago

Text

Don’t Worry

He doesn’t want to admit to anything

“And it was Sunday so I thought I’d make dinner.” He shrugged as you stood there with your jaw on the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You crossed your arms still shocked at how he got here in the first place. He just cocked his head in confusion. Maybe the anesthesia was still getting to him.

“Tell you about my arm?” He questioned sitting up to look at you properly.

“No tell me about dinner.” You said sarcastically as you laughed before looking back at him. “OF COURSE ABOUT YOUR ARM!” You snap at him as if it were obvious.

“Why are you on the floor?” You question as you look down at him pretending to be lounging.

“I needed inspiration and the floor was the best place to do it.” He sticks his nose up at you making you scoff.

“Did you perhaps…sprain your ankle?” You ask softly biting your inner lip.

“Psh. No.” He turns his head and his ears go red. You snort before answering, “You so did.” He snaps his head towards you as you shake your head helping him up and on the couch.

“I’m confused on why you didn’t ask for help…” You mutter staring at Xavier. He just stands there like he usually does except he has nothing to say.

“I thought I could do it myself…” He mumbled as he scratched his neck in embarrassment.

“It seems not. Did you think you could see the back of your head if you faced the mirror?” He stayed silent taking that as a yes you sigh. Now you have to fix his hair until it grows back.

“Sylus. Where’s the instructions?” You ask staring blankly at him. He chuckles as if your question was stupid.

“I don’t need instructions.” He smirks crossing his arms feeling triumphant. You blink at him slowly. Who does he think he is?

“Uh huh but this doesn’t look like the picture.” You blatantly said as you point to the box. His eyes shift to it before looking back at you.

“Life’s full of unexpectancies.” He tells you making you narrow your eyes at him.

“You lost them and now you’re too prideful to admit that you need help.” You read him like a book making his eyes narrow.

“You win again.” He grumbles making you smile.

“You rushed this morning didn’t you?” You questioned him as he glanced at you.

“What do you mean?” He asked as he tapped the stack of papers on the table. You look down at his hand that was red.

“Your drink was too hot and an impatient doctor worried more about being on time than his safety held it too long.” You explained holding up his red hand.

“I used my evol to cool it off.” He quickly answered. You chuckle, “Not quick enough I assume.” You sigh.

“You’re still human…you know that right?” You asked as he nodded slowly. You had to give him a lecture on slowing down or he’d need a doctor next.

I started this with only Caleb’s in mind and didn’t want to leave so much blank and had to think of the others on spot. I also thought of this while conversing with a genius (3am me)

233 notes · View notes

b1ancastar · 1 day ago

Text

Demon Form Saja Boys NSFW Headcannons

Link to human form

Demon Version of the Saja boys I posted Earlier, TW- toxic men, NSFW minors DNI under cut

Jinu

His size: In demon form Jinu is bigger- all the boys are bigger. In this form he is second biggest (Romance is first) Purpleish hue, dark purple tip/veins. Curved.

In bed: Like the rest of the boys, in this form Jinu is completely dominate. He would not give his lover a chance to resist or fight back. Uses his strength and his demon voice to his advantage agaist his lover. Will bite them until they bleed while muttered degrading things in their ear. Like in human form he prefers missionary.

Romance

His size: Is the biggest out of all the boys in demon form. The curve to the right is more pronounced. A darker purple hue.

In bed: Romance is more likely to take full control in this form. He would let his lover think they have a chance to be the one on top but would be quick to remind them of their place- Would be the one most likely to do it anywhere. Can picture him pressing their lover agaist a window overlooking the city as he fucks them, switching between degrading them and prasing them.

Abby

His size: While in demon form I can see Abby being the smallest lenght wise, he is the biggest girth wise in this form. His curve is slightly less than Jinu.

In bed: In bed Abby makes his lover praise him- worship him. Has the most stamina and would make them go for hours on end with no break. In his demon form I can picture Abby preferring his lover ride him. Being able to watch their expression as he holds their hips, thrusting deeper and deeper with no warning. Would also use missionary for a power trip.

Mystery

His size: Slightly longer than Abby, around the same girth of Romance. Left curve is less pronounced.

In bed: Demon form mystery is even more feral than human form. Would be the one to pull out ropes to tie his lovers wrist together While using his voice to manipulate them into complying. Out of the five boys would be the most into BDSM.

Baby

His size: Baby Saja is the same length as Jinu but less girthy. Gets a curve in this form.

In bed: In bed Baby is most likely to gag his lover while he fucks them, either with a ball gag, or something else on hand. Is also a big degrader. While he still enjoys cowgirl, in this form he prefers mating press since he likes seeing how his lover comes undone on his size.

Notes- not a huge fan, I feel like if I write seperate fics I'll like it better

Request are open

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #baby saja #baby saja x reader #jinu x reader #jinu saja x reader #abby saja smut #abby saja #romance saja x reader #romance saja #mystery saja

276 notes · View notes

dreamersparacosm · 22 hours ago

Text

jeon jungkook - if we were us (part three)

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; hello my little lovers! i hope your day or night has been splendid so far <3 enjoy it. this chapter will be ruining all of that. heehehhe okay i play too much — but this one is definitely an intriguing one. we finally get jungkook's pov in all of this. an inside look into his and sana's marriage. i think what's most important to me about his pov is his opinion on his marriage. up until now, it's pretty much been picture perfect. they're couple goals; they're rich and successful and amazing parents. but beyond all that, is a man who's grappling with his past. he's mourning all the things that have changed. for any man, that's a hard pill to swallow. there are no jungkook x oc interactions in this part (please hold your tomatoes until the end, thank you for your candor) but get used to it — there will be chapters in this fic that do not have scenes with them. mostly in the beginning, but one or two maybe later on. if that's not your vibe, idk, go read after by anna todd on wattpad or something OK ENOUGH RAMBLING i hope you enjoy (shoutout, as per usual, to @httpsincity, my partner in crime, and @writesvani who makes me feel less delusional about this fic 🙂‍↕️)

playlist here

series masterlist here

wc ; 6.1k

[JUNGKOOK'S POV]

Jeon Jungkook is very lucky.

What comes as a challenge to most people, falls into his lap like ripe fruit from a tree he never had to climb.

He doesn’t need to sit by windowsills making wishes on stars, or blow out birthday candles with hope. Everything he wanted... simply arrived.

It’s selfish, he knows. Ungrateful, maybe, to ignore how rich and full his life has become, how perfectly all the pieces fit together like a puzzle designed specifically for him.

When he goes down the list, he can never find a single flaw. Two undeniably brilliant children who make him laugh until his sides ache. Hari, with her curiosity and Jungwon, who reminds him of himself when he was a young boy. He’s almost certain Hari will grow up to be a pianist. A brilliant wife, Sana, who matches his ambition step for step. A job that pays well enough he can afford to send money back to his parents in Busan each month.

Jeon Jungkook is very lucky.

But, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the car hand-in-hand with Jungwon and Hari, his luck is running out.

His heart hammers against his ribs, limbs feel heavy as he slips into the driver’s seat of the black Range Rover. The twins giggle as they hop into their car seats, automatically reaching for their seatbelts the way he and Sana have drilled into them since they were old enough to sit upright.

Sana snaps her compact mirror shut, looking over at him with a frazzled expression. “Baby, where’s the coffee?”

Fuck.

He left his own coffee abandoned on that small table. In fact, he’s not even sure he ever ordered Sana’s usual — almond milk latte, extra shot — when he finally made it to the front of the line. All coherent thought had evaporated the second he’d caught sight of your hair, the familiar slope of your shoulders, on your fucking shoes that still look like they fit you a bit too small.

He wasn’t even going to approach you. The plan had been simple: let his mind run wild for thirty seconds, pretend he wasn’t sure it was really you, and walk right back to his car holding his wife’s coffee.

But, as all things go when involving you, his self-control crumbled like paper in the rain. He can’t pretend you don’t exist when you’re right there, can’t walk away when every instinct in his body is screaming at him to get closer, to find out if seeing him affects you even half as much as seeing you does.

Can’t ignore you when you’re crash landing into him like you always did.

He forces himself to focus. The question. Sana asked him a question. Coffee. Right. Shit.

“Sorry. I-I, uh,” He clears his throat, “it was crazy busy in there. I don't know what happened.”

Sana will be annoyed — she's particular about her coffee, has been since their dating days — but it's better than trying to explain why he spent roughly 20 minutes talking to his ex-girlfriend while his kids ate breakfast in the car.

“It’s fine. We’re late to school already. We can't have them late on their first day.” Sana’s tone is clipped. If he had to guess, she’s probably mentally rearranging the morning in her head, figuring out how to salvage their timeline.

He pulls away from the curb, hands on autopilot — turn signal, merge into traffic. But it feels like his brain is stuck in that coffee shop.

“How far is the drive?” Sana wonders aloud.

“Should be around here. I think it’s walking distance.”

And it’s not lost on him that out of all the neighborhoods in Seoul, he ended up here. Mile radius from where you get your morning coffee, apparently.

“Mommy?” Jungwon’s voice floats up from the backseat. Jungkook’s chest flares up at the uncertainty hanging off the word.

“Yes, Jungwon?” Sana’s own voice softens.

This is the part of her that never fails to surprise him — how completely she transforms when their children need her. The marketing executive disappears, replaced by someone infinitely patient. He’s seen her yell at interns until they logged off calls crying.

“Will we make friends here?” The vulnerability in his question wipes Jungkook’s brain clean of any thoughts of you. His son, worried about belonging, about finding his place in a world that feels too big for him, becomes his sole worry.

“Oh, yes, baby. Of course you will. You’ll make a ton.” Sana sounds completely sure, like she’s never met a problem she couldn’t solve. “Anyone would be lucky to be friends with you. You don’t have to change anything about yourself.”

“It’s okay, Wonnie. I’ll let you have lunch with me,” Hari announces beside him, her small hand coming up to pat his arm generously. “And if anyone is mean to you, I’ll tell them to stop.”

Jungkook catches sight of them in the rearview mirror — Hari fierce and protective, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxing — and the flare in his chest from earlier puffs out in a gust of air.

“That’s very sweet of you, Hari,” Sana says, reaching from the passenger seat to caress her little leg. “But I think Jungwon is going to do just fine on his own too.”

“What if the other kids don’t like dinosaurs?” Jungwon asks trepidly. He clutches the toy to his chest as if a kid who, by some force of nature, happens to hate dinosaurs will come and snatch it up.

“Then they have terrible taste,” Jungkook jokes, catching his son’s eyes in the mirror. “Right buddy?”

Sana snorts, glancing over at him in the mirror. “Remember when you were worried about your promotion at Goldman? You thought everyone would be smarter than you.”

He’d forgotten she remembered that. Back when she used to listen to his fears instead of just solving them.

“That’s different. I was an adult.” He turns onto a backroad, driving over a small pothole mindlessly.

“Barely,” she teases. “You stress-ate an entire bag of potato chips the night before.”

“I did not stress eat. I enjoyed them.”

“Uh-huh.” She’s looking out the window now, but he can hear the smile in her words. “You left crumbs in the bed for weeks.”

He hates to admit it, but it’s the most they’ve talked about anything besides their kids and coordinating moving schedules in months.

The move back to Korea had been brutal, even though they both agreed it was necessary for him to get promoted again. Logistics, visa paperwork, finding schools for the kids, selling the Manhattan home Sana loved — the list goes on. They had been so focused on surviving the transition that conversation was lost in translation along the way.

Now their conversations sounded like business meetings: who’s picking up the kids, what time works for Hari’s piano lessons, did Sana transfer the money to his parents.

And of course, it’s happening now when his stupid head is still full of you. He briefly wonders what you would’ve said to Jungwon, what advice you would’ve supplied to his anxious son.

You used to make Jungkook practice in front of your stuffed animals before any presentation in college.

“Speaking of work,” Sana begins, pulling out her phone. “I’ll probably be in the office late today. The Laneige campaign will definitely be insane. You’re handling pickup right?”

Just like that, they’re back to logistics. It all dissolves like sugar in water. “Yeah, I can log off early.” He takes another turn as directed by his Kakao map. “How’s the pitch going?”

“Good. Stressful. You know how it is.” She’s scrolling through emails, half-present. “The creative team keeps pushing back on the concept, but I’m getting them on board whether they like it or not.”

He nods, although she doesn’t look up and note it. She’s talking to the air, working through problems he doesn’t really understand in an industry that’s foreign to him. In New York, at least they’d both been strangers together.

“The kids need to be picked up by 3:30,” she continues, pushing her hair out of her face. “And Hari has that piano lesson later.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and can you grab groceries? Somehow we just moved here and we’re already out of those yogurt pouches Jungwon likes.”

The bullet points keep growing. It’s efficient. Their marriage works.

The school comes into view then, a modest building with a colorful playground set and parents walking hand-in-hand with small children.

A flicker of a thought traverses across his mind. What is your school like? Do you hang up alphabet charts? Arrange tiny chairs?

The parking lot is absolute chaos. To put it politely, it’s utter mayhem. He does his best to ignore it all, though, otherwise his flight risk of a son might sprint in the opposite direction. Jungkook parks and they all tumble out of the Range Rover, umbrellas blooming open like black flowers against the dim morning light.

“Okay, my loves,” Sana crouches down to their level. Her phone disappears into her purse, and she becomes theirs. “This is going to be the best day! Your teachers are so excited to meet you, and you’re going to learn amazing things and make new friends.”

Hari nods excitedly, but Jungwon’s chin wobbles faintly.

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers, nudging his face into Sana’s shoulder. Jungkook tries not to let his heart crack open.

Jungkook gets down to his son’s eye level, wiping away tears that have begun to gather at his waterline. Jungwon always feels everything so deeply. At this age, Jungkook was the same. Crying over broken toys and scraped knees.

“Hey buddy,” he soothes softly. “Remember what we talked about? How sometimes being brave means doing things even when they feel scary?”

Jungwon sniffles and lifts his eyes to meet Jungkook’s.

“I’ll be right here when school ends. Same spot, same car. I promise.”

The guilt makes a home in his stomach as he says it. They were happy in New York — or, at the very least, settled. Jungwon had friends in pre-k, a routine that was safe.

But the offer to lead the Korean expansion of Goldman Sachs, to spearhead a deal with another investment banking firm was too good to pass up. Him and Sana made the decision together, like adults, like partners. But looking at his son's tear-streaked face, he wonders if they'd asked the wrong people what they wanted.

Sana kisses Jungkook’s cheek. A habitual gesture of affection. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers.

“Come on.” She takes both of their hands, shifting her umbrella to hold under her chin. “Let’s go meet your teachers.”

He watches them walk towards the entrance, waving at Jungwon and Hari one last time when they turn around to see a glimpse of their father inevitably. Sana’s stride is confident alongside them. Even from where he stands, he can see her working her magic.

Jungkook closes his umbrella, gets back in the car and sits in the quiet as it engulfs him. He watches raindrops race each down the windshield, before collecting at the bottom together. The vehicle smells like rain and the faint trace of Sana’s perfume.

This is enough. This Monday morning, this good life, this family he’s built with a woman who loves their children with her entire soul.

Most days, it is enough.

But as he watches the rain blur his view of the world outside, he can’t stop thinking about how you’d looked when you crouched down to talk to Jungwon in the coffee shop.

The car door opens before he can let himself fall too deep down the rabbit hole of thinking about you. Sana slides back in, shaking her umbrella before placing it on the floor. “They’re all set. Hari practically dragged her teacher to the art corner and Jungwon stopped crying the second he saw the reading nook.”

“Good.” Jungkook clears his throat, pulling out of the parking space. “He loves books.”

“Gets that from you.” She’s checking her phone again, but peeks up at him. “I think he misses when you used to read to him every night. Even when you got home at midnight from work.”

Jungwon would barely be awake, curled into his chest while he read Goodnight Moon in a whispered tone. Feels like a lifetime ago now that they’re back in Seoul.

“I still read to him… sometimes.” Jungkook shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I know. I’m not criticizing.” She sounds tired suddenly. “Just… we used to do more things together. All of us.”

She’s right, and they both know it. He’d often heard stories from his coworkers, from his best friend in America, Aiden, about how marriages fell sour after years of failed commitments and empty promises. Jungkook thought he was doing a good job managing it all.

But maybe they had turned into roommates who just so happened to share kids.

“How about this weekend, we could go to Namsan Tower,” he suggests. “The kids have been asking.”

Sana sighs. “I have a presentation early Monday. I’ll be prepping all weekend.”

“What about the next weekend?”

“I have that conference in Busan, remember?” She rubs her temples. “God, I feel like I’m always saying no to things. You don’t think Hari resents me for not going to her piano recital last month, right?”

“Of course not. You’re building something important. Publicis can’t do half the things they do without you,” he reassures. He’s proud of what she’s accomplished, even if it does feel like they’re ships passing in the night.

“So are you. The expansion into the Korean market is huge, baby.” She reaches out and runs her manicured hand through his dark hair. Months have gone by since she touched him just because she wanted to.

“Yeah.” He turns onto the main road towards downtown Seoul. “We made the right choice, right? Coming here?”

When he turns his head to peer at her, Sana’s face is directed towards the window, eyeing as the city blurs past. “Ask me in a year. When the kids have friends and we're not eating takeout every night because we're too exhausted to cook."

“We could hire someone to cook,” he points out.

“That’s not the point, Jungkook.” She doesn’t sound angry. Just tired. “I don’t want to outsource our entire life.”

“I know. I just thought—”

“What? That throwing money at it would fix things?” Sana exhales, almost as if she’s ridding herself from the negativity she’s grown in her body during their tolling move. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“You’re not being difficult, Sana.” He merges into the left lane, watching her reflection in the passenger window. She’s abandoned her phone, gazing at the puffy clouds. “I get it. You want us to actually live our life, not just get random people to manage it.”

“Exactly.” Sana’s face turns towards his, surprised maybe that he understood. “In New York, we had that routine we did with the kids on Sundays. Pancakes and The Times, the kids would build forts in the living room…”

His lips curl upright automatically at the flashback; Hari and Jungwon used to adore using the blankets and pillows on the couch from West Elm to create makeshift forts. They were very exclusive. Until one Sunday, he and Sana were finally allowed entry, and they spent a good two hours with their kids playing with plastic dinosaurs and sharing bites of cold pancakes.

“You’d steal the crossword before I could finish it…” He sing-songs, chuckling,

“Steal’ is an exaggeration. I borrowed it temporarily,” she pouts light-heartedly. “You were just too slow.”

“I was being thorough.”

“You overthought seven across for like, twenty minutes.”

For a second, it's like they're back in their old apartment, fighting over the Sunday crossword while the kids made a mess of the living room.

“...We could start doing that again,’ he says. “The Sunday thing.”

“Yeah?” She’s hopeful, but then slithers back into caution. “Even with our work schedule?”

“I’ll make it work.” He has no reason not to. After all, he works remotely now, from the home office they set up in their new house. But he can recall a plethora of times he’s said those words and got pulled into emergency weekend meetings. “I mean it this time.”

“You always mean it.” She twiddles with her fingers in her lap. “That’s not really the problem, is it?”

Neither of them answers that.

“Oh, speaking of schedules,” she says, switching gears. He’s beyond grateful for the change in subject. “Seo-yeon’s baby shower is this weekend. Sunday, I think? Do you mind picking up a gift today when you get groceries?”

“Seo-yeon, your college friend?”

“Yeah, she’s having a girl. I meant to order something online, but…” She waves her hand vaguely. “Time.”

He nods, adding it to his mental checklist. “Any particular store?”

“Lotte probably has some nice stuff. There’s also a nice boutique somewhere downtown.” When he glances over at her, she’s back on her phone, furiously typing away.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Thanks, baby.”

They drive in comfortable silence for a while, the rain drumming against the roof. He thinks about asking her if she's happy they upped sticks but he can't bring himself to do it. Not when they're finally talking like they used to.

“The kids did look excited, by the way,” she notes as they arrive at the Publicis building. “Hari’s teacher seems wonderful. Very patient.”

“Jungwon isn’t in the same class as her?” Jungkook blinks his hazards on.

“No.” Sana shrugs nonchalantly. “I noticed that as soon as I walked in. He has an older male teacher. I don’t know how I feel about them being in separate classes, to be honest.”

“We can always request a classroom change?” He offers. Ever since the two had exited the womb, Jungwon and Hari functioned as a unit. Sometimes Jungkook worries about his soft son, wonders what will happen when Hari isn’t there to speak for him, to make friends for both of them.

“Definitely. We’ll just have to see.” Sana gathers her things, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll be home by 7? Possibly with takeout in tow?”

“Sure.” His voice sounds normal, he thinks. “Have a good day.”

And she has one foot out of the car, touching the pavement, when she turns back. “We’re… okay, right? I mean, we’re figuring it out.”

“Yeah,” he agrees tentatively. “We’re figuring it out.”

She smiles brightly, and then she’s walking off, disappearing into the lobby of her building.

Jungkook is alone with the rain and the lies he spun together when the truth felt too complicated to untangle.

He slumps into the driver’s seat, letting out the breath he’s been holding since he first saw you in that coffee shop. From his position, he watches clouds race across the slice of sky that’s visible, moving fast like they know exactly where they’re headed.

For a split second, he thinks about calling Seokjin.

The thought comes out of nowhere, hitting him like a sucker punch. He hasn’t spoken to Jin in ten years. Jin had made it pretty clear whose side he was on back then — yours, obviously, and Jungkook couldn’t even be mad about it. You were Jin's friend first, and Jungkook had been the one to leave.

Jin had every right to choose you.

But sitting in his car, with his life in fragments, he wonders if ten years is long enough for some wounds to stop bleeding. If maybe Jin would pick up the phone, if they could talk like adults instead of the stupid 22-year-olds they’d been when everything went to hell.

He pulls out his phone, finger numbly scrolling to where Jin’s name would be, and realizes it’s probably not up-to-date anymore.

One of those nights where he felt like the walls of his apartment were closing in on him, he had texted Jin, but it was sent in a green bubble. It might’ve been the second or third year he was in New York, he can’t recall.

Maybe that’s for the best. There’s nothing he could offer Jin besides, Saw your best friend today and now having an existential crisis. Want to get lunch and pretend the last decade didn’t happen?

You were graceful with him. But Jin… well, Jin, won’t offer him the same.

Probably better to leave the past alone anyway.

A restructuring deal Jungkook is working feverishly closes at 1:30 PM, and the familiar sense of satisfaction courses through his veins as he watches the numbers finalize on the screen.

42 million US dollars in fees for the firm, a full-bellied client, and another deal that’ll look impressive during his year-end review. Back in New York, he was notoriously known for making complicated problems disappear with the right combination of numbers and timing.

Being Vice President of Investment Banking mostly means his days disappear in a frenzy of internal calls and spreadsheets and negotiations that only matter to people with more money than most small countries. The Korean expansion was handed to him on a silver platter from the start, what with his knowledge of the language, and watching it succeed feels like validation for every risk he’s taken to get here.

The paycheck doesn’t hurt either. Whoever said financial security doesn’t buy happiness is only partially correct — providing for his parents, for his own family, keeps a half-smile permanently tattooed on his lips.

By the time he looks up from his computer, it's already almost 2 PM. Shit.

He's supposed to pick up groceries before getting the kids, and Sana's list is embedded in the folds of his brain. Those yogurt pouches Jungwon likes, baby shower gift…

Maybe he’ll pick up something for dinner. They've ordered Korean fried chicken three times this week, and he can practically hear his mother's disapproving voice in his head.

The drive from his home to the heart of Gangnam takes ten minutes on a good day, twenty on a bad day. Today, he’s lucky enough that it’s in between — Seoul’s normal afternoon rush of delivery trucks and taxis and people like him running errands mid-day.

He calls the school from a red light to let them know he'll be there by 4 PM, listening to the automated message in Korean that sounds slightly foreign, especially after all these years away.

The organic market in Gangnam is unfortunately expensive, catering to affluent families and Korean corporate professionals. Everything costs twice more than what it should, but they stock organic brands that Sana’s been researching obsessively since she was pregnant with the twins.

He’s walking towards the entrance, running through the list again in his head, when he notices the quaint cafe next door.

The lunch crowd seems pretty standard — office workers, laptops scattered across wooden tables, ceramic cups of coffees reflecting off light.

Jungkook doesn’t normally spend his days staring in cafe windows. But something — or rather, someone — makes him pause in his tracks.

Of all the days, of all the places.

Seokjin. Or who he perceives as Kim Seokjin — time has a funny way of morphing faces — sitting at a table by the window, laughing at something a man across from him is saying.

Jungkook’s feet stop so abruptly that someone behind him mutters a curse. His stomach drops like he’s in a free fall, then lurches sideways off-course. He might throw up right here on the sidewalk.

He blinks hard. Like when one first wakes up and has to pull themselves out of the haze. Once, twice, five times.

Surely he’s seeing things. Surely, his morning thoughts about Seokjin have conjured up some kind of hallucination.

But no. It's definitely him. Just older, more distinguished. His hair is shorter, but disheveled as he always kept it in university. His button-down has paint stains splattered on the sleeves. Does Seokjin still paint as often as he used to?

The man he’s talking to has sharper features, glasses hanging off his nose as he gestures expressively towards Jin.

It must be Jin’s boyfriend. Last he heard through the distant grapevine, Jin had finally come out as gay to his family and friends.

There was a time where Jungkook would have been the second person he called after doing something as life-changing as that.

Jungkook hasn't moved in at least thirty seconds. People are walking around him now, giving him annoyed looks, but he can't seem to make his feet work. Part of him wants to walk into that cafe, wants to slide into an empty chair at their table and say something casual like "Small world, huh?"

But a larger part of him is terrified. He would have to explain who he’s become. The married father, the investment banker, the man who abandoned all his dreams for a life that looks perfect.

He observes as Jin throws his head back and laughs at something the man says. Jungkook used to know exactly what could make Jin laugh like that. Used to be one of the people who could pull that sound out of him during late night conversations in your apartment, back when you were all young and stupid and thought the hardest part of life would be figuring out what to do after graduation.

Now Jin is here, in this random cafe, with someone who clearly adores him, and Jungkook is standing on a sidewalk in Gangnam with organic groceries to buy and two kids to pick up.

Something impulsive takes over him then. His feet start moving before his brain catches up, carrying him toward the entrance of the cafe like he’s being pulled by invisible strings.

What the fuck? his rational mind screams. Turn around. Walk away.

It’s no use — his body isn’t listening. His hand is already pushing open the door, and he’s inside, inhaling the scent of coffee and pastries. The recognizable sound of an espresso machine steaming plays on a loop in his head.

Twice in one day. The universe, petty as ever, must be howling.

He nearly bumps into a waitress on his way, but misses her by a few centimeters.

Jungkook can see Jin clearly now, can hear his boisterous voice drift over the chatter of the customers.

So stupid, he tells himself, even as his legs carry him across the cafe. So fucking stupid. What's the plan here, genius?

There is no plan. There's never been a plan with anything involving his past.

He reaches the table and just… hovers. Like an absolute idiot.

He can smell Jin’s cologne — it’s expensive and sophisticated and Jin at 22 would never have worn that.

Jin is mid-sentence, articulating wildly with a fork in hand, when he glances up and sees him. The fork freezes halfway on its way to his mouth. His eyes, resembling maple syrup fresh from the jar, go wide, then wider, like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Jungkook?” He can’t even recognize his own name coming out of Jin’s mouth. “Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook can only muster a nod in response. His vocal chords have abandoned him entirely.

Jin looks good. Really good. His skin is glowing, posture confident in a way that wasn’t in college when he was all nervous energy and constantly confused.

“Holy shit,” Jin exhales, fork falling out of his hand with a clatter. “I can’t… what are you doing here? I mean, in Seoul. I thought you were in New York.”

“I moved back.” Jungkook scrapes the words from the depths of his throat, voice rougher than he expected. “For work.”

“Work.” Jin shakes his head slowly, processing the information. “Right. Of course. You look…” He trails off, studying Jungkook’s face intently. Like he’s searching for that boy he once called his ‘other’ best friend, or at the very least, trying to reconcile the person standing here with whoever he expected to see. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s perceptive to the fact that he’s still looming over Jin like a dark cloud of old memories while him and his date are sitting, that he’s interrupting their lunch, that this whole thing was a terrible mistake. “You too. You look really good.”

The man across from Jin clears his throat politely, and Jin's shoulders shake to life.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Jin’s cheeks flush crimson red, and he gestures between them. “This is Kim Namjoon. He’s, uh… he’s my friend.”

Jungkook looks over to the aforementioned man. Namjoon’s eyes are kind; that’s the first thing he takes note of. They’re soft pools of warm honey, a contrast to the gray t-shirt he has on. Namjoon extends his hand with a warm smile, and Jungkook shakes it immediately. The grip is firm, equally as confident as Jin’s. Even though Jin introduced Namjoon as his friend, Jungkook is willing to bet money that he’s not telling the truth.

Not that Jin owes him the truth or anything.

“Nice to meet you,” Namjoon says. “Any friend of Jin’s…”

“We went to college together,” Jungkook interjects. He doesn’t know why he said that. It feels inadequate to reduce him down to a classmate, but it’s all he can manage right now under the weight of Kim Namjoon’s eyes.

“Ten years,” Jin mutters like he’s doing the math silently in his head. “Has it really been ten years?”

“Give or take.” Jungkook awkwardly plays with his fingers. He needs to stop lingering like an awkward specter.

“Sit,” Jin offers, pointing towards an empty chair that someone must have left at their table. “I mean, if you have time. You probably have somewhere to be.”

He has many places to be. In fact, the list is ever-growing.

“No, I—” Jungkook catches himself before he can say he has all the time in the world, which is both true and completely false. "I have a few minutes."

He pulls out the chair and sits obediently. He does his best to ignore the way Namjoon shifts to accommodate him.

“So… your work. Do you still work in investment banking?” Jin settles back in his chair.

“I do,” Jungkook replies. “Vice President now.”

“Wow.” Jin looks genuinely proud of him for a moment. It feels like his fist is clenched around his heart. “Very grown up of you.”

“Says the guy with a button-down on.” Jungkook tries to crack a smile but his lips waver.

“This old thing?” Jin plucks at one of the paint stains on his top. “Gallery opening last week. Bought it so I could look presentable and I guess I just never took it off.”

“Gallery opening?” Jungkook’s eyebrows lift. “You own a gallery now?”

“Yup. I’m a real painter now, if you can believe it. Like, for money. People buy my stuff.” His expression contorts into a mix of pride and disbelief. “I have a studio in Hongdae, show at a few galleries around the city.”

“That’s incredible.”

It truly is. Jungkook remembers Jin staying up until 3 AM working on some piece that would never see the light of day, paint under his fingernails and this look of complete adoration for art engrained on his face. “I always knew you’d make it work.”

“Did you?” Jin’s head tilts. “You were definitely convinced I’d starve to death someday.”

He appreciates Jin’s banter, although he’s not entirely sure if he’s worthy of it.

“Young and stupid.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought practical meant safe.”

Jin takes a quick sip of his drink. “And now?”

Jungkook’s mind drifts off to his home in Gangnam, his daughter’s expensive piano lessons, his investment portfolio. And just as he’s about to answer, you slip into his thoughts again. You’ve been doing that all day.

It’s a flash of you talking about your bug project. A pocket in time where you two were just people, reconnecting in a coffee shop.

Jungkook changes his answer. “I’m not sure there’s really such a thing as safe.”

Jin’s eyes dim a little at his response. Namjoon has been fairly quiet throughout the exchange, but he’s observant.

“What about you?” Jin asks hesitantly. “Wife? Kids? The whole suburban dream?”

“Two kids. Jungwon and Hari. They’re five.” His tone gets warmer when he talks about them. For a second, he hesitates before proceeding. He’s not sure how much Jin knows about his life but an urge to tell him overtakes his body. “And yeah, married. My wife’s in marketing. Vice President at Publicis.”

“Oof, five year olds.” Namjoon smiles briefly. “That’s a fun age. I bet they keep you two busy.”

Jungkook looks over at him closely. He’s definitely handsome in an understated way. His dark hair cascades over his forehead as he adjusts his glasses, bicep flexing. Good for Jin. He deserves someone like him.

"They do," Jungkook agrees. "Jungwon's more like me. Quiet, overthinks everything. Hari's fucking fearless. She'll probably end up running the country or selling out arenas as a pianist."

“Sounds about right.” Jin laughs. There’s something hiding behind his eyes Jungkook can’t decipher. It passes too quickly to catch.

“So, what about you?” Jungkook averts his attention to Namjoon. Poor guy probably thought he was getting replaced by Jungkook earlier. “What do you do for work?”

“Software engineer.” Namjoon pushes around the remains of his food with his fork. “Been doing it for a while, but I work at a startup now. Get to work from home so that’s pretty sick.”

Smart and reliable. Jin is a lucky man.

“That shit’s tough.” Jungkook laughs. “I give you props.”

“Yeah, he’s smarter than me for sure.” Jin jumps in. “He was actually helping me out today to pick out some paint samples for my kitchen. Put me in front of a canvas and I'm fine, but the minute you mention home improvement, I turn into a complete disaster."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “All I did was pick up the paint bucket for you.”

"You also stopped me from buying that hideous green color."

"It was chartreuse, Jin. Chartreuse."

Jungkook’s eyes volley between them, watching as they continue to poke and prod at each other. They’re so comfortable with each other. There's an ease between them that makes his chest tight. Not jealousy, exactly. It’s worse, and it’s creeping up his spine and making a home at the base of his throat.

It hits him then: how many other things had changed while he was gone? How many conversations has he missed, how many inside jokes, how many days picking out paint colors?

He knows he’s being naive. The world did not need to wait for him. It was meant to spin on its axis, meant to rotate regardless of anyone’s decisions. But he suddenly feels sick at how much time passed him by while he was in New York, trying to convince himself his new life was the life he always wanted.

“Jungkook, you should hang out with us sometime.”

Namjoon's voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, and Jungkook blinks, trying to focus. The invitation is kind, genuine, and it makes everything so much worse.

He needs to get the fuck out of there. He needs to go home now. He needs to get fresh air.

“U-uh. yeah. Definitely. I would… that would be great.”

Jin's eyes narrow, watching Jungkook's color drain in real time. He was always too good at reading people.

“Cool. I’ll ask Jin to set something up.” Namjoon pats his shoulder.

Jungkook nods, already pushing back from the table. "I should... I have to pick up my kids soon."

"Of course." Jin stands too, and for a moment they're both just standing there awkwardly.

“Right. Well, I’ll be off.” Jungkook begins to back towards the exit, reaching for his pocket where his phone is. “It was great, uh, to see you, Jin.”

He can't do this. He can't do any of it.

“Nice meeting you, Namjoon.” The words echo out as he’s already facing the door, hands shaking as he pulls up Sana’s contact.

He types quickly: “hi baby, i’m so sorry to do this but i’m trapped on a work call. any way you can get the kids?”

They’ve both done this before — covered for each other when life gets overwhelming. She’s usually very understanding, and he is for her.

He pushes open the door, rushes outside, and takes a big gulp of the cool air as if he’s been drowning. He lets it fill up every inch of his lungs.

Looking up at the sky, the clouds are still gray and daunting. They’re just as fast-moving as they were earlier, expelling raindrops onto the streets of Seoul.

Jungkook stares at those clouds. Lets the rain collect on his face.

He’s crying. When did he start crying?

The rain mixes with his tears until he can't tell the difference between what's falling from the sky and what's falling from his eyes, salt and water blurring on his lips.

Standing here in the rain, watching his past live through windows, he knows his luck ran out a long time ago.

Correction: Jeon Jungkook was very lucky.

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @arcanekookz @writesvani @yooniepot @whoa-jo @nimmmnikk @readingbee44 @jungshaking @starlight-1010 @jadaocon1 @phoenixxxxstarrrr @jkaxl @butterymin @almatiarau @lovingkoalaface @carriereadsbooks @bhonbhon @lola75111 @yoonstaar @namkookie222 @jeonjenny @lachimochala @kissyfacekoo @libra04 @minimoninini @goldenjeonkoo @ot7even @kopiosuam @annpeachy @literallyjimin @prxdajeon @purplelanterns @neg-l3ct @gguk-lvr @misakiminaa @wisebouquetbarbarian @smoljimjim @mar-lo-pap @senaqsstuff @jkkk9197 @nesha227 @kokoandkookie @rexana19 @delulutofr @adoresjjk @katsukisloveinterest @adolescenceingrained @jeonn044 @sassywildbunny @mellyyyyyyx @parkinglot-nights @alextgef @jeonnabi11

#i almost made a joke in the authors note being like 'see u next month' jkgkgjfjgj but that would be so foul #I AM DOING MY BEST #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #namjoon #namjoon x reader #jeon jeongguk #bts #bts fanfic #bts x oc #jungkook x oc #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #kim namjoon

154 notes · View notes

sturndiary · 1 day ago

Text

ˇ⋆ ╱ ‧ ˚ ꪆ boyfriend!chris && girlfriend!reader

❛ cry about it ❜

you don't even know how long it's been—could be fifteen minutes or forty—but your body feels like it's been suspended in that warm, aching edge for days. chris has you spread open across the bed, one of your legs flung over his shoulder while his fingers move with slow, precise cruelty between your thighs. it's the third time tonight that he's dragged you this close to the edge, only to snatch it away at the last second, pulling his hand back while your hips chase him, desperate and soaked and trembling.

he hasn't said much—hasn't needed to. just sits there, shirtless and flushed, watching every little twitch your body makes like he's studying you. his lips are pink from chewing on them. his curls are damp at the ends. his dick's still hard and leaking against his stomach, untouched for just as long, but the only thing he's focused on is how close he can push you without letting you fall apart.

"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs now, thumb grazing the mess between your thighs like he's not about to ruin you all over again. "all fucked out and begging. should've taken a picture twenty minutes ago."

you breathe out something that's not a word, head falling back against the pillow as your chest heaves. everything hurts in the best way—your thighs are shaking, your cunt's so sensitive it's twitching every time he exhales near it, and your voice is hoarse from asking him to let you cum. not begging anymore. just asking. like maybe if you sound sweet enough, if you cry just right, he'll finally give in.

but then you feel his fingers again—slow at first, two knuckles deep, curling right where you need them as his palm presses against your clit—and your back arches so hard it lifts off the bed. your legs try to close around his hand but he pins them down with a firm grip and a shake of his head, mouth twisting like he's pretending to pity you. "don't go quiet now, baby," he says low, the pad of his thumb dragging slow circles over your clit while his fingers move deeper, steadier. "you were makin' all that noise before. lemme hear how bad you need it."

that's when it hits—not the orgasm, but the tears. you don't mean to cry, but it starts with one shaky breath and then another, and suddenly your eyes are full, lips trembling, voice broken when you choke out his name like it's the only word you know. and that's what finally cracks him open.

"fuck," he groans, eyes locked on your face now. "look at you. fuckin' crying for it."

he starts moving faster, crueler, twisting his wrist just right until your whole body locks up and your sob turns into a strangled moan. "cum f'me," he breathes. "fuckin' cry while you make a mess."

;ଓ wise words from mimi ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌ `𓂃⊹ — whoop whoop, i need him omgosh.

.˚ ⋆ ꜝ 🔖 ⤷ ✶ @angvl3tears @iconiccolo

to be added to my taglist, click here ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

160 notes · View notes

hoonigiris · 20 hours ago

Text

Hello.... after having this fic marinate in my thoughts for a week i am Here . i sent you my initial reactions in the dms when i first read it but now i am here to read it in full. In detail . so lets get started (a gun to my head.)

The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.

scene setting... usually he can ignore it but today its something persistent and pressing that makes him open his eyes and face reality . HAH!!!!!! this double meaning.... fuck my baka life

“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.

sorry i got such whiplash when i first read this line MDSFJLSDFKMFD Me when i call my best friend to tell him about my wedding but he's in bed with his boyfriend .

Or is it he that’s wrong, loving you irrevocably despite your heart belonging to another? Loving you and lying to everyone about his true feelings with only a selfish desire to keep you close. Was it so wrong that he just wanted to be with you, even if it was as your best friend and nothing more?

Should i kill myself

He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees.

BTW THIS IS SOOOOSDFMSDFLSDLF?!?!?! ID BE PISSED AS HELL... like what is HE (derogatory) doing at Our place in the first place.... yn is kind of fake for that .

Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.

riki at the scene of the crime as usual

As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.

i can't lie doing this when he's never had the courage to even ask you out is peak delusion and honestly i can't even blame him

It’s just that Jungwon didn’t expect it to be this soon. He thought he’d have more time to bury his reverence for you, to pretend as though you really just were two best friends. He’d wanted to imagine himself cradled in your arms one last time before he lost you for good.

He is so pathetic /gen....... (eyes glazed over)

“We’re getting married. In two months.”

wedding planning in two months... so you want me (and jungwon.) to die...

“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest. “Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.

JAKE IS SOOOOSDFMSDFL

No matter how fucked up this all is, how you unknowingly take and take from him until he has nothing left to give, he still prefers this over not knowing you at all. So he agrees, just like he always does.

won is like the meme of the fat bird in between two skinny cage bars...

He wishes he could go back to a time when he wasn’t in love with you. When all you were to him was just another friend, when he didn’t feel guilty for staring at you a little too long or wanting you more than he wanted anyone else. He wishes he could go back to that time, even though he knows that it never existed, because all he’s ever known is how to love you. He knows he’s been put on this Earth to love you, and to wish otherwise would mean he’d cease to exist.

SHIBAL..... OHH MY GOD HES SO PATHETIC.............

It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you.

FUCK!!!!!!!! FUCK............. to love is to notice... i bet if jungwon were here i wouldn't have lost my stupid credit card .

“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”

him saying that white crysanthemums remind him of you when really they're supposed to be Him. but then again there isn't much of a difference is there,,, you're intrinsically a part of him... shibal. wilts fast... hah.....

also this is sooo crazy bc he truly is the fat bird between tiny cage bars. how could she reciprocate if she didn't know... HOW COULD SHE HAVE KNOWN!!!! jungwon when he's upset at the repricussions of his own inaction

his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.

he is so me...

he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar.

JUNGWON WHEN HE KILLS HIMSELF IN FRONT OF YOU TO CHANGE THE TRAJECTORY OF YOUR LIFE FOREVER?????

Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.

just kiss already...

“They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”

WHAT IS HIS ISSUEEEE....

Sunghoon grips your shoulder, and you turn slowly, facing him with wide eyes. Your eyes lock, and he blinks once, twice, a silent exchange passing between you both before he pulls back to disappear behind the cake counter.

?????? WHAT WAS HE TRYING TO SAY..... and jungwon realizing that his special language is yet another thing he's been replaced from.... KMS.

In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.

MY BANANA PUDDING.

It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.

FUCK...............sorry i really do love him..... but him telling won he can talk to him about his problems as if he doesn't know the exact reason jungwon is suffering LIKE???!?! this performative ass....

He hates that you never recognize he’s right here for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the person you could lean upon, the chest you could curl into as you cried your heart out. He wants to be that person that you share your sorrows with, the one to take hold of your burdens and shoulder them himself, but you never let him do it.

JUST LIKE NOONA FIC...!?!?!?!

oh you are so mean.... U ARE SO MEAN. him always being there for you even if you aren't there for him?!?!?!!! YN........

You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both.

this entire scene made me rock back and forth and start chanting btw. like an insane person. like first of all this is cruel and unusual punishment to put jungwon through this but this entire fic is just you putting him under a magnifying glass and the sun and laughing while he's burning like he's a little ant so. at least its on brand... its just soooo like. a vision of what could have been...

Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.

this makes yn seem so mean MSDFJDSFL JUSTICE FOR MY GIRLLLL BRO SHE DOESNT KNOW!!!!!

He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.

him being the only guy at your bachelorette party and being the DD while also being miserable and dying Please leave him alone... .😭😭😭😭😭😭

He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.

THIS IS SOOOO??!?!?!?! OHHHH MY GOD... this whole fic is like watching a slug try to make its way out of a salt maze thats too small for its fat body

After all, there is no him without you. There is only you without him.

KYSSSSSSSSS

He remembers all the times he’s centered himself around you. Every moment when he thought he was wanted by you, even if it was just as a friend. Now, all he can see is how convenient, how easy he is for you. How pathetic he is to fall in love with you, to keep loving you even though he knew you would never love him back. And yeah, he’s always there when you need him, but even now, as he sits inches away from his death, you’re never there for him.

ohh my jungwon..... also the mole paragraph goes crazy Hello. existed to love you / existed to suffer because of it .

“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”

ah shibal..... shook my head slowly and dropped it into my open palms..... good scene though.... good use of a flashback........ fuck........ also yn not checking up on him being missing at her rehearsal dinner is crazy like Girl im trying so hard to be on your side rn but you make it so hard sometimes...

His fingers clutch tightly onto Jungwon’s man of honor speech, one he refuses to read because he can’t justify that torture. It’s you who needs to read it, to recognize the consequences of your actions, of how greedy you were to have the most wonderful human being beside you and still yearn for another. He needs you to read this speech in all its glory, tear-stained, blood-stained, flower-stained, until you recognize the extent of how much Jungwon truly loved you.

first of all jungwon dying at your wedding is CRAZY my jaw dropped when i first read it and SECOND can jay chill please... HSDFMSDFLKJSDF LIKE SORRY YOUR BOYFRIEND DIDNT LOVE YOU BACK.... GREEDY!?!?!?!

You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say.

fuck exactly... EXACTLY.... bc its like. like this is your best friend who kept trying to hold everything back from you because he kept wanting to Be there for you and be a martyr for his own feelings instead of considering how you would have felt about it... instead of truly letting you in.... FUCK!

“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”

No like what did i do wrong.... feeling wrongly accused. The injustice of it all....... being called a MURDERER?!?!! THIS GUY....

It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe. How Jungwon has always been yours.

SHIBAL.........SHIBAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HEAD IN HANDS......

Dear you,

kys.....kys........ putting the whole letter at the end is SOOOO?!?!?! FROM YOUR NOW EX-BEST FRIEND.......... KILL YOURSEELLFFFFMSDFLSDF FUCK!!!!!!!!!

UGH. ok. final thoughts. first off thank you for dealing with me being annoying and panhandling you for this fic for this long and actually writing me something this good....... i'm not even lying i was thinking about this fic for like a straight week before i could properly sit down and reviewed it >_< I LOVE JUNGWON I LOVE GRIEF I LOVE ANGST! I LOVE...you.... i suppose..... Sorry you know words of affirmation comes difficult for me but i try my hardest .

flowers in december

pairing . jungwon x fem! reader (ft. sunghoon) about . 16.2k+ words, angst, unrequited love + hanahaki synopsis . jungwon doesn't think there's anything scarier than watching his best friend, who he's secretly been in love with his whole life, get married to another. however, as he coughs up blood and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, he starts to believe that maybe, there just might be something worse: death.

warnings . major character death, blood, throwing up, alcohol/drinking, cursing, themes of suicide and death overall, this is a hanahaki au so i cannot stress enough how much grief there is in this, miscommunication, heavy angst, depression, sickness, there's like 1 suggestive line, its barely implied reader is shorter than jungwon but it doesnt matter too much, if you are reading this hoping for a good time there is none ok

playlist . flowers in december by mazzy star, bonfire by wave to earth, no one noticed by the marias, romantic homicide by d4vd, space song by beach house, favorite crime by olivia rodrigo, beaches by beabadoobee

notes . first fic on this account hello!! also this was written for @hoonigiris i hope you enjoy my grad gift to u! (let's ignore how this was supposed to be done by last august.) also thank you to @sungbeam for dealing with me crashing out every single time and for beta-ing, i love u so much. genuinely writing this has ruined me i'm so sorry jungwon for putting you through this much pain but at least i finished the fic yknow 😭

The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.

Usually, Jungwon can ignore it. He can reach over to tug the blinds shut or bury his face into his perfectly fluffed pillow. He can pretend he has no other obligations and surrender to the slumber that consumes him once more. At least, until his alarm rings, he can exist in a world of peace where his only soulmate is the quilted pattern of his blanket.

Unfortunately, though, he cannot replicate this sequence of actions today. Mainly because no matter how hard he tries, the ever-so-persistent buzzing of his phone doesn’t seem to quell.

Jungwon reaches for his bedside dresser unquestioningly, not wanting to open his eyes, which currently feel weighted down by dumbbells. His fingers fumble around the hardwood until they land on something smooth, and he grips his phone with whatever strength he has this early in the morning. With one eye, he peeks at his phone screen to see a flashing call appear on the glowing screen. With a grumble, he picks up.

“Hello?” he whispers. Only then does he register the dryness of his throat, that scratchy, aching feeling he gets after one too many vodka shots at the club.

“Jungwon, finally!” he hears from the other end. It takes him a little bit to recall your chirpy voice from the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you? This is–”

“Y/n,” he starts, his eyes scanning the clock hanging across his room. “It’s seven in the morning. I never wake up this early. You never wake up this early.”

Jungwon hears a rustle of sheets next to him, a soft whine echoing out from his sleeping hyung. Jay’s tired eyes blink open, and he throws an arm over his eyes as if the light streaming in personally insulted him.

“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.

“Seven.”

Jungwon’s headache makes its presence known on cue, and flashes of last night’s misadventures spring through his memory. He groans, already regretting tagging along with Jay to the bar near his house, the one with Jay’s bartender friend that always gives them half off on drinks. Nights like these are ones he always regrets, never too fond of the aftermath of a raging headache, but sometimes he just needs a little something after a long day of work.

“Are you with Jay?” Jungwon hears on the other end, and he hums softly. “Good, because I have something important to tell you both!”

Your voice is wispy, full of breaths and almost-stutters as if you landed in some sort of unescapable trouble. Jungwon’s heart picks up, worry pounding through him as he puts your call on speaker and climbs out of bed. He fumbles around the room, tugging on a shirt and searching for his keys as he responds.

“What’s wrong? Did you miss your bus again? I can come pick you up–”

“No, Won, nothing’s wrong.” Your breathing staggers on the other end, as if you were controlling every inhale and exhale, and he finds himself not believing your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Jungwon. Listen to me.”

He stops, pausing for a beat, and listens. He listens, just like he always does.

“He proposed, Won. Sunghoon proposed.”

And suddenly, Jungwon feels like he’s suffocating.

He doesn’t register much after that, only Jay expressing a small ‘congrats’ as you both continue talking. His knees buckle, and he’s forced to sit back down on the bed with his shirt half-on and shaking hands. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears shuffling across the room and finds his tears staining Jay’s bare torso, pressing into his chest as Jay brings him in for a hug.

Jay doesn’t say anything at first; he just rubs circles into his back with a touch so delicate that it barely registers. When Jungwon cries harder, he breaks, whispering apologies into his ear as if they can do anything to crush the tidal wave of anguish that just swept over Jungwon.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, over and over again like a mantra, but Jungwon doesn’t understand why. Did he do something wrong? Did you do something wrong? Is loving someone who isn’t him wrong?

All the memories of you suddenly resurface, handpicked moments where he could’ve confessed at any moment, but instead remained silent. Moments where he watched you chase your happiness, even if that didn’t involve him. A small, gnawing feeling in his chest makes itself known, crawling its way up his intestines and up his throat.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers. Jay pulls back, searching his eyes and anticipating any sort of grief-filled reaction that comes Jungwon’s way. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”

Jay frowns, already reaching for the pink Hello Kitty bucket in the corner of Jungwon’s room, reserved for hangovers, rough nights, and maybe in rare cases like this, heartbreak. Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut as he heaves, and heaves, and heaves, all his yearning leaving through his mouth until nothing remains and he’s pulling the bucket away with a slight cough.

“Won, you need to rinse your mouth,” Jay starts, patting his back. Jungwon stares into the bucket, his face contorting into something of confusion.

“Won?” he hears again, but this time he rubs his eyes in disbelief, blinking three times before tilting the bucket towards his hyung.

“Look, hyung. Petals.”

White, curled petals, sitting against the baby pink interior of the bucket. A sight so unrealistic that it doesn’t even look real until Jay shakes the bucket and the petals flutter to the bottom. Jungwon can only stare in shock, almost in wonder, until he throws up again.

(He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees. The mountain that you’d revisit with Jungwon every summer, dragging him, and later Sunghoon, along because it became something of a tradition, sitting at the top of the world with the whole forest spread beneath you.

You would stare at the view. Jungwon would stare at you.)

In retrospect, it’s not like Jungwon didn’t see it coming.

He’d anticipated it for a while now, or at least started expecting it after Sunghoon had pulled him aside during a house party months ago and shyly asked him for his photographer friend’s number, the one who specialized in weddings and surprise proposals. Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.

(That sinking feeling that he’s always had when he sees you with Sunghoon, as if he doesn’t have a Pinterest album of his ideal wedding that he’s imagined you walking down the aisle in. As if he hasn’t daydreamed about sliding a ring on your finger since he was seventeen, mourning the distance between you two as you headed off to college without him. As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.)

Instead, he has to settle for watching you from a distance. He glances at you one too many times today, admiring the flowy sundress you have on as you sit in the wicker chair next to Sunghoon. It’s like his body knows that you’re slipping from his grasp, because his eyes flicker over to you like it’s second nature, and he has to fight to regain his focus.

It’s the first time he’s seen you, physically, in a long while. You look different, almost as if you’re glowing, so giddy with every movement that Jungwon feels it radiate off you. Conversely, Jungwon feels as though there’s a storm cloud brewing in his stomach, twisting and turning and flipping over and over again as though he’s sick. The complementary croissant from the restaurant lies untouched on his plate, and he busies himself with his phone, reading through the influx of messages from Jay about what’s supposedly wrong with him and his newfound ability to throw up petals.

“Jungwon,” you start, abruptly enough that he almost drops his phone before his eyes glance back up towards you, “and Jake. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome? What is this, an announcement?” Sunghoon’s best friend chimes in, stifling a laugh at your formal behavior.

“Sort of, actually,” Sunghoon responds, observing Jungwon’s confused expression. “We, um,” he clears his throat, the pink rising to his cheeks. “We’re getting married. In two months.”

Time seems to hate Jungwon. It trickles down at moments where Jungwon’s impatient, watching the clock tick as he taps his foot in rhythm, and it crashes through like a tsunami when he craves some peace and quiet. Time seems to slide through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass, escaping through every crack as if it's running away from something. He never seems to have enough of it, either too much or too little, and right now, he wishes that it was more friendly to him because he knows that getting over you will take a lot longer than two months.

(Really, he’s had a lifetime to do this, but he’s deluded himself into thinking that getting over you is measurable. A process he can start once he needs to. It’s not. Getting over you is an immeasurable entity that he will be battling for the rest of his life. It’s not time that’s unfair to him; it’s himself.)

“That’s so… soon,” Jungwon finds himself saying lamely.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Didn’t you guys just get engaged?”

“Sunghoon has a work trip early next year, so we thought it’d be best to tie the knot before he goes off,” you explain. Your ring glints from the soft sunshine as you meet Sunghoon’s gaze, like a cheesy romance scene in a movie Jungwon wishes he’d never seen. “And we’d like you both to be part of the wedding party.”

The swirling in Jungwon’s stomach intensifies.

“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest.

“Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.

“Yeah, basically.”

He can’t stop his brain from overthinking, trying any way to get out of something he’d regret. Something you’d regret.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, like, what about Wonyoung?” he asks, knowing how close you are with your college roommate. “She probably knows more about this wedding thing than I do. Or what about Ningning–”

“Won,” you interrupt, placing your hand over his. Your touch is delicate, like always, but he finds it scathingly hot today, as if you’ve set him on fire. “You’re my best friend. Why would I want anyone other than you by my side?”

Oh, how he wishes he could be by your side, not just as your best friend, but as your lover. Sometimes he thinks you know this gaping secret he’s hiding, choosing to say innocent little musings about him and you as if they have no effect on his sanity. He feels sick again, that same sickness from when he gripped Jay’s shirt tightly as tears cascaded down his face, and all he had was the overwhelming urge to get it out. He can’t necessarily do that now, though, not when Sunghoon’s stare is piercing into the side of his head, waiting for a response.

“You’re right. Okay,” he says numbly, watching your face light up in a grin as you clutch his hand a little tighter, as if his skin hasn’t been burnt off enough. Even though the whole table radiates with joy, infectious from your laughter, he feels like his heart is being ripped to pieces with every smile you throw his way.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable with every word he watches you say. He watches the petals float down into the toilet basin, scoffing as he slumps down on the gray tile and wipes his mouth. His hands are finding Jay’s contact before he can even register it, and he tries his hardest not to cry and make a fool of himself in front of you as the phone rings.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers when the call goes through. His throat is raw and scratchy again, aching just like his feelings for you.

“It’s called hanahaki disease, Won,” Jay whispers slowly, as if it pains him to say. “It’s rare, but it happens when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll keep coughing up petals until eventually you die from it.”

Jungwon laughs bitterly because somehow, death doesn’t seem that bad compared to losing you for a lifetime. In the end, death seems better than this sick and twisted fate of his.

Jungwon has always known that you wanted to get married in a garden.

He knows that it’s been a dream of yours to get married with the river flowing behind you and the dandelions peeking through the blades of grass. Early enough that the morning dew still prickles beneath your feet, but not too early for you to complain about your heavy eye bags from lack of sleep.

Jungwon hates that he knows little details about you like this. He hates that he has the ability to read you faster than he’s read himself, as if you’re a book filled with annotations and dog-eared pages from a life well-lived. If Jungwon were a mere acquaintance, crushing on you from afar, he thinks it would’ve been easier to distance himself emotionally. It would be easier to stop loving you without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.

To his dismay, however, Jungwon is not a random nobody to you. He’s your best friend, your other half, the one who completes your sentences and ties your shoelaces. Jungwon knows you like to think of yourself as a star, a tiny, twinkling star that somehow found its place, but to him, you are the epicenter of every universe. A universe where he handpicked all the stars and galaxies, painted the darkness behind you with a soft brush as if it barely exists in comparison to your glow, because he sees you for all that you are. A universe where he settles for being a small planet that orbits you because he is bound to you by heart and soul, and he won’t be able to escape that, no matter how hard he tries.

Your relationship is so tightly knit that he’s the one helping you pick out flower arrangements today instead of Sunghoon. He adjusts uncomfortably in the too-smooth leather couch in the floral shop, watching your fingers flick through the guidebook and trying not to stare at the ring that has now become a permanent placeholder on your body. He subconsciously makes note of the flower arrangements that you linger on for too long, knowing that you won’t remember them until you retrace your line of thought.

(It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you. Like the time you forgot your notecards for your sociology presentation, and he printed out spare just in case. Or when you forgot to ask for mango sago in your drink, so he pulled the cashier aside after to let her know. Even if you’re not aware of how much he does for you, he’ll still continue to do it just to see that glow on your face. That same glow that spreads slowly, the one that barely appears, but the one he still notices because he loves you.)

“They’re all pretty,” you murmur, flipping back and forth through a couple of different arrangements. “What about the petunias?”

Jungwon eyes the multicolored flowers in the photo, his brows arching skeptically. “You didn’t want flashy colors, though,” he reminds you gently, taking the book from your hands.

You sigh, slumping against the couch as if you’re over this whole ordeal, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. Jungwon flips to the next page, ignoring your disinterested gaze because even though your eyes glaze over, he knows how important this is to you, and therefore how important it is to him, too.

He scans the pages until his fingers pause, pressing indents into an arrangement with white colored flowers and pretty green springs. His heart rate spikes as his mind races with every intention to turn the next page, to forget about the same flowers that continue to plague him, but you’ve already noticed his silence and leaned in curiously to examine the page.

“Those are pretty, aren’t they?” you echo, your fingers tracing over the white crysanthemums. Even in the picture, they look delicate, as if one harsh gust could blow away the petals, and all Jungwon can think about is how much they remind him of you.

(They’re the same white flowers he wanted to ask you out with. He’d preordered the bouquet weeks in advance, waiting until the cherry blossoms bloomed to plan the perfect date. The collared shirt he picked out matched how pure the flowers looked in his hands, and he purposefully waited to get his hair cut because he knew you liked to run your fingers through the silky length.

The date never happened, though, because you told him about your crush on Park Sunghoon three days later. The cute barista who always drew hearts on your coffees and added extra boba to your tea. Jungwon smiled back at you as if every word didn’t pierce through his chest, and the bouquet stayed in his dorm, shriveling up until the color became unrecognizable.)

“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”

“They’ll only be for the centerpieces, Won. Besides, the color is versatile enough to go with everything, so it’ll be easy to make a theme around it.”

He wants to tell you that he won’t be able to bear seeing you walk down the aisle with white crysanthemums, a pointed reminder of what could’ve been if you had reciprocated even an ounce of his feelings. He wants to tell you that he’ll die because of this very flower, that the petals he throws up because you don’t feel the same way are the same ones you want to center your entire wedding around.

He wants to tell you that white chrysanthemums mean death, not for you, but for him.

He can’t say any of that, though. Not when you speak so happily to the cashier, discussing logistics and deciding this is the one you want. He can never say no to you, because denying your happiness is like denying his whole existence, even if it causes every part of him to wither away until all that remains is a singular white petal.

The wind whips through Jungwon’s hair as he peeks his head out of the car window, but even that is not enough to stop the ever-so tumultuous feeling in his stomach.

His disease is getting worse. Initially, he’d only throw up after being close to you for prolonged periods of time, or when you sat a little too close for comfort, a little too close to even function. The petals were annoying, and it felt hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable enough that he could deal with it. He could pretend everything was fine when you stared him in the eyes or when your voice fluttered through his ears.

It’s harder now, though, because even the mere thought of you is enough for him to find solace in the Hello Kitty bucket again. There are more petals, too, stained with blood at the tips as if they really are a part of his body and not some figment of his imagination. He chokes on his words more often, always accompanied by a cough and wheezing. He’s gotten paler, enough that he has to apply copious amounts of foundation to resemble his usual self, and his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.

Jay has moved into his apartment indefinitely, treating him like a sick patient because, well, that’s what he is. There’s no cure, no medicine that can make him feel better, and he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar. Jungwon just hopes he dies after your wedding, while you’re blissfully aware on your honeymoon with Sunghoon. He hopes that when he dies, your last memories of him consist of nothing but happiness.

The Hello Kitty bucket joins him on the way to the cake shop, becoming a permanent fixture in his hands as Jay drives in the seat next to him. Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.

At least, until he sees Sunghoon’s car parked outside, and all that he has tried to hold back spills out (all the secrets he has buried, one flower at a time).

“It’s okay,” Jay says, wiping the blood from the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, “I’ll be here. I’ll come up with dumb excuses when you need a break.”

The soft aromatics of the bakery waft through Jungwon’s senses as he steps out, and he just prays that he’ll be able to hold on for long enough today in your presence. He wonders how he’s supposed to survive your actual wedding if he can barely even make it through cake testing today, but he knows he’ll have to figure out a way without making you suspicious of what’s going on.

As much as he hates that Sunghoon loves you, it’s hard not to see why. You’re incredibly perceptive, even having noticed the lack of color in Jungwon’s skin despite his best efforts to try and hide it. You’ve seen how much he’s been coughing recently, even calling him more often to check in on him. You make him chicken noodle soup when he feels notably worse, and even if he doesn’t have the heart to see you, you deliver little gift baskets to his door with medicine. If anything, the question is, how could someone not love you?

The doorbell jingles when you walk in, and your eyes immediately light up when Jungwon walks in. Already, you’re skipping over to him and shoving some flavor of cake in his mouth. Knowing you, you’re probably on some sugar rush from all the sweetness, but if anything, it just makes you seem even more adorable in his eyes.

“Red velvet,” he says through bites and shaking his head, “It’s good, but it’s a hit or miss for a wedding cake.”

“Back to the drawing board,” Sunghoon sighs behind you, picking up another slice of cake and sliding it over to Jungwon. He shovels it into his mouth, already grimacing at the sour lemon taste and glancing over to see your reaction.

“God, I hate this,” you say, and Jungwon hands you the water glass before you can even reach for it. You thank him before taking a big swig, finishing the water in the cup, and you step aside to refill it with Sunghoon in tow.

“Can you be any more obvious?” Jay whispers from his side, and Jungwon quirks an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man. You look at her with googly eyes. You have to be a little more subtle with these kinds of things before Sunghoon catches on.”

“Yeah, but,” Jungwon sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that’s how we’ve always been.”

“You have to understand that it can’t be like that anymore.” Jay rests his palm on Jungwon’s shoulder, gripping it to emphasize his words. “They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”

Jungwon already feels it crawling up his throat before Jay can finish, and his feet fly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he empties his stomach. Jungwon watches in horror as the once white petals are now blood-stained to the core, soaked in deep red as they make their way down the drain. One look in the mirror shows the blood coating his lips, and he tries his best to wipe off the residue so he doesn’t leave the bathroom looking like a vampire.

Loving you is destroying him, he admits to himself with a bitter laugh. He’s living in this sick, twisted version of fate where he’s punished for wanting what his heart desires.

(When in reality, loving you has always been a form of punishment for him. Watching you at your college graduation as Sunghoon pulls you in closer with your purple graduation stole, leaving featherlight kisses on your cheeks as if you two were the only ones to exist in this world. Knowing that, as he recorded you throwing your graduation cap high in the air, he’d never be enough for you. The sleepless nights when he’s agonized over you, haunted by being in your shadow because he’s simply not worth it, have already burned his soul to ashes. His heart is already a decayed, shriveled version of what could’ve been; he’s just too late to realize it.)

Jay is waiting for him by the door as he steps out. One look at his face, and Jay can already tell how much worse his condition has become, but he chooses not to comment on it as they walk back into the room.

“Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face in worry as he walks over to you. “You were in there for a while.”

“Yeah. My stomach was kind of acting up from the lemon flavor.”

“I didn’t like that one either,” Sunghoon responds, eyes trailing over Jungwon before his brows furrow. “Hey, you have something on your lips.”

Jungwon’s thumb runs over the corner, pulling back to reveal a smidge of blood he’d missed in the bathroom. He pales, and Jay tenses up next to him, trying to think of an excuse so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

“It’s probably from the dark chocolate raspberry, right?”

Jungwon laughs, dry and hollowed out. “Yeah! I had a lot cause it was pretty good.”

“I wanna try,” you say, scanning the tables for the flavor. Your fingers reach for the cup, and Jungwon watches your eyes light up as the fork disappears behind your lips. “This is pretty good,” you say between muffled bites, “not too sweet and not too tart.”

(Jungwon can’t help the bitter taste in his mouth that spreads when he looks at you. Once, that was you and he, sharing secrets between your eyes in a language you both could only understand. Now, he has to watch his form of love being exhibited by another. A love that he’s now a bystander in front of.)

“Thanks for the save,” Jungwon whispers to his hyung when the noise has settled down.

“Don’t mention it.”

Jay passes him a leftover cake slice, and Jungwon shakes his head. The back of his throat burns, and he can’t tell if it’s from throwing up earlier or the raw intensity of his feelings pounding through his chest every time he looks at you. And even though his heart echoes in his ears, he knows you can’t hear it.

He has always been on mute for you, just static background noise in a world where only you and Sunghoon exist.

Jungwon doesn’t like looking at his reflection in your mirror.

It’s not that he hates how he looks, per se (although he does look like a shell of his former self, vampirish with how pale his skin is and how chapped his lips are). He’s just constantly reminded of how out of place he is in your apartment, all long legs, floppy hair, and that constant nagging feeling that he doesn’t really know you anymore.

He feels a little more disconnected every time he visits. Even though he’s seen it evolve from beige walls and empty floors, even though there are remnants of him everywhere he looks, he’s always felt like an outsider looking in.

From the stain on your carpet when he spilled beer in a drunken stupor to the cat magnet on your fridge, which he’d bought at an Asian market years ago, physically, he knows you. However, Sunghoon’s things scattered throughout the apartment remind him that, emotionally, you are not the same person you once were. A casual hoodie draped over the bar stool is enough to make his stomach stir.

(These days, he has to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. However, so many ins and so many outs cannot help him hide how left out he feels in your presence. He hates to bear witness to you and Sunghoon sharing glances, as if he is the only one that matters to you. He hates the thought of Sunghoon trailing kisses down your stomach, of whispering breathy words against your thighs like a poem made just for you. He hates knowing that no matter how much Sunghoon loves you, he could love you better.)

Jay was right. Your eyes don’t search for his anymore. They search for Sunghoon’s.

“Stop thinking,” Jay chastises. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

He can’t, though. To him, you’re second nature, a permanent fixture in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t stop bugging him. It’s so irrevocably easy for him to think of you because he searches for you in everything. In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.

He hears Jay sigh beside him, turning to place an envelope and a wedding invitation card in his hand.

“Focus on this first. You can think about her when you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Jungwon nods, slipping the card inside the pocket absentmindedly. His heart is never really there during your wedding preparations, or really anything that has involved you lately, but he hopes you appreciate the effort he puts into trying to show up. It’s hard, especially when he feels the blood swirl in his stomach after seeing your name carved next to Sunghoon’s on the envelope, but he’d rather sacrifice his happiness for yours instead of being apart from you.

He’s gotten better at training himself, though. Focusing on his breathing and counting down from ten seems to do the trick most of the time. However, it comes with a heavy price tag. The blood gets worse when he holds back, and it almost feels like he’s hyperventilating once he does find a chance to empty his stomach. It’s always worse in your presence, too, but good thing you’re not here today, leaving your friends to mail out the invitations as you figure out the decorations.

“Jungwon,” Jake calls out from beside him, “do you think the white stamp or the gold stamp looks better?” He flashes both colors in front of Jungwon’s face, the lights glittering from the clear reflection of the gold one.

“Gold. She’ll like that it’s shiny.”

Subconsciously, his eyes flicker toward Sunghoon, looking at him for approval. He nods, not looking up from the table, and Jungwon’s eyes linger before turning back to his own task.

Jungwon doesn’t really harbor any resentment towards Sunghoon. He’s always viewed him through your eyes, always your boyfriend before anything else. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong other than being the unfortunate human being that you happened to be in love with, the person that took everything away from him. It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.

Jungwon has always wondered if Sunghoon knows about the extent of his feelings towards you. He always stares into Jungwon as if he’s reading his soul, with that piercing gaze that’s not harsh or unkind but rather, telling. They’re not ridiculously close, but they play video games together sometimes and share a cup of coffee after a long few weeks. Sometimes, late at night, when Jungwon gets roped into Jay’s drinking escapades and doesn’t want you to know, Sunghoon will pick him up and let him sleep over. He’s always gone by the time Jungwon wakes up, but he never leaves without leaving fresh hangover soup and painkillers on the bedside table next to him.

Sunghoon is not a bad person, which makes everything incredibly difficult. In fact, he’s the ideal boyfriend, and the guilt eats Jungwon alive whenever he interacts with you and Sunghoon stares a little too long.

“Jungwon,” he hears. It takes him a moment to register that he zoned out, staring at Sunghoon’s face. Sunghoon smiles awkwardly before asking him if he’s alright.

“Sorry– I was just lost in thought.”

Sunghoon hums, and he feels Jay’s stare burning into him as Sunghoon continues.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the orchestra arrangement.” He stands abruptly, beckoning Jungwon to follow him into the kitchen.

Already, Jungwon has that sinking feeling in his stomach because he knows this conversation will be about anything but the orchestra arrangement. He wipes his sweaty palms against his cardigan, and Sunghoon frowns.

“Look, Jungwon. We’re all excited for this wedding, and I’m sure you are too, but if it’s too much, we’ll understand, okay?”

Jungwon looks at him with a blank stare.

“I– I just mean, you just look exhausted, Won. And I know that,” Sunghoon sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if he’s bracing himself, “I know that I’m not exactly your best friend, but I’m here if you want to talk about it. I care about you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jungwon feels horrible. In his mind, it’s always been him and you, or you and Sunghoon, but he’s never really considered how Sunghoon thinks about him. Sunghoon is genuine, caring about Jungwon’s health, even though he’s five seconds away from ruining his marriage.

(Jungwon doesn’t deserve any of the good around him. Not Jay, who loves him more than he loves himself. Not Sunghoon, who has always tried to be there for him when no one else was. Not even you, who cares for him even when there is nothing left to care for.)

“I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, hyung. I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t worry about it.” He coughs, and Sunghoon looks unconvinced. “I promise.”

“Are you sure, I mean–” Sunghon starts, reaching out with his fingers in an attempt to graze his cheek. Jungwon flinches, and his fingers pause midair. “Sorry, you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking.”

Sunghoon has that shyness to him, the one that makes his cheeks pink. He looks guilty, and Jungwon’s heart breaks.

“Thank you for checking up on me, though, hyung. It means a lot.”

Sunghoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungwon turns to leave before the room feels too suffocating, before the walls close in on him and taunt him for how much of a horrible human being he is, but he pauses once he feels Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder.

“Wait, Jungwon, I–” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I know, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stills.

“I know that you love her.”

It feels like his heart is decomposing, burning alive from just the mere mention of you. It hurts a little too much, and he doesn’t even register that he’s crying until he sees the droplets staining the floor. He’s not standing in your apartment anymore, crafting wedding invitations with his friends and debating what color looks better under your cheap lighting. All that he now knows is himself, the tears that slide down his face, and the weight of Sunghoon standing behind him.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon-ah. I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon chokes out. Sunghoon’s fingers grip his shoulder tightly, and Jungwon can distinctly feel the way he trembles underneath Sunghoon’s touch.

He can feel the cool metal of Sunghoon’s rings through his thin shirt. The tears fall too freely now, silently as if he’s afraid to make himself known, and a singular teardrop finds its place against the smooth skin of Sunghoon’s hand.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jungwon whispers so quietly that he’s not even sure Sunghoon hears it. His chest feels too tight, as if he’s curled into a cocoon. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault.”

Jungwon has been hearing a lot of apologies lately. Apologies for loving too much, apologies for loving not enough. He doesn’t really know whether he deserves these apologies, if they really mean anything, or are just words that are intended to fill that gaping hole in his heart, but what he does know is that he’s sick and tired of hearing them. These apologies symbolize that there is something to blame, someone who is guilty, when really, there is only one culprit here.

When really, everything is his fault. Jungwon is the one who learned to love, and now he has to learn to forget. The apologies that fly around his head, whether of pity or sorrow, are worthless to him because, if anything, he is the one who should be saying sorry. Sorry to Sunghoon, sorry to Jay, sorry to you, and sorry to the universe for loving so much that it hurts even to mention it.

“I was too selfish,” Sunghoon whispers. The word sounds foreign in his voice, too unassuming and soft, as if Sunghoon doesn’t even know what it really means.

Jungwon laughs bitterly. Right then and there, he realizes exactly why you fell for Sunghoon and not him.

Sunghoon is too kind to the world. He cares about everyone and everything, from the little caterpillars in the weeds to the dandelion waiting for its dying wish. Jungwon is the opposite. His heart is blood-stained. He feels only for one person, you, and only you. His heart beats too fast because his love for you is like that, someone who feels too much and too intensely. Jungwon’s love is ruination, destroying everything along its path until it’s just the two of you in this universe.

Maybe Sunghoon is selfish, but at least he knows moderation. Jungwon’s love has no limits. He only knows how to take, to take and suck you dry until all you know is him.

“You’re not the selfish one, hyung. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

After he goes home, he throws up. Jay brushes his hair out of his face, and when Jungwon pulls back, all that meets his eye is dark, soul-crushing blood. No more petals. Just blood.

“Maybe you should tell her,” Jay suggests off-handedly as Jungwon drinks water. “It might be good to let it out of your system.”

He can’t, is what he tries to tell Jay. He can’t because admitting he loves you is like confessing the worst of his mistakes. Speaking it into existence will only force him to confront the horrifying truth that you always viewed him as a best friend, or worse, a brother, and he would rather live with the what-ifs and the daydreams than let you leave because of one stupid confession.

Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Sure,” he squeaks out miserably, with every intention of not doing what he’s told. And then he throws up once more.

Jungwon wakes up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t remember what exactly it’s about, only that he’s now dehydrated and his phone is buzzing on the counter next to him despite how late it is.

He sees your name flashing on the screen, and he’s already tugging on his jeans as he answers. It’s like clockwork to him, answering your calls, worrying about you even though you’re probably fine, but he still can’t stop his racing heart or his trembling hands.

It’s as if his brain is hardwired for you. Every beat of his heart, every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his legs, it’s all for you. Jungwon has never lived a single moment without being reminded of your existence in some shape or form. He has never lived a single moment without knowing how to love you.

“Hello?” he asks, almost tripping over his keys.

It takes him a few moments to recognize you crying on the other end.

“Where are you?” he whispers, gentler this time, so as not to scare you away.

“Practice room,” you mumble, so softly as if you don’t want to say it.

He finds you slouched on the ground as he walks into the studio a couple of minutes later, tears staining your light-washed jeans as you furrow into yourself. You’re not crying anymore, not visibly, but somehow knowing that this is the aftermath makes him feel ten times worse.

He’s never really heard you cry before. He knows you’re a private person, someone who likes to share your happiness but keep your sadness to yourself. So, the fact that he could hear your hiccups over the phone meant you were holding back too long, trying to do it all and ruining yourself to the point where you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

(So it brings him, with sickening greed, a small amount of satisfaction to be the one that’s here for you tonight. Even though his mind tells him not to, even though his body physically forbids him to be near you, his heart only beats your name as he slides down next to you.)

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter. Your fingers pick at the dry skin near your fingernails, and he can see the redness of your eyes as you look up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I won’t judge,” he says, repeating himself when you don’t respond. “Please.”

You sigh. “Hoon and I had dance practice today. You know, for our first dance. But I–” you laugh, wiping away the tears that make their appearance, “I can’t seem to do it right. He moves so effortlessly, and it feels like I’m stumbling and picking up the pieces. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about not being good enough.”

One thing Jungwon has learned about you, so subtle that he doesn’t even think Sunghoon knows it yet, is that you’re fragile. He knows you hold your heart in pieces, begging the universe to glue you back together, even though he knows it can’t. So, in lieu of the universe, Jungwon tries. You never give him direct liberty to, but he holds you. He holds you and your broken pieces, and even though it eats him alive that he can’t help you more than this, somehow, it works. It always works for you because he treads carefully, gently, never pushing too hard to keep you grounded.

Right now, as you stare up at him with glossy eyes and the world in your hands, Jungwon knows he has to prove to you that, truly, you are enough. Just as he always has, like when you failed your physics exam in ninth grade, or when you didn’t get that promotion at work even though you tried so hard for it. All he knows in this life is how to be there for you, even if you’re not there for him.

He takes your hand in his, pulling you up from the floor as he turns on the music. “Let’s practice. I’ll help you until you get it right.”

A soft melody floats through the air, spinning around the two of you until he’s clutching your waist. His touch is so light that he’s pretty sure you can barely even feel it, but already he’s regretting being in such close proximity with you as the blood swirls throughout his stomach. Your hands clasp each other behind, wrapped around his neck, and you can’t see the way Jungwon stares at you because your eyes focus on the ground with staggered steps. You stumble as he moves you left, and then right, and the concentration in your gaze wavers as you try not to step on his feet.

“I can’t do this, I–”

“Shh,” he whispers. Your arms loosen, and he grips your waist a little tighter. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just a dance.”

You’re still unconvinced, a frown working its way onto your face. One of his hands comes up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up so that you can meet his gaze.

“Just focus on me.”

You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both. A slight blush makes its way across his cheeks, but he reminds himself to focus on the steps, back and forth, as if you’re not right in front of him. Jungwon moves like magic, flitting across the dance floor as if he has wings, and you quickly learn how to soar with him, to match his pace and create a rhythm of your own. He notices how relaxed you’ve become when he dips you, a little too low, and you just giggle and hold onto him tighter.

“Thought you were going to drop me,” you gasp after he lets you up. He shakes his head, twirling you around before bringing you in.

“Never,” he murmurs. “I would never drop you.”

He’s so close that he can see the texture on your skin and the light reflecting across your hair. Your irises seem to swirl, lulling him in, and your lips have the curve of a faint smile that he’s worked hard to bring back to your face. He’s so close that he could kiss you, so close that every inch of his curiosity could be satisfied if he just leaned in, but the music behind him slows to a stop as you pull away from his grasp.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. Then, teasingly, “It would be easier if it were you up there with me instead of Sunghoon, right?”

And suddenly, Jungwon remembers his nightmare. It wasn’t really a nightmare, not something that was frightening enough for his heart to race in fear. Instead, it was a dream tinged with blurred lines and all his what-ifs, a dream of him kissing you after your first dance and how brightly you’d smiled. It was a dream tinged with his blood, a dream that could never be true because you would never think to look at him the way he looks at you.

You busy yourself with packing up your stuff, too focused to see the absolute pain on Jungwon’s face as he clutches the barre next to him. The world caves in around him, and he has to try his absolute hardest to wave goodbye to you as if he’s not crumbling on the inside. Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.

He wishes it were him, too. As the blood spills from his lips, dripping down his face, his arms, down to the very floor he stands on, all he wishes is that it could be him dancing with you, being in your arms legitimately, instead of yearning from afar as he twirled you around today.

Maybe, if it really were him dancing with you at the end, this wouldn’t be his last dance alive.

You look happy.

It’s the first thing he notices as you climb into the car, already a little tipsy from the alcohol you’d consumed at your pregame. Your friends, not faring much better than you, help you keep your balance as you buckle your seatbelt and motion for him to start the car. You look genuinely happy. Not just in the way a drunk person looks, but in the way that it’s infectious. You radiate with that kind of energy that makes him want to tug close and kiss the life out of you.

The streetlights twinkle through the window as he drives, filtering out the loud bass of your music and your friends singing along in the backseat. The club you’d chosen for your bachelorette party was a little far from your apartment, but your group doesn’t really seem to mind as they control the aux on his phone and queue another Britney Spears song. The air is charged with that upbeat feeling, the kind that has him drumming his fingers along to the music as he steps on the gas.

He notices your silence in the front seat, watching your head tilt out of the window and the wind whipping through your hair. Usually, you’d be singing along, especially after a little bit of alcohol in your system, but you seem lost in thought today, and it makes him a little worried.

“You okay?” he asks. He wonders if you even hear him over the loud karaoke of your friends, but you turn back to him with a soft smile.

“Yeah. It’s all just kind of hitting me right now, you know?”

“What, the alcohol?”

There’s a soft pause before you look back at the window, pressing the button and watching it roll up.

“No, the wedding,” you say, playing with your engagement ring absentmindedly. “It just feels so surreal.”

Jungwon chooses to say nothing, turning up the volume of the music instead. He feels your eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what to say as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He’s glad he chose to stay sober tonight because maybe he would’ve responded with something not particularly appropriate. Perhaps he would’ve decided to tell you that he does wish this wedding were just a figment of his imagination. Maybe, he would’ve told you that he’s scheduled to die soon because of your surreal wedding, your surreal love for Sunghoon, and his not very surreal love for you.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He keeps his emotions in check and drives, watching the headlights of the car next to him race by. He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.

The club has this dizzying sort of atmosphere, the flickering lights from the dance floor and the loudness of the music hitting him all at once. He feels like he can’t breathe, he really, really can’t breathe, and he’s already making his way to the bathroom before you have a chance to drag him to the center.

I can’t do this, he texts Jay. The multicolored ceiling tiles blur before his eyes as he slumps against the bathroom stall door. He hears someone throwing up next to him, and he wonders briefly that if everything were normal, that if he weren’t dying because you loved him back, maybe he’d be a drunk idiot throwing up in his Hello Kitty bucket too.

He’s not normal, though. Every time he inhales, it feels painful as if something’s stuck in his throat. His voice has become too raspy, and he swears he can feel the weight of his lungs through every breath, pounding against him particularly hard whenever he’s near you. Every ticking moment reminds him that you are genuinely content with all this. Content with Sunghoon, content with this wedding, and content living a life Jungwon may not even be in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom stall, pouring his feelings out, but he wipes the blood off with a tissue and leaves the stall. His eyes look bloodshot in the mirror, and his heart pounds with every beat of the EDM music reverberating through him. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.

His eyes scan the dance floor for you, and he relaxes slightly when he finds you swinging your arms in the air to a Charli XCX song. You’re in your own little world as your friends dance around you, and Jungwon feels like he’s standing on the edge of it, one foot in and one foot out. It's as if he’s almost there, but not quite.

(Lately, though, he’s been choosing to stay out. Choosing not to get devoured by the force that is you, all-consuming and leaving him with no room to breathe. Once upon a time, he would choose to drown every time, to feel the burn in his lungs as he swam towards you.

Now, there is no more burning left in his lungs. There is no more you. It’s just him and his thoughts, floating endlessly in the ocean until the point of no return.)

He’s scrolling on his phone, slouched against the bar stool, when he hears two taps on the marble next to him. He looks up to find the bartender sliding over a glass of fizzy liquid, topped with a sliced lime and a salted rim.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” Jungwon sputters, reaching to push it back, but the bartender clasps his hand and wraps Jungwon’s fingers around the glass.

“It’s on the house, and it’s non-alcoholic, so don’t worry about it.” The bartender smiles, a contagious sort of grin that makes Jungwon want to smile too, and he leans over slightly to speak closer to him. “You look like you need it.”

Jungwon thanks the bartender, sipping at his drink slowly and feeling the bubbles fizz down his throat. It’s a Sprite, mixed with something a little fruity, and already it has him feeling lighter than a couple of moments before.

“I’m Sunoo, by the way,” he hears. Sunoo’s nameplate flashes from the strobing lights, dancing from all the colors around him. “So, tell me, which girl is it?”

Jungwon coughs, the drink going down the wrong pipe, and Sunoo merely blinks, watching him.

“What? What girl?”

“The girl that’s you’re heartbroken over, silly!”

Jungwon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re like a dejected puppy. Even a five-year-old could probably tell.”

Jungwon sips at his drink, carrying it while peeking back over his shoulder. His eyes search until they land on your figure, now at the far left near the DJ.

“That one, over there,” he says, pointing at you. “The one in the white.”

“She’s pretty,” Sunoo says absentmindedly, and Jungwon finds himself agreeing before turning back to face him. “Did she reject you?”

“No,” Jungwon starts. His throat feels parched, suddenly, despite his dedication to sipping the drink in his hands. “I– I never told her. She’s getting married next week.”

Sunoo’s gaze softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The drink tastes bitter now, prickling in Jungwon’s mouth. His lips press into a line as his fingers play with the straw in his glass. He swishes it, around and around, watching the little cyclone that appears when he moves the straw too fast. He wants to tell Sunoo that it’s okay. There’s no reason to apologize, and he’s sick of every sorry that comes his way because it’s fine. In a normal world, Jungwon would have moved on, slowly but surely, and he’d have come back to this bar in the future as a healed person.

It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay because how can Jungwon move on when you make up every inch of him? How can Jungwon move on when the reason he lives and dies is because of you? You pour life into him and take it away from him all at the same time. You are the one to poison him and you are the one to heal him, and Jungwon just has to stand there and take it until he physically isn’t able to anymore. Jungwon will never be able to find someone who loves him just as much as he loves you, because he only has space in his heart for you and no other. So even if it means that Sunoo’s last memory of Jungwon is right now at this bar, pining after you from afar, he’s forced to accept it.

After all, there is no him without you.

There is only you without him.

Jungwon should be at the venue already. Instead, he’s lying against his mahogany rug, fingers twisting in the strings that are woven into it as he tries to reach for his phone.

He was having a good day, or at least, he thought he was having a good day. He woke up early to run some errands before work. His presentation proposal went spectacularly well, and there was barely any traffic as he sped home. He got a free hot chocolate today with the welcome of a new month, a new December, and he didn’t have to spend any portion of today hunched over a sink waiting for his guts to spill out.

He was having a good day until, well, everything started to go wrong.

He was searching for his keys as he straightened his suit tie and fixed that annoying strand of hair that kept falling in his face. He was on call with Jay, who had offered to drive him to the restaurant where your rehearsal dinner was being held. It was all fine.

He was fumbling around for his suit jacket when suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he ended up on the floor, or how the sharp, radiating pain spread from his lungs to his heart. All he knows is that he’s crying, and Jay’s voice is somewhere distant, telling him to stay calm and to wait for him. He can’t respond, every hoarse attempt to speak failing miserably with a cough. His insides feel like they’re being burned alive, and distinctly he can feel the tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe the blood spill from his mouth.

He can’t seem to move, not when he tries to reach for his phone, not when Jay shows up and shakes him by the shoulders, not when the paramedics show up at his apartment and shine a bright light in his eyes. He can’t move when he’s hooked up to the oxygen mask, or when the ambulance shudders beneath him and Jay’s tears drip down his arm.

Somewhere along all of this, he fades in and out of consciousness, dizzy from the bright lights and the emergency siren. He can’t tell if the pain gets worse or if it gets better, but he tries to focus on the beeping of his heart rate and how grounded Jay’s hand makes him feel.

And throughout all of this, despite his best efforts to ignore it, he thinks of you. He thinks of how you’re probably at your rehearsal dinner right now, holding hands with Sunghoon. You’re probably talking about how you met him, how you fell in love with him, and how you will continue to love him just as he loves you. You’re probably talking to all your friends and family and serving your homemade banana pudding recipe that you worked hard to make. He knows you probably have that stupid little grin on your face, the one he sees in his daydreams of you and him, and other words that don’t belong together.

He’s still dreaming about you when he wakes up, barely registering the pain from the IV needle as he scans the room. His eyes land on Jay in the chair next to him, who’s already rushing over as soon as Jungwon’s eyes open.

“Where am I?” Jungwon says groggily. His free hand clutches his forehead, aware of the dull headache that rests on the sides of his forehead. “Is this the hospital?”

“Jungwon,” Jay breathes, cradling Jungwon’s face. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” Jay says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers clutch Jungwon’s hand tightly, as if he’s still in disbelief over Jungwon breathing and talking right in front of him. “A couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?” Jungwon shrieks. He tugs the needle from his arm, wincing from the sharp pain as it rips out. “We’re so late. So late. She’s probably waiting for me! I told her I was gonna help set up the decorations–”

“Jungwon,” Jay whispers, gripping his wrist. Jungwon sees the frown lines etched on his face and pauses. “I sent her a text about us being late. She never even responded.”

“No– that’s– she would never,” Jungwon scoffs. His fingers reach for this phone on the bedside table next to him, dialing your number before Jay can even stop him.

The line rings, once, twice, too many times before the sound of your voicemail filters in. He tries again, and again, and each time feels like a stab to his freshly wounded heart. His eyes fog up, and he can’t stop the tears that escape him as he dials over and over again. His tears fall on his phone screen, staining the glass until he can’t even click on the call button, and the phone slips from his grasp.

His body pulses in his hyung’s hold as he hugs him, heavy sobs erupting from him as he finally lets go. He lets go of all the pain and misery he’s faced from you, about you, like an asteroid that burns up when it reaches too close to the sun. No matter how hard he tries, it’s impossible for him to accept that he’s just another person in your orbit, fading in and out when you need him.

“You always put her before yourself,” Jay murmurs in his shoulder. “Even if she’s the reason you’re dying, you’re still addicted to her.”

“I can’t help it, hyung. I love her.”

Jay exhales, pulling away from Jungwon. Even though Jungwon is stupid, the never-give-up kind of stupid, he appreciates Jay for still trying to save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.

Jay reaches over to grab a folder from the table, the bright blue color matching the print of his hospital gown. He flips through a few pages before pulling out a black, semi-translucent slip of film, flipping it over for Jungwon to see.

It takes a few minutes for Jungwon even to register what he’s seeing. The scan is zoomed in on his upper half, centered on his lungs and vertebrae, but what’s in his lungs is anything but typical. Flowers bloom through every crevice of his lungs, sprouting, growing as if they’re meant to be there. They’re still small, but Jungwon can already see the buds and even tiny flowers that have sprouted. There’s not an inch of space left empty, every alveolus filled with a leaf or a stem or a flower.

“Is this what I was coughing up?” Jungwon asks, fingers tracing his chest where his lungs reside. “That’s inside of me?”

“Yeah. The doctors said that as the disease progressed, there were too many flowers to cough up, so they started growing in you.” Jay speaks with incredulity, as if he can’t even believe it’s real.

“What do you mean, progressed? Is it not still progressing?”

Jay turns to him, and only then does Jungwon register his bleary eyes and the tear stains that have dried on his cheeks. His fingers tremble as he holds the page, and he speaks so softly as if he refuses to solidify the statement’s existence.

“You’re in your final stages, Wonie. You have a week left at best until the flowers bloom fully and you’ll die of oxygen poisoning.”

Jungwon thinks that if he weren’t so adamant about making it to your wedding and seeing you at the altar, he would’ve killed himself a long time ago. Maybe the day you asked him to be your maid of honor, or maybe even as early as when you got proposed to. Killing himself would’ve rid him of all this yearning, yearning that presented itself in the form of this disease that takes and takes until his very last breath. This disease, that no matter how hard he tries to avoid, reminds him of you.

You with the soft fingers that he wishes he could intertwine his with. You with the eyebrow you always arch expressively when you dislike something. You with the back tattoo of a sparrow that’s a little chubby, just the way you wanted it. You with the soft voice that he’s blessed to hear through the little song covers you’d always send him. You who’d never notice the cherry blossoms that fell in your hair, the ones that he’d have to pick out imperceptibly every time.

You who he’s so irrevocably in love with. You, who despite having a heart full of love, have never loved him back.

And then, there’s him. Jungwon. That same Jungwon, with a heart full of love to give only to you. Jungwon, who stays by your side even if you never notice it. That same Jungwon, who worries about you when there is nothing to worry about. That same Jungwon, who kept a mental list of your favorite foods so you won’t feel indecisive at restaurants. That same Jungwon, who holds your hair when you drink a little too much and whispers that it’s okay in your ears, that it’ll all be over before you know it.

They say moles are marks of where your soulmate kissed you in your previous life. Jungwon knows where all of yours are: the one on your eyebrow, the two on your lower torso, the ones on your hands that he noticed when he interlocked fingers with you, and even the one on your forearm that he memorized as he watched you fall asleep during a sleepover. He doesn’t know if he was your soulmate that kissed those moles into existence in a previous life, or in any life at all, but he’s tried his hardest to be the one for you, even if you’re destined for another.

And even now, knowing that you two are never fated to be together in this life, he’ll still try. Because who is he, if he doesn’t even exist to love you?

And distinctly, he remembers the time he did confess to you. The time that he tells no one about because it’s a moment too pathetic to remember.

It was during break, the summer before his senior year of college. You and a couple of others, newly graduated seniors, were at a karaoke bar five minutes away from campus. Jungwon had to watch as you cozied up to Sunghoon from the other end of the couch, a little too drunk and a little too loose. His heart had simmered beneath him, tinged with jealousy every time Sunghoon had pressed a kiss to your cheek or pulled you closer.

He didn’t really mean to avoid you that day. He just didn’t want to third-wheel you and your boyfriend, especially since he was a little tipsy and didn’t trust himself to remain sane around you. You looked so happy, with a giddy voice and a bright smile, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt your mood.

So, he stayed on the other side of the room. Even when you wanted him to join you in a karaoke battle, to that one song you always queued while he drove you around, he shook his head and remained in his spot. He didn’t drink too much, just enough to feel the buzz, but he still couldn’t shake off how pretty you looked in that dress, or how much you laughed as you curled into Sunghoon’s side.

After some point, the lights in the room and the loud bass of the music start to get too suffocating. He excuses himself for some air, grabbing the empty boxes from the food you’d ordered to throw them away. He doesn’t notice your eyes on him as he balances the carts and slides open the door.

The hallway is long and winding, and by the time Jungwon finds the trashcan and a water fountain, he’s a little out of breath. The walk has sobered him up a little bit, so he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was when he walked here on the way back. He turns, wiping the corner of his mouth from the dribble of water that slid down, but he finds you standing right behind him instead, with a frown on your face and a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hands.

Already, he knows you’re more shitfaced since the last time he saw you. Pink Whitney has never treated you kindly, and as he sees you struggle to stand upright with your heels on, he knows you’ve passed that limit of tipsiness and charted into dangerous, drunken territory, the kind that he knows you’ll regret the next morning.

“That’s enough of that,” he says, grabbing the bottle. You protest weakly, attempting to snatch it back, but he holds it behind his back so you can’t reach. “Why did you leave the room? You can barely walk.”

“I missed you,” you hiccup. He notices how your tears pool in your eyes, as if you don’t want to cry but can’t really stop it. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“What?” he breathes. He didn’t really think you’d notice the distance that he’d tried to maintain, assuming you were too preoccupied with Sunghoon to even care that he made no effort to talk to you.

“You refused to share your fries with me. You always share your fries with me.” You’re full-on sobbing at this point, and your fingers find home in his jacket lapel as you sniffle. “Did I do something wrong? Why do you hate me?”

His heart hurts seeing you like this, being the reason that you’re reduced to this mess. His arms curl around you, pulling you in closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. Your fingers grip his jacket tightly, and he’s too focused on your feelings to notice how your tears stain his shirt.

“Why would I hate you?” he murmurs against your ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

And he means it. Not one inch of his body could feel any sort of resentment towards you, no matter how hard he tried. He wishes it could, so he could hate you peacefully and move on from all the grief he’s been shouldering, but there’s some invisible string tied between you two that he can’t seem to break, no matter how far he goes.

“Then why haven’t you talked to me today?”

He sighs, thumbing the strands of your hair. “I was just giving you space since you were with Sunghoon.”

You pull back, and through your glossy tears, he sees your lips pull into a pout.

“But, I want you too.”

You say it so simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him in your life, even though you already have the world with Sunghoon. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to admit that sometimes you love unfairly, and he doesn’t have it in him to seek anything otherwise. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him even though you have no more love left to give.

Like a puppy on a leash, he glows after hearing those words, even if they hold no weight coming from you. He cradles your face, brushing away the tear streaks across your cheeks.

“You already have me,” he says honestly. “I’m already yours.”

You smile with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of smile that’s earnest, one that stretches across your whole face. Jungwon would run to the ends of the universe if it meant he could see it again.

“I love you.”

The confession slips out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered, as he stops breathing. He didn’t mean to admit it, especially not in front of you like this with your boyfriend a few rooms over. It was supposed to be a secret he carried to his grave, not some abrupt confession he said in hushed tones in front of a karaoke bar water fountain. He was supposed to say it on that day, the day when the cherry blossoms bloomed, and he wore that white shirt to match the flowers in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to say it like this, holding an uninhibited version of you and taking advantage of the fact that you’re not sober enough to process his words.

He stills, like a frame paused, in time waiting for your reaction. He knows you’re going to hate him, not want him anymore, even if it’s selfishly, and he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this. His heart pounds against his chest, erratic as if it’s escaping, and he can’t seem to find the words to apologize or take it all back before you slip from his grasp.

You don’t do any of that, though. You remain in his hold, with his fingers holding you like a porcelain doll, and that soft smile. Instead, your hands wrap around his, your fingers sliding between the crevices as you open your eyes.

“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”

His lungs release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, but it’s not loud enough to disguise the sound of his heart breaking. You don’t hear it, of course, oblivious to the tumultuous storm that rages inside him, and you just pull him tighter as you hug him again.

He cries. He cries against you just as you cried against him, only stronger with the weight of all his unsaid confessions pouring out of him. It’s silent enough for your drunk self not to notice, but the droplets plink against your hair, and he has to wipe away the tears rapidly before you catch on. It hurts so, so much. It hurts more than anything else he’s ever felt because, while you’re the center of the universe to him, he means nothing to you. While you’re everything to him, he’s just a fleeting moment to you.

Unmistakably, he wonders if anything would’ve even changed had he confessed to you properly then. Or if anything would’ve even changed if he confessed to you now, mere days before your wedding. If maybe the pain in his lungs would’ve eased away, if maybe the flowers would’ve withered and died right inside him.

Deep down, though, he knows that confession wouldn’t have healed him one bit, because you have never felt anything for him in return. From the very first time he laid eyes upon you, sculpting castles in the sandbox alone, to now, he has always cared for you and your impression of him. Even when that impression is anything but what he really is, what he really wants to be, he still cares.

He knows that even if he confessed to you, the flowers in his heart would still continue to bloom, unconstrained without the very thing he desires from you: love.

The air is a little breezy today.

Not breezy enough that Jungwon feels cold (although his suit jacket provides him plenty of warmth already), but just enough to make the blades of grass sway softly, as if they’re dancing along to the faint melody of the music in the background. It’s early in the morning, a time when he can still hear the birds chirping and the sun rays peeking above the horizon.

On a regular day, he’d still be in bed waiting for his alarm clock to ring. Or maybe he’d be hungover from a long weekend with his friends, choosing to sleep in and ignore a headache. Today, though, he stands under the drapes of the altar, next to the podium where Sunghoon shifts nervously.

Waiting for you.

Jungwon’s fingers fumble with the flower in his pocket, a singular, white chrysanthemum against the black of his suit. Your bridesmaids have the same flowers as corsages, but Jungwon’s is different because the flower rests right in front of his heart, beating, echoing with every pulse.

And already, Jungwon knows today is his last day alive, because today is your wedding. Today is the day he’ll lose you forever, the day that you step out of every daydream of his and into another man’s. Standing here, as your man of honor, is the most twisted punishment the universe could make him face. On the day of his reckoning, instead of wishing him away with peace, you’ve decided to make him bear witness to the very act that caused his ruin.

Sunghoon stares at him knowingly. He can’t tell if it’s with pity, or even worse, with pride.

All Jungwon wants is to get this over with. He’s agonized over this moment for months now, from the beginning of autumn to last night as he wrote his man of honor speech. Once upon a time, he had hoped he would be able to accept your marriage with a healed heart. Now, as the music shifts into something slower and the audience hushes, he knows he will leave with nothing but pain. With nothing but pure, raw desire simmering through his heart and burning every flower that grows inside of him until he no longer remains.

He feels like he’s dreaming when he finally sees you.

You, in your long, white gown, with handwoven patterns of silk and thread stitched across the front. A dress with patterns of all kinds of flowers, patterns of every stem and leaf that glimmer against the white cloth. The flowers sprout against the exterior of the mesh, with petals that sway with every step as you make your way to the altar.

And beyond all that, you’re wearing that smile. That same smile that he’d give up everything for. That same smile he’s yearned for his entire life, from the very first moment up until now. That same smile that he’s now dying for.

He doesn’t recognize his breath staggering until he feels lightheaded, hands finding purchase on the decoration behind him as he steps back. I’m so close, not now, is all he can think as you step even closer to the platform. He starts to see spots in his vision, black circles dancing around, and he’s thankful enough that everyone’s eyes are too focused on you to see him stepping off to the side and rushing to the bathroom.

Jungwon doesn’t make it that far, though. His eyesight blurs around him, and his fingers grip some random door handle before he stumbles inside. Faintly, he can recognize the mess of your makeup room around him, but he trips over a spare piece of clothing and falls before he can fully register his surroundings.

Sharp, dull pain blooms on the side of his head, but he can’t seem to move his arms to feel for any blood that might’ve been triggered from his fall. The pain in his head is nothing compared to the strain on his lungs now, though, as if every breath of his is poison. His senses are painfully aware of the weird, cracking noise inside him, but he can’t seem to figure out what it’s from. His ribcage? His neck? His throat? Or maybe even everything? He feels like he’s choking on air as the blood spills from his lips. His speech, the man of honor speech that holds everything he wanted to say to you one last time, falls out of his jacket pocket, and blood drips across the corner as if it’s ink. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t even think anymore as his vision fades out into nothingness.

And even in his final moments, like this, he remembers you. This universe is so, so unkind to him, to his soul that hoped to see you like this one more time before he left forever. Oh, how he wishes he were still alive to watch you recite your vows. To hear what it’s like to be loved by you, to be cherished until death do us part. To hear what maybe, in another life, what was meant for him instead of Sunghoon.

As it all comes crashing down before his eyes, all he wishes is that you will find peace. He hopes the flowers that bloom in December will treat you kindly, and every white chrysanthemum will be a poignant reminder that you are always loved. Even if he is not physically present with you on Earth anymore, he will love you through the gentleness of the breeze, through the swaying of the grass blades, through the sun rays that appear before the horizon, and through the smiles of everyone you hold dear to your heart.

And with this clarity, he is able to let go. To let go of all that he’s known of you through every flower that blooms in his heart. To let go of a timeline in which you and he coexist.

To let go of you, and therefore, him. Because without you, there is no him. And without him, there is only you.

Jay has never understood love. Or rather, the unbecoming of it.

But he has never seen it ruin someone so wretchedly as it did Jungwon.

It’s Jay who finds Jungwon first, lifeless in a pool of his own blood and tears. The world blurs around him as he kneels down, shaking Jungwon’s shoulders in every effort, every plea for him to wake up. The words fall on closed ears. Dead ears. Jungwon is long gone, from misery only his heart could produce. He’s long gone from the flowers that surround every inch of him, buried in his own, sickly love for you.

Of how much he truly still loves you.

The funeral happens on a Tuesday evening. The once forgiving December now releases its inhibitions, pouring from the sky as if it has been holding back this entire time. The universe thunders with anger and rage, and every strike of lightning is a furious reminder of what’s all been lost in the process.

Jay stands before Jungwon’s coffin. He has no umbrella to shield him from the fury of the universe, but he doesn’t care. He deserves this form of retribution for not trying harder, for not being able to save him, even though there was nothing more he could do for him.

You stand next to him. Sunghoon holds an umbrella above your head, and it sways with the sudden wind gusts and cracks of lightning. You haven’t said a word all day. You haven’t said a word since you found your best friend dead, veins protruding and eyes rolled to the back of his head.

(Your fingers trembled as you brushed his eyelids shut, watching as they carried him out with a stretcher. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked like he was in pain, shouldering it all upon himself, no matter how hard you’d tried to get him to open up. You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say. Closing his eyes felt like finality, like he was finally gone from every memory you’ve had together and every memory you were supposed to have together in the future.

Now, all that was left was the remains of him and his soul. You cried against the pool of blood he’d left behind, letting it stain the pearly whites of your gloves until you drowned in his essence.)

Jay watches as you grab something from Sunghoon’s hold, walking over to the edge of Jungwon’s grave. The freshly buried dirt sinks slightly under your steps, and you place a bouquet at the center before you walk back under the protection of the umbrella.

Jay cracks when he sees the familiar white chrysanthemums against the dirt.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Your head twists sharply toward him, not expecting him to say anything of that sort, or anything at all. The wind whips through your hair as you stare at Jay with bloodshot eyes, and it’s only then that you recognize the single tear that’s slid down his cheek.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

Jay laughs, sharp and twisting. You feel it through your bones, the hatred seeping through you until you, too, start to cry. Sunghoon stares at Jay from behind you, begging him with wide eyes not to say anything that could ruin you even more, but Jungwon’s unsaid confessions rush out of Jay’s lips like the roar of every lightning strike behind him.

“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”

His words hit you like a truck, slamming into you with the impact of the wind behind you. You stumble back, one, two steps before you’re rushing forward and grabbing the lapels of Jay’s jacket.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he loved me?”

Jay gives you a stare that is almost murderous, his voice dropping octaves as he responds. “He loved you. He’s been in love with you since the day you two met. He died from a disease caused by unrequited love, you fucking asshole!”

Your tears stain the edges of Jay’s jacket, and although he tries to push away from your grasp, away from you and everything you stand for, your grip on him remains tight.

“God,” he continues, laughing bitterly, “he loved you. He loved you so much that in the end…”

He can’t even finish his sentence because his voice breaks and he can’t breathe. And in that moment, he wonders if this is how Jungwon felt, if he was experiencing even a fraction of the hurt, the suffocation he had to endure on a daily basis.

“Jay, please,” Sunghoon echoes from behind him.

Your fingers finally release themselves from their grasp as you turn back to look at Sunghoon. His eyes never leave yours, and although he tries to lean forward to shield you from the rain with the umbrella, you push him away.

“Did you know about this?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. The rain seeps through your hair, wetting your eyelashes and streaming down your face, but even it cannot hide your cries as you sob in front of him. “Did you know he loved me?”

Sunghoon swallows so audibly that he doesn’t even have to say any more, and you start laughing. Ballistically, without any form or reason, you laugh with that crazed look in your eyes, your hands swaying against the wind as you turn back toward Jay.

“So you all knew about this and decided not to tell me?”

“You don’t get to act like the victim in this.” Jay’s words feel like a harsh slap in your face, but he continues. “How were we supposed to tell you months before your wedding? Oh, hey, by the way, Jungwon is in love with you, and he’ll die if you don’t love him back. Jungwon was an idiot for loving you, for sure, but he wasn’t stupid.”

He hates that he has to speak about Jungwon in the past tense now. He hates that he has to talk about Jungwon to someone who never reciprocated his feelings, someone who never saw him for who he truly was. He hates that he can’t put into words the extent to which Jungwon loved you, even if it meant putting you before himself and committing to death.

“What– what was I supposed to do?” you whisper. Jay has to restrain himself from telling you that you don’t have the right to cry, that you’re a murderer in his eyes, and he can’t even bear to look at you.

“You were supposed to love him back. All he ever wanted was to be loved by you.”

And, as if the universe is responding, the rain picks up. It drowns you, completely, as you stand in a sea of graves for the one person who maybe loved you more than anyone else ever could.

You remember meeting Jungwon for the first time. How he tapped your shoulder politely after watching you play in the sandbox alone, asking if he could build sandcastles with you, even though his other friends waited for him beside the playground. He always did that, putting you first before anyone else, and you can’t believe it took you so long to realize truly how much Jungwon really cared for you.

Even in all the little things, you’re reminded of him. From the buttons on your coat jacket that he thrifted to your shoes that he scrubbed clean after a long hike, Jungwon has always been that stagnant reminder that life keeps going. Even during your darkest days, when all you wanted to do was hide from the rest of the world, he sat beside you and nursed you back to health, piece by piece. It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe.

How Jungwon has always been yours.

As Jay leaves, his footprints tracking through the dirt as a permanent reminder he was always there, he presses a slip of paper into your hands. The corner is speckled with blood, and your eyes flicker up to Jay’s gaze, already knowing what it is.

“Have fun on your honeymoon,” he mutters. He’s gone just as quickly as he came, the wind sweeping him away until he is no more.

As you sit in Sunghoon’s car, shivering underneath the heater from your wet clothes, you find your fingers opening the paper in your hands, smoothing out the crinkles from Jay’s rough grasp. And as you read, the warmth is not enough to stop the frigid cold that suddenly rushes through you, that crazed feeling that you can’t shake off, no matter how much time passes.

As you read, you cry. You cry for what lived, and now, for what you’ve lost, because this piece of paper represents all of Jungwon in his entirety, all of what’s left of the boy who paved the Earth so that you could walk on it. Of Jungwon, who sacrificed himself just to sustain a world with you in it, even while knowing that he and you are two parallel lines never meant to intersect.

Of Jungwon, who didn’t know what love meant if it wasn’t made of you.

Dear you,

First of all, you know I have performance anxiety. So, making my speech come last feels like some sort of specially-inflicted torture that you and Sunghoon designed for me (cue the audience laughter. I hope they laugh).

I wrote many drafts of this. They’re all sitting in my trash can right now, because coming up with a speech to summarize everything I want to say about my best friend just isn’t something that can be done in one sitting. No amount of words can describe the extent to which I feel for you, of how much joy you’ve brought into my life and everyone around us.

I should probably be talking about Sunghoon and how he’s perfect for you, which, I mean, he kind of is (let’s hope the audience laughs again). I should probably be wishing you a happy married life, where you get that gray cat you always wanted. And I genuinely do want to convey all that to you, and so much more, because you deserve everything good in the world.

But I wanted this speech to be about you. For you to realize how much I, and everyone in the audience around us, care for you. I’ve been your best friend since childhood, watching you grow from that awkward little kid to the beautiful person you are today. You have uplifted and supported me in so many ways that no one else has, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful to have you in our lives.

Sunghoon, you are so blessed to have the most wonderful wife in your life. Cherish her, adore her, lift her up with all your strength, and twirl her around until you hear that beautiful laughter and see that beautiful smile. It’s so worth it. So, so worth it. As her best friend, I resign all my duties to you, for you to be her new best friend and her life partner. Love her wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your being until it hurts, and then a little more.

And you. No matter what comes your way, never lose your energy, your resilience, your joy, and everything that makes you who you are. I love you, and I can’t wait to see where life’s journey takes you, one step at a time.

From your now ex-best friend,

Jungwon

#sorry i wasnt kidding when the collective emotion of all my commentary was the kneeling crying picture....#but i hope you like it still.....#l*ve u.....#recs

256 notes · View notes