#In my notebooks but I’m going all out for my physics notebook this year

[mingiatz]

You’ve been in love with San since freshman year—at least, that’s what you thought. But when Hongjoong, your quiet and perceptive friend, offers to help you win San’s heart, you never expected to discover that maybe your crush wasn’t so right after all. Or that you’d fall for the wrong guy in the process.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong (Ateez) x Reader

Tropes: Friends to lovers, Mutual pining (but they’re both idiots), Wingman turns love interest, Jealousy and realization, Emotional and physical slow burn (with payoff)

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst (but with a happy ending)

Featuring: Ateez as their chaotic Friends, Two OCs as Y/ns best friends

Masterlist

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The campus café was alive with the low hum of chatter and clinking mugs. Y/N sat cross-legged on one of the faded leather couches, her laptop precariously balanced on her knees as she scrolled through lines of code.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, squinting at the error message on her screen. “Where are you even coming from, you little—”

A hand suddenly snatched the laptop from her lap.

“Y/N, it’s Friday night,” Wooyoung announced dramatically, holding her laptop above his head like a prized trophy. “This thing? Illegal. Banned. Outlawed.”

“Wooyoung!” Y/N scrambled to her feet, making a feeble grab for her laptop. “I’m debugging. Give it back!”

“Debugging? More like self-destructing.” He waved it at arm’s length as if it might bite him. “You need a break. You’re going to fry your brain at this rate.”

Across the table, San chuckled—low and warm—the sound that had been living rent-free in Y/N’s head since their first group project freshman year. He was leaning back in his chair, dark hair slightly tousled like he’d just run a hand through it. “He’s right, Y/N. You’ve been staring at that thing all afternoon.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t the first time San had said her name, but somehow it still made her stomach flip every single time.

“I’m on a deadline,” she protested weakly, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, tugging upward as San shot her a teasing grin.

“Deadlines are temporary. Eye strain is forever,” added Seonghwa with mock solemnity from beside him, sipping his tea.

Y/N’s best friends, Jisoo and Hana, exchanged amused glances on the other couch.

“Y/N, come on,” Hana urged. “You’ve been working nonstop all week. Just hang out for once.”

Before she could protest again, Hongjoong’s voice cut through softly but firmly. “They’re right.”

She turned to where he was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, notebook open across his knees. His pencil paused mid-note as he looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “You’ll work better after a break.”

Y/N sighed dramatically and let herself flop onto the couch next to Jisoo.

“Fine. But if my codebase explodes, it’s on all of you.”

The group settled into a comfortable rhythm as the evening wore on. Someone put on music—Yeosang’s playlist, which somehow managed to mix lo-fi beats with hyperpop—and Jongho started a heated debate with Jisoo about pineapple on pizza.

San moved from his chair to sprawl across the rug, tossing a throw pillow under his head. He was laughing at something Wooyoung said, dimples flashing as he covered his mouth.

Y/N tried not to stare.

She failed.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been aware of him before—they’d been friends since freshman orientation, after all. But somewhere between late-night group study sessions and movie marathons, her feelings had slipped from platonic warmth into dangerous territory.

She liked the way he always made room for her on the couch without thinking. How he’d grab her coffee order without asking if he was already in line. How he remembered small details—her favorite snack, the stress-induced eye twitch she got during finals.

She wondered if he noticed her the same way.

“Hey, Y/N,” San said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. He was propped up on one elbow now, eyes sparkling. “You’re coming to the spring fair next weekend, right?”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, of course.” She tried to sound casual, but her voice came out a little higher than intended.

His grin widened. “Good. You’re on my team for the scavenger hunt. We’re gonna win.”

“Oh no,” Wooyoung groaned theatrically. “San’s turning this into a competition again. Run while you still can, Y/N.”

She laughed nervously, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Hongjoong, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, glanced up from his notebook. His gaze flicked briefly between her and San before returning to his scribbled melodies.

As the night wound down, the group began to disperse—some heading back to dorms, others lingering in pairs or trios. Y/N found herself walking beside Hongjoong as they exited the café into the crisp evening air.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she said softly.

He gave her a small smile, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “Just listening.”

There was something about the way he said it—simple, unassuming—but it made her chest feel strangely warm.

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The group had trickled out of the café in pairs, laughter fading into the night air as they parted ways.

Y/N walked between Jisoo and Hana, their boots clicking softly against the pavement. The three of them shared a comfortable silence for a few blocks, their breath visible in the crisp spring air.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Hana finally said, nudging Y/N gently with her shoulder. “More than usual.”

“Was I?” Y/N tugged her coat tighter around her and kept her eyes on the sidewalk.

“Yes,” Jisoo confirmed with a knowing smile. “And I think I know why.”

Y/N froze mid-step. “What?”

“You were practically glowing every time San looked at you,” Hana teased, her grin widening.

“I was not!”

“You so were.” Jisoo linked arms with her on the other side. “Y/N, you’ve had the same crush since freshman year. When are you going to do something about it?”

“I don’t—” Y/N started, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Hana said. “You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re literally the sweetest person I know. Why wouldn’t he like you back?”

Y/N shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t get it. San… he’s just—” She struggled for the right words. “He’s out of my league.”

There it was. The truth she hadn’t said out loud before.

“I mean, look at him,” she continued, voice soft. “He’s funny, confident, good-looking. People are drawn to him. And then there’s me… I’m not exactly the kind of girl guys like him fall for.”

“Y/N…” Jisoo’s tone turned gentle. “That’s not true. You’re amazing. He already adores you—he just doesn’t realize it yet.”

Y/N gave a small, sad smile. “It’s sweet of you to say, but I’m fine. Really. I’m happy being his friend. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Hana sighed dramatically, tossing her hair. “Fine. But I’m calling it now: one day, you’re going to regret not saying anything.”

“Maybe,” Y/N admitted, glancing up at the night sky. The stars were faint against the city glow, but still there if you looked hard enough. “But it feels safer this way.”

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What none of them noticed was the faint sound of footsteps behind them.

A few meters back, Hongjoong and Yeosang walked in unhurried silence, having taken the same route home.

Hongjoong’s head was slightly tilted, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He hadn’t meant to overhear—but he had. Every word of Y/N’s soft, self-deprecating confession had carried easily in the quiet street.

He hated how familiar it sounded.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Yeosang’s voice broke his thoughts.

Hongjoong blinked at him. “Thinking about what?”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb. I can practically see the gears turning in your head.”

“I’m not—” Hongjoong started, but Yeosang cut him off with a dry chuckle.

“You’re absolutely planning something. Don’t.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Joong.” Yeosang’s tone was firmer now, though not unkind. “You know how you get. You always think you can fix things for people. But this? This isn’t one of your songs. You can’t just… compose a happy ending for her.”

Hongjoong looked away, jaw tight. “I wasn’t going to interfere.”

“Good,” Yeosang said simply. Then, after a beat, he added, “She’s a sweet girl. Don’t get yourself in too deep.”

The warning lingered in the cool night air between them.

But Hongjoong couldn’t shake Y/N’s words from his mind.

„I’m happy being his friend.“

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

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“Why are there this many snacks for eight people?” Y/N asked, eyeing the mountain of chips, candy, and soda covering Hongjoong’s coffee table.

“Because Wooyoung came shopping with me,” Seonghwa said dryly as he handed her a bowl of popcorn.

“Hey!” Wooyoung popped his head out from behind the couch, already halfway through a bag of gummy worms. “It’s called being prepared, thank you very much.”

San plopped down next to him, balancing a soda on his knee. “It’s called overkill, but no complaints.” He reached for a handful of gummies, dodging Wooyoung’s exaggerated groan.

Y/N settled onto the floor with Hana and Jisoo, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands as she watched the group’s easy chaos unfold.

“You’re not sitting on the couch?” San asked, flashing her that grin—the one that always seemed a little too effortless.

“I’m good here,” Y/N replied quickly, her heart giving a traitorous little skip. Sitting too close to him would just make it harder to pretend she was unaffected.

“Suit yourself.” San leaned back and kicked his legs out, still smiling.

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The opening credits rolled as everyone found their spots. Hongjoong had taken the armchair in the corner, notebook open but untouched on his lap. His pencil rested against the page, though he hadn’t written a single note.

He wasn’t watching the movie, not really. His eyes drifted occasionally to Y/N—curled up in her blanket between Hana and Jisoo—and then to San, who was laughing loudly at Wooyoung’s bad impressions on screen.

Now that Hongjoong knew about her crush, he saw the signs more clearly. The way her laugh softened around San, the way she seemed just slightly more animated when he was speaking. It wasn’t obvious—San himself didn’t seem to notice—but it was there.

Hongjoong didn’t feel anything in particular about it. He wasn’t surprised. San had always had that magnetic sort of energy that drew people in. Y/N’s feelings made sense.

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“You’re staring again,” Yeosang murmured from beside him, keeping his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.

“I’m not staring,” Hongjoong replied, glancing down at his untouched notebook.

Yeosang gave him a knowing look. “You’re analyzing.”

Hongjoong let out a quiet huff of air. “Maybe a little.”

“Joong.” Yeosang’s voice dropped slightly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get involved. Don’t start… fixing things.” Yeosang leaned back against the couch cushion, his tone calm but firm. “She likes San. That’s her business.”

“I’m not planning anything,” Hongjoong said lightly, though his mind tugged at the edges of an idea.

“Good,” Yeosang replied. “Because I’ve seen how you are when you decide to ‘help.’ This isn’t like organizing a showcase or editing someone’s demo track. It’s not clean. It’s not predictable.”

“I know.” Hongjoong’s gaze shifted briefly back to Y/N, who was laughing at something San had whispered to her.

Yeosang followed his line of sight and sighed. “Just… don’t overstep. Let people figure their own hearts out.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, but a small crease formed between his brows. He wasn’t planning to interfere. Not yet. But something about the quiet determination in Y/N’s voice the night before—“I’m happy being his friend”—kept replaying in his mind.

He wasn’t sure he believed her.

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By the time the credits rolled, half the group was scrolling through their phones lazily while the other half had drifted off to sleep.

Y/N helped Jisoo gather empty snack wrappers, her voice low so as not to wake Jongho, who was curled up on the couch like a cat.

“Thanks for hosting, Joong,” she said with a small smile as she passed by him.

“Anytime,” he replied simply, tucking his pencil into his notebook without opening it.

She gave a quick wave before leaving with Hana and Jisoo.

Yeosang waited until the door clicked shut before turning to Hongjoong.

“You’re thinking about it again.”

“I’m not.”

Yeosang’s look was flat. “Joong, trust me. Don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer.

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The late afternoon sun spilled lazily across the lounge windows, turning dust motes into glitter. The group’s hangout had stretched into early evening, pizza boxes scattered across the table while San and Wooyoung argued over which Marvel movie had the best fight scene.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor beside Hana and Jisoo, her laugh quieter now than it had been earlier. She tugged nervously at her hoodie sleeves, fingers playing with the frayed edges.

Across the room, San leaned casually against the snack counter, his easy grin in place as a girl from his sociology class laughed at something he said. Y/N wasn’t staring—at least, she was trying not to—but her eyes drifted there anyway, drawn like a magnet.

It wasn’t that San was doing anything wrong. He wasn’t flirting back—his answers were polite, a little distracted even—but still, the scene twisted something tight in Y/N’s chest.

“Y/N? You good?” Hana nudged her gently with an elbow.

“Yeah.” She forced a small smile. “Just tired, I guess.”

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From his spot by the window, Hongjoong noticed.

It wasn’t pity that tugged at him—it was just… awareness. He’d heard enough the other night to recognize what that quiet, slightly brittle smile meant.

Later, after the group had begun to disperse, Hongjoong found himself walking beside Y/N as they headed back toward the dorms. The air was cool now, the faint scent of cherry blossoms hanging between them.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said casually.

Y/N glanced up, startled. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. They walked a few more steps in silence before he spoke again.

“You know,” he began carefully, “I’m not trying to pry, but… I overheard you the other night. When you were walking with Hana and Jisoo.”

Y/N froze mid-step. “You… what?”

“Not on purpose,” Hongjoong said quickly. “Yeosang and I were walking behind you. I didn’t hear everything. Just enough to know about… San.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her cheeks were warm, and she had the sudden urge to crawl into the nearest bush.

“You don’t have to explain,” Hongjoong added gently. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. “I… it’s not like it’s a big deal. It’s just a stupid crush.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” Hongjoong said.

Y/N gave a small, humorless laugh. “That’s because you don’t know how bad I am at… all of this. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Her head whipped toward him. “What?”

“I mean, if you want. I could be your wingman.” He gave a small shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Help you figure out how to get his attention. You know, tips, practice, moral support.”

“You’re serious?”

“Sure.” He glanced at her with an easy smile. “We’ve been friends for years. If I can make your life a little easier, why not?”

Y/N bit her lip. “I don’t know… That sounds kind of scary.”

“Scarier than doing nothing?”

She looked down at the pavement, her sleeve cuffs nearly covering her hands. “I guess not.”

“Think about it,” Hongjoong said as they neared the dorm steps. “No pressure. Just… if you want someone in your corner, I’ve got you.”

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The campus café was quieter than usual, the low murmur of voices blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. Y/N sat across from Hongjoong in a corner booth, stirring her iced latte absently.

“So… I thought about what you said,” she began, her fingers fidgeting with her straw wrapper.

Hongjoong set his notebook aside and gave her his full attention. “Yeah?”

“I think…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I think I’d like your help. If you’re still offering.”

His expression softened. “Of course I’m still offering. No time like the present, right?”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to throw you into the deep end,” Hongjoong said lightly. “We’ll start small. Figure out what works for you.”

She nodded, feeling a little spark of excitement—tempered by nerves, but still there.

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Later that evening, back at their shared apartment, Yeosang leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Hongjoong sketch melodies into his battered notebook.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Yeosang said suddenly.

Hongjoong glanced up, pencil paused. “Did what?”

“Whatever it is that’s been on your mind since movie night. You offered to help her, didn’t you?”

There was no point denying it—Yeosang could read him too well. Hongjoong sighed. “She agreed. She wants me to help her get San’s attention.”

Yeosang pressed his lips into a thin line. “I knew it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hongjoong asked, brows knitting.

Yeosang set his tea mug down with a quiet clink. “It means I know you, Hongjoong. You’re not the type to stay neutral in things like this. You get involved. You care too much.”

“This isn’t like that,” Hongjoong said calmly. “She’s my friend. I’m just… helping her out.”

“Sure.” Yeosang’s tone was light, but there was a weight behind his words. “You don’t feel anything now. But what happens when you do?”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t know that.” Yeosang’s gaze softened slightly, but his voice stayed steady. “You’re going to spend all this time with her—helping her, listening to her, seeing sides of her San probably never will. You’ll get in too deep, Joong. You always do.”

Hongjoong looked back down at his notebook, suddenly aware that his pencil hadn’t moved in minutes.

“I’m not trying to ruin your plans,” Yeosang added quietly. “But if you’re not careful, this is going to hurt. For both of you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Hongjoong said, though his voice was quieter now.

Yeosang didn’t press further. He simply picked up his mug and left Hongjoong alone at the table, the faint sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the small apartment.

Hongjoong sat still for a long moment, staring at the blank page before him.

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“Do you ever sit still?” Y/N asked with a laugh as Hongjoong darted between his kitchenette and the living room, balancing a tray with mugs of tea and a small plate of sliced fruit.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied lightly, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Sorry, it’s not much. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

“Tea’s perfect.” She settled cross-legged on his couch, tucking a pillow into her lap. The apartment was small but warm, scattered with notebooks and stacks of vinyl records near the turntable. A soft lo-fi beat hummed in the background.

Hongjoong handed her a steaming mug before taking a seat across from her, one knee drawn up on the couch.

“So,” he began, resting his elbow on the back cushion, “where do we start?”

Y/N stared into her tea like it held all the answers. “I don’t even know. I feel ridiculous just… talking about this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s so high school, isn’t it? Pining after someone in our friend group like some romcom protagonist.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a little strained.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Hongjoong said simply. “It’s human.”

Y/N peeked up at him, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice.

“Crushes happen,” he continued with a small shrug. “And besides, you’re not asking me to pull some cinematic confession scene. You just want to figure out how to be… noticed, right?”

“Right.” She wrapped her hands tighter around the warm mug. “But where do I even start? I’m not exactly the most confident person.”

“Well, first we figure out what kind of attention you want from him. Is it the ‘Whoa, she’s hot’ kind or the ‘Wow, I can’t stop thinking about her’ kind?”

Y/N blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Hongjoong smirked faintly. “I have sisters. I’ve heard this conversation more times than I can count.”

She laughed, the sound easing the tightness in her shoulders. “Definitely the second one. I don’t want to be… I don’t know. A momentary distraction. I want him to actually see me.”

“Then let’s work on that.” Hongjoong leaned back, his pencil tapping a beat on his knee. “We’ll start small—confidence boosters, subtle things you can do without feeling like you’re pretending to be someone else.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like… next time we hang out, sit closer to him. Start a conversation about something he likes. And try to hold his gaze a little longer when you talk to him.”

Her eyes widened. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Not really. You’re already friends. It’s just… making the friendship feel a little more charged.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, unsure. “I don’t know if I can pull that off.”

“You can,” Hongjoong said, his tone calm and sure. “You don’t have to change who you are. You just have to believe that who you are is enough.”

The words sank into her like warm sunlight, and for the first time all day, the tight knot in her chest loosened slightly.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Hongjoong smiled—not wide or showy, but the quiet kind that made people feel safe.

An hour later, after more brainstorming (and two more cups of tea), Y/N left Hongjoong’s apartment with a small piece of paper in her pocket—a hastily scribbled list of “Mission: San” ideas.

Hongjoong watched her go from his spot by the window, sipping the last of his now-cold tea.

“Already too involved,” Yeosang’s voice floated from the hallway.

Hongjoong didn’t turn. “She’s a friend. I’m just helping her out.”

Yeosang leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “You say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Maybe.” Yeosang’s gaze softened slightly, though his words stayed careful. “But just remember—helping her get San’s attention also means helping her fall harder. Don’t get caught in the crossfire, Joong.”

Hongjoong let out a quiet sigh, his fingers drumming idly against the windowsill.

“I know.”

But Yeosang wasn’t sure he did.

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“This is officially the most indecisive I’ve ever seen you,” Hongjoong said, leaning against the shop’s dressing room wall with his arms folded.

“I’m not indecisive,” Y/N’s voice floated through the curtain. “I just… don’t usually shop for stuff like this.”

“It’s a campus spring fair, not a runway. Wear what feels good.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. ‘Everything-I-Wear-Looks-Effortlessly-Cool.’”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

The curtain rustled, and Y/N stepped out, tugging at the hem of a soft linen blouse paired with light wash jeans. It wasn’t a drastic change from her usual hoodies and joggers, but the lighter colors softened her whole look, and her hair—loosely tied back—let a few strands fall around her face.

Hongjoong blinked.

For the first time, he noticed the small constellation of beauty marks near her left cheekbone. How her eyes, under the warm shop lights, were a surprising shade of amber—like sunlight filtering through honey. When she smiled uncertainly at him, the movement deepened faint dimples he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

She looked… nice. Not just nice. Beautiful, in a way he hadn’t taken the time to notice.

“Too much?” she asked, tugging at the blouse’s sleeves.

Hongjoong shook himself slightly. “No. Not too much.”

Her brow furrowed. “Not enough?”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “It suits you.”

As she turned back toward the mirror, Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, scolding himself inwardly.

Get a grip. You’re her wingman, not her admirer. Focus.

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A little later, they roamed the aisles of a small accessories shop. Y/N held up a delicate necklace with a tiny sun pendant, turning it in her fingers.

“Do you think something like this would be weird?” she asked.

“For you? No,” Hongjoong said honestly. “It’s simple, but it’ll catch the light. San might notice.”

She smiled softly and set it in the basket.

As they waited in line, she turned to him.

“Thanks for coming with me. I’d probably have panicked and bought another hoodie otherwise.”

Hongjoong smirked. “I wouldn’t have judged.”

“You might’ve.”

“Maybe a little.”

She laughed, and it was an easy, unguarded sound that tugged at something in his chest—not in the sharp, startling way of attraction, but in a quiet way that said you like seeing her happy.

On the walk back to campus, Y/N swung the shopping bag lightly in her hand.

“Do you think… San’s been noticing more?” she asked hesitantly.

Hongjoong nodded. “He has. You’re more confident. People notice that.”

She ducked her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… good. I think.”

“You’re doing great,” Hongjoong said simply. “Just keep being yourself.”

She glanced at him, her amber eyes catching the last rays of the setting sun.

And for a fleeting moment, Hongjoong had the strange thought that San wasn’t the only one noticing her.

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The spring fair was alive with color—rows of stalls lined the quad, paper lanterns swaying gently overhead as music from a nearby student band floated through the air. The scent of candied nuts and fried dough mixed with cherry blossoms on the breeze.

Hongjoong trailed a few steps behind the group, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, watching as Wooyoung darted ahead to challenge Jongho at a ring toss booth.

His eyes, almost against his will, kept drifting to Y/N.

She walked beside San, her light linen blouse fluttering in the wind, her hair pulled back in the way it had been during their shopping trip. He noticed—again—the faint cluster of beauty marks near her cheekbone, the way her amber eyes seemed to catch every flicker of lantern light, and the small dimple that appeared when she smiled at something San said.

It was strange. He’d known Y/N for years, but only recently had he started really seeing her.

🌸 Flashback – Two Days After the Shopping Trip

“You’re terrible at compliments,” Hongjoong said with a grin as he leaned back against the couch.

“I’m not terrible!” Y/N protested, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. “I just… don’t know how to make them sound natural.”

“Okay. Try again. Pretend I’m San.”

Y/N groaned. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Humor me.”

She bit her lip, then blurted, “Uh… I like your… hair?”

Hongjoong snorted. “Flawless delivery. He’s swooning already.”

“Shut up!” She threw the pillow at him, laughing as he caught it easily.

Now, at the fair, Hongjoong watched as Y/N tilted her head back in laughter, her earlier nerves nowhere to be found. She seemed lighter these days—more at ease in her own skin.

It was… nice.

At the cotton candy stand, he hung back with Yeosang while the others ordered.

“You’ve been quiet,” Yeosang observed, his sharp eyes following Hongjoong’s gaze.

“Just tired,” Hongjoong said, forcing a casual shrug.

Yeosang hummed. “Right. Tired. Or maybe watching her like she’s a song you can’t get out of your head.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” Yeosang’s voice was light, but there was weight in it. “Just don’t forget why you’re here. You’re the wingman, remember? You’re supposed to be rooting for her and San.”

“I am,” Hongjoong said too quickly.

They caught up with the group near a booth where San was helping Y/N aim at a shooting game. She leaned slightly forward as she tried to line up the shot, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Like this,” San said, placing a hand lightly on her elbow to adjust her aim. “There. Perfect.”

When Y/N finally hit the target, she let out a small cheer, and San grinned, ruffling her hair.

“See? You’re a natural.”

“You think so?” she asked shyly, her cheeks pink from the cool air—or maybe from his words.

“Definitely. You look great today, by the way,” San added casually as he handed her the small plush prize she’d won.

“Thanks,” Y/N murmured, clutching the plush to her chest, her smile bright and a little bashful.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Something twisted sharply in Hongjoong’s stomach.

He told himself it was nothing. Just the satisfaction of seeing their plan working, of seeing Y/N grow more confident.

But he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable tightness in his chest as San leaned a little closer, his grin easy and warm.

Yeosang sidled up beside him again.

“You keep looking at her,” he said quietly.

Hongjoong didn’t respond.

Yeosang’s gaze was calm but piercing. “Don’t. Not like that.”

“I’m not,” Hongjoong muttered.

“Then stop staring like you are.”

The group moved on, laughter echoing as Wooyoung dragged Jongho toward a food stall. Hongjoong forced his feet to follow, but his eyes lingered on Y/N and San walking a few steps ahead, their shoulders nearly brushing.

You’re her wingman. That’s all, he reminded himself firmly.

So why did it feel like he was starting to lose something he hadn’t even realized he wanted?

The neon glow of the karaoke bar spilled onto the sidewalk as the group filed inside, laughter bouncing off the walls. Y/N clung to Jisoo’s arm, already giggling as Wooyoung and San darted ahead to fight over the song list.

“Do we trust them to pick the opening number?” Hana asked wryly.

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpanned.

Hongjoong followed at the rear of the group, hands tucked into his pockets. He wasn’t usually one for loud, chaotic nights like this—but lately, he found himself saying yes more often. Saying yes to group hangouts, to late-night bubble tea runs, to hours spent in quiet corners of the library with Y/N as she nervously mapped out conversations she might have with San.

He wasn’t sure when it had started feeling less like he was helping her and more like… he just enjoyed her company.

By the time they crowded into the private karaoke room, snacks and drinks already covering the table, Y/N had claimed a spot on the couch beside Hongjoong. She flopped down with a content sigh, pulling her knees up.

“You’re getting comfortable,” he teased lightly.

“Your fault,” she shot back with a grin. “You’re too easy to hang out with.”

Hongjoong let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

🌸 Flashback – A Few Nights Ago

“You’re actually funny,” Y/N said, laughing as she tried to beat Hongjoong at a mobile game they’d downloaded on impulse.

“I’m hilarious,” he corrected, smirking.

“I didn’t realize how much you smile when you’re not in Serious Music Genius Mode.”

“Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

Back in the karaoke room, San scrolled through the song list with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Alright, Y/N. You’re up.”

She sat up straighter, eyes wide. “What? No, no way. I don’t sing.”

“Everyone sings in karaoke,” Wooyoung said sagely, already handing her a microphone.

“Come on,” San urged with a grin. “We all want to hear.”

Y/N shot Hongjoong a pleading look, but he only lifted his hands innocently. “Don’t look at me. Peer pressure is a powerful thing.”

“You’re all terrible,” she muttered, but her lips quirked upward as she reluctantly took the mic.

The opening chords of a ballad filled the room.

And then Y/N sang.

Her voice was clear and warm, with a soft, emotional edge that pulled the room into a rare hush. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it was… beautiful. Honest.

Hongjoong’s brows lifted slightly as he watched her. He’d heard plenty of good singers in his program, but there was something about Y/N’s voice that felt different—like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, just… sharing a piece of herself.

When the song ended, the room erupted into cheers.

“Where the hell have you been hiding that voice?” Wooyoung demanded.

“I told you I don’t sing!” Y/N said, flustered but laughing.

“You do sing,” San countered with an easy grin. “And you’re amazing.”

Y/N flushed, hugging her knees to her chest.

Hongjoong smiled faintly, watching her as she waved off more praise with shy laughter.

She looked radiant—her amber eyes sparkling in the neon lights, dimples deepening as she smiled.

Something in his chest shifted. Not sharply, not all at once. Just a quiet tightening.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Later, as the group’s energy settled into easy chatter and half-hearted duets, Y/N leaned her head briefly against Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“Thanks for not rescuing me back there,” she said wryly.

“You didn’t need rescuing,” he replied. “You were great.”

She hummed softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Across the room, Yeosang caught Hongjoong’s gaze, his expression unreadable.

But Hongjoong didn’t look away. Not yet.

The night air was cool and still, the streets lit by the soft glow of streetlamps as Yeosang and Hongjoong made their way back to their shared apartment.

Yeosang walked with his hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried. Beside him, Hongjoong was unusually quiet, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been smiling a lot more lately,” Yeosang said casually, his voice low in the hush of the empty street.

Hongjoong blinked at him. “Have I?”

“You have. Especially around her.”

There was no need to clarify who her was.

Hongjoong let out a faint, self-conscious laugh. “She’s easy to be around. That’s all.”

“Mm.” Yeosang’s tone was neutral, but his eyes—sharp and knowing—flicked sideways to study him. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Helping her. Getting involved.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, the soles of his shoes whispering against the pavement.

“I don’t regret helping her,” he said finally. “She’s happier now. More confident. That’s what she wanted.”

“But?” Yeosang prompted softly.

“But…” Hongjoong hesitated. “I didn’t think about what it would mean for me.”

Yeosang didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch between them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Back at the apartment, Hongjoong shed his jacket and dropped it over the back of a chair. Yeosang disappeared into his room without another word, leaving Hongjoong standing in the dim kitchen, staring at nothing.

What am I even feeling?

It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. Watching Y/N and San together didn’t make him angry or bitter—it just left this… hollow ache in his chest.

He liked seeing her happy. He liked seeing her confident. And yet, there had been a moment at the fair—when San had complimented her, when her face had lit up with that shy, radiant smile—where something had twisted deep in his stomach.

He’d told himself it was nothing. Just the natural protectiveness of a friend.

But was it?

Hongjoong’s fingers itched for his notebook. He grabbed it and a pencil, retreating to the small desk in his room.

The pencil hovered over the blank page for a long moment before he pressed it down.

A melody formed first—slow, gentle, bittersweet. The kind of tune that felt like it should be played in the quiet hours of the night when no one else was awake.

Lyrics followed in hesitant fragments.

I helped you reach for the sun.

Didn’t notice when I burned.

Smiles I gave you were safe once.

Now they hurt.

The words sat on the page like a confession he wasn’t ready to make—not even to himself.

Hongjoong set down his pencil and rubbed his eyes, letting out a long breath.

This is nothing. It has to be nothing.

But the song said otherwise.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The city streets were busy as usual, students weaving between cars and cyclists in the late afternoon rush. Y/N and Hongjoong walked side by side, their bags swinging gently as they chatted about possible “next moves” for Operation San.

“So you’re saying I should casually mention that I like hiking?” Y/N asked, raising a skeptical brow.

“Why not? You heard San talk about that trail near the lake last week,” Hongjoong said. “It’s an easy way to create a shared interest.”

“But I don’t actually like hiking.”

“Then fake it till you make it.”

She laughed, nudging his arm playfully. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m strategic,” he corrected, grinning faintly.

They were halfway across a crosswalk when a car horn blared, startling Y/N. She froze, just as a cyclist darted out from behind a turning car.

“Y/N—!”

A strong hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her firmly back onto the curb. She stumbled, colliding into Hongjoong’s chest as the cyclist zipped past with a curse.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, tight with concern, his hands steadying her at her shoulders.

Y/N’s heart thudded wildly—not just from the near miss. She could feel the warmth of his chest even through his jacket, could smell the faint clean scent of his cologne.

“I—I’m fine,” she stammered, eyes flicking up to meet his.

He was close. Too close. His dark eyes searched hers for a moment longer before he seemed to realize it too and took a small step back, letting his hands fall.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to grab you so suddenly.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you,” Y/N replied, hugging her bag strap to her chest to steady herself.

By the time they reached the café, her pulse had finally calmed. Mostly.

The little corner café was warm and cozy, ist windows fogged slightly from the spring chill outside. Hongjoong chose a table by the window while Y/N excused herself to the restroom.

When she returned, she froze in the doorway.

A girl stood by their table, effortlessly pretty with sleek hair and a confident smile. She leaned slightly on the edge of the table, her voice low and playful as she spoke to Hongjoong.

He was smiling back—not his polite smile, but the small, crooked one she’d started recognizing as genuine.

Y/N felt something twist unexpectedly in her stomach.

It wasn’t anger. Not really. But it was… something. A tightness in her chest that made her fingers clench around her bag strap.

She forced her feet to move.

“Hey,” she said lightly as she approached, her voice sounding too bright to her own ears.

Hongjoong’s head turned, his smile softening into the familiar one he always gave her. “Hey. All good?”

The girl glanced at Y/N, her gaze assessing before she gave Hongjoong a flirty little wave. “See you around, Joong.”

“Yeah. Take care,” he said easily, watching her leave without a flicker of lingering interest.

Y/N slid into her seat, forcing a smile. “Friend of yours?”

“Not really. We… used to hang out a bit. Nothing serious,” Hongjoong said with a small shrug, already turning his attention back to their menu.

“Oh,” Y/N said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

But her stomach still felt strange. She didn’t like how easily that girl had smiled at him—or how easily he’d smiled back.

As Hongjoong rattled off possible “conversation openers” for her to use with San, Y/N found her focus slipping.

She told herself it was nothing. Just surprise. She was used to seeing Hongjoong as her friend, her partner in this silly little mission. She’d never thought about him… like that.

And yet.

She brushed the thought away and forced herself to nod along.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Hongjoong observed gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking,” Y/N said with a small smile. “What were you saying about shared hobbies?”

But even as he started talking again, she felt that odd tightness in her chest linger.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The apartment was silent when Hongjoong returned, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. He slipped out of his jacket and let it hang limply on the back of a chair before making his way to his room.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone where her number still sat at the top of his recent calls.

Minseo.

She’d always been… easy. Easy to laugh with, easy to spend time with, easy to let things get messy without ever labeling them.

Before, he might’ve leaned into her smile when she’d stopped by the table. He might’ve let the familiarity pull him into another half-hearted round of whatever it was they’d had.

But today?

He hadn’t felt it.

He’d looked at her, at her perfectly styled hair and confident little smirk, and felt… nothing.

Except a flicker of irritation that her timing had been so inconvenient—coming in the middle of his afternoon with Y/N.

Y/N.

He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing.

She’d come back from the restroom just as Minseo had leaned in. Hongjoong remembered the brief flicker in her amber eyes—the way her smile had faltered for the tiniest second before she smoothed it over.

He wasn’t sure why that moment stuck in his chest like a thorn.

And then there was earlier—on the street.

The way she’d stumbled into him, her hands clutching his jacket like a lifeline, her face tilted up to his in surprise. For a heartbeat too long, he’d felt the soft warmth of her body pressed against his chest, her hair brushing his chin.

He’d stepped back quickly, almost too quickly.

Not because he was embarrassed. But because he was afraid of what might’ve happened if he didn’t.

When had this started?

When had Y/N stopped being just his friend? When had her laugh started lingering in his head long after they parted ways? When had her quiet determination—the way she’d bloomed over the past few weeks—started tugging at his heart?

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’d promised himself this wouldn’t happen.

His guitar rested against the wall, a silent witness to his unease. He pulled it into his lap and let his fingers drift across the strings, coaxing out a soft melody.

Lyrics came unbidden, falling from his lips in a low murmur.

You’re not mine to hold.

But your laugh sounds like home.

And I don’t know when that changed.

He paused, staring down at his hands.

The pencil sat on his desk beside his notebook. He grabbed it before he could second-guess himself, scrawling the words down in messy, uneven handwriting.

You’re not mine to hold.

But your laugh sounds like home.

His chest ached.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Y/N stirred her tea absently, watching the steam curl into the air as Hana and Jisoo exchanged glances over their pastries.

“You’ve been… weird lately,” Hana said finally, her tone teasing but her eyes sharp.

“Weird how?” Y/N asked, feigning innocence.

“Weird like you’re lost in your own head every five minutes,” Jisoo said. “And don’t say you’re just tired. We know you.”

Y/N let out a long sigh and set her spoon down.

“Okay. Fine. Maybe I am… a little confused.”

“About San?” Hana leaned forward eagerly.

“That’s the thing,” Y/N said, her fingers curling around her mug. “I thought I was focused on San. But now…” She trailed off, unsure how to put the tangle of feelings into words.

Her mind replayed the scene from the other day—the way Hongjoong’s arm had pulled her back onto the curb, the feel of his hands steadying her, his voice low and tight with concern.

And then later, in the café, watching Minseo laugh easily with him, her hand brushing his arm. That strange pang in her chest still confused her.

She shook her head. “It’s stupid. I think I was… jealous? But I don’t know why.”

Hana and Jisoo exchanged another look.

“Y/N,” Jisoo said carefully. “Are you sure it’s just San?”

“Yes! I mean—I’ve liked San for ages. Everyone knows that.”

“Sure,” Hana said lightly. “But crushes can fade. Especially when there’s someone else making you feel seen.”

“It’s not like that with Hongjoong,” Y/N insisted quickly. “We’re just… friends.”

“Friends don’t always make your heart race when they catch you,” Hana pointed out with a little smirk.

“Or make you jealous when they talk to someone else,” Jisoo added.

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“We’re not. We’re just asking,” Hana said softly. “Do you really like San? Or was it just easy to think you did?”

That question settled like a stone in Y/N’s stomach.

She did like San… didn’t she? She still felt nervous around him, still wanted his attention. But lately, those feelings seemed quieter, less sharp.

And then there was Hongjoong.

His steady patience. His crooked little smiles. The way he’d been her anchor through all of this.

She didn’t know what to make of it.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted in a small voice. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

“Then figure it out before someone gets hurt,” Jisoo said gently.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.���࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The park was alive with the sound of laughter and spring birdsong as the group settled onto picnic blankets under a sprawling oak. Wooyoung had brought an absurd amount of snacks, and Jongho was already arguing with Hana about the “proper” way to make s’mores.

Y/N sat cross-legged beside San, their knees almost brushing as he animatedly described his plans for a summer hiking trip. She smiled and nodded, letting him talk, but inside… something felt off.

She should have felt the familiar thrill. The heart-fluttering excitement she’d carried for so long. But instead, her thoughts kept drifting elsewhere—to quiet late-night chats over tea, to the sound of soft laughter in a small apartment, to dark eyes watching her with patient focus.

To Hongjoong.

Across the blanket, Hongjoong leaned back on his hands, his gaze fixed on the blue sky above as he forced himself not to watch them.

But he was failing.

Every time San’s grin widened at something Y/N said, every time she laughed and tilted her head that certain way—it twisted something sharp in Hongjoong’s chest.

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

He was the one who’d encouraged her, coached her, watched her bloom. He should feel proud.

So why did it feel like he was unraveling?

“Joong.”

Hongjoong blinked as Mingi dropped down beside him, offering a bottle of water.

“You okay? You’ve been zoning out a lot today.”

“Just tired,” Hongjoong murmured, forcing a smile.

But his eyes betrayed him, flicking back—again—to where Y/N was now laughing at a joke San whispered in her ear.

Mingi followed his gaze, his grin faltering slightly.

Later, when the group packed up and started heading back to campus in clusters, Yeosang hung back with Hongjoong.

“You’re quiet,” Yeosang said.

“I’m fine.”

“Joong.”

The weight in Yeosang’s voice made him stop walking.

“I warned you,” Yeosang said softly. “You’re in deep now. And it’s written all over your face.”

Hongjoong let out a quiet, humorless laugh, raking a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Yeosang’s expression softened slightly. “But what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong admitted. “She still likes San.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Hongjoong’s brows furrowed. His gaze drifted back to where Y/N walked ahead with Hana and Jisoo, her laugh ringing out.

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Hongjoong’s apartment smelled faintly of chamomile tea and clean linen. Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, cradling a mug as Hongjoong moved around the kitchenette, wiping down the counter with practiced ease.

“You keep this place way too clean for a college guy,” she teased.

“Genius thrives in order,” he replied with a faint grin, tossing her a glance over his shoulder.

The words sat heavy on her tongue, but she let them out anyway.

“So… I’m going on a hike with San this weekend.”

Hongjoong’s hands stilled on the dish towel.

“Oh.”

She smiled nervously. “Yeah. He invited me when we were walking back from the picnic. I figured… it’s a good chance to hang out one-on-one, right?”

“Right.” He forced a smile—tight around the edges, but she didn’t seem to notice. “That’s great, Y/N. Sounds like progress.”

“Thanks. I mean, I’m nervous, but… it feels like a step forward.”

“Yeah.” He turned back to the counter, scrubbing at an already clean spot as something twisted deep in his chest.

In his head, Hongjoong wanted to say so many things.

Don’t go.

He doesn’t see you the way I do.

What if he breaks your heart?

But all he said was, “You’ll do fine. Just be yourself.”

After dinner, Y/N stood and stretched. “You cooked, so I’m cleaning. Fair’s fair.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” She shoved him lightly toward the table. “Sit. You’re my guest in your own kitchen.”

He laughed despite himself and leaned back against the counter, watching as she rolled up her sleeves and started rinsing dishes.

“Move over,” he said after a moment, stepping beside her. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

“Excuse me?” she said with mock offense. “I’ve been washing dishes since I was twelve.”

He reached around her to grab a plate, their shoulders brushing.

“You still missed a spot.”

“Liar.” She bumped his hip with hers, and he chuckled softly.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, hands moving in easy rhythm. The small kitchen felt impossibly warm—the hum of running water, the clink of dishes, the quiet closeness of two people standing just a little too close.

At one point, their fingers brushed when she handed him a glass.

Neither of them pulled away immediately.

Y/N felt a strange jolt—tiny, almost imperceptible, but there. She glanced up at him, catching the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones under the soft overhead light.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

His eyes flicked to hers for half a second before he forced a small smile. “Anytime.”

But inside, Hongjoong felt like he was splintering.

She was so close, and all he could think about was how easily she fit into this quiet space with him. How much he didn’t want her to go on that hike.

But he said nothing.

Because he wasn’t hers to say it to.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The trail wound gently uphill, dappled sunlight filtering through budding spring leaves. Birds chirped overhead, and somewhere nearby a creek gurgled over stones.

It was the perfect day for a hike.

So why did Y/N’s chest feel tight?

“This was a great idea,” San said cheerfully, adjusting the straps of his backpack. He glanced back at her with that easy, sunlit grin. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Y/N replied, forcing a smile as she stepped over a root.

She should’ve been thrilled.

She’d imagined this exact scenario countless times—her and San alone, sharing inside jokes and maybe, just maybe, him realizing he liked her back.

But now?

Her heart wasn’t racing. Her stomach wasn’t twisting in nervous excitement.

Instead, there was just… quiet.

“Are you okay?” San asked after a while, his tone softer now.

“Huh?” Y/N blinked up at him.

“You’ve been really quiet since we started. Not your usual bubbly self,” he said with a small, concerned smile. “If you’re tired, we can take a break.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said quickly.

“Then what is it?”

She hesitated, her boots scuffing against the gravel path.

How could she explain? That she’d spent so long believing her feelings for him were everything—real, deep, unshakable—only to realize, here and now, that they weren’t?

It wasn’t that she didn’t like San. He was wonderful—funny, kind, easy to be around. But… that was it.

Just easy.

No thrill. No butterflies. No heat rushing to her cheeks.

She felt more nervous handing Hongjoong a clean dish than she did standing here with San.

“I think…” Y/N started, chewing on her bottom lip. “I think I’ve been… distracted lately.”

“By school stuff?” San asked gently.

“Something like that.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

That simple kindness only made her chest ache more.

The rest of the hike passed in easy conversation—about classes, upcoming summer plans, nothing heavy. And Y/N realized, with a strange mixture of sadness and relief, that she was comfortable with San.

But not in love with him.

As they reached the trailhead and San held back a branch for her to pass, he smiled again.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said.

“Me too,” Y/N said softly. And she meant it. Just… not in the way she thought she would.

They found a bench near the trailhead, nestled under a cluster of maples where the breeze carried the faint scent of wildflowers.

San stretched his legs out, tipping his head back to soak in the sun. “Feels good to stop for a second.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

She could feel the words bubbling up inside her, threatening to spill over. Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was San’s kind eyes—or maybe she was just tired of carrying it alone.

“San?”

“Hmm?” He turned to her, his easy smile fading slightly at her serious tone.

“There’s… something I need to tell you.”

She took a deep breath.

“I… used to have a crush on you.”

San blinked. “You—what?”

“For a long time,” she admitted, staring down at her hands. “Since freshman year. But I never said anything because I thought… I thought someone like you wouldn’t ever see me that way.”

“Y/N…” San’s voice was quiet, surprised but gentle.

“And then Hongjoong started helping me. He overheard me talking about it once, and he offered to give me advice. How to be more confident, how to get your attention. That’s why I’ve been… acting different, I guess.”

San was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed slightly in thought.

“I had no idea,” he said finally. “But… I’m flattered. Really. You’re amazing, Y/N. Anyone would be lucky to have you like them.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “Thanks. But that’s the thing… I don’t think I like you like that anymore.”

San tilted his head. “No?”

“I thought I did. For years, I was so sure. But today… it just felt different. Like… you’re still amazing, but not in a way that makes my heart race anymore.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “And I think… I think I might have feelings for Hongjoong now.”

San’s eyes widened slightly, then softened as a small grin tugged at his lips.

“Wow,” he said. “So my wingman stole your heart, huh?”

Y/N covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“Hey, hey.” San gently tugged her hands down. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault how your heart feels. And honestly… Joong’s a great guy.”

Y/N blinked at him. “You’re not… upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” San asked with a laugh. “You’re my friend, Y/N. And I want you to be happy. Whether that’s with me or with Joong—or with neither of us.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a hug.

It was warm and comforting, the kind of hug that felt like safety—not butterflies.

“You’re braver than you think, you know that?” San murmured.

“Not really,” she said against his shoulder.

“Really,” he insisted. “And I’m proud of you.”

When they pulled back, Y/N felt lighter somehow. Like a weight she hadn’t even noticed was gone.

“Thanks, San,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied with that familiar grin. “Now, are you ready for snacks? I’m starving.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Hongjoong sat on his couch, fingers idly strumming his acoustic guitar. The same four chords repeated over and over, their sound hollow in the quiet apartment.

He couldn’t seem to finish the song.

Couldn’t seem to finish anything lately.

The knock on his door startled him.

“Hyung? You home?” It was Wooyoung’s voice, followed by a chorus of familiar ones.

“Yeah. Door’s open,” he called.

The guys filed in—Wooyoung, Yeosang, San, Mingi, and Seonghwa—bringing with them the smell of takeout and the comforting buzz of easy camaraderie.

“You’re too quiet these days,” Mingi said as he dropped onto the couch opposite him. “Weirdly quiet. That’s saying something for you.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Hongjoong said lightly, setting his guitar aside.

“Liar,” Wooyoung said with a grin, but his eyes softened.

Yeosang crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “You’ve been in your head for weeks now. Want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine,” Hongjoong insisted again.

But his words lacked conviction, and they all knew it.

San, perched on the arm of the couch, tilted his head. “This about Y/N?”

Hongjoong froze.

San’s expression was unreadable—neither accusatory nor teasing, just calm. “I know you’ve been helping her a lot lately. She mentioned it once.��

Hongjoong swallowed. “How was your hike?”

San’s brows furrowed slightly. “It wasn’t a date, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t—”

San’s voice softened. “Joong. Are you… jealous?”

The word landed like a stone in Hongjoong’s chest.

He stared at his hands for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I think I am.”

The room fell silent.

Yeosang was the first to speak. “So you like her.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Hongjoong said, his voice tight. “I was just trying to help her. She liked someone else, and I thought… I thought I could handle being the guy on the sidelines.”

His laugh was quiet and humorless. “But somewhere along the way, I fell for her. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“Does she know?” Seonghwa asked gently.

Hongjoong shook his head. “She still likes… someone else. I can’t put this on her. It wouldn’t be fair.”

San’s eyes softened. “Joong, you’re not as invisible to her as you think.”

Hongjoong looked up, startled.

But San didn’t elaborate. He just gave him a small, knowing smile.

Wooyoung nudged his shoulder. “So what’s the plan? You can’t just sit here and mope forever.”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong said honestly. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I just… let her be happy.”

Yeosang sighed, his expression as calm as ever. “Or maybe you finally let her see you.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer.

But the thought lodged itself deep in his chest.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Okay,” Hana said, dropping her smoothie onto the table with a thud. “We need to talk about you.”

Y/N blinked from across the café table. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Jisoo said, arching a brow. “You’ve been walking around like a romcom protagonist in denial for weeks. Spill.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Why are you two like this?”

“Because we care.” Hana leaned forward, her grin softening. “Come on. Tell us what’s going on.”

“I…” Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting in her hoodie sleeves. “I think I might like Hongjoong.”

The words felt strange—like they’d been lodged in her chest for so long that finally saying them out loud left her breathless.

Hana’s grin widened. “Knew it.”

Jisoo sipped her drink with a little smirk. “Called it weeks ago.”

“What? No, you didn’t—”

“Y/N,” Hana said gently. “We’ve been watching you. The way you light up when you get a text from him, how you talk about him like he hung the moon. It’s not subtle.”

Y/N let out a small, nervous laugh. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was so focused on San for so long. And then Joong was just… there. Helping me. Listening to me. Making me feel… I don’t know. Like I could be more than just the shy girl on the edge of the group.”

She remembered the warmth of his hands steadying her on the street, the soft sound of his laugh when she bumped his hip in the kitchen, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her.

And then there was the pang in her chest when she saw Minseo leaning close to him in the café.

“That day… when I saw him with Minseo. I felt jealous, and I didn’t understand why.”

“Because you like him,” Jisoo said simply.

“But what if I’m wrong? What if it’s just… gratitude? Or me clinging to him because he was there when I felt invisible?”

“Y/N.” Hana reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You know your heart better than anyone. So tell me—when you think about him, when you’re with him, does it feel… different?”

Y/N’s lips parted, then closed again.

It did.

With Hongjoong, she didn’t feel the pressure to perform, to be witty or charming. She just felt safe. Seen.

And maybe that was scarier than butterflies.

“I think I’m in trouble,” Y/N whispered.

“No, honey.” Jisoo gave her a soft smile. “I think you’re finally figuring it out.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The dorm was packed, music thumping faintly through the walls as clusters of students gathered around card games, snacks, and mismatched couches.

Y/N hovered near the kitchen counter with Hana and Jisoo, sipping cautiously at a fruity cocktail.

She told herself she wasn’t looking for him.

But her eyes found him anyway.

Hongjoong stood across the room, chatting with a girl Y/N vaguely recognized from his music program. She was gorgeous—long hair that framed her face perfectly, laughing easily at something he said.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Hongjoong could talk to whoever he wanted. She wasn’t even sure what they were to each other.

But that didn’t stop the little sting when the girl touched his arm, her smile warm and bright.

“You good?” Jisoo asked, eyeing her over the rim of her cup.

“Yeah,” Y/N said quickly. “Fine.”

She wasn’t fine.

She was sipping her drink faster than she should have been, hoping the sweet burn would quiet the restless ache in her chest.

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, nodding politely as the girl from his composition class told him about her latest project.

But his attention kept drifting.

To Y/N.

He could see her across the room, laughing too loudly at something Wooyoung said, her cheeks flushed from more than just the alcohol.

Something was off.

Her usual soft smiles were brighter, sharper now—like she was trying too hard.

And when her gaze flicked toward him and the girl he was talking to, there was a flash of something in her amber eyes that made his chest tighten.

“Joong?” Mingi’s voice pulled him back.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been staring,” Mingi said gently.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Yeosang cut in from nearby, his tone quiet but firm.

Hongjoong’s jaw tensed. “She’s drinking more than usual. I’m just… making sure she’s okay.”

“Uh huh,” Wooyoung said with a knowing smirk.

Across the room, Y/N was laughing again, her head tipped back as Hana tried to pry the cup from her hand.

Hongjoong’s fingers twitched at his side.

“She’s fine,” San said gently, following his gaze. “But maybe you should check on her anyway. Just in case.”

Hongjoong let out a slow breath. He didn’t want to read too much into her flushed cheeks or glassy eyes.

But something in his gut told him this wasn’t just the alcohol.

And as much as he wanted to keep his distance, his feet were already moving.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The music had shifted into something bass-heavy, the lights dimmer now as the crowd in Hana and Jisoo’s dorm seemed to swell.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, another drink in hand as she laughed at something a guy from their computer science program said.

She didn’t even know his name.

But he was funny enough, charming enough—and more importantly, he wasn’t standing across the room talking to some impossibly pretty music major.

You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. This isn’t about Joong. This is about you having fun. That’s all.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

From his spot by the couch, Hongjoong watched Y/N laugh, her hand brushing her hair behind her ear in a way he’d never seen her do before.

She was tipsy—he could tell by the flush in her cheeks and the slightly-too-loud pitch of her voice. But what confused him more was the guy she was talking to.

It wasn’t San.

And yet here she was, smiling and leaning in just slightly as the guy said something that made her laugh again.

Hongjoong’s chest tightened.

He told himself it was because she was drinking too much, because he was worried she’d regret this tomorrow.

But deep down, he knew it was something else.

“She’s not like that,” he murmured under his breath.

“Like what?” Yeosang asked, suddenly at his side.

Hongjoong shook his head. “Never mind.”

Yeosang followed his gaze, then sighed. “You’re not subtle, Joong.”

As the guy leaned closer to whisper something in Y/N’s ear, Hongjoong’s hands clenched at his sides.

She wouldn’t…

But then she laughed again—soft, tipsy, a little wobbly on her feet as she turned toward the counter to set her drink down.

And her heel caught the edge of the rug.

“Y/N—”

She stumbled, her hand flailing for balance, but before the guy could catch her, Hongjoong was there.

His arm wrapped around her waist as he steadied her, the faint scent of her shampoo hitting him like a punch to the chest.

“Careful,” he said, his voice lower than he meant it to be.

Y/N blinked up at him, her amber eyes wide and glassy. “Joong?”

“You okay?” he asked, still holding her steady.

She nodded, but her hand was still gripping his sleeve.

Behind them, the guy from earlier frowned slightly before slinking back into the crowd.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“Come on,” he murmured to Y/N. “Let’s get you some air.”

As he guided her gently through the throng of people toward the balcony, his thoughts churned.

Why wasn’t it San? Why him? Why does it matter so damn much?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Hana watched from the edge of the room, her arms folded as her gaze flicked between Y/N and Hongjoong.

“Do you see this?” she muttered to Jisoo, who was perched on the arm of the couch nursing a soda.

“Oh, I see it,” Jisoo replied, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey. “It’s hard to miss.”

Across the room, Hongjoong had just caught Y/N as she stumbled, his arm steadying her with surprising ease.

The way his hand lingered at her waist, the way he leaned down to speak lowly into her ear—it wasn’t loud enough for anyone else to hear, but whatever he said made Y/N nod with a faint, almost shy expression.

“They’ve got it bad,” Wooyoung said under his breath, appearing at Hana’s side with a plate of chips.

“You think?” Hana asked.

Wooyoung gave her a flat look. “Uh, yeah. Joong hasn’t taken his eyes off her all night. And Y/N… well, let’s just say she’s been pretending to be into random computer science dude, but we all know who she’s really thinking about.”

Yeosang, standing quietly nearby, let out a soft sigh.

“They’re both idiots,” he said calmly. “But it’s not my mess to clean up.”

“Agreed,” Jisoo said, though her eyes softened slightly.

San had been watching too, his expression unreadable as Hongjoong guided Y/N gently toward the balcony door.

He’d noticed the way Hongjoong’s jaw had tightened earlier, the flicker of emotion in his eyes every time Y/N laughed a little too loudly with someone else.

Now, seeing them slip outside together, San couldn’t help but smile faintly to himself.

“She’s not as invisible as she thinks,” he murmured.

“You think he’ll finally tell her?” Mingi asked, flopping down onto a beanbag nearby.

“Not tonight,” Yeosang replied. “But he’s getting close.”

“And Y/N?” Hana asked.

“She already knows,” Jisoo said with a smirk. “She just hasn’t admitted it to herself yet.”

The group fell quiet for a moment, their gazes lingering on the balcony door.

Through the glass, they could just barely make out Hongjoong’s figure, standing close to Y/N as she leaned against the railing, her hair catching the light.

They weren’t touching anymore. But the air between them seemed charged even from here.

“They’re gonna ruin me with this slow-burn shit,” Wooyoung muttered.

Hana snorted. “Same.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The cool night air hit them as soon as Hongjoong eased the balcony door shut behind them.

“Here,” he said softly, guiding Y/N to the railing. “Breathe. You needed some air.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice wavered slightly.

“Sure you are.” He leaned against the railing beside her, keeping a careful distance. She was flushed from the alcohol, her hair slightly mussed, and her amber eyes glinted faintly in the dim light.

She looked beautiful.

And that was the problem.

For a moment, the only sound was the muffled bass from inside and the faint rustle of leaves below.

Then Y/N spoke, her words tumbling out in a rush.

“You know… I went on that hike with San.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I thought it would be… everything I wanted.” She let out a soft laugh, breath misting in the chill. “But it wasn’t. It felt… nice. Comfortable. Like hanging out with a brother or something.”

Hongjoong swallowed hard. “So… you don’t like him anymore?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t. Not like that.”

His fingers curled tightly against the railing, knuckles white.

“And now,” Y/N continued, her voice dropping slightly, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She bit her lip, her eyes glassy. “Because I hate seeing you with other girls.”

Hongjoong froze.

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless.

“You hate it?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her hand moving almost of ist own accord to rest lightly on his cheek.

Hongjoong’s breath caught. Her palm was warm against his skin, her thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone.

“I feel… like myself when I’m with you,” she said, her voice soft and almost breaking. “And it scares me.”

His heart was pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it.

This was everything he’d wanted to hear—everything he’d told himself he couldn’t hope for.

But she was drunk.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.

“Y/N…” His voice was rough, strained.

But before he could say more, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into his chest. “I don’t even know why I’m saying this.”

He held her carefully, like she might break, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered back.

Her breathing slowed, her weight going slack in his arms.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

She’d fallen asleep.

Hongjoong stared down at her, his heart aching so badly it felt like it might split open.

He should pull away. He should wake her. He should do something—anything—other than stand there holding her like she was his.

But for just one moment, he let himself stay.

Through the glass door, he saw the faint silhouettes of their friends watching from the living room. Yeosang’s knowing gaze met his for a brief second before turning away.

Hongjoong sighed, tightening his hold on Y/N.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered into her hair.

And he meant it.

The night was still as Hongjoong pushed open his apartment door, adjusting his grip on Y/N.

She stirred faintly against his chest but didn’t wake.

His fingers tightened slightly on the hem of her jacket as he carried her to the couch.

Five minutes, he reminded himself. It’s only five minutes away. She needed to get out of that party.

Once she was settled on the couch, he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and draped it carefully over her.

She looked peaceful like this, her breathing slow, lashes fluttering faintly in sleep.

It made his chest ache.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, then forced himself to step back.

Don’t make this harder than it already is.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

But hours later, the faint rustle of movement woke him.

Hongjoong sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he heard soft footsteps in the living room.

He grabbed a glass from the kitchen, filling it with water before padding quietly toward the sound—barefoot, dressed only in his boxers.

Y/N sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisted in the blanket around her shoulders. She looked up as he crouched down in front of her, holding out the glass.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Her breath caught in her throat.

Hongjoong’s hair was mussed from sleep, his dark eyes soft in the dim light as he crouched there—close enough she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the line of his collarbones, the way his skin looked warm and golden in the shadows.

And he was only wearing boxers.

Her heart stuttered wildly in her chest.

“Here. You need water,” he murmured.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing his as she whispered, “Why am I here?”

“You were falling asleep at the party. It was loud, crowded… I didn’t want to leave you there.”

“Oh.”

Memories began trickling back—the hike, the party, the balcony…

Her own words.

“I hate seeing you with other girls.”

“I feel like myself when I’m with you.”

The way her hand had cupped his cheek.

A hot wave of embarrassment rolled through her.

“Joong?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Yeah?” His gaze searched hers, gentle and patient.

“Do you… hate me now?”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment there was only silence between them, heavy and thick.

“Hate you?” he echoed softly, almost in disbelief.

Hongjoong’s thumb brushed over her cheekbone, soft and tentative. His dark eyes searched hers like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“I could never hate you, Y/N,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not now. Not ever.”

The warmth of his fingers lingered against her skin even as he started to pull his hand back, the air between them shifting—heavy, charged, fragile.

But Y/N, heart pounding in her chest, caught his wrist.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t pull away from me.”

“Y/N—”

“I like you.” The words tumbled out in a rush, raw and unguarded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I thought I liked San, but it’s you. It’s been you for a while now.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on hers.

And in that stillness—his fingers warm against her face, the faint scent of him filling her head—Y/N felt herself leaning forward.

She kissed him softly, hesitantly, her lips barely brushing his.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Panic surged in her chest. She pulled back, her hands trembling.

“ I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

But before she could finish, Hongjoong’s hands cupped her face and pulled her back to him.

And this time, he kissed her.

Harder. Desperate. Like he’d been holding himself back for too long and finally—finally—let go.

Her hands gripped his shoulders as his thumbs stroked her cheeks, grounding her even as her heart raced wildly.

She barely had time to breathe before he kissed her again. And again.

Short, messy kisses between whispered apologies and soft laughs—both of them trembling, both of them clinging to each other like they were afraid it might all disappear.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” Hongjoong murmured against her lips, his voice rough and low.

“Why?” she whispered back.

“Because I can’t stop.”

She laughed shakily, her forehead resting against his.

“Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

Hongjoong kissed her like he was trying to memorize her.

Soft at first—his lips moving gently, carefully—but when Y/N’s hands slid up his bare chest, brushing over warm skin and the hard lines of his shoulders, something in him broke.

His fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her harder, deeper.

She let out a shaky breath when his hand traced down her side, lingering at the hem of her shirt.

“Joong…” she whispered.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough.

“I don’t want you to.”

His eyes met hers for a brief, charged second—searching for hesitation. There was none.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, palms gliding over her warm skin as he pulled her shirt up and off.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed hot as his eyes roamed over her, his hands following as though he was trying to learn her body by touch alone.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

She tugged gently at his waistband, her fingers brushing the line of his hip. He shivered slightly under her touch.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked just a little, his forehead pressing to hers.

Clothes were discarded slowly, deliberately—not rushed. Every new patch of exposed skin felt like a revelation, like trust laid bare.

When she tugged him down with her onto the couch cushions, he went willingly, his body warm and solid against hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as his thumb stroked her jaw.

“I’ve never been more sure,” she whispered.

His hands roamed reverently, mapping every curve, every soft sigh he coaxed from her lips. When his mouth followed—kissing down her neck, across her collarbones—her fingers fisted in his hair.

Her own hands explored in return—the broadness of his back, the dip of his waist, the flex of muscle beneath smooth skin. She’d never let herself imagine this before, and now she couldn’t stop.

The first time he pushed into her was slow, careful.

Their eyes met—hers wide, his dark with restraint—and he kissed her cheek, her jaw, her lips, whispering her name like a vow.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathed.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered back.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t hurried.

It was slow. Gentle. Like they were both finally letting themselves have what they’d wanted all along.

Every movement felt deliberate, every kiss unhurried—like they had all the time in the world.

When they finally collapsed together, breathless and warm under the blanket he’d grabbed earlier, Hongjoong pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“I shouldn’t have waited this long,” he whispered.

She smiled sleepily against his chest. “We didn’t wait. We just… took our time.”

His arms tightened around her, and for the first time in months, his heart didn’t ache.

Because she was here.

And she was his.

The blanket was warm around them, but not as warm as his arms.

Y/N let out a soft sigh as Hongjoong adjusted his hold, tucking her closer against his chest. Their legs were tangled, skin against skin, the weight of his hand resting gently on her hip.

For the first time all night, the room was quiet—no rushed breathing, no whispered names—just the sound of their hearts settling into the same slow rhythm.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” Y/N murmured sleepily, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his ribs.

“Neither did I,” Hongjoong said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “But I wanted it to.”

She pulled back slightly to look up at him, her amber eyes still glassy with exhaustion and emotion. “Since when?”

He hesitated for only a second.

“A while now,” he admitted. “I kept telling myself I was just helping you. That I could be happy watching you fall for someone else.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin.

“But then I realized… I wasn’t helping because you liked San. I was helping because I liked you.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at his words, and she felt her throat tighten.

“I’m so glad you’re an awful wingman,” she whispered with a watery laugh.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, his nose brushing hers. “Me too.”

They didn’t speak after that, content to simply exist in the quiet together. His fingers traced light, aimless shapes along her back, and she nestled against him, her ear over his heartbeat.

The last thing she felt before sleep claimed her was his lips pressing gently to her temple.

When morning came, they were still there—wrapped in the blanket, naked and tangled on the couch, limbs knotted like they belonged there.

For the first time in months, Hongjoong slept peacefully.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Okay, but what if she’s not okay?” Hana whispered as she fumbled with the spare key Hongjoong had given her months ago “just in case.”

“She’s fine,” Yeosang said calmly, standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Are we sure?” Jisoo asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “But I do know I’m about to get the tea of the century.”

San rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Maybe we shouldn’t just… barge in.”

But it was too late. Hana had already unlocked the door.

The group filed in, quiet at first.

“Joong?” Hana called softly.

No answer.

“Y/N?”

Still nothing.

Then they saw it.

On the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, lay Y/N and Hongjoong.

Naked.

Very obviously naked.

Hongjoong’s arm was slung protectively over Y/N’s waist, his face buried in her hair. Y/N was curled into his chest, one leg tangled lazily over his.

Hana slapped a hand over her mouth.

Jisoo’s eyes went comically wide.

Yeosang let out the longest, most resigned sigh of his life.

“Called it,” Wooyoung whisper-shouted gleefully.

San turned on his heel so fast he nearly ran into the doorframe. “Nope. I’m not seeing this. I’m not.”

Hongjoong stirred at the noise, blinking groggily.

“Wha—” His voice was thick with sleep as his eyes adjusted. Then they widened in horror.

“OH MY GOD,” Y/N squeaked, clutching the blanket tighter around her chest as she sat up too quickly, nearly toppling off the couch.

The blanket slipped dangerously low, but Hongjoong yanked it back up with lightning reflexes, his face flushing scarlet.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?!” he barked, his voice cracking embarrassingly at the end.

Wooyoung doubled over, wheezing. “Oh my God. Oh my God. This is the BEST thing I’ve ever walked in on.”

“Out. Now.” Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, his ears flaming red as he clutched the blanket tighter around Y/N.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” San said quickly, still facing the door as he waved a hand over his eyes.

Hana was still frozen in place, Jisoo tugging her arm to retreat.

Yeosang, ever calm, glanced over his shoulder as the group shuffled out.

“Congrats,” he said dryly. “Took you two long enough.”

As the door finally slammed shut, Y/N buried her burning face in her hands.

“Oh my God. I’m never going to live this down,” she groaned.

Hongjoong dropped his forehead against her shoulder with a laugh—half mortified, half hysterical.

“Same.”

But even as his laughter subsided, his arms didn’t move from around her.

And somehow, despite the embarrassment, Y/N felt… okay.

Because for once, everyone knew.

And she didn’t have to hide anymore.

[dreamofbona]

nothing like three weeks till school starting and being given a summer assignment… my physics teacher really couldn’t give it to us till less than a month before school… im excited for physics cuz it’ll make me feel smart but i hate calc so…

[kxsagi]

pro football player!bllk with girlfailure gf 🙏

“𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝”

a/n: reader is me i fear because i had apple maps on and turned left when siri said turn right (i ain’t ever living that down)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, aiku oliver

isagi yoichi

"i’m not saying you're a disaster, love, but i just saw the smoke coming from the toaster and knew you tried to make soup again." 

yoichi is genuinely concerned for your wellbeing on a daily basis. he’s in the peak of his athletic prime – eating clean, training consistently, and optimizing performance… and then there’s you, googling “can i eat expired pudding if i microwave it?” 

he keeps track of your life with the dedication of a world cup coach. daily alarms set for you. calendar events for you. a literal google doc titled "how to not die this week – for my girlfriend." 

“yoichi, i accidentally took a sleeping pill instead of my vitamin again. at 2pm.” “... okay, stay on the phone while i cancel your dentist appointment and put you in bed.” 

when you showed up to one of his games wearing a shirt with his face on it, backwards, he didn’t even blink. he just fixed it for you mid-tunnel entrance like he was adjusting his jersey. 

he tells reporters, “she keeps me grounded.” what he means is you walked into a glass wall yesterday trying to wave at a squirrel. 

itoshi rin

"you’ve burned water. explain to me how that’s even physically possible." 

rin is the definition of organized. you? you just poured orange juice into your cereal because you were “half-awake and the cartons looked the same.” 

he constantly looks like he’s asking god why he’s being tested. but despite the judgmental sighs and eternal frown, he never lets anyone else talk down to you. 

“i couldn’t figure out how to put gas in the car so i called triple A and cried.” “... i’m going to show you how to do it. we’re going right now. bring your notebook.” 

he sets emergency funds aside just for your monthly “life mistake.” like the time you bought a fake designer purse that turned out to be a lunchbox. 

but he remembers everything. your favorite candy. how you like your grilled cheese (burnt, apparently). which socks help when you’re overwhelmed. 

once you got lost in IKEA and called rin in a panic. he tracked you down like joe goldberg.  

itoshi sae

"i make millions a year and my girlfriend just got stuck in a revolving door." 

sae is rich, classy, and elegant. you once mistook a bidet for a drinking fountain. opposites, baby. 

he acts all nonchalant and "ugh," but he's always silently picking up the pieces after you’ve caused another minor catastrophe. 

“i thought the microwave was the oven and now the plastic is part of my dinner.” “okay. i’m ordering sushi. don’t eat it. i mean it.” 

he’s weirdly patient with you. will roast you endlessly, but also brush your hair out of your face while saying “idiot” in the gentlest voice ever. 

once, you tripped walking up the stadium stairs and spilled a nacho tray onto a stranger. he didn’t even blink. just pulled out his black card and paid for all the ruined food. 

“do i like her because she’s cute? no. it’s the comedy. i never know what she’ll break next.” 

nagi seishiro

"wait… you were supposed to go to work today? oh no." 

you both forgot what day it was and slept through a meeting. your lives are one long nap and an accidental door dash order. 

nagi genuinely doesn’t care about your failures. he just kind of blinks and goes “eh, sounds annoying. let’s lie down.” 

“sei, i think i broke the vacuum.” “cool. guess we don’t clean now.” 

you once forgot to bring your passport to the airport. he forgot his shoes. you were that couple. the airline staff pitied you. 

he lets you stack your chaos on top of his. gets a little spark in his eyes when you mess something up. “you’re funny,” he says as you spill water on your laptop. 

surprisingly supportive. doesn’t fix things, but he’ll cuddle you while you cry about them. 

“i ruined the job interview.” “eh. next one. let’s get ice cream.” 

mikage reo

"my baby can’t do taxes or read maps, but she’s hot so it’s fine." 

he’s so ridiculously rich and competent, and you’re just trying to remember your email password from middle school. 

constantly watching you with an amused expression like “wow. she’s really out here giving it her best. adorable.” like you said “i think i wanna become an astronaut” and he started looking up NASA internships. 

“reo, i tried to meal prep and now there’s rice in the ceiling fan.” “that’s talent. you want a private chef?” 

he buys you a new phone every time you drop one in the toilet. it’s happened four times. 

he sends you voice notes like “baby, remember to eat today” and you reply “does chocolate count?” and he’s like “only if you eat six.” 

will absolutely drop $30k on something to make your life easier and then call it a “just because you’re a princess” gift. 

kaiser michael

"schatz, why are you crying?" "i tried to braid my hair and now there’s a comb stuck in the wall." 

kaiser is such a showoff. pro athlete, media darling, good with money, sharp as hell. you? you tried to fix the wi-fi by blowing on it like a nintendo cartridge. 

he lives for your mess. he thinks it’s hilarious. he’ll walk into a room you destroyed and be like “wow. modern art. you’ve outdone yourself.” 

“kaiser, i accidentally sent my manager a meme instead of my availability.” “did they laugh? no? then resend with context.” 

he’ll bully you for your mistakes but then drop everything to help you anyway. “you’re lucky i like you. and that you look hot when confused.” 

secretly addicted to you needing him. will pout if you fix something yourself. 

“you didn’t call me when your sink broke?” “i googled it.” “what the hell. i was emotionally prepared to be your hero.” 

shidou ryusei

"guess what i just did!" "lit something on fire?" "how did you know!?" 

you two are absolute chaos. you keep failing at life and he cheers you on like it’s a sport. 

“i just sent an angry email to the wrong person.” “HELL YEAH BABY. make it worse! want me to reply with a meme?” 

he loves how you panic over small things while he eggs you on. “i lost my shoe!” “go barefoot! embrace the primal life!” 

he brings out your most unhinged side and encourages your impulsive decisions. “should i dye my hair pink?” “only if you let me do it with kitchen bleach.” 

somehow, when you’re both together, things work?? the disasters cancel out??? or at least no one’s bored. 

“she’s dumb, and she’s mine. and if anyone says anything else i’ll headbutt them into next week.” 

aiku oliver

"you’re not a failure. you just have a very… creative approach to life. and gravity." 

he’s the charming, cocky pretty boy captain and you once fell down an escalator because you were texting. 

he calls you “baby” in that teasing voice every time you mess something up. “baby… you really locked yourself out again?” “yes…” “adorable. hold on, let me come save your helpless little ass.” 

literally spoils you rotten to compensate for your chaos. you messed up your entire skincare routine and he booked you a five-star spa appointment. 

jokes that you’re his "clumsy little gremlin" and kisses your forehead after you bump into a pole. 

also weirdly proud of your fails. tells his teammates about them like fun facts. “my girl once put dish soap in the laundry machine. we had bubbles for hours." 

he likes that you need him. not in a weird possessive way, just in the fun way. 

“she keeps life spicy. also, she accidentally started a fire once by microwaving foil.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[everythingisamazing]

Continuing with my Jayce-and-Viktor-loved-each-other’s-minds-before-anything-else propaganda, let’s talk about Viktor’s (not-so) glorious evolution:

The aspect that tends to get highlighted most is how Viktor’s goal of helping and healing people escalated into wanting to perfect them — driven, in part, by his own insecurities. And while that’s certainly a key element, I think there’s another angle that’s often overlooked: the idea of unification of minds, and how that relates to Jayce.

The defining feature of Jayvik is how they understand each other in a way, no other person can - an intellectual connection, that happens almost instantly and is loaded with emotion for both of them, since they are a) scientists and b) it's something that they might have doubted they ever could have because not only are they uniquely intelligent, but their openness to magic is unique in Piltover.

Jayce’s doodle of two brains creating sparks between them in his notebook is such a simple yet endearing way of visualizing this bond.

So I don’t think it’s a coincidence that after their “break-up,” Viktor begins literally connecting his mind to others. This is going to sound funny, and I’m half-joking, half-serious when I say it — but it’s a little like how some people start sleeping with strangers after a bad breakup to fill a void.

What Viktor craves isn’t just perfection — it’s connection. “We can be of one mind” becomes his new ideal. And I wonder if that desire comes from the seven years he and Jayce were of one mind — and how much pain it caused when that harmony was lost.

Singed, in-universe-king of clocking people, even "prophesizes" Viktors fate directly to him in this scene:

We can also deduce how important Jayces mind is to Viktor, by how he comments on it multiple times in S2: “Your mind has become rigid, Jayce.” “Your mind has suffered.” And then, in the final episode, we see Viktor literally reaching into Jayce’s head — an especially striking detail, considering that his physical form is now able to touch the minds of others.

(you can see it more clearly if you watch the scene, but Viktors fingertips are inside Jayces forehead)

Oh, and another visual detail: If you look at husk Jayce, the whole top of his skull is missing and empty, as if someone scooped out his brain. Instead, mage Viktor made some flowers grow in there :´)

I’ve already explained in another post why it made sense that they didn’t kiss in their final moments — and I think this only adds to that argument. The forehead touch just fits. Maybe that doodle in Jayce’s notebook was foreshadowing all along: the last thing they do is bring their minds as close together as physically possible.

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[gotta-winwin]

day one | w.jh

⭐ starring: wen junhui 💌 genre: angst | wc: 2.2k 💬 preview: you and jun are all too familiar with goodbyes paired with the slight chance that you’ll never see each other again. it comes with his job as an astronaut, and when jun’s assigned to a mission that might take a whole lifetime to complete, you have to accept that this goodbye might be something else entirely. permanent and forever. 

cw/tw: astronaut!jun x researcher!reader, inspired by interstellar, set in the 2060s where Earth is all farmland and weeds, the war against time, long distance relationship taken to the max, so many goodbyes, butchering of astronaut terms

🪽fic rating: pg  ☁️ masterlist & a/n: angst. ha. this one is a gift to @lovetaroandtaemin mwah <3

now playing: forever star by 张洢豪

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

A rocket flies into the sky, taking your lover away from you. 

It flies fast, filled with power and speed, perfectly designed by the research you had supplied the space team with. 

You had been tempted to burn the notebook that contained your life's work, if only as an attempt to keep Jun with you, yet the whole discovery was too tempting to give up. 

You and Jun would make it into the history books. Names written next to each other in mankind’s greatest achievement. Physical bodies nowhere near one another. 

You figured you’d be okay without him. After all, you and Jun were all too familiar with goodbyes. You stare at your calendar and realize you’ve lived longer without him than with him. 

The realization burns. 

You remember sending him off on his first flight into the universe. 

“I can’t believe I actually made it.” Jun shakes you with both hands in excitement. “We made it.” 

You can’t help but smile through the tears threatening to spill down your face. “I’m going to miss you.” You blink, and they slide down your face like waterfalls. 

He presses the pads of his thumbs to your cheeks, wiping the droplets away. “I’m going to miss you too. But I’ll be back very soon.” 

You were both so young, so clean and untouched by the suffering the next few years would be. So naive. So stupid to think it’d ever work out. 

Jun presses a feather light kiss to your forehead, stooping lower to brush against your lips. 

The first goodbye is always the easiest. You’re yet to learn the detrimental toll loving someone a universe away would put on you, and Jun was yet to learn the loneliness of outer space. 

You throw a kiss into the wind as the rocket containing your lover takes off. 

You only find solace in the fact that you’ll see him again in a couple weeks or so. 

Jun comes back with a plethora of stories to tell your nieces and nephews. 

They gather around him after dinner, eyes wide as they listened to him detail what meteor showers looked like from millions of miles away. He draws the Milky Way on a napkin. He tells them about showering upside down while bouncing your youngest niece on his leg.

You serve the kids orange juice in a glass jar and Jun his beer in a can. 

The patio lights gleam in the night sky around you. Jun catches your eye in the middle of a particularly funny story and he breaks into a dazzling smile. 

“My star.” He pulls you closer to him by the hip. 

“My moon.” You respond back, pushing his hair away from his eyes. It’s a delicate play on his last name and his love for all things outer space.

It’s the last day either of you are incandescently happy.  

The next few goodbyes are much harder than the first. 

Jun cradles your head in his hands as he whispers his goodbyes, pressing his forehead against yours as your tears drop and mix together.

He doesn’t want to leave.

“I’ll be back very soon.” He states once again, but it’s not true this time. The mission calls for at least a year on the International Space Station, and Jun knows that’s longer than anytime he’s ever been without you. “I’m sorry.”

The worst part is that it’s no one's fault. “I’m sorry too.” You don’t know on whose behalf you’re apologizing for. You. The space team. The government. The universe. 

Jun pulls you in for a hug, and he savours it like it’s his last. 

“I’ll be back.” He promises. “I’ll be back.” 

You blow the sky a kiss as the rocket takes off once again. You watch until it becomes a speck of dust in the sky, disappearing behind the murky clouds and into a place you cannot follow. 

You restart the countdown.

Jun had dreamed of becoming an astronaut for as long as he can remember. He still finds drawings of himself in astronaut gear from kindergarten, scattered in the boxes up in his parent’s attic. 

Jun used to love anything to do with space. The stars, the moon, the orbits. Jun used to love everything. 

He didn’t anymore. Not when it cost him his time with you. 

He found himself longing for a way back into the past, when times were simpler and traveling to space was just a dream too far away to even comprehend. It was an odd thing to think about when he used to long for nothing but the current position he was in now. 

Jun stares off into the distance, watching as the stars blinked fire into the nothingness around them, and thought of you. 

“Moon man, your commander’s looking for you.” Your heels clack against the marble floor of the compound. 

He looks up from the files in his hands and relaxes upon seeing you. “My star.” 

“Your commander’s been looking for you.” You repeat yourself, flipping the lights on in the room. “What are you doing sitting in the dark? You’ll ruin your eyes, reading in the dark like that.” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s too loud in the main space.” 

You kneel down to sit on the floor beside him, glancing at the papers in his hands. You spot the words: time, barrier and travel. You think nothing of it. “Between Commander Choi barking orders and Soonyoung throwing paper planes at the back of Mingyu’s head– I understand.” 

“You’re still somehow able to calculate g-force and interdimensional shit in that ruckus though.” Jun points out, and you laugh at his lack of knowledge behind the mathematics that went into sending him and his comrades to space. 

“I’m special.” You state simply. 

His eyes turn into crescent moons when he smiles at you. “Yes. Yes, you are.” 

If he concentrates hard enough, Jun can almost feel your body heat radiating against his arm, as if you were right there next to him. He doesn’t dare turn to look beside him, fearing that if he did, the feeling of you would dissipate away. 

“Jun!” Mingyu calls him from the other side of the pod, floating with his legs crossed. “You’re on dinner duty today.” 

He turns to respond quickly, but by the time he returns back to his bubble of solitude, you’re already gone. 

The worst news is always delivered through an unassuming phone call. 

Jun’s limbs are tangled with yours in bed as you both enjoy a rare day off from work. It’s quiet, a peaceful and welcoming contrast to your usual hectic schedules.

His phone rings and he groans to pick it up. 

You don’t hear the conversation, but you can tell from his face that it’s Commander Choi on the other end of the call. 

“Right. Are you sure? Okay.” Jun mumbles a quick goodbye before ending the call, a tight expression on his face. 

“What?” 

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say. “Work stuff.” He waves it away, curling his arms back around your waist and dragging you back into bed. 

Your phone rings a few minutes later.

“We need you to come in.” It’s your own department head, Dr. Yoon, on the other end of the line. 

“What’s going on?” Your voice is rushed, you can sense the strain in the lead researcher’s voice even through the terrible connection your cabin house has. 

Jun’s watching you, equally on edge from the side of the bed. 

“We’ve been ordered to prepare the necessary calculations for the next flight.”

Your shoulders relax. It’s a mundane thing. “It’s my day off, boss.” 

“Not anymore. They wanted my best researcher, Y/N. It’s a big deal, this next flight. Come in and I’ll tell you more. Your boyfriend will have to come in too, he’s the one flying.”

You can feel your heart drop into the pits of your stomach as Dr. Yoon hangs up.

You and Jun later learn that the trip is for some government threat too confidential for you to know. They brief Jun on the whole mission, but your lover’s sworn to secrecy and doesn’t offer much. 

All you know is that he’ll be gone for a long, long time. 

“Time works differently in space.” Jun tells you.

“I know that, dumbass.” You reply back, already agitated by the news. “I was the one that discovered the formula for it.” 

He covers your hands with his, eyes patient despite the glare he was receiving. “I know, my star. But I’m going much farther. A year on Earth will only be a couple hours to me.” 

You don’t need to do any calculations to figure out what he’s trying to tell you. 

“I’ll be dead when you come back.” 

He winces. “No. Just– old.” 

“And you’ll still be young.”

He nods. “I will be back. I promise.” 

It’s a promise that isn’t his to give, but he gives it anyways. 

You and Jun had become familiar with goodbyes, practiced and seasoned veterans in the art of parting. The ritual was always the same: a tender kiss, a prolonged hug, whispers and promises of a quick return, quiet declarations of love. He always walks away first. You blow a kiss to the sky as you watch him leave. It’s practiced. Memorized. 

But this time it’s different. You both fumble, clumsy, knowing it was the last time for a long time– maybe forever. 

“I can’t walk away first this time.” His voice breaks as he admits it, fingers gripping yours for much longer than usual. “Please don’t make me.” 

You wipe away your tears and pull yourself together. “Okay.” 

It takes everything in you to turn and walk yourself back to the car. You watch him hesitate for a beat before leaving himself. 

You throw a weak kiss towards the sky as the rocket takes off, taking your lover away from you for the final time. 

The scientific community calls it takotsubo cardiomyopathy, or broken heart syndrome. The astronauts call it a shift so long it broke the guy. 

Jun calls it missing you. 

His comrades see it too. His bones are showing more than his skin. Food no longer agrees with him. His eyes are void of light and they no longer turn into crescent moons when he smiles, or rather, he no longer smiles. 

There are many names for the disease Jun suffers with. 

Mingyu prefers a more straightforward term. 

“He’s dying, commander.” 

Commander Choi knows he is, but there’s no way back home for any of them. Not where they had found themselves in– planets away and in a completely unknown part of the universe. “I know.” Is all he says. “I know.” 

They watch as Jun stares out the circular window of the space station, eyes transfixed on the blue terrain around them. A new ecosystem entirely, yet he showed no sign of excitement or curiosity. 

He hums a lonely tune to himself as he runs a finger across the groove of the glass. His eyes glaze over and he smiles– it’s a painful one, filled with sorrow and grief. 

“Y/N.” He whispers your name and his breath fogs up the glass. 

Commander Choi and Mingyu can’t help but think he’s not just missing you anymore. 

Jun’s mourning you like you’re already dead.

MANY YEARS LATER. 

Your nieces and nephews have all grown now, heading into their adult years or bordering on the brink of graduating high school. 

They still ask for stories of the moon man, of the uncle they remember in blips of childhood memories. 

You tell them all about the early years with Jun. How he used to swat away Mingyu’s paper airplanes whenever they got too close to your face. How he used to pick you up from your house for work even if it was on the opposite side of town. You detail his adventures with the stars in the vast universe above where you stood. 

Your nieces see him as the perfect example of what they should have in a future lover. Your nephews see him as who they should become. 

“Why did you never marry?” Your youngest niece asks, her eyes brimming with tears from the last story you had just finished retelling. The story of how you got so good at goodbyes. She’s much older now, but she still idolizes Jun as if he were the moon itself. 

Your lips quiver into a weak smile. “I don’t know, honey. I guess I could never see myself with anyone else. And I just kept waiting.” 

“You’re still waiting.” Your oldest nephew observes from the edge of the armchair. He pokes the crackling fire in the firepit with a stick. “For Uncle Moon.” 

“Yes.” You blink away the sudden tears appearing in the crevices of your eyes. “I suppose I am.” 

“Why?” It’s an innocent question, reminding you of the wide-eyed innocence you once had, years ago. 

“He has been with me since day one.” You explain. “It won’t be fair if he’s not with me till the end.”

You see in their eyes that they don’t really understand. They will, once they’ve met their own moon. 

You send them off to bed one by one before you’re finally left alone, sitting out on the patio overlooking your farm land. 

You raise your head to greet your lover in the sky. 

“Hi, my moon.” 

It glows in the center of the dark sky, crescent shaped like his eyes. The stars wink at you from around it. 

Your wrinkled and weakened fingers shake as you raise your hand to blow a kiss to the moon and you picture him reaching out to catch it– wherever he is now. 

MISSION LOG:

Mission success. Entering Earth’s atmosphere in T-Minus 10 hours. Mission length: 124 Earth years. 17 years in orbit. 

Commander Choi logging in. 

Pilot Kim logging in. 

Mission Specialist Kwon logging in. 

Fuel at 23%.

Welcome home.  

[woniehugs]

OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

CHAPTER 3

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it's your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you've had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better... or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x fem! reader

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you'll see, friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ warnings: heavy makeout sesh, dry humping, groping, dirty talk, they finish in their clothes obviously

—✧ word count: 5.5k

—✧ author’s note: so yeah this is my first time writing something like this (kill me now) so tell me where i should improve bc i’m not sure if i’m doing this right (send help). gotta be honest, this is more of a filler and for you horny fuckers out there lol.

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl @renjuns-grillfreind (cant be tagged) @freakywonbin , @enhafika , @enhacolor , @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz , @sumzysworld , @woniefull , @aanniikkaa , @faithnsstuff (cant be tagged), @wonnienyang , @wonlluvie , @slut4hee , @hwaluvrsblog , @jakeswifez , @jakesimfromstatefarm, @jiryunie (cant be tagged), @nikibleist , @friurt , @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @lolddhfsdcvff-blog (cant be tagged), @my10monthslovesimjae , @heefever , @milanco , @khaisdrz , @cha-raena, @bananna-12 (cant tag), @ilovejakesimsm (cant tag) send an ask or comment if you want to be added!

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

you hadn't planned on ending up in jake’s room that night, let alone on his bed. but there you were, heart racing as his lips moved against yours, each kiss growing deeper and more urgent. the project lay abandoned on the desk, your notebooks and papers forgotten the moment he pulled you closer, his hands firm on your waist.

the rush of it all, the heat of his touch, the way he whispered your name—made your head spin, drowning out the voice in the back of your mind warning you to slow down. it felt good to lose yourself in the moment, to let go of the pressures and expectations for once. but just as your hands moved to trace the lines of his jaw, a sudden surge of doubt stopped you cold.

"jake, wait," you breathed, pulling back and putting a hand on his chest to create some space. "w-we need to talk about this first."

he froze, his dark eyes searching yours, still catching his breath. "what else is there to talk about? we’re on the same page, aren’t we?” jake said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“we are… i think.” you whispered out the last part, looking away from jake and sitting yourself up on his bed as he gives you some space to do so. you wrap your arms around your legs, “but i just want to make sure. it’s best we know what we want from each other, right?”

jake tilts his head at you, and to be frank, you found the action quite adorable, if it weren’t for his messy hair, swollen lips, and cheeks tinted red. now, he just looks like something out of one of your daydreams. that was all your doing, you were acutely aware of it.

he gives you a small smile, brushing his hand through his hair. "of course. just want to make sure of something real quick." his tone was casual, almost teasing, but there was something in his eyes—something that made you wonder if he was just as conflicted as you were.

you opened your mouth to ask, but then jake leaned in and kissed you again, catching you off guard. it was different this time—softer, as if asking for permission. you felt the world tilting, his warmth pulling you back into the moment despite your doubts.

when he pulled away, you found yourself breathless once more, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

"well?" he said with a crooked smile. "you didn't hate that, did you?"

nah. do it again please.

you rolled your eyes to hide the fluttering in your chest, but you couldn't ignore the truth in his words. "no, i didn't," you admitted, voice barely a whisper.

drawing in a deep breath, you sat up straighter, steeling yourself. “jake, if we’re going to do… whatever this is, there has to be some rules.”

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “rules? are we signing a contract now?” jake teased, but his tone remained light, like he was testing the waters.

you shot him a look, resisting the urge to laugh. “i’m serious,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’m gonna be straight with you. i’m not really looking to jump into a relationship, not ready for all that right now. so, whatever this is—” you gestured between the two of you, “—it’s strictly casual.”

jake’s lips twitched into a smirk, his gaze never leaving yours. “you sound like you’ve been planning this for a while. should i be worried?”

there was a bit of (no. whole.) truth in his words, and you weren’t really sure if you’ll ever admit it to him, especially not this early on. “you’ll have to find out on your own.”

“strictly casual,” he echoed, leaning back slightly on his hands. you’re grateful that he decided to let the previous question slide. “got it. so, no swooning over me in the halls, writing love poems, or any of that cringey stuff?”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward. “get off your high horse, jake. but exactly. no expectations, no labels. just… this.” you said, letting your voice trail off as you tried to find the right words. “we don’t let it interfere with anything else, and we definitely don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

jake tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “alright, no complications. but what if i buy you a coffee one day? is that off-limits, or are casual coffee dates allowed?”

a small laugh escaped you. “casual coffee is fine,” you conceded. “just don’t call it a date.”

“noted.” jake leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “and if i kiss you again, like right now, does that fall under ‘strictly casual,’ too?”

your breath hitched, but you held your ground. “as long as we both know it doesn’t mean anything,” you replied softly. “and it ends the moment one of us says so.”

jake’s smirk softened as he studied you, his eyes flickering with something that felt like curiosity, or maybe a hint of a challenge. he moved closer, his fingers tracing light circles along your arm. the touch was casual, but it sent a shiver through you, making it harder to stay focused.

“i’m assuming casual means i can still do... this." his fingers skimmed up your arm to your shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips when you didn't pull away.

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "it means no strings attached, jake. no acting like we're something we're not." you caught his gaze, determined to keep the conversation on track even as your heart pounded in your ears. "we don't get jealous. we don't make this complicated."

he tilted his head, looking at you with that familiar glint of mischief. "and if i happen to like having you all to myself for a night?" he asked, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck now. "that doesn't count as jealousy, does it?"

you almost laughed, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his chest, more to keep him from getting any closer than to push him away. "as long as you don't start acting possessive or territorial, i think we're good," you said, your tone light but firm.

"this isn't supposed to be some dramatic thing. we’re just two people who enjoy each other's company. that’s it."

jake’s hand slid down to your waist, resting there as he considered your words. "alright," he said slowly, "no drama. no jealousy." he let his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your skin. "but if i call you over to see you and talk, that's still within the rules, right?"

you hesitated, feeling his hand slip just slightly under the fabric, his touch making your skin tingle. "it depends on what you want to talk about when you call me over," you replied, your voice lower now.

a smirk tugs at the corner of jake’s lips as he moved closer, his hand drifting from your waist down to your hip, his fingers tracing the curve there. “what if i want to do more than just talk?"

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you held your ground. "if you're talking about hooking up, then sure. but I'm serious about keeping it simple. no mixed signals."

jake chuckled, the sound low in his throat as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing your ear. “so, if i told you that i’ve been thinking about fucking you since last saturday," he murmured, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, "that wouldn't be breaking any rules, would it?"

bingo.

your breath hitched, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you at his words.

"as long as you're not expecting any strings attached afterward," you shot back, trying to maintain your composure.

"i don't think I've ever heard you sound this serious before," he teased, leaning away from you. "it’s almost like you’re scared i’m going to break your little rules.”

he’s right. maybe you are scared. but who cares? that’s the reason why you set the rules. to set boundaries and not cross them. this was all just going to be a fun game for you (that you started) so you can have some excitement before you graduate. and what better way than to fool around with the hottest guy in school?

you pushed gently at his chest, keeping him at bay while still meeting his gaze. "i’m just making sure we're clear," you said. "i don't want either of us to get the wrong idea. if this starts to get messy, we stop. simple as that."

jake’s smile widened, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes. “good. because i’m not ready for all that relationship stuff, either,” he said, his tone earnest beneath the playful facade. “just two people having a little fun, right?”

“right,” you echoed, feeling a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation as you set the terms. it felt good to put some boundaries in place, to have some control over whatever was happening and about to happen between you.

“i’m allowed to touch you like this, right? because i gotta say, i’m kind of enjoying it."

“you’ve been doing it since earlier, jake, and i haven’t said a thing about it. what do you think?”

before jake could say anything more, you clap your hands together. "okay, then. we both know what we want from this," you said. "and we're not letting it interfere with anything else."

he gave a slow nod, his fingers still resting lightly on your skin. "agreed. and just so we're clear, i’m not saying i won’t keep wanting to kiss you like this," jake added with a playful glint in his eye. "but i’ll play by your rules."

you stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor and feeling the weight of the

agreement settle between you. "good. then i guess i’ll see you around. it’s getting late.” you said, turning to head to the door.

a thought suddenly stopped you, and you turned back to jake, meeting his gaze. “oh, and one more thing,” you added, voice firm. “i don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

jake’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “keeping me a secret already?” he teased, “don’t worry. i’m good at keeping things quiet, as long as you are.”

you felt a flutter of something at his words, but you brushed it aside, nodding once before finally turning to leave.

but before you could, jake caught your wrist, pulling you back in for one last kiss, slow and deliberate, like he was making a point of savoring it.

when he finally let go, his voice was a low murmur against your ear. "just don't forget to call me if you ever need to break the rules a little."

a thought lingered in your mind, wondering if “strictly casual” was going to be as simple as you’d hoped.

“i think you’ll be the first one to call out of the two of us.”

• • •

jake: hey, can we meet up?

you: but it’s so late? we have school tomorrow, jake.

jake: you said we could meet anytime.

you: well, yeah, but i didn’t think you’d also mean this late. i literally just finished doing homework :’)

jake: then i’ll come over to yours then.

you: you don’t know where i live???

upon reading jake’s message and realizing that he won’t be replying in the next 10 minutes, you dragged your chair across the tiled floor and ran to your closet, quickly rummaging through your clothes to wear something more appropriate.

you weren’t about to let jake see you in your home clothes that looked like lingerie since you’ve had these since you were a teenager, and you couldn’t care less about who’ll see you in those.

tonight was a different story.

“y/n, i told you not to drag your chair or stomp your feet so loud on the floor. we can hear it from down here!” your mom scolded, and you winced a bit at her tone.

“sorry mom! panicked a bit, and all…” you replied, your voice coming to a whisper at the end.

you picked out a pair of shorts and an oversized hoodie that covers up to your thighs. it definitely looked too big on you, but you also didn’t want jake to think you were desperate.

not that you were, of course. (you were)

it had only been three days since you and jake had the talk and set your boundaries if you both wanted to make this work. you’ve been a giddy mess ever since, always looking forward to seeing jake whether it was at school or not. at school, you would continue your usual routine of eating together at lunch and bringing the other to each other’s classes.

when the two of you were sure no one’s looking or that you were out of plain sight, jake’s hand would linger against yours for more than a few seconds, intertwining his pinky with yours, and you’d feel the ghost of a smile forming on your lips.

there was even a time after classes, you two had purposely got out of your rooms a bit later than usual, and before you could process what was about to happen, jake kissed you softly on the lips.

“i’ve been waiting to do that all day.” he whispered against your lips.

you touch your lips upon remembering the memory. you suddenly needed jake, right now, by your side, so badly. luckily for you, the heavens above seemed to listen to your prayers.

you heard a light knock outside your window, startling you. quickly putting on your hoodie, you grabbed your phone from your desk to see if jake had messaged you.

jake: i’m outside your window

your heart skipped a beat as you read jake’s message. hr was actually here, outside your window, in the middle of the night. you pulled on your hoodie, took a deep breath, and walked over to your window, heart pounding.

sliding the window open, you saw jake standing below, hands shoved into his pockets, his face lit by the glow of the streetlamp. he looked up, flashing you a grin that was both mischievous and a little sheepish.

“hey,” he whispered, a glint in his eye.

“what are you doing here?” you whispered back, trying not to sound too excited. “you’re insane, you know that?”

“maybe.” he shrugged, then glanced around, as if to check if anyone else was watching. “come down?”

you glanced back at your bedroom door, wondering if your parents were asleep yet. “if we get caught, we’re dead.”

jake smirked. “then we’ll just have to be careful, won’t we?”

you couldn’t help but smile back, the thrill of sneaking out making your pulse race. slipping on your shoes, you quietly tiptoed down the stairs, each step feeling like a mini victory against the silence of the house. finally, after what felt like an eternity, you slipped outside, and there he was, waiting for you with that same, soft smile.

you walked over to him, crossing your arms to fend off the night chill. “so, what’s the plan, mister ‘i-show-up-outside-your-window-at-midnight’?”

jake took a step closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “no plan. just wanted to see you.” his voice softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world faded you

your breath hitched, and you suddenly felt like words were pointless. instead, you looked down, your fingers finding his, your hands intertwining naturally. you stood there, holding hands in the quiet night, as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

“how’d you know where i live anyway?” you ask, ignoring the butterflies you were feeling in your stomach. it was your first time experiencing something like this, and you weren’t so sure on what you should do. either way, the fact that jake came over to see you had you thinking of other things outside your original plan.

“you did mention before that you lived nearby. i also happen to catch you enter your house just one time because i was going around the neighborhood.” jake answered with a smile, and you swore you could die right then and there at the sight.

“that’s very stalker-ish of you, sim jaeyun.” you teased, “what would the others think?”

jake chuckles, “don’t really care. besides, it’s not like i was trying to figure out your address. like i said, i just happened to be there.”

a comfortable silence fell between the two of you. you’re surprised he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, and a part of you is glad that he hasn’t.

he glanced at your window again and raised an eyebrow. “so… mind if i come up?”

your eyes widened, but the thought of jake in your room sent a thrill down your spine. “are you serious? i literally just went down because you told me to.”

“well, unless you want your neighbors to keep watching me stand here,” he teased, nodding toward a window across the street where a curtain had just shifted slightly. “or we could always go somewhere. whatever you want.”

without another word, you took his hand and led him inside, carefully closing the door behind you and tiptoeing up the stairs. every step felt louder than it was, and your heart pounded as you reached your room. you nudged the door closed with your foot, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.

jake glanced around, taking in the cozy mess of books and clothes, the walls decorated with photos, and the fairy lights strung above your bed. “so, this is your space,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“yep, this is where the magic happens,” you joked, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach.

jake chuckled, his gaze lingering on you. “magic, huh? maybe i should come over more often.”

you felt your cheeks warm, and before you could respond, he walked over to sit on your bed, patting the spot beside him. you joined him, sitting closer than you normally would, his knee brushing against yours.

a comfortable silence settled over you both. after a moment, he lifted your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and gently tracing circles on your palm. “i’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked up at him, caught in his gaze. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he replied, his eyes softening as he leaned in. you felt his hand slide up to cup your cheek, and he kissed you, slow and gentle, as if savoring the moment. it was the kind of kiss that made everything else disappear.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing softly. “i’ll probably get in so much trouble for sneaking out here,” he whispered, grinning.

you laughed quietly, your heart racing. “me too. but right now? i don’t really care.”

as you sat there, your faces close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, jake leaned in again, deepening the kiss. his lips moved with a new intensity, and you could feel your heart racing in response, echoing the thrill coursing through your veins. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, his hands finding their way to your waist-his grip firm yet gentle, grounding you even as your head began to spin.

your fingers tangled in his hair, feeling the softness beneath your touch as his hands slipped from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you against him. the warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your hoodie, making your skin tingle beneath. his hand began to trail up your spine, hesitating slightly as if checking to see if you were comfortable. you responded by pressing even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were always meant to.

a soft smile escaped his lips against yours, and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks. he began to trail kisses along your jaw, his lips brushing against sensitive skin, making you shiver involuntarily.

"you’re driving me crazy," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and sultry. the way he said it sent a thrill of desire coursing through you.

"maybe i like it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the teasing tone escaping before you could fully consider the boldness of your words.

his hand moved back down, resting at your hip, while his other hand stayed at the nape of your neck. he gently massaged the spot there, his fingers dancing against your skin as he brought your face back to his for another deep kiss. you could feel the heat radiating between you, the urgency of the moment intertwining with the sweetness of your connection.

you both moved in sync, exploring each other's touch and finding that perfect rhythm together. each kiss, each caress felt like a promise, igniting something primal and raw within you. your breaths came faster, filling your quiet room with a soft, unspoken language, each touch and glance saying more than words ever could.

"god, I can't get enough of you," he breathed, his hands brushing up your sides, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

"you make me want to do things I've never even thought about before."

the tension built with every second, electric and charged, making you ache for more. "is that so?" you teased back, feeling bold.

"what exactly do you want to do to me?" the challenge hung in the air, making your heart race even faster as you felt his eyes darken with desire.

"maybe I want to take my time," he replied, his voice deep and husky. "to feel every inch of you." his fingers slipped under the hem of your hoodie, brushing against your bare skin, igniting a spark that made you gasp softly.

"maybe i’d let you," you breathed, your voice breathy, filled with longing as his touch sent shivers down your spine. you could feel the heat pooling in your core, an ache that was becoming harder to ignore. "but only if you can handle it."

jake’s breath hitched, and a low, throaty chuckle escaped his lips. "oh, i can handle it, believe me." his hands trailed higher, brushing against the sides of your body, making you moan softly as the warmth spread through you.

eventually, both of you pulled back slightly, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. jake looked at you with a soft, almost awed smile, and you couldn't help but smile back, feeling both exhilarated and slightly dazed. "you’re incredible," he said, his voice a mixture of admiration and lust.

you rested your head against his shoulder, still holding onto him as if to keep yourself steady. "so are you," you whispered, feeling vulnerable yet safe in his embrace. "i never imagined it would feel like this with you."

"neither did I," he admitted, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm, sending warmth through you. "but i think we're just getting started, yeah?”

your heart raced at his words, anticipation swirling within you. you lifted your head to meet his gaze, the heat in the room palpable.

"then show me," you challenged softly, your voice laced with desire. "show me what you really want."

jake leaned in closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between. "oh, i intend to," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours, teasingly brushing against your mouth as if he were savoring the moment.

with a sudden burst of confidence, he captured your lips again, this time more fervently. you melted against him, the world around you fading as the kiss deepened into something more desperate. the sensation was electric, igniting a fire within you that begged to be fed. you could feel his hands roaming your back, fingers trailing down to the curve of your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he wanted to fuse your bodies together.

"tell me how it feels," he breathed between kisses, his voice thick with desire. "i want to hear you."

your heart raced at his request, the weight of his gaze making you feel exposed yet exhilarated. "it feels... amazing," you managed to gasp, feeling the warmth pooling in your stomach as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck. "you make me feel things i didn't know i could."

a smirk played on his lips at your honesty, and he leaned in again, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. "good," he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and inviting.

"because I want to make you feel so much more." his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn't help but moan softly, the sound reverberating between you, fueling the fire of the moment.

jake paused for a moment, lifting his head to look into your eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. "what else do you want?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

"because I want to give it to you."

you felt emboldened by the intensity of his gaze, the need in your chest surging. "i want you to take control," you said, your voice barely a whisper, thick with desire. "show me how much you want me."

his expression shifted, the playful glint replaced with something darker, more serious. "you asked for it," he replied, capturing your lips once more, the kiss turning urgent and demanding. his hands gripped your hips, guiding you to straddle his lap, the shift in position igniting a new wave of heat between you.

you gasped at the sudden closeness, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you. "jake..." you breathed, the thrill of the moment making your head spin as your body instinctively moved against his.

"god, you're incredible," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your thighs, fingers digging in gently as he held you against him.

"i can't believe how much i want you." the raw honesty in his voice sent another jolt of heat through you, causing your breath to hitch.

"then don't hold back," you urged, the thrill of the moment overwhelming your senses. "i want all of you."

his eyes darkened with a mix of hunger and admiration as he took your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"you’re making it hard to think," he said with a chuckle, his voice laced with desire. "but i’ll do my best." with that, he kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that left you gasping for breath, his hands moving to explore the curves of your body.

the kiss deepened, and you felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, seeking permission. you opened up for him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he tasted you, exploring the depths of your mouth with an intensity that left you dizzy. his hands continued their exploration, finding their way beneath your hoodie, fingers splaying against your bare skin, igniting sparks of pleasure with every caress.

"jake," you breathed, your voice tinged with desperation as his touch ignited every nerve ending in your body. "you’re driving me wild."

"i can't help it," he admitted, his voice desperate as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

jake lifted you slightly, positioning you so that you were straddling his lap fully. the fabric of your shorts brushed against him, and you felt the unmistakable heat of his desire pressing against you. the sensation sent a thrill of excitement through you, and you instinctively ground down against him, your breath hitching as the friction intensified the ache building inside.

"god, yes," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements as you rocked against him. "just like that."

you met his gaze, feeling a mix of exhilaration and hunger as you continued to grind against him. each movement sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you could feel the tension building as you found your rhythm. the room was filled with the sound of soft gasps and whispers, a language of intimacy that only you two understood.

"jake," you moaned, feeling the heat between you intensify. you leaned forward, capturing his lips again, your tongues dancing as the urgency of the moment escalated. his hands slipped beneath your hoodie, fingers grazing your skin, making you shiver with every touch. he groped your sides, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you against him, anchoring you in place.

"damn, you feel incredible," he breathed against your lips, his voice thick with desire.

you could feel him shift beneath you, pressing up into you with a delicious urgency that made you gasp. "i could get lost in you."

you smiled against his mouth, feeling emboldened by his words. "then get lost," you whispered playfully, your voice laced with challenge. you ground down harder, the friction igniting a fire in your core that made you moan softly, your body craving more of his touch.

jake responded immediately, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided you to move in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. "you have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone.

you reveled in the sensations, feeling your body respond eagerly to each of his movements. the heat built between you, a heady mix of lust and connection that made the world around you fade even further. "i think I'm starting to understand," you gasped, the pleasure nearly overwhelming as you continued to grind against him, lost in the rhythm.

"just don't stop," he urged, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, encouraging you to move faster, deeper. "you feel so good, y/n."

as you picked up the pace, the pressure in your lower belly grew, a delicious tension that left you breathless. each thrust against him sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you, and you couldn't help but moan louder, completely lost in the moment. the sounds of your bodies meeting, the soft gasps and murmurs, filled the room.

"jake, I'm so close," you panted, your breaths coming in quick gasps as you pressed against him, feeling the heat pooling deep within you. the combination of his hands on you and the friction between your bodies was driving you wild, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"me too," he admitted, his voice raw with need. "just a little more."

with every grinding motion, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, wrapped in heat and longing. you could feel the tension building, ready to snap, and you knew you were both teetering on the edge of something explosive.

"just let go," jake urged, his hands tightening on you, his voice low. “you can do it.”

with one last grind, you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, crashing like a tidal wave as you moaned his name, completely lost in the moment. the sensations flooded through you, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as you clung to him, feeling the intensity of your connection as you both rode the waves of ecstasy together.

as the waves of pleasure began to settle, breathless and exhilarated, you rested your forehead against his. you both took a moment to catch your breath, the air still thick with intimacy. jake shifted under you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “hey,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, “you okay?”

you nodded, a smile creeping onto your lips as the afterglow washed over you. “y-yeah, that was amazing,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern.

jake leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad,” he said softly. he then settled you slowly on the bed before slipping out, moving towards the bathroom just near your desk. you could hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returned with a damp washcloth.

“here, let me clean you up,” he offered, his voice warm and tender. as he gently wiped away the remnants of your encounter, you felt a rush of affection for him. hr moved with care, making sure you were comfortable, and you couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

“thank you,” you said, feeling both cherished and secure. jake smiled back, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. once he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed beside you, pulling you close into his embrace.

“i just want to make sure you’re okay,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you protectively. you nestled against him, feeling safe and content.

you were definitely more than okay.

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©2024 ©woniehugs

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[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 20: written but never sent

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Spencer greatly enjoyed handwriting. Electronic devices irritated him to no end, as he felt that typing on them was so impersonal and trivial. Handwriting required careful thought, reflecting desires and passions in the shape of the letters, and capturing feelings in the prose... everything written by hand represented something intimate, at least to him.

That’s why, when he got a pen pal, it was inevitable that he would start developing feelings. He had contacted you as part of a school assignment, as both of you were studying the same Ph.D. in linguistics, and one of the tasks was to analyze how different people express themselves in writing.

All he had was your name and address, the strictly necessary information to send a letter. He was the first to send one, sharing some details about himself, why he was pursuing the degree, the work he did, and how he would apply the knowledge he was acquiring.

He patiently waited for your response, which arrived a week later in a small brown paper envelope with a maroon stamp. Your letter didn’t seem like just a required response to fulfill the assignment. You sounded genuinely interested in what he had shared, and you addressed every point he had mentioned.

What surprised him the most was that at the end, you talked about books he had mentioned and ended with a question:

Have you read The Resilience of Language? It's a great book that could help you a lot. I highly recommend it! Best regards, nice to meet you.

There was a question at the end. The answer was no, Spencer hadn’t read that book. He could have simply stopped there, taking your recommendation and using your letter to complete his assignment. But something inside him wasn’t content to just end the communication there; he thought it would be rude not to offer a reply. So, as soon as he received your letter, he took one of his notebooks to write back.

Spencer used one of his gel pens with a fine tip and deep pigmentation. If someone were observing him, they could say that all these actions reflected a sense of importance: selecting the paper, his best pen, carefully crafting his handwriting—all of this added weight to the act.

He sent the letter, still unsure, but hopeful nonetheless. He was amazed when he arrived at the building and found another letter in his mailbox, with the same characteristics as the previous week.

A year had passed since then.

Every week, without fail, you exchanged letters. By now, he knew you better than he had ever known anyone, as the semi-anonymity provided an extra layer of trust for sharing everything that had happened during your week. You started by exchanging generalities, talking about books, and discussing the Ph.D. classes. Slowly, you began to share less trivial things: how the place where you lived was, your job, elements of your identity.

In recent months, you were writing to each other as if you were close friends.

My migraines have improved, in case you’re wondering, and this week at work has been less demanding than usual. We only handled a fairly light case (if you can even call it that in my line of work), and I had time to analyze some of the works you recommended. How’s everything going with that guy at work?

When Spencer finished, he hesitated about how to sign the letter. At first, he would send you his regards, write some polite expression, or simply wish you a good day. But now, he felt the need to sign off differently.

Affectionately, Spencer.

He didn’t think you would notice, just a gesture of the growing trust between you. He patiently waited for the postman to deliver your reply, and after several days, he eagerly read your words on the paper.

I’m disappointed about the guy. Turns out he’s a jerk, you know? Sometimes I wish I could meet someone who can genuinely love me, without focusing solely on the physical. Maybe it’s bold of me to say that, but I think you understand. I want a connection that comes from appreciating who I am, with someone who shares my interests, someone respectful, intelligent... but I won’t bore you with my romantic nonsense. The point is, I’m not dating anyone at the moment. I’m focusing on our Ph.D., haha. I hope you’re doing well, and I look forward to your reply!

However, he was quite surprised when he read the signature that followed your name.

Yours sincerely…

Had you signed that way in response to the dedication in his letter? Something felt strange within him, and his chest warmed with an unfamiliar feeling.

For a moment, he wondered if there was any possibility that he could meet the expectations of the special person you described, and when he realized he was imagining himself with you in that kind of scenario, he felt embarrassed.

It was ridiculous to think about. You didn’t even know each other, and you lived miles away, you were just friends who had taken a school assignment too far.

Time passed, and the signatures grew more affectionate, more personal… just like the content of the letters. It got to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore: he was in love.

Though after realizing it, he spent a long time wondering what he should do with that feeling. Weeks passed before he came to a decision.

Spencer was returning from Maine when he decided to finally write to you. He was sitting on the plane, with his notebook in front of him, and his mind as blank as the page.

“What are you struggling to write, Reid?” Emily asked, sitting beside him “You’ve been staring at that notebook for ten minutes without the pen touching the paper.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, trying to downplay it. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with Emily, not with anyone.

A couple of hours later, with a pile of crumpled-up drafts beside him, he finally managed to write something:

I can’t start this letter without first telling you how much I’ve come to value our correspondence. For over a year, our written conversations have become one of the most important constants in my life. Each week, I eagerly await your letters, and every one of them brings me a pause in the middle of my routine: a space of calm where our words connect in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve read and reread your letters so many times that, sometimes, I feel like I know them by heart. Even so, I always discover something new in your words: an idea that eluded me before, an emotion that makes more sense over time, or a reflection that sheds new light on my own experience. Although we’ve never met in person, I feel like I know you better than many people I speak to face-to-face. Is that strange? Maybe it is, but the truth is that there’s something about the depth of our conversations that transcends physical distance. All this time, I’ve tried to rationalize what you mean to me, but there are things that can’t be measured or analyzed logically, no matter how hard I try. What I want to tell you —and what has taken me so long to write—is that I’ve fallen in love with you. At first, I wasn’t sure what this feeling was. I thought it was just admiration or gratitude for the friendship we’ve cultivated, but with each letter, with each shared thought, I realized it was something deeper. I love you, not just for what you share with me, but for who you are. For the way you see the world, with such clarity and empathy. For your insatiable curiosity, for your unique way of finding beauty in the smallest details. I don’t want this confession to make you uncomfortable or push you away. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, and I’ll consider myself lucky just to have known you in this way. But I couldn’t go on without being honest with you. I hope that, whatever your response may be, we can remain the same two friends who have shared so much through these pages. With all my love, and praying to be able to be yours, Spencer.

He kept the written words as if they were a treasure, feeling his heart race every time he thought about that secret tucked away in an envelope on his desk. Unfortunately, that letter never saw the light of day, all because of his fear of losing who might have been the best friend he had ever had in his life.

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Twenty

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Twenty: Crab Blossom for Ill Nature

Summary: The Host Club receives a male guest with an unusual request and a terrible attitude.

            “Welcome to the Host Club!” The doors of Music Room 3 opened to reveal a group of people in tokugawa shogunate style and carrying samurai swords.

            “Oh, (Y/N), you look so noble,” said one of their guests, gazing at (Y/N).

            “Is it scary having such a weapon?” asked another girl.

            “I choose peace over war,” said (Y/N). “But if I have to protect the people I care about, I will do so to the best of my ability.” They smiled at the girls. “And that includes you all.”

            The girls squealed and blushed. “They care about us!” the guests cried happily.

            “Of course. It’s our duty to protect those who can’t protect themselves,” said (Y/N), bowing to them. “My sword is at your disposal.”

            “So gallant,” sighed the girls, swooning.

            “Playing the part of the prince? Tamaki won’t be pleased,” said Kyoya, amused.

            “I am the humble servants of our guests, not a prince,” said (Y/N), smiling at him. “And who am I to disturb their fantasies?”

            “Hm.” Kyoya was pleased by their ability to bring in guests, but, sometimes, the more his feelings grew…he thought of their flirting and wished for their affection to remain only on him. At least he knew this was an act. (Not that jealousy was logical like Kyoya pretended all his “emotions” were).

            Shing! Mori’s sword pierced one of the set pieces suddenly, and everyone looked over. The Hosts’ jaws dropped open, and the girls let out excited screams at the drama and skill Mori possessed.

            “What’s the matter, Mori?” said Hikaru.

            “Unsatisfied in a supporting role?” said Kaoru.

            “In my heart, you’re the lead!” said Tamaki. “Don’t be upset!”

            “No,” said Mori, pulling back the sliding door. “We have an intruder.” Sure enough, lying on the floor in surprise, was a boy with red hair and a giant scowl.

            “Takashi…Morinozuka,” said the boy. He jumped up towards Mori.

            “This is bad! A raid!” cried Tamaki.

            “Watch out, Mori!” said the twins.

            Kyoya pulled (Y/N) back to him.

            “Morizonuka!” said the boy. “Please take me as your apprentice!”

            …

            “What?!” cried everyone.

            “Who is he?” said (Y/N), frowning and looking at Kyoya.

            He pulled out his notebook and flipped to the appropriate page. “Ritsu Kasanoda, Class D, first-year. He’s the son and successor of the third boss of the Kasanoda family, the most powerful Yakuza family in Tokyo. He entered Ouran in high school. Physical traits include long red hair and an evil face. He is silent and friendly. Look him in the eyes and you’ll have nightmares for three months. Bump his shoulder and you’ll be sent to the hospital. Talk back to him and you’ll go straight to the grave. His classmates fear him—he’s a human blizzard.” Kyoya closed the notebook with a flourish.

            “So…why does a human weapon like you want to be Mori’s apprentice?” said Tamaki slowly.

            “Um, the Kasanodas…” he trailed off slightly.

            “What? Casanova?” said the twins, unafraid.

            “No, Kasanoda,” said Kasanoda.

            “Bossanova?” said the twins.

            “I said ‘Kasanoda!’ You want to die?!” demanded Bossanova (it was going to stick). “No…I don’t mean to—I’m just.” He groaned. “I��m not mean. Not like people say. I…Actually, I like kittens. I like to read and write and hate anything painful. I’m a shy guy at heart. At this point, I have no idea how to communicate, so I…What I really want is to hang out with my friends and play kick the can by the river—”

            He and Tamaki’ll get along, thought (Y/N), amused.

            “—or play tag by the beach…”

            We’re forced to do that by Tamaki. Honestly, is he sure Mori should be his teacher?

            “I see,” said Kyoya. “By not having friends, nobody had the chance to correct his anachronistic style.”

            “Morinozuka!” cried Bossanova. “How did you get to be the way you are?! That tough look in your eyes! Expressionless! Silent and uncommunicative!”

            Poor Mori stumbled as arrows of insults hit him. The Hosts winced (except for the twins, who laughed).

            “With a face like Cerberus! How can you be so well-liked?” said Bossanova. “Please teach me your secret!”

            Mori faltered and nearly fainted.

            “Alright! Sounds fun!” said the twins, answering for Mori and his destroyed self-esteem.

            “I wonder how this will go,” said (Y/N).

            “We’re going to have customers stay away until he leaves,” sighed Kyoya.

            “Unless we figure out a way to market him to guests,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you have a suggestion?” said Kyoya.

            “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll find something,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            We. Kyoya nodded. “I’m sure.” We. That sounded good.

l

            Unfortunately, that solution had not presented itself yet. Bossanova was following Mori around to learn from him, carrying his books, noticing lint on his uniform, but his expression and demeanor remained unchanged. The guests were sorrowful about abandoning Mori, but they were too nervous around Bossanova.

            “Please excuse us!” apologized the girls as they left.

            “Hm, the future doesn’t look bright,” said Hikaru. “He’s impeding business. This is troublesome.”

            “Didn’t they accept his request first?” said Haruhi, sweat-dropping.

            “They’re not amused,” said (Y/N), shaking their head.

            “Boss, should you do something?” said Kaoru.

            “No, leave them alone,” said Tamaki. “He’s Mori’s apprentice. We shouldn’t interfere.”

            Haruhi’s eyes widened slightly at the mature response. (Y/N) watched her reaction. Hm.

            “Tamaki,” said Mori. He looked over, and the look of “help me!” was so clear in his eyes that everyone sweat-dropped.

            “Of course, if Mori insists, I, Tamaki Suoh, will try my best to help!” declared Tamaki.

            “He couldn’t help himself,” said Haruhi, her admiration of him over as soon as it had begun.

            “Bossanova!” Tamaki stood over him. “You may call me ‘King!’ Alright? You and Mori are very much alike, but there is one thing you are definitely missing…a ‘lovely item!’ ” Tamaki pulled Honey over. “What I’m going to introduce now is the lovely item ‘Mitsukuni.’ His energy source is ten pieces of cake per day! He comes with one hundred Honey flowers for a limited time only!”

            “Is he a product?” said (Y/N).

            “Not one we can sell,” said Kyoya, so he was uninterested.

            “Sure Mori looks mean and frosty at first sight,” continued Tamaki.

            “Poor Mori,” said (Y/N). “He’s a sweetheart even if he’s inexpressive.”

            “But put Mitsukuni on his shoulders, and now he looks like a gentle bear beloved by small forest animals,” said Tamaki, continuing his pitch. “This item even goes well with Mori’s silent nature. Mori doesn’t even have to talk. Just put Honey by his side and Mori seems open-hearted. Instead of seeming uncommunicative, he’s seen in a positive light—he now looks modest! It’s all according to plan! It is no exaggeration to say Mori’s charm starts with Honey!”

            Mori was struck by an arrow and nearly collapsed.

            “Takashi…” Honey looked up at him with teary eyes. “You’ve been using me?”

            Mori furiously shook his head.

            “But Mitsukuni has already signed a long-term contract with Mori, so we’ll have to come up with a substitute,” said Tamaki.

            “Is he renting me out?!” cried Honey hysterically.

            Mori shook his head with as much energy as he could.

            “Next we have to fix your vintage yanki style,” said Tamaki, snapping his fingers. “Hitachiin brothers!”

            “Yes, Boss, at your service!” said the twins. They shoved Bossanova into a seat and examined him.

            “Well, he has sharp features, so we need something catchy,” said Kaoru.

            “We should make use of your nickname and give you a cool feel,” said Hikaru.

            “Being untidy is not the same as dressing in a relaxed fashion,” said Kaoru.

            “We can even use something fancy,” said Hikaru.

            “Hey, don’t undress me! Don’t cut my hair!” cried Bossanova, but he was no match for them.

            “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu,” said Haruhi.

            “You would,” said (Y/N), hiding a chuckle behind their hand. “But I don’t think his transformation will last. He needs to express himself in a new way but not with clothes…”

            “Clothes are only the first step in our plan!” said Tamaki.

            Kyoya sighed. “We’re losing money on this.”

            “We’ll find an angle,” said (Y/N).

l

            Sure enough, by the next day, Bossanova’s new look was gone, so Tamaki decided to pretend like nothing had happened and it was still the “first day” of training him.

            “Today we start operations to improve Bossanova,” said Tamaki. “Although it’s the first day, don’t hesitate to speak up and share your ideas!”

            “Yes, Boss!” said Honey, Kaoru, and Hikaru.

            “Don’t pretend that nothing happened yesterday!” cried Bossanova. “People were even more afraid of me because of you!”

            “Tamaki doesn’t like to admit failure,” said (Y/N).

            “He should at this point,” said Kyoya, pouring himself and (Y/N) cups of coffee. “Otherwise, more guests will stop coming.”

            “What are you talking about, Bossanova?” said the twins. “Please stop your complaining.”

            “What a persecution complex,” said Kaoru.

            “Terrible. What a total yakuza,” said Hikaru.

            “They’re even worse than Tamaki,” said Haruhi.

            “Bossanova, please don’t misunderstand,” said Tamaki. “We are truly rooting for you! Those guys messed up yesterday.”

            “What did you say?” said the twins.

            “I’m sorry…Thank you very much,” said Bossanova, and that seemed to be honesty. He did want to be seen in a better light, though he had no idea what he was doing.

            “Um, Casanova?” said Haruhi.

            Trying to be compassionate and still getting the name wrong. That’s our Host Club, thought (Y/N).

            “Maybe you shouldn’t take them too seriously,” said Haruhi. “You should say no if you don’t like their ideas.”

            “Yeah…but they were recommended by Morinozuka-senpai,” said Bossanova. “And they’re saying they’ll be serious this time. I’m the one who’s in trouble. I believe in them.” He glanced at Haruhi. “By the way…who are you?”

            “I’m Haruhi from Class 1-A,” she said, smiling. “I started attending Ouran in high school, just like you.”

            Bossanova gazed at Haruhi. “Um…do you…like to play kick the can?”

            “Taking a chance,” observed (Y/N).

            “Quite bold of him,” said Kyoya.

            “Um, not really,” said Haruhi.

            “Honest as ever,” winced (Y/N).

            “But it might be nice for a change. When shall we play?” said Haruhi.

            Bossanova blushed. “Um, er, how about…”

            Kyoya tilted his head. “Hm.”

            “Ah,” observed (Y/N).

            “It seems this may turn out amusing after all,” said Kyoya.

            “Even with the loss in customers, currently?” said (Y/N).

            “Perhaps,” said Kyoya.

            “After school today?” suggested Bossanova.

            “Oh, Bossanova, there you are!” Tamaki dove between Haruhi and Bossanova protectively. His sweet tone was all fake, and (Y/N) knew it.

            “We have to prepare for our next operation!” Kaoru pulled Bossanova away from Haruhi.

            “Haruhi, don’t trouble yourself!” said Hikaru, helping his brother.

            “Let’s get to work! Yay!” Hikaru, Kaoru, and Tamaki dragged Bossanova off before he could provoke any more of their protectiveness (jealous) over Haruhi.

            “Hey, wait—” said Haruhi. “Casanova doesn’t need—”

            “Let it go, Haruhi,” said (Y/N), smiling. “You’re right, but he has to figure that out for himself.”

Taglist:

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@jmclouds

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[armysantiny]

-[txt; finding out you’re a vampire

P: txt x gn reader (seperately) | G: fluff, reaction | Inc: roommate au, vampire reader, finding out y/n's secret, a bit of overthinking of Soobin's part, Soobin finding blood on y/n's clothes, second pov, non-idol au, nothing too graphic | Wc: 770 | W: blood, vampires | R: G

Min's notes: Just in time for spooky season! Lmao jk, I had this reaction written down in my notebook for like a year or so, but now felt like a good time to post it. Unofficial hiatus over?

Choi Yeonjun | 최연준

He walks in on you restocking that one mini fridge in your room, drinking through a blood bag and just freezes. You’ve never told him what the mini fridge was for, and he just assumed it was for drinks, or snacks, or whatever else someone would normally keep in them.

Sue him for not coming to the conclusion that he was living with a supernatural being.

Immediately gives you the sheepiest of smiles and backs out of the room, only a little scared of the notion that one of his closest friends is a vampire. And could drain him like a capri-sun if they so wished. Which, now that he thinks about it…

“Hey, y/n? Would you ever—”

“No, Yeonjun. I’m not biting you, so don’t even think about it.”

“Okay, okay~ not thinking about it…but if you had to—”

“Choi Yeonjun!”

Choi Soobin | 최수빈

Poor thing, he panics when he spots blood over the clothes in your laundry as he’s passing by your room. That’s clearly too much to be normal, right? Right? But he’s home alone, leaving him with nothing else to do but overthink about it until you come home from your afternoon shift.

You walk back inside, the tiniest hint of blood on your sleeve and Soobin zeroes in on it immediately.

“What’s this? What’s been happening, y/n? Are you okay?” There’s no room to avoid his questioning, physically or metaphorically and Soobin’s clearly not going to relent. Not when he’s this worried about you. So you begin your explanation, sitting him down and telling him that you are, in fact, a vampire. And he takes the news rather well.

Or as well as an overthinking but well-meaning roommate can.

Choi Beomgyu | 취범규

He spots something strange outside, and simply refuses to believe that that was you. It just couldn’t possibly be you, right? But the thought haunts him for weeks; everything’s suspicious now. You like walks at night? He wonders if you’re out to find blood. You put on a little more sunscreen than the average person? That’s it, you have to be something that isn’t human.

You’re the one who notices and calls him out on his behaviour, ambushing him in the kitchen and prodding at him to tell him what’s up.

“I think you’re a vampire!” He blurts out, and Beomgyu thinks he’s fucked up when you’re just silent for a few seconds.

Because he is right, you just have no idea how he got to that conclusion in the first place. So you nod, confirming his suspicions and ask him how on earth he even figured it out. Which prompts an entire retelling of Beomgyu’s month-long freak out.

Kang Taehyun | 강태현

He’s not the kind of person to make a big deal out of it, especially when being a vampire is just what you are and nothing more. Though he does pay more attention to your more nocturnal lifestyle, but he pins it down initially to you just being a night owl and enjoying being out at night more.

Plenty of people function better at night, after all.

When he sees you taking a sip out of a flask, he asks what it is and your hesitation to answer gives him reason to think. Are you drinking something out of the ordinary? He tries not to look too nosy, because again, it’s not really his business.  Unless you’re hurt, you’re free to drink whatever you want.

Until you take it upon yourself to make it his business.

You’re the one to initiate the conversation, letting Taehyun know that yes, you’re a vampire, and that you’re more than okay with him asking questions. Frankly you were surprised he hadn’t been asking you at all, though a little grateful.

Huening Kai | 휴닝카이

Bless him, it’s Kai’s curiosity that makes him pick up on the smallest details. He catches sight of your fangs, at throws an off-hand comment about having a vampire for a best friend. Oh how right he is, and it takes everything you have to surprise him with the truth behind his words.

You might as well tell him at this point, he’s so unbelievably close yet somehow still has no idea. Likely because he, like Taehyun, also enjoys the peace that comes with minding your own damn business.

“So… I was right?” He asks when you finally take it upon yourself to tell him the truth after far too long of watching him be none the wiser. “Vampires are real, and you’re a vampire?”

You nod. “Simple as that. Not so curious anymore?”

“Not really?” He shrugs, “unless I find something to ask you about.”

You’re sure he will, soon enough.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

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@freakywonbin, @marxenash, @borahae-reads, @honey-andmilktea | Taglist form

[kxsagi]

something kinda funny happened to me recently and i immediately thought about rin and your fics, so i'll send it as a req!! i hope you dont find it uncomfortable.

to sum up: ppl usually perceive me as a "nerdy and smart girl" (as in, "top of the class" kind of smart) bc of my looks but in reality i couldnt care less about paying attention to something if its not abt a topic im interested in lol. WHICH RESULTED IN ME RANKING 20 OUT OF 23 STUDENTS in everything but english. it doesn't bother me at all bc. well. i was expecting it. but my classmates are always shocked somehow.

anyways, i immediately thought about my dear rinnie, bc i think thats the kind of situation that poor boy would experience, since everyone in bllk sees him as an academically smart guy bc hes fluent in english, failingto realizethat my boy does NAWT cate about anything other than eng and soccer. . so! my req is basically just a fic where both rin and reader end up in the bottom of the rankings in everything but english (they were the only ones to ace it) and the others are like "?!?!?!" bc i think it would be rlly funny!! feel free to do it in any way you like! tyy! BTW SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS I HOPE IT DOESNT SOUND CONFUSING

“𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫”

a/n: OMG I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS REQUEST BC i have a male coworker in his 20’s who looks like a geeked out nerd, like kind of skinny, glasses, black hair, asian. and my mom told me to talk to him to potentially gain connections bc i’m academic and i was still in high school at the time so i asked him about college and he said “oh yeah, i dropped out like… 3 times. i just didn’t have the drive because i attended raves instead of lectures” don’t let looks fool you 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

for context, all the blue lock characters attend the same high school lol

title is a beabadobee reference bc i love her idc

(art credits go to immmso_ko on twitter)

in a cruel twist of fate, or maybe divine comedy, you and rin itoshi have somehow landed in the bottom tier of your class rankings. 

not just “average.” not “middle of the pack.” no. we're talking rank 21 and 22 out of 23. (it would’ve been 22 and 23, but shoutout to that one guy who never came to class and failed on principle. king.) 

the only subject you both aced? english. 

english was your salvation. your shared pride. your mutual delusion. you’d both walked out of that test with the smug confidence of people who knew the word “juxtaposition” and weren’t afraid to use it. and it paid off with perfect scores. 

but everything else? absolute academic carnage. 

math: rin got bored halfway through and started drawing soccer formations in the margins. 

science: you answered every question based on vague memories of a documentary you half-watched two years ago. 

history: you just… didn’t. rin got distracted by a headline about international players and spiral notebooked into a wikipedia hole mid-exam. 

and when the results were posted, the classroom erupted. 

“WAIT. RIN?! RIN ITOSHI?!” 

someone physically grabbed him by the sleeve. “bro. you’re like. fluent in english. i thought you were smart?!” 

rin stared at them, face completely blank. “i am.” 

“YOU’RE 22ND!!” 

“in english?” 

“NO. OVERALL.” 

“… okay. but in english?” 

he had a point. it was the only thing that mattered. 

you slinked over beside him, matching his blank expression. “hey. i’m 21st.” 

he looked at you. “you’re better at literature than me.” 

“damn right.” 

behind you, chaos brewed. karasu paced like a man discovering the earth was flat. bachira was cry-laughing, gripping isagi like he’d seen a ghost. otoya just kept whispering “no way. no way. no way.” like he was having an existential breakdown over his fantasy of rin being the dark, brooding honor student. 

“this is a scam,” reo muttered from the side. “i thought rin was our secret weapon for test prep. i was gonna ask him to tutor me in math.” 

rin tilted his head. “why would i do that?” 

“you got a 12%.” 

“i don’t need math to score goals.” 

“… you didn’t even attempt question two.” 

“it was too many words.” 

you nodded solemnly beside him. “same. too many triangles. immediate shut down.” 

someone behind you whispered, “this is actually worse than when nagi slept through the finals.” 

but you and rin? unfazed. you were both already planning how to celebrate your dual top scores in english. (you were thinking milk tea. he was thinking silence. compromise: milk tea in silence.) 

you sipped your drink later that afternoon with the confidence of two people who fully accepted their intellectual limitations, so long as they didn’t apply to soccer or essays on animal farm. 

“this doesn’t bother you?” you asked, curious. 

“not really,” he replied. “they’re just shocked because i don’t talk much. so they assume i’m smart.” 

“right?! same! they see glasses and a quiet demeanor and suddenly expect perfect grades.” 

he nodded slowly. “people are stupid.” 

you toasted your drink to that. “cheers to mediocrity, king.” 

and rin, for the first time that day, cracked the smallest smirk. “except in english.” 

“except in english,” you agreed, dead serious. 

the only subject that mattered. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[thedwarrowscholar]

🧾A Note From Behind the Beard

Every now and then, I receive questions that stray a bit (or a lot) from Tolkien, Dwarves, or (Neo-) Khuzdul. Nothing too intrusive—don’t worry—but more personal curiosities: “What are your hobbies?”, “What’s your background?”, and even, after the release of our semi-nude calendar (yes, that happened), “What’s your orientation?”

I’ve always made it a point to keep my personal life in the background here. Not out of secrecy, but simply because I wanted The Dwarrow Scholar to focus on the Dwarves, their language, and lore—not on the one behind the curtain. With the possible exception of my end-of-year rambles, I’ve tried to stay behind the runes, so to speak.

I never set out to make this about me. But after years of questions—and kindness from this community—I figured it was time to offer a little glimpse at the one behind the stone wall. Heads-up: if you're just here for Dwarves, Khuzdul, and the like—feel free to skip this one entirely.

📆 About that Calendar...

Let’s address the elephant in the forge.

Yes, there was a semi-nude Dwarvish calendar. No, it wasn’t entirely serious.

It started as a simple, genuine idea—I wanted to create a physical Dwarvish calendar with proper Neo-Khuzdul months, cultural motifs, the whole nine yards.

Then a friend casually joked:

“Oh, like those fireman calendars?”

And I couldn’t unsee it: Half-naked dwarves posing with hammers, anvil glistening, beard windswept. Too absurd not to bring to life. So we did. You’re welcome. Or I’m sorry. Possibly both.

🌱 Hobbies

Over the past few years, gardening has become my main thing ("obsession"?). I now live in a beautiful, hilly part of Flanders called the Flemish Ardennes—a land of rolling hills (Think The Shire—but with better beer. Truth. Deal with it, Hobbits.), known for its cycling mainly.

A look at a section of the garden I've created

Plum trees are abundant in my garden (amongst other trees), and I've even started making homemade plum liqueur from them. It’s surprisingly decent. Brewing beer has somewhat crept into the background too (when in Rome).

I don’t watch sports often, but I do have a few faithful loyalties:

As a somewhat fierce fan, I’ve resigned myself to the Toronto Maple Leafs’ yearly playoff disappointment.

Luckily, my joy levels were high thanks to Wrexham’s earlier promotion to the EFL Championship. (And no—I didn’t hop on the Hollywood bandwagon. I’ve followed Wrexham since I was a kid. Still, I’m cheering them on.)

Why these two teams, far from the Belgian coast where I grew up? Well, trips to Wales and fanatic hockey-fan uncles go a long way toward explaining that.

And I’d be remiss not to mention Lili, my white Chow Chow—a four-year-old ball of fluff and sunshine who’s easily the friendliest creature in the entire Flemish Ardennes. She supervises all garden activity with quiet dignity (and frequent naps).

These past two years I’ve also been developing a fantasy management game—a single-player project where you run a Dwarven fighting stable.

You’ll train warriors, forge gear, negotiate with sponsors, go on quests, learn the lore of the land, mine for resources, and aim to win the Emperor’s Cup. It’s a blend of tactics, unique rich lore, and stubborn Dwarven grit, naturally.

More on that when it's ready to leave the mountain.

🎭 Background

Believe it or not, my background has nothing to do with linguistics, fantasy, or Tolkien studies. I actually studied the arts, and ended up in a completely unrelated career. But languages? That’s been a passion since childhood.

Long before I knew the word “conlang,” I was creating imaginary languages in my notebooks for fun. I grew up in a multilingual family and country, which helped—but really, I just enjoyed puzzling through grammar systems like some people enjoy crossword puzzles.

I speak Dutch, English, French, some German, and have dabbled in Japanese, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, and Hebrew.

🪓 Why Khuzdul?

Khuzdul pulled me in not just because it’s the language of the Dwarves, but because it’s very unlike anything else in Middle-earth.

It’s Semitic in structure—structured, yet mysterious and methodical. There’s beauty and hidden meaning in every root. Yes, it can be daunting at first—especially without a Semitic background. But you don’t need to be a trained linguist to enjoy or explore it. Curiosity and patience go further than any degree.

🌈 The Other Question...

Some asked about orientation—fair question, given the tone of my calendar. I’m a straight fellow, with an open and accepting mind. Been happily married to my wife for nearly ten years (together for twenty), and I deeply respect the spectrum of identities others bring to this community. You're all welcome here.

✨ Fun Fact Speed-Round!

First Dwarvish word I ever coined? Honestly, I can’t recall—it’s been thirty years...

Favourite Khuzdul root? Probably [KhGR], which is one of the rare winks to my local childhood dialect. A “kegge” is West-Flemish for “big nose,” and that’s exactly where KhGR came from—it’s now the Neo-Khuzdul root for “nose.” Most personal Khuzdul word I’ve coined? That would be ugloriskhûna—meaning “wise woman known for kindness, humour, and the ability to enjoy life.” The word (and its meaning) was inspired by the nickname of a dear friend of mine.

Most surprising moment? When I visited HobbitCon in Bonn, Germany. I dropped by the booth of the German Tolkien Society to say hello to a kind acquaintance—only she wasn’t there. Instead, someone had a full-on fan moment and asked for a picture with me.

Most moving request I’ve ever received? Someone once asked me to translate a poem for the funeral of their brother.

Best compliment I’ve received? I get more praise than I feel I deserve—but one that truly warmed my heart was:

“You would have made Tolkien proud.”

Most ridiculous runic request? Well, aside from someone asking me to translate The Hobbit in its entirety (which would take me years), nothing truly “ridiculous.” Folks ask because they’re curious—and that’s never a bad thing. That said... the biggest chuckle? A tattoo request for “Meat is back on the menu”—to be inked on a very private part of the body.

And just so you know who’s been rambling behind the beard all this time—here’s a noble mashup a friend made of me, in full Gimli regalia. (Yes, that’s me. No, I don’t imagine I swing an axe nearly as well.)

If you’ve read this far—thank you. Thank you all for being part of this strange and wonderful journey. Your curiosity, kindness, and shared love for Dwarves have kept the forge warm. I hope this answers some of the more personal questions that found their way into the queue. Now, let’s get back to the runes, shall we?

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar

[slxtarchive]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. the many years of your and billie’s friendship were filled with so much happiness and joy. she had so much love for you and your friendship. that’s all she knew it was — friendship.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. not too much for this one! childhood flashbacks,

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. first chapter done, a bit short but a start regardless! just a reminder i’m currently a college student and taking six classes this semester [ rip me ] so please be patient with me, thank you in advance! found on my billie eilish masterlist will be all my 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 fics !

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 650

the first time billie had ever laid eyes on you, you had been in your natural place. a soccer ball tucked under your arm and knees scraped up from playing on the concrete.

you both were six years old, standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac with your chin held high despite the blood trickling down your leg. billie had been watching you from her front steps, a book open in her lap, when you caught her staring.

you were intrigued by the short blonde sitting on the steps. you smiled crossing over your driveway and moving closer. “d’ya wanna play?” you had asked her, completely unbothered by your injury.

billie hesitated, she wasn’t much of a runner and she definitely wasn’t much of a soccer player — but there was something about the way you smiled. something in your voice and how enticing it was that made it impossible to say no. plus, she did want a friend.

that was the beginning of your friendship. from that point on, you two had been inseparable.

you taught billie how to kick a ball properly, and in return, she showed you how to build entire worlds out of words and music.

you spend summer barefoot in the grass, your laughter echoing through the neighborhood as you run circles around billie, daring her to steal the ball from you — she never could — and hours upon hours of endless conversations in each other bedrooms just getting closer and closer.

as you both grew older, nothing really changed — well, except eve try thing did — for billie.

the transition from childhood to teenage years was seamless for you both.

there were late-night drives with the windows down just blasting your favorite songs. study sessions that would always turn into fits of laughter, and a thousand little moments that made up a friendship stronger than billie had ever known.

you and billie’s friendship was all billie ever knew about being friends with someone. it was her whole life along with music.

somewhere along the way though, billie started noticing things she wished she hadn’t.

she’d noticed the way you pushed your hair back when you were focused or the way your eyes lit up after scoring a goal and how your eyes would immediately go to her or your family. she noticed how when you both shared a hug, she wanted to hold on just a second longer — more than a few seconds longer.

she especially noticed the way her heart felt heavier, and fuller, whenever you were around, and even though she felt that realization should be a good thing for her — she just felt like shit.

so now, senior year, billie sat on her bed, staring blankly at the notebook in front of her. the half-written song mocked her, the lyrics felt messy and uncertain, much like the thoughts that repeatedly raced through her mind.

you were downstairs with her mom, talking about your latest soccer game, your voice carrying easily through the walls. billie felt she should go down there, join you like she always did, but for some reason, she felt frozen in her place.

she physically gulped as her mind wrapped around everything that she thought about. she thought, why is it so hard? then her brain moved on its own because something was shifting, she could feel it.

she had repeatedly kept catching herself staring too long, thinking too much — feeling too much.

she shook her head slowly moving her thoughts away from that deep pool of uncertain emotions. she bit her cheek and picked up her guitar, fingers pressing against the strings but nothing came. no melody, no urge to play certain chords.

instead, all that came to her mind was you.

and for the very first time in billie life, that thought scared the shit out of her — because she didn’t know why.

or maybe she did, that was the problem.

© 𝐬𝐥𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer. 

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop  and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying. 

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForWriters, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much. 

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future. 

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

[totheblood]

begging for rain. (three)

󠁐# THREE; the harder that it takes to undo

PAIRING: ex!ellie williams x nextdoorneighbor!reader

SUMMARY: moving to a new town can be tough, especially as you are trying to hold everything in your life together. after you meet ellie, your life completely changes, but for the better? well that's still up in the air

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x,

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N : ok this was the longest chapter i've written to date so... please enjoy.... ONE AI AUDIOS IN THE FIC ! please please please like and reblog/reply/send asks, comments, the whole nine yards… it is so appreciated!

TWO YEARS AGO

It felt weird to be in Ellie’s house.

Ellie opened the door to a cozy living room with warm beige walls and wicker furniture that had been well-worn by time. An old acoustic guitar leaned against one wall and a record player sat atop an end table, surrounded by piles of vintage vinyl. The air was thick with the aroma of coffee and old books, creating a comforting ambiance. Family photos and posters dotted the walls, giving an insight into Ellie's life that made you feel like a intruder but also made you want to know more. 

"Nice place," you said, removing your shoes at the door.

"Thanks," Ellie smiled, leading you to the living room. "You can drop your stuff there. We'll study at the table."

You took a seat at the sturdy oak dining table and ran your fingers over its smooth surface before settling into it. Scattered papers littered the table, some lined with handwritten lyrics, others with doodles intertwined in colored ink. You opened up your English books and laid out your homework, feeling a sense of warmth emanating from the room. The aged furniture added an air of familiarity, like you were being invited into Ellie's private world. Ellie seemed to be working on physics homework, while you had an English essay on Shakespeare to tackle. The juxtaposition wasn't lost on you—Ellie with equations and you with Elizabethan English.

You both settled into your work, the atmosphere tinged with concentration. Occasionally, your eyes would drift towards Ellie, watching her brows furrow in thought or her lips move silently as she read through her notes. Each time, you'd catch yourself and refocus on your own work.

"So, how are you finding the essay?" she finally broke the silence.

"It's... okay, I guess. Mrs. Porter has a way of making Shakespeare sound like rocket science."

Ellie chuckled. "Ah, the age-old struggle. To be or not to be confused, that is the question."

You laughed, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift. "You're not so bad at this, you know," you said. "Maybe you should consider a career in stand-up."

"And give up my dream of becoming a rockstar physicist?" she feigned surprise. "Never."

You smiled at her enthusiasm. "A rockstar physicist, huh? That's a first."

"Well, what about you? Any grand plans?"

You hesitated, thinking about your dad for a moment. You blinked, looking down at the book in front of you before looking back up at Ellie.  "I'm not sure. I used to think I had it all figured out, but now... everything's so uncertain."

Ellie put down her pen and looked at you, her green eyes softening. "Uncertainty isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's just room for something new, something better."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something shift inside you. "That's pretty wise for a 17-year-old."

She blushed a little, turning her attention back to her notebook. "Well, don't spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain. Plus, I’m almost 18."

The rest of the study session went smoothly. You’d occasionally sigh and drop your head in frustration, making Ellie stifle a giggle and demand you get back to work. You had only known her for a day and was already falling into a rhythm with her. You didn’t want to go home, but the sun was beginning to set and you wanted time to rest. Time to think about the day you had and try to make sense of it. When it was time to leave, Ellie walked you to the door.

"Thanks for coming over. It was fun," she said, her hands twisting together.

"Yeah, I had a good time too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of happiness and reluctance to leave.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Ellie's words echoed in your mind: "Uncertainty isn't always bad... it's just room for something new, something better." And as you walked back across the dirt path to your house, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, something new and better had already begun.

You walked into your room, shutting the door behind you as if to seal off the world outside. It was your sanctuary, a little haven where you could breathe, think, and just be. You tossed your backpack onto the bed and sank into your chair, letting out a sigh as you looked around. Your room was still a mix of unpacked boxes and half-arranged furniture—a physical representation of your current state of mind, unsettled yet hopeful.

Picking up your phone, you noticed you had an unread Instagram DM. Your heart skipped a beat; could it be Ellie? Unlocking your phone, you saw the message was from Ingrid. Curiosity piqued, you opened.

ingrid.xoxo: Hey there, newbie. How was your first day?

You felt strange reading her message. Like it was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. Was she just being friendly or was there something more? You quickly typed back.

y/nsworld: hey! It was a little overwhelming but good overall. how was your day? 

Almost instantly, she replied.

ingrid.xoxo: Same old, same old. But seeing a fresh face around made it more interesting. 😉

The winking emoji caught your attention. Was she flirting? A little flutter of excitement mixed with confusion settled in your stomach.

Before you could process it further, the front door opened and closed loudly. It was your mom, finally home from work. You heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, and a few seconds later, she knocked on your door.

"Come in," you called.

The door swung open and your mom stepped in, her face tired but lighting up when she saw you. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your first day at the new school?"

You looked at her and smiled. "It was good, Mom. Made some new friends, and Ellie from next door is really nice. I went there and studied after school."

"That's wonderful," she said, her eyes shining with relief. "I was so worried you'd have a hard time adjusting."

"I mean, it's still the first day, but so far, so good," you said, shrugging. The relief on your mom’s face made you uneasy. You wanted to make this transition easy for both of you, but there was a newfound pressure building inside of you. You had to make it work here, even if you were unhappy. There was no escaping this place, and you suddenly felt trapped. Before your mind could go any further, she was speaking again. 

"That's my brave girl," she said, coming over to give you a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

As she left the room and wished you a goodnight with a firm kiss pressed to the top of your head, you sat back and sighed. Your phone buzzed again. Another message from Ingrid.

ingrid.xoxo: So, got any plans for the weekend? Maybe you'd like a tour guide to show you around. 😊

There it was again, that undercurrent of something more than just friendliness. You found yourself smiling, both intrigued and uncertain. It was as if life, in its own whimsical way, was presenting new possibilities, each more complicated than the last.

You glanced back at the door, then at your phone, then at the unpacked boxes still sitting in your room. Everything felt like a question mark, and as Ellie had wisely noted, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Lying back on your bed, you stared up at the ceiling, pondering your response to Ingrid, your new friendships, and the unpredictability of life itself. Uncertainty, as it turns out, could indeed be the room for something new, something better.

And so, with a mix of excitement and apprehension, you typed out your reply to Ingrid, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself.

y/nsworld: a tour guide sounds fun. i'm in. :) 

PRESENT DAY 

When Ellie's text popped up on your phone two days ago, you almost deleted it without reading it. The mere sight of her name on your screen was like a splinter you couldn't remove—small but persistently painful. She wrote that she missed your friendship, and though you wanted to scoff at her audacity, a part of you hesitated. Her words, "Can we at least talk? Just as friends?" echoed in your mind. Against your better judgment, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing, "Fine, but this doesn't mean anything." Now, as you stepped into the quaint coffee shop where so many of your past memories were brewed, you questioned that decision.

"You're early," Ellie remarked, her voice as flat as the expression on her face.

"I had nothing better to do," you responded, matching her tone as you stepped into the coffee shop. It was almost empty, the aroma of freshly ground coffee mingling with the subtle tension that had settled between you two.

"Of course, you didn't," Ellie sighed, sliding a cup of coffee your way across the wooden table. On it was marked with your order, two pumps of hazelnut, two pumps of vanilla, and one pump of almond, extra cream. 

You looked at the cup, then back at Ellie. "You remembered how I like my coffee."

"I'm not completely useless."

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip while simultaneously biting your tongue. You had every right to tell her she was useless, but you refrained. It was perfect, just the way you liked it. "What do you want, Ellie?"

Ellie sighed, looking uncomfortable for a moment before speaking, "I wanted to talk. About us."

You almost snorted into your coffee. "Us? There is no 'us'. Not anymore."

"I know I messed up, okay? But can't we at least—"

"Messed up?" you cut her off, feeling the familiar surge of anger rise within you. "You didn't just 'mess up', Ellie. You broke something. Something that can't be fixed."

Ellie flinched as if you had slapped her. The look on her face almost making you feel guilty. But she didn’t have that right anymore, and you weren’t about to let her back in.

 "I know. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But can't we at least try to be civil? For the sake of our friends, if not for us?"

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment you were back in her living room, struggling with physics homework and discussing the uncertainties of life. Back when things were simpler, easier. But that was a different time, a different you, and most importantly, a different Ellie.

"Being civil is a far cry from what you're suggesting," you said finally, breaking the silence.

Ellie sighed. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. Hell, I don't even deserve your friendship. But can't we at least try to be... something?"

You stared at her, pondering her words. The Ellie sitting in front of you now seemed so different from the girl you had fallen for. And yet, there were moments, fleeting seconds, when you could almost see traces of the old Ellie—the one who made you laugh, who made you think, who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But those traces were just that—fleeting and insubstantial. The real Ellie, the one sitting in front of you, was a reminder of a chapter you had painfully closed.

"We can try," you said finally, "but I can't promise anything."

Ellie nodded, a mixture of relief and regret flashing across her face. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

As you both sipped your coffee in silence, the weight of what was left unsaid hung heavy in the air. And yet, for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could both breathe a little easier.

But as Ellie's eyes met yours, you couldn't help but wonder: in the quest for something new, something better, had you both lost something irreplaceable? There was something substantially broken between the two of you now, innocence on both parts lost. 

TWO YEARS AGO

You found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror, staring at your reflection as you pondered what to wear for this so-called 'tour' with Ingrid. You wondered if you should aim for casual or if Ingrid, with her meticulous style, would expect something more. After rummaging through your wardrobe, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt. Casual, yet presentable. You threw on a light jacket, considering the morning chill, and took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied but not entirely confident, you grabbed your phone and headed downstairs. Your mom was sitting at the dining room table, bowl of cereal in front of her with her spoon in one hand and phone in the other.

"Going out?" Your mom looked up from her phone, her eyes scanning your outfit.

"Yeah, a girl from school is showing me around town."

"Ah, great. Text me if you need anything." Her eyes returned to her phone, but not before you caught the fleeting look of relief. There the pressure was again, and in turn your sinking stomach. 

"See you later, Mom," you said, heading for the door.

"Have fun, sweetheart!" she called out as you closed the door behind you.

As you approached Ingrid's car, you noticed her already leaning against it. She was wearing what could only be described as the epitome of 'casual chic'—ripped jeans, a designer top, and a pair of sunglasses perched effortlessly on her head. She looked up from her phone and greeted you with a broad, almost rehearsed, smile.

"Ready for your grand tour?" Ingrid inquired, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than you were comfortable with.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, cautiously optimistic about the day ahead.

The interior of Ingrid's car was as meticulously maintained as her appearance. The leather seats were pristine, and the air was scented with something floral, bordering on overpowering. She started the engine, and you were off.

The first few minutes were filled with awkward silence. You sensed that Ingrid was waiting for you to initiate conversation, but you were too wrapped up in your thoughts to open your mouth to speak. Finally, she broke the ice.

"So, first stop, the infamous Longview Park. You'll love it—it's where everyone hangs out," she said, her voice tinged with enthusiasm that sounded slightly rehearsed.

"That sounds fun," you responded, forcing a smile.

As you drove through the town, Ingrid began to pepper you with questions. They started off harmless enough—questions about your old town, your interests, your favorite movies. But as the drive continued, the questions began to probe deeper.

"So, why did you move here? If you don't mind me asking," she added hastily, as though realizing she might be venturing into sensitive territory.

"My dad passed away. We couldn’t afford to live there anymore, so we had to move," you replied, trying to maintain composure. You had rehearsed this response, but it still felt like you were ripping off a Band-Aid every time you said it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ingrid responded, her voice softening for the first time that morning. But before you could reply, she was off again. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The abrupt switch in topic caught you off-guard. "Uh, no, not right now," you stammered.

"Really? Someone as hot as you? I find that hard to believe," she said, her eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road.

"Um, thanks," you muttered, not entirely sure how to interpret the compliment.

Ingrid seemed to take your discomfort as a cue to change the subject. "We're almost at Longview Park. It's truly the heart of our community," she declared, as if rehearsed.

As you pulled into the parking lot of Longview Park, you took a deep breath. It was time to see what this 'heart of the community' was all about.

he car rolled to a stop, and Ingrid switched off the engine, her eyes twinkling like she was unveiling a secret treasure. "And here we are—Longview Park. It's like the social hub of our high school world."

You opened the car door and stepped out, looking around. The park was sizable, dotted with large oaks and willows that offered generous shade. A playground occupied one corner, bustling with the laughter of children, while a pond shimmered peacefully in the mid-morning sun. People were everywhere—jogging, playing Frisbee, or simply lounging on the grass. It had a communal feel.

Ingrid led you along a gravel path, her steps confident and rehearsed as if she'd walked this path a thousand times before. "See that gazebo over there?" she pointed, "That's like the unofficial meet-up spot for parties and hangouts. And over there is the infamous 'Lovers' Lane' where couples go to... well, you know."

Her words were punctuated with a suggestive wink that made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You chuckled nervously, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the way people looked at Ingrid—long enough to show interest but not too long to risk her noticing. She seemed to command attention effortlessly, and you couldn't tell if it was her charisma or if you were completely missing something

"Everyone loves to be here on weekends," Ingrid continued, her tone casual but her eyes scanning the area, as if looking for someone or something in particular. "It's a great place to catch up with friends or make new ones. Like we're doing right now."

She shot you a smile, the kind that was meant to be endearing but felt slightly off-mark. You returned it nonetheless. "It's a nice place. Very... lively," you said, choosing your words carefully.

As you neared the pond, you spotted a familiar face sitting on one of the benches—Cat. And next to her, unmistakably, was Ellie. They seemed engrossed in conversation, their faces inches apart. A pang of something—was it jealousy?—stabbed at you, but you quickly brushed it aside.

"Hey, look who it is!" Ingrid's voice brought you back to reality. She had followed your gaze and was now staring directly at Ellie and Cat. "Want to go say hi?"

You hesitated. The last thing you wanted was an awkward run-in, but before you could voice your concerns, Ingrid had already started walking toward them.

"Hey Cat, Ellie!" she called out, her voice unnaturally high. Both heads turned in your direction, and the range of emotions that crossed their faces in that brief moment was unsettling—surprise, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Hey Ingrid," Ellie finally spoke, her eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before returning to Ingrid. "What brings you here?"

"Just giving our new resident a grand tour of Longview Park," Ingrid replied, her arm casually draping over your shoulder. You felt a shiver run down your spine but chose to ignore it.

"That's nice of you," Cat chimed in, her eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on you. You couldn't tell if she was being sincere or just sizing you up.

"Yeah, it's been fun," you said, forcing a smile. But your eyes met Ellie's once more, and the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you.

"Well, we won't keep you," Ingrid said abruptly, as if sensing the tension. "Lots more to see. Come on," she tugged at your arm lightly, and you followed her back to the path, leaving Ellie and Cat behind.

As you walked away, you felt Ellie's gaze burning into your back. You wanted to look back, to catch one last glimpse of her, but you resisted. Whatever was or wasn't happening between you and Ellie would have to wait. Right now, you were on Ingrid's turf, and you couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a much larger game.

"Shall we continue?" Ingrid asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you replied, but your thoughts were already miles away.

The door clicked shut as you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts still reeling from the encounter at the park. Ingrid revved up the engine and pulled away, humming softly to the beat of the song playing on the radio. You looked over at her, everything about her seemed staged. 

"How did you like the park?" she asked, casting a quick glance in your direction.

"It was... interesting," you said cautiously. "It's a nice place, very lively. Lots of history, I imagine."

Ingrid chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. It's like the theater of high school drama. Anything and everything happens there."

Her words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel like there was a deeper meaning behind them. But before you could ponder it further, your phone buzzed. Glancing down, you saw Ellie's name flash on the screen.

Ellie: hey. can we talk later?

You felt a mixed bag of emotions, but you were mostly nervous. You hadn’t taken the group's warning and hung out with Ingrid anyays. It wasn’t like she was two fingers deep inside of you, but with the way Cat and Ellie looked, it seemed that way.  You were about to type a response when you noticed Ingrid's eyes flicking toward your phone screen, then back to the road.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

"Just a friend," you said, choosing your words carefully. "We're supposed to catch up later."

"Oh," she responded, but you could sense a change in her demeanor, a tightening around her eyes. "Well, I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."

"No, not at all," you reassured her, quickly typing a response to Ellie. "Sure, let's talk. Text me when you're free."

As you pressed send, you couldn't help but wonder about the timing. Why did Ellie want to talk now? And what was it about? Your thoughts were interrupted by Ingrid turning up the volume on the radio, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"So," she began, breaking the momentary silence, "we've covered quite a bit today. Any highlights?"

You pondered the question. "Well, the park was a highlight, I guess. It's always good to know where people hang out. Makes me feel less like an outsider."

Ingrid smiled, but there was something about it that made you uneasy. "You're not an outsider, you know. You're just new, and new can be exciting."

"Thanks," you said, your phone buzzing again. This time it was a text from your mom asking about your day.

Feeling the need to switch gears, you asked, "So, how long have you been living here? You seem to know everyone and everything."

"Born and raised," she declared proudly. "It has its pros and cons, but I like it. And yes, I do know a lot of people, but it's not hard when you grow up here. Everyone kind of knows everyone."

"That must be nice," you said, though a part of you wondered what it would be like to have that much history in one place—so many connections, but also so many ties that could bind you.

"Yeah," she paused, her expression turning serious. "But it can also be a bit suffocating, you know? Sometimes you just want to break free, start fresh somewhere new. Like you."

You looked at her, intrigued by this sudden glimpse into her thoughts. "Well, starting fresh isn't as glamorous as it seems. It has its own ups and downs."

"True," she conceded. "But at least it's a blank slate."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. Another text from Ellie.

Ellie: i really need to talk to you. it's important.

This time, you couldn't ignore the urgency in her message. Something was up, something significant. You looked up to find Ingrid watching you, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You hesitated, weighing your options. "Actually, I might need to cut our day short. Something's come up at home."

Ingrid's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in them—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe something else.

"Of course," she said, finally breaking eye contact. "Life happens. Let's get you home."

You stepped out of Ingrid's car, waving goodbye as she drove off. Your phone buzzed as you approached your front door, another text from Ellie.

Ellie: can you meet me at the grind? it’s about two blocks away from our house. i can drive us back. 

 You texted back a quick "on my way" and made your way over.

Ten minutes later, you walked into The Grind, the local coffee shop where the whole town seemed to be at this moment. As you scanned the room, your eyes met Ellie's. She was seated at a corner table, her phone face down and her fingers nervously tapping a rhythm against her coffee mug.

"Hey," you greeted as you approached, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Hey," Ellie replied, her eyes meeting yours briefly before averting. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Sounded like it was urgent. What's up?"

"I saw you today," she began cautiously, "with Ingrid."

A knot formed in your stomach. "Yeah, she was showing me around. Why?"

Ellie hesitated, looking down at her mug, and tapping the handle. She closed her eyes for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Be careful with her. She's not what she seems."

"I mean I heard what you guys said about her at lunc but," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "She seems harmless."

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Cut right above her shoulders, the choppy layers suited her face. "Ingrid has a way of getting close to people, and it's not always for the right reasons. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Your eyes met, and you felt a strange warmth spread through you. Ellie was concerned for you. But why? She had only known you a day. You searched her face for an answer, for anything, but you came up short.

"Do you have something against her?" you asked, not hiding your skepticism.

"No," Ellie was quick to respond, "it's not like that. I've just seen her ruin friendships, relationships. She's manipulative."

"You seem serious," you remarked, detecting a tinge of something in her voice—was it jealousy?

Ellie looked down at her mug, her fingers ceasing their tapping. "I just don't want history to repeat itself, okay?"

"History?" you questioned, leaning forward. "What happened?"

She looked up again, her eyes meeting yours again, but this time they were vulnerable, exposed. "Ingrid and I had a thing once. And it felt more serious than her ‘things’ with Cat and Dina. And let's just say it didn't end well."

Now it made sense. The hints, the caution—it was personal for Ellie.

She held your gaze, her eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. "Also," she paused, as if weighing whether to continue, "You’re my friend now. I care about you. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words.

You finally broke the silence. "Thank you for telling me, Ellie. I appreciate it."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, yeah. Of course"

As you left The Grind, your thoughts were a swirl of confusion and clarity. Ellie's concern had added another layer to the already complicated dynamic of your new life. But through it all, one thing became clear—Ellie cared about you, maybe more than she was willing to admit.

And as you replayed the conversation in your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that Ellie wasn't just warning you about Ingrid. She was also staking her claim, marking her territory in a landscape that was becoming increasingly complicated.