#It’s August already but it’s still summer

[01zfan]

see you around pt. 3

swim captain!anton x reader | 8.5k words

i initially had no inspiration for this fic, i had no idea where i was going with it. but then one of my favorite artists of all time released an album and one of the songs gave me so much inspiration. inspired by love me not by rayvn lenae and you’re not good enough and champagne coast by blood orange. hope you guys enjoy this! this couple grew on me so freaking much.

contains: no warnings!

see you around: one | two | three

The inclement weather put the abandoned warehouse out of commission, putting Giselle out of commission, and by extension you were also out of commission. March was dreary, cold, party-less, and desolate. The world was seemingly ending, Giselle made the current state of affairs seem like that. The world was ending and she couldn't have her ears blown out by shitty music on the weekends.

“I see you.” 

You were forgetting was summer was like. By the time March came all you could remember was the cold. People still wore heavy jackets and had mittens with the part that covered the tips of their fingers. People stayed in their dorms or traveled to places close huddled together or taking taxis to their location. August was nice. The heat was bearable and everything was in bloom, classes were just starting and you were hopeful. In March, trees were barely coming back to life and you still had to layer your clothes.

Back in August you met Anton and you two were dating but not really, you were casual but serious, and you thought he needed you because you didn’t need him. Then he played that game with you where he abided by your unfair rules until you showed that you truly didn’t care.

“I’m sitting on the bench.” 

Now there was a void, an absence of affection that made you say the obvious and wait for him in the cold. He already saw you sitting and he saw you on the bench, but you felt like you had to repeat it for good measure. The cold made your hands shake and it made you look for warmth. These days you waited for Anton to be done with practice and met him on his own terms. He wouldn’t be home anymore when you popped up without a notice, he wouldn’t ask you to come over. Your situation had gotten messier despite Anton becoming increasingly benevolent to your arrangement. Your texting conversations changed from Anton struggling to pull responses out of you to one worded answers. The only time he deviated from yes and no was to tell you the schedule for his practices. Maybe the world really was ending.

You were the one going out to see him lately, waiting outside the pools where he had practice. You were never in this position prior to March, it must be the cold weather. Everything was out of sorts, you were waiting on a bench looking around for him past the snow that still stuck to the ground. You turned around and saw him, and you felt like it had been ages since you saw him last. In passing suddenly wasn’t enough, hearing about the talks of his birthday party next week wasn’t enough. You didn’t know what would be enough. You should probably create some distance between the two of you.

“Your place or mine?” He asked.

You still sat on the bench, looking up at him. You blinked twice at the sudden question, not him commenting on how cute your outfit was. You put on stockings and your cutest jacket, even if it didn’t protect you from the cold. You had on those leg warmers, the ones Anton always smiled at. His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hand didn’t leave his pockets. You had to blink again, flicking your head as calmly as you could towards your end of campus. 

“Karina’s got class late today.” You answer.

You said it while Anton was already walking past the bench, over the snow towards your dorm. You got up from your seat quickly, matching your steps with Anton purely to preserve body heat. Your limbs are frozen from sitting down for so long, and you spent all day running from class to class. You give yourself time to slow down for the first time ever with Anton right next to you. You move from the side that has his duffle hanging from his shoulder. 

“How was practice?” Anton looks up from the ground. You press your thumbnail into your index finger. Usually the sound of crunching snow would fill the silence and you looked for nothing else. “I know you have that meet coming up soon right?” 

Before he can answer, you pass by someone else he knows. Someone on the swim team you think, or it could be someone from his class. Or just a random person Anton found himself talking to. Regardless, like Anton knows him personally he smiles and asks how he’s doing, until the person asks him a question about the party. Anton confirms the date to the thing he hasn’t told you about yet and bids the person farewell. Like your question wasn’t asked he continues on the path to your dorm, adjusting the duffle on his shoulder.

Don’t ask about it. If you were supposed to know you would’ve known, if you were invited you would’ve been told. Even if it seems like half of the campus is going, it’s none of your business. Going to his birthday parties was suddenly too personal for what you two were, and it was by design none of his friends didn’t know to ask you. You should be happy. Anton is walking towards your apartment with you solely to fuck. he doesn’t ask you about your day or if you want to go on a date. He’s finally fallen in line to your demands. You don’t know why you miss him even if he’s right next to you.

You don’t say anything all the way up to your dorm. You let Anton follow in closely behind you, you even let the residence assistant at the front desk see him. She says hi and you say it back, you even look behind you until Anton is waving awkwardly and saying hi too. You hold his hand in the elevator silently, and you don’t let go when other people enter the elevator from other floors. You let them look at your hands, and you still hold it tight when Anton’s confused grip loosens.

You don’t say anything when you feel Anton come closer behind you as you walk down the hallway to your room, you don’t say anything until he closes the door and pushes you against it.

“You’re really hard to figure out.” Anton murmurs against your neck. Like that was supposed to turn you on you tilt your head back, arching your body further into his. His hand on your shoulder holds it tighter, the arm around your waist pulls you closer. “I don’t know what you want from me,” He kisses the junction of your neck, because if you hold his hand in semi-public settings maybe that means something else. He looks up to you when he’s done, because you’ve always reacted to pointless kisses. Anything that wasn’t leading directly to your pleasure always made you pull at his hair before telling him to stop playing around. "if you want me here or if you want me to go." 

But when Anton indulges in kissing your collarbone next, and then another slow kiss to your neck you only tilt your head to the side to give him more. Of course you want him here. You want to grab him tight and not let him go until it freaks you out, then you want to let him go until you want to repeat the cycle over again. You take off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Anton works the buttons on your shirt slowly, the same way he kisses you.

“I didn’t know you were having a birthday party.” You sigh and tilt your head to the side more. Your hand goes to his duffle, and Anton lets you slide it off of him. Next is his varsity jacket, when it joins everything else you grab a fistful of his white shirt. Anton’s hand goes to your face, caressing your cheek and taking up any viable thought. “Were you not going to invite me?” You ask.

Anton pulls away from your neck. He looks down at you and you have to press yourself into your door to see all of him. He’s confused, because you’re confused and everything about you two is confusing. He sputters, he licks his lips and you let your lips part.

“Come, if you want.” His thumb goes to your bottom lip, pressing into the skin. Your hand wraps around his wrist, and you try to not think about how you’d be satisfied just doing this. “Sungchan invited Giselle.” 

He knows you know about the party, because Sungchan tells Anton everything and Giselle tells you everything. You’ve decided you’ll go, or just entertain the thought of going because you decided the look in his brown eyes is almost pleading you. Everything you do is for Anton’s benefit, you’ve decided that this is all for him. Even if you feel like you’re weaker when it comes to him, everything is for Anton’s benefit. That’s why you reach for his pants before you reach for yours, and why you make sure you’re undressed before he climbs up the stairs to your loft bed.

“So pretty.” Anton brings his hands to your shoulders, and you straighten your posture to meet him the rest of the way. You’re embarrassingly put on display for him, sitting up on your knees patiently. “How are you so pretty?”

Anton sits down on your bed, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let yourself be pulled closer, until you have to plant one hand on the mattress and the other on Anton’s shoulder to balance yourself. You lean into the kiss, and tilt your head when Anton tilts his. 

You two work too well together. You kiss him when he pulls his hands away to put on a condom. You take charge and you’re sure this could work, you’re sure of it. Even if seeing him is pain it’s alright when his lips are so gentle against yours. You let your eyes open just for a moment to see his closed in bliss, and the way he turns to accommodate you so quickly. Why’d you turn him away from you so many times? 

Anton’s hand goes to your face and tilts it for you, and his tongue is dragging over your lip then the top row of your teeth. You drag your hand down his stomach and finally touch him. Instantly Anton’s kisses get deeper, he pulls your face against his and changes his grip so he’s holding the back of your neck. You try to rise above him, to give some sense of control but he’s tugging you to his lap.

“Come here.” He murmurs, and he opens his eyes to look up at you. His eyes are so sincere, you don’t know if he knows how honest he looks from up here. Anton tugs at you again and you give in, sitting on your ass and scooting towards him. He helps you move, until you’re hovering above his lap with his dick in his hands. His hand preemptively wraps around your waist, and Anton nods before looking up to you again. “It’s yours.” He says quietly.

You’re not sure what the it is. He must be talking about something unimportant, because Anton whispers it under his breath. You only know he’s speaking because he’s so close his breath fans your face. It must not be anything more than sex, because there’s no reason Anton would be sitting on top of your sheets after another bout of no contact. You know that it must be embarrassing, because you can’t bring yourself to look at Anton as you sink down, until you have to move your hand away and you can feel him in the pit of your stomach.

“Anton.” You whimper into the crook of his neck.

His hand on the back of your neck keeps you there, and he moves his hips in the smallest motion. You can feel him inside of you, and you grind back desperately. You’re not sure this is doing anything for him, because you are the one moving your hips and whining pathetically in his ears. Anton just continues the smallest movements, reaching a hand down to your ass to help you move.

“I know, I know.” He coos, and you can feel him place a kiss to the side of your face. This is embarrassing, the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever had to endure. It makes you weak, because just hearing Anton know anything about you makes you continue to grind against his hips, until the frame of your bed starts to gently rock and you start forgetting about your neighbors. “Keep going.”

You really try to stay in the moment with Anton. The day turning into dusk makes the light leave your room, except for the muted sunlight that stays directly on him. Everything seems to want you to keep your focus on him, nothing else in your room can distract you. But you wonder how long you can keep this going. You already feel the burn in your thighs and being with Anton makes you feel like you’re losing your sanity. At the very least your agency is gone, because you follow everything he tells you to do without a second thought. When you’re without him all you can think about it having him like this again, holding onto him in elevators and pretending like you don’t know what’s going on in his life. 

When you start whining and leaving indents of your nails on Anton’s arms and back he pulls away. His hands leave your body to plant behind him on the mattress so he can give you what you need. Your pathetic grinds looking for stimulation is by no means productive, only making you more strung up. When he pulls away his eyes tear you down, from your shaky chest down to the way your legs are tucked on either side of him. You try to tear him down too, to make him feel as naked as his eyes make you feel but he’s focused. Anton starts flicking his hips, meeting your grinds on him. He finds a way to fuck into you, and for a moment you find it in yourself to be still. He’s deep inside of you, each movement digging in deeper. Anton found that spot that makes you hang your head low and bite your lip so hard it could draw blood. 

You focus on the place where you two meet, where Anton has sweat lining his toned stomach and it flexes with each movement. You see his muscles contract with each grind, and you can see something moving in your stomach too. Your hands don’t know what to do when they’re not holding onto Anton. 

This is pathetic, because you’ve always known what to do with yourself during times like this. You could grab your chest and reach down to your clit, you could reach behind you and stabilize yourself on Anton’s outstretched legs. Maybe from that position you could attempt to pull some of your weight. You’re shaking, not contributing anything besides drowning out Anton’s grunts and quiet curses with obnoxious sounds of your own. You want to reach forward. You have never wanted to reach forward so badly. This was the first time you pushed your weight and hands onto Anton, holding him with one hand tight by the shoulders and the other carding through his hair. You have never put so much of your body weight on him so quickly that he has to pull one hand from behind him to wrap around your waist to stabilize you both, and you have never felt yourself look at him so guilelessly that his eyes widen in response.

“Are you okay?” Anton loses his rhythm, because something has to be wrong for you to look so vulnerable. He must also see the tears welling at your waterline because he brings his other hand to stop you from looking away. You’ve distracted him, because for the first time ever Anton stops completely when you’re both so close, until you’re just sitting on all of him and he’s looking you directly in your eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t stop.” You shake your head and plant your feet flat on your bed, pushing yourself upwards just to come down. Anton’s hold on your face falters, just enough for you to straighten your back. There’s already a burn in your legs, but that is better than whatever that feeling was when Anton looked at you with genuine worry. “Just hold me tight.” You say.

Anton nods his head against your chest, letting his chin rest right in the center. He holds you tight, so tight your back straightens and his breath is fanning your skin. He laves the area and the burning in your thighs is manageable. Anton looks up to you, and your hand pulls at his hair, he takes your nipple into his mouth and you sit even taller. He helps you when you falter, his hands on your waist are strong and guides you back down on him. Your bed is creaking from your shared strength, the springs bounce underneath you both. Anton is grunting with your nipple in his mouth, his teeth graze your sensitive skin and your eyes screw shut. 

“So close,” He pulls you closer, whatever he says to you is muffled. “so close, Anton.” 

You can tell he wants to pull back to fuck you deeper. The mere thought of Anton not holding you the same way he is now makes you dig your nails into his skin. Like this he can’t leave you, he wouldn’t. This has to feel good for him too, because you can feel him twitch inside of you and hear the sounds he makes. You can see the sweat on his body, the determination in his eyes as he continues bringing you down on him. His hand tries to snake between your two bodies to your clit, but the closeness makes it impossible. He just wraps his arms around you, a bear hug that leaves his hands planted on your waist.

“Me too.” Anton unlatches, and you can feel the spit cool on your body. There’s a string of saliva broken by his tongue, that stays peaked out pressing into his top lip until he hits that spot deep in you again. Anton leans his head back, until your hand in his hair brings it close to your chest again. He stays there, panting against your skin trying against your strength to look up at you again. “I need you to cum first, though.” 

Anton leaves one hand around your waist and the other goes to your shoulder. He covers the area easily, and with his new grip he finds another way to bring you down. You’ve never done this before. He’s working hard despite you being a hinderance, sacrificing the one thing you two count on eachother for just to be close. This has to be the last time, for someone’s sake. The thought of it almost makes you cry, especially because you’re barreling towards that feeling only Anton can make you experience. You can identify it as something akin to suffering, because you’re crying out and leaving marks in retaliation. You have to bear with it, because in that moment it’s the only thing you can think about. Anton changes to rut into you, hitting that same spot over and over again quickly. Your head goes to the crook of his neck, and you can hear Anton’s desperate sounds right in your ear. They’re loud and strangled, because he must be suffering too.

Without thinking you press your mouth to his neck and suck, because there has to be something that reminds you this is real. Anton flinches the moment he feels your lips, but then he stills inside of you and you can feel it. He whimpers in your ear, his hands moving to grip at anything his can. He has your soft skin in a vice grip, and the pain only makes everything more unbearable. You grind against him a few times, trying to prolong the torture he put you through. You’re stopped by his hands and his head shaking next to you, and your knees collapse to the bed. You’re slumped against Anton and his body wavers too. 

To catch your breath you have to unlatch. To remember what this is you have to separate from him completely. But he still holds you tight and you still leave a mark, right where Anton will have to bear through comments at his next swim practice.

Your air conditioning unit kicks on. The bed creaks again, and you can feel your damp sheets underneath you. Anton spreads his legs a little further, and you slide down from his lap.

“We’re gonna make a mess.” When Anton lowers his hand you think for a second he’s going to pull you onto his lap again by your thigh. But it’s the slightest movement, one that makes you fully slide off of him like you’ve been hit. You’re so fast you don’t shiver like Anton does when he slides out. He’s careful with taking the condom off, because everything about Anton is so sensitive when he cums. His legs are still spread and you’re still between them, looking down at his fingers become shiny as he ties off the slimy latex. 

“Where’s your trashcan?” He asks quietly.

You look up and Anton looks away, trying to find out where your garbage is. You point towards the cabinet space underneath your sink and Anton is getting up before he crawls down from your loft bed. The spot is right next to your door, and on the way to his clothes that were carelessly discarded on the way. This setup is perfect, but you feel cold again. The air conditioner is working overtime, and the cold bleeds through your rooms windows. Now you’re shivering on your bed, trying to hide it when Anton covers up the used condom with trash and pulls his boxers back up his legs.

You can admit to yourself that your relationship with Anton changed for the worse. If the lack of eye contact and the silence and the fact that you’re cold in the middle of March is any indication. Neither of you talk about it, how he left you at your most vulnerable the same way you did to him countless times before. In your long course of a relationship, whatever this was now, you would’ve never thought it’d be Anton saying that phrase to you.

I’ll see you around.

The worst part about it was that he said it so casually, the words rolled off his tongue the same it did yours. Patting your ass for good measure as he went down your loft bed and walked out. You watched him in silence as he put his pants back on, then his sweatshirt, then slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder before he walked towards the door. 

The same scene played again and you felt your body being pulled towards his again. The tired euphoria that came from whatever happened minutes ago was replaced with the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. 

You wanted to right it more than anything. You wanted Anton to come back to your tiny bed and lay with you. Vocalizing something so simple should be easy. You just told him to hold you tighter so clearly, and you enunciated how close you were to finishing. There was no reason why it should be hard now. You have been figuratively throwing bones to Anton for what seemed like an eternity, you should know how to catch one. Instead you just want it so badly it causes you to crawl to the edge of your bed closest to him, reaching out a hand he can’t see because his back is facing you. 

“You should stay.” You say quickly.

That got Anton to stop. You casted your line and he bit it. You saw him turn towards you, and you almost smiled at the attention he was giving you. His focus was on his clothes and the fastest way to leave, you felt like you were shining underneath his gaze. You quickly went to the edge of your bed, feet on the top of the ladder like you would dare to come down to him.

He adjusted the strap of his duffle. Your hands started messing with your covers. Your suggestion, your plead for him to stay lingered in the air as you could see him think about what you said. The Anton before would’ve taken you up on your offer immediately. He would’ve beamed at you and had a shocked look on his face, his eyebrows raised as he took in your words. You want me to stay the night? He would’ve asked with a teasing smile. You would’ve recanted your offer jokingly, trying to cut through whatever sentiment he was trying to project on you. You would’ve given an excuse as to why you wanted him to stay, and he would’ve acknowledge it for your sake. 

But now Anton seemed uninterested. He got what he came here for—what you pathetically waited outside his practice for. He already fucked you and got out all of his frustrations for his devastating loss at his swim meet and the frustrations that come with whatever this is. He did what you needed him to do, you could actively see yourself be casted to the corner of his mind when you used to occupy so much of it.

“Why do you want me to stay?” He readjusted the strap on his duffle again. “I don’t think I have another round in me.”

He didn’t ask the question with a smile. He wasn’t teasing you, he wanted a straightforward answer when that was the one thing you weren’t good at doing. You wanted him to stay because you were cold, you think. You wanted him to stay because you wanted to not tell him how sorry you were for missing his swim meet. When you wanted to tell him your throat felt dry and when his eye contact didn’t falter you felt your eyes cast to the other side of your room.

“It’s late.” You said.

Saying a fact is better than admitting to your feelings. But it was the wrong answer. He only nods, flicking his wrist to check the time as he turns around and begins heading towards the door.

“I got swim practice early tomorrow.” Anton says.

You don’t know whether it’s the truth or not. He leaves your room, and all the cold air from the hallway rushes in before your heavy door can close behind him.

There was a mutual silence from the two of you after he left your room that night. You didn’t miss him. When you missed him you would message him. You never did, so you must’ve not missed him. You were strong enough to avoid him on campus and change the subject when Giselle would bring him up. 

Whatever happened in your room was the last time it would ever happen. Even if you felt an itch where he kissed you last and it was like you couldn’t escape him and you saw him everywhere. You told yourself over and over that it wasn’t going to happen again. You genuinely weren’t going to go Anton’s birthday party. You deluded yourself into thinking that you were strong enough, until Giselle called your phone and told you parties are important, parties are fun, and she was going to be at your door in ten minutes. 

So thirty minutes later you and Giselle were making the same trek you’d make to the warehouse. A bus—because public transportation was also fun and important according to Giselle—and then you were walking on paved sidewalks joining other people who were making the trip to the only party that has happened in a while.

“Why is March this year so cold?” You pulled your thin jacket closer to your body, shivering and huddling into Giselle. “I’m freezing.”

“It’s not that cold.” Giselle’s jacket was open and hanging off her shoulders. She was also on her phone, already curating a list of songs for when she’d inevitably hijack the aux. “You’ll warm up once we get to Sungchan’s.” Giselle looked up from her phone, looking at the small groups of people heading towards the same direction. “I think it’s gonna be packed.” 

“I’m freezing. And everyone’s out because the warehouse is closed. This is probably like the first party that has happened in like a month.” You say.  You went to your phone too. Giselle slides up on a text message, and you realize you haven’t gotten a single message all day. Anton used to ask you for confirmation on if you’d be somewhere or not. Now your phone is completely empty, clutched in your hand like you’re waiting for something.

You also made the mistake of getting Giselle started on the closure of the warehouse, because she’s talking your ear off about it. She talks about her dismay when she saw an off duty police car waiting on the edge of the property, just waiting for someone to come on the grounds. Giselle told you she could practically smell the cops, and she could already hear the sound of tickets ripping off their penpads before doling them out to unsuspecting college kids.

“Stupid cops getting in the way of fun. If they turned it into something I’d get it.” Giselle spoke over the drink to her lips, lowering it each time she remembered something else about the situation that pissed her off. You were leaned against the wall of Anton’s party, focusing on her because you didn’t want to think about anything else. “But it’s literally just a vacant building. They just want to be a fucking bother.”

“I know.” You nod and watch Giselle finally take a sip of her drink. She leans her full back against the wall, right next to the glorified DJ booth made from a bedside table and a bunch of speakers. You two settled right by the door, close to the aux cord and the man guarding it. Your ears were getting blown out by the loud chatter and the booming music, but you two have made it this far already. Giselle was busy trying to find an opening in between her rants and other requests, and you didn’t have the courage yet to head deeper into the party. You look down at your drink and lean in close, until your lips are right by Giselle’s. “It’s ridiculous because where else are we supposed to go?” 

Just like that, Giselle is wound up again. Her eyes go wide before she brings her cup back down again and goes on another tirade. You lean one side against the wall, nodding along and taking another sip of your drink. Something about taking this issue right to court, or to have a party in retaliation. Giselle wouldn’t have noticed your wandering eye, she was too busy figuring out the logistics of an illegal party. But you were looking at her and only her. Convincing yourself you didn’t need to see someone was alot easier than actually following through with it. There was also the problem that you were here at a party celebrating him, because he was bound to be anywhere if you weren’t already seeing him everywhere. So you continued looking at Giselle, nodding knowingly even though she had told you these same things a million times before.

Giselle was actually the one who saw Anton first. The song changed and you thought she had finally gotten in the mood to dance her anger away, but she stilled and began looking forward. 

“What’s wrong?” The bass shook your chest and the floor underneath your boots was sticky. You bumped into the framed picture on the wall as you leaned closer to Giselle, trying to figure out why your friend was suddenly silent. “Do you wanna dance?” You asked.

Giselle turned towards you instead, yelling directly in your ear as people danced and bumped into you.

“Don’t look,” You instantly turned your gaze through the throngs of people, looking for whatever Giselle was trying to keep away from you. “But I think a girl is smoozing up Anton right now.” 

Almost immediately, you found them. Anton was leaned against the doorframe into the room where everyone was getting their drinks. He was nursing a beer, and right before you could cast Giselle’s words to the side you saw it. The girl got up on her tiptoes, leaning her hands on his shoulder as she talked right in his ear. He was attentive, not even finishing the swig of beer as he listened to her. You didn’t want to know where his other hand was. You prayed it was smushed between his body and the doorframe, not around the girls waist helping her balance. He looked down at her and smirked. You thought that look was for you and you alone. You felt the hair stand in your neck and a drop in your stomach.

“I told you not to look.” Giselle said it quickly, and you felt her tug at your arm to get you to face her again. 

But it was too late. There was a pounding headache forming at the base of your skull and not from the shitty music playing directly into your ears. You felt it pound in your chest and you saw red, then you saw the white ceilings coming closer to you. You saw Anton lean down again, before smiling and whispering something into the girls ear. A group of smokers passed by you earlier and headed towards the bathroom and haven’t come back sense. 

“I’ll be right back.” You murmur, not even sure if you got your sentence out before you were walking in the direction of the smokers. You had to tell people excuse me, and ignore the pleas from your friend to come back. You kept walking past the fairy lights, ignoring that feeling you got on the back of your neck when you entered Anton’s line of sight. You kept walking, because you didn’t know where else to go. You had to squeeze past a couple fully occupying the hallway with something that should be done in private, then you pressed your ear to the closed bathroom door. Someone was talking to their friend against the wall and you turned towards them. “Is someone in there?” 

“No one is taking a shit if that’s what you’re asking.” The person dressed for a rave more than a house party motioned past the closed door. “They’re not letting anyone bum a cig off them either.” He continued.

You opened the door to an empty and cold bathroom. The sweat that was beading across your body was cold now, and the open window let even more cold inside. You heard the talk of the selfish smokers outside, you think they were even talking about the person outside who wanted it. It wasn’t a crime to want a free American Spirit at a party, but you had a million other things to worry about now. You needed a place to cry, not on the toilet where someone could walk in at any moment, maybe outside on the fire escape. The cold might even bring you to your senses if you’re lucky.

The end of March and it was still cold. Your breath vaporized as soon as you crawled past the threshold of the bathroom window. The fit was tight, you squeezed through and regretfully had to put your hands on the rusted metal to pull yourself out. Your breath came out in white huffs as you pressed your feet to the metal ground, and dissipated into the air when you stood up. You took staggered steps to the railing and held on tight. The selfish smokers didn’t care that you were out here, they only redirected their smoke and faced their bodies away from you. Maybe they weren’t so selfish after all. Maybe you would need a cigarette after all of this. 

The people on the other end of the fire escape shivered and complained about leaving their jackets inside while you looked over the edge of the railing.

How was it still so cold outside? This time last year you would’ve been wearing shorts and crawling on fire escapes to try and get a nice spring breeze. The world must be ending you’re sure of it. The dread you feel in your stomach is about global warming than anything else. You don’t even care what’s going on inside, even if that’s all you can think about.

“You smoke now?” Before you turn around you already know who is talking to you. Your hands are resting on top of your hands, and you still look towards the other buildings in the apartment complex. The smokers turned around before going back to their conversation, huddling closer to preserve body heat. One of them crawls up the fire escape until they can sit on the metal rusted steps. and curses when they realize that’s cold too You shook your head, and you found yourself clearing your throat and straightening your posture. “What are you doing out here?”

“It was getting stuffy.” Even when you could hear Anton come through the open window and feel him stand behind you on the fire escape, you didn’t look over your shoulder. You still looked out, even when Anton leaned on the railing next to you. “There’s alot of people.” You say.

You finally steal a glance at him when he nods. You catch him in a moment where he’s changing the way he leans on the metal railing, you get to look at the side of his face for a second that stretched into an hour before you have to avert your eyes again. 

“I think alot of people came because the warehouse is like, decommissioned.” 

Anton lets out a breathy laugh and you have to grip the metal railing tighter. You want to turn and look at him. You haven’t been at the receiving end of his side smile, and out here it would be something reserved for you only. Nothing like inside the party. That had to be for show, the way he leaned in close to the girl talking to him. If it was, that’s none of your concern. The way he turns away from your face when you won’t look at him has to be real. You wonder if he’s looking at the same apartment building you’re focused on, or if he’s looking at the street lamps, or the skyline beyond that.

“I’m glad you’re here, though.” He comes closer, Until his arm touches your shoulder and your hands are gripping the railing next to eachother. “I didn’t think you came to things like this.” 

“I haven’t been out in a long time.” You say.

The smokers got their cigarettes down to the butt, squishing out the dwindling flames. They drown the ends with beer in the ash tray for good measure, and then they’re scooting past you and Anton to squeeze through the bathroom window back to the party. One of them claps their hand on Anton’s back, wishing him a happy birthday and you can hear Anton try to remember who the person is. They’re shuffling back into the bathroom, the sound of the party can be heard when the door opens, then it becomes muffled again once it shuts. There’s a gust of wind, one that pushes Anton’s hair back and pushes you forward.

“Still,” Anton turns to face you again, and you realize that there’s nothing between the two of you. No smokers conversation, no one throwing up in the toilet. It’s you two on the fire escape by yourself, while people in the apartment look for the birthday boy. They’ll be outside any moments, you’re sure the girl that was hanging off of Anton is looking for him too. “didn’t think you’d show.” He says.

You lift your hands off the railing just to shrug them. Like you have no idea why you’re here. You remember when you used to redirect Anton’s questions with ease. Now you’re overthinking the shrug of your shoulders, if he saw how dirty your hands were from holding the railing.

“Did you enjoy the party?” Anton talks with a laugh again, like he truly cares if you’re enjoying yourself or not. You wish that girl would come through the bathroom door and pull him by the arm until he went back to the party. You want to be outside even if it’s too cold and the world is ending. “Before it got too stuffy?”

You nod your head, because you can’t bring yourself to verbally lie to Anton anymore. You felt sick since you opened the door to the apartment, and it only got worse when you realized it was worse seeing Anton even if you missed him more than you thought you would. You should be unaffected by being here. This should just be another party. Stuffy is nothing compared to the warehouse when people would show up. There you’d be shoulder to shoulder with no ventilation and the exits blocked. You’d be there in the August summer, but nothing felt like the apartment. Sweat and panic lined your body like there was an accident waiting to happen. Even after you left and you were here on the fire escape the fastest way to safety something felt wrong. Anton took a step closer and you went backwards, until the fire escape pressed into your back.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Anton said it quietly.

Everything about Anton is intrusive. Even if he doesn’t move any closer to you, just the view of his face makes you remember everything. He makes it so hard to leave him, he makes it so hard to be with him in the way you need. You’re a match made in Hell, because the ice caps are melting and it’s freezing in the end of March but all you can think about is him. You’ve done nothing wrong, but all you can think about is apologizing. You have no right to be with him but looking at the side of his face makes you want to hold him tight.

You don’t even know if he notices, because he is looking towards the moon instead of turning to face you. He leans on the railing more than he leans on you, and he says nothing even if his lips keep twitching.

“Thanks for inviting me.” You say.

Anton leans down until his chin rests on the top of his hands. He tilts his eyes up at you, and you keep eye contact with him. The time stretches to grueling hours. There was a time when you could keep eye contact with Anton and not feel your body get weak.

“You come now when I invite you to things?” His voice is sarcastic, and you know that you could apologize for missing his swim meet. But that night you apologized the best way you knew how and you were sincere, even if it was prefaced with having makeup sex for something that too serious for your current arrangement. You were sorry when you were getting on your knees and you were sorry when he left so quickly afterwards. You were sorry for other things too, like feeling so weak, missing him so much, and thinking you were strong enough to be normal about him. “I didn’t know you were here until a couple minutes ago.”

Anton doesn’t say anything else. Like you had the right to be upset you got upset, and now Anton is acting like everything is alright you force yourself to act the same way.

“I’ll be better about that.” You look behind you again when the door to the bathroom opens and closes. People are filtering through the rooms, trying to find a silent place. You put all your weight on one foot, trying to distract yourself from that growing feeling in the pit of your stomach. “You looked busy.” You say.

“Never too busy for you.” 

Anton comes a little closer and you can hear the metal beneath you creak. He still looks forward when he lets one hand go of the railing, then brings it to wrap around your waist. The gesture is simple—very low on the list things you two have done to eachother—but it makes you freeze nonetheless. Your breathing stops for a beat, even Anton is silent. He chews on his lip, and you try to not bend the metal in your grip. 

Like it was the first time of you two ever doing anything you take in a deep breath. You’re hesitant titling your head until it’s up against Anton’s shoulder. He leans into you more to make the distance smaller, and you can feel him lowering his body to give your head a proper place to lay. This weather is bearable. The cold isn’t too bad, it keeps the bugs away and layering clothes can be fun. Protecting yourself from the cold is better than the heat, and snow is always nice to see.

“You’re shaking.” Anton is quiet, because you’re so close and it’s only you two you. You nod against his shoulder because the tremors are more prominent than before and even thought it feels like it’s August again. “We should go inside.”

You nod against his shoulder again but neither of you move. Your breath mingles over the railing of the fire escape before disappearing into the night. You settle further into him, and he leans more into you. His arm on your waist gets tighter. The lights from the other apartment buildings start turning on, and you know if you looked to the side you could see Anton clearly. You don’t know if you could bear it, even if it feels like right now something is being fixed.  

You heard the bathroom door open, and instead of it closing it stays open. The music comes into the bathroom, past the window to you two. It’s loud but is filtered through whatever bubble you’ve found yourself in. 

“Ton.” Anton turned around but you stayed looking forward. You knew who it was by the hesitation in her voice and the way Anton pulled his arm away from your waist quickly. It’s March again, freezing and desolate. “What are you doing out here? We’re about to cut the cake.”

You looked down from the railing of the fire escape, looking down at the people walking around in the parking lot. The world really was ending. Anton was smiling and saying he’d be inside in a second while the world was coming to an end. You remember all the times you found a reason to leave him alone at parties, just to show up at his place hours later. Now for some reason this seems final, even if he stays outside with you after the girl leaves.

There’s another bout of silence. You let out a fast breath and pull one in quickly.

“Ton?” You continue looking forward. You try thinking about the times you’ve called Anton by his nickname and the only thing you can think about are the times he’s been inside of you. That makes everything worse, because now you think about him being inside other girls, despite your current arrangement allowing him to. You think about other girls calling him Ton and you feel a pull in your stomach. “I didn’t know people called you that.”

“There's plenty of nicknames I have.” There must’ve been other girls whose dorms he’d go to. There’s no way it was just you, no matter how many times you both shared sentiments that you were only for eachother. “if you asked, it could the nickname only you call me by. But I think I prefer when you call me Tony.”

Last time you called Anton by that nickname it was August. You were pretending like things were casual between you two, trying out nicknames between the two of you after sex. Pillow talk between the two of you lately left much to be desired, but it's nice Anton remembered. You thought he would've liked to forget, especially because other girls call him other nicknames and everyone in this party seems to want him.

“Are you staying for cake?” Anton leans forward, trying to get into your line of sight. He’s so pretty and his eyes are so sincere it makes him look like a puppy. “The cake is kinda small,” He laughs and makes the size with his hand. It was probably one of those personal cakes you had seen in the casing at the bakery. You sent him a picture of a miniature cake with a dog on it once, saying it looked like him. “but I could save you a piece.” 

You should go inside. You know Anton would help you through the bathroom window, and keep an arm around you as he goes back to the party. You know he’d keep you close and glance to you while everyone sang him happy birthday. You know he wants you there, and you know he’d invite you back to his place afterwards. But the world is ending, it really feels like it, even if Anton looks so hopeful. 

Fully turning to face Anton it’s different. You watch his head tilt to the side, a knowing smile is across his face when he looks down. He’s so pretty out here in the nighttime. You’re ashamed you’ve never given yourself the chance to see him in the daytime. Back in August he was so pretty, the sun made him look like a dream in front of you. He looked different in the moonlight, his short black hair and his ears poking through. You want to go back to August. Only five more months until you two repeat this cycle again. If the world hasn’t ended by then.

“There’s another thing happening after this, I think.” Anton continues. His hand that was around your waist is limp between your two bodies. The warmest you felt since August came and went. You could have that back if you just moved a little closer. “My friend invited me. The one that just came in.” Anton uses his other hand to motion towards the girl that was waiting at the windowsill moments ago. You wonder if she knows he’s inviting you to something that was probably more personal than this gathering. “Are you going to that too?” He asks.

Anton is hopeful. There’s still stars in his eyes, or maybe its anger. Recognizing the signs has been harder since you’ve spent so much time denying them. The way Anton leans close could just be an attempt at extending a platonic olive branch, being out here with you instead of celebrating himself is just pity. You can’t seem to escape him, even if you’re at his party with him alone. You have to focus on your breathing again, to make sure the white puffs of air vaporizing doesn’t show how tight your chest feels.

“Maybe.” 

You look over your shoulder and Anton looks back at you. He’s already halfway to the window, leaning against the side of the building right next to the opening. He nods like he knows how you’re feeling and reaches out a hand to clasp over your shoulder. Almost August. The touch is like June, right before everything happened and before you knew someone was going to change your life. He pulls his hand away and crouches to go back to his party. You don’t like how March feels.

“I-I’ll be at that swim meet next week though.” You say it when Anton is halfway through the window, and you make him pause to turn around. The light from the bathroom shows his entire smile, from his teeth to his eyes that close. You have to lean against your back against the railing and your hands to keep yourself grounded. “I’ll be there.” You repeat.

Anton goes back into the bathroom, hands planted on the windowsill as he looks up at you. Someone calls for his name again and the music abruptly stops.

“I’ll see you around then?“ 

Anton asks the question. They start chanting Anton’s name in the apartment, talking about cake. The temperature outside is suddenly bearable.

“Yeah. You’ll see me.” 

[strangevynl]

back to friends

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ childhoodbsf!felix x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst

June 12 2006

The summer heat was relentless, baking the pavement under the afternoon sun. You ran ahead, laughter ringing through the quiet neighborhood, feet pounding against the sidewalk. Felix trailed behind, breathless but determined, his arms pumping as he tried to catch up.

“Slow down!” he called out, voice full of frustration.

You glanced back with a teasing grin. “Not my fault you’re slow, Lix!”

Felix scowled but kept running until the two of you reached the small park at the end of the street. Both of you collapsed onto the swings, panting, the only sound between you the creaking of metal chains.

“One day,” Felix huffed, wiping sweat from his brow, “I’ll be faster than you.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… doubtful.”

Felix pouted, nose scrunching up in that familiar way that always gave him away. He was terrible at hiding his emotions—not that you minded. It was part of what made him Felix.

For a while, neither of you spoke, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. Then, without warning, Felix’s voice broke the silence.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You turned toward him. “Yeah?”

“We’ll always be best friends, right?”

The question caught you off guard. Felix had always been the sentimental one, the type to hold onto things long after everyone else had moved on. It was one of the many things about him that you never really understood—but you didn’t need to.

“Of course,” you answered easily, nudging his shoulder. “Even if you somehow get faster than me—which, by the way, isn’t happening—we’ll still be best friends.”

Felix’s smile was instant, bright enough to rival the sun. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

You linked pinkies, the way you always did, sealing a vow you both believed would never break.

Back then, it had been simple.

Back then, you thought forever was real.

You had no idea what was coming.

—🍵—

August 25 2025

The coffee in your hands had gone cold, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You had been staring at him for too long.

Felix sat at the far end of the café, surrounded by people who had taken the space you used to occupy. He was laughing—head tilted back, eyes crinkled, dimples pressing into his cheeks like nothing in the world had ever hurt him.

Like nothing had ever changed.

Like you hadn’t spent years by his side, only to become nothing more than a familiar stranger.

The hollow feeling in your chest was one you had grown used to, but some days, it still ached. Some days, you could still feel the echoes of the past clawing at the edges of your mind, whispering all the things you never said, all the things you never did to stop this from happening.

Jisung’s voice pulled you out of it.

“You’re doing it again.”

Your fingers curled around your cup. “Doing what?”

“Looking at him like he’s the sun and you’re the idiot who flew too close.”

You scoffed, but the sound felt empty. “That’s dramatic.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Is it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, because deep down, you knew he was right. This wasn’t just about Felix making new friends or drifting away. It was about you standing at the edge of something breaking and doing nothing to stop it. It was about the weight in your chest when he stopped looking for you in crowded rooms, stopped texting first, stopped treating you like someone worth holding on to.

It was about the realization that maybe, just maybe, he was better at letting go than you were.

“Talk to him,” Jisung said.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is.”You shook your head, but before you could say anything, Jisung grabbed your untouched coffee and stood.

Panic flared in your chest. “Jisung, don’t—” But he was already halfway across the café, walking straight toward Felix’s table, straight toward the boy who had spent years fitting himself into the gaps of your life, only to slip through the cracks when you weren’t paying attention.

Felix noticed him immediately, brows furrowing as Jisung placed your cup down in front of him and said something low, something that made his expression shift from confusion to something you couldn’t quite read.

And then Jisung pointed.

Right at you.

The air in your lungs turned sharp.

For the first time in months, Felix’s eyes met yours.

And it felt like drowning.

The moment stretched too long, too thin. You should’ve looked away. Should’ve grabbed your bag, pretended you hadn’t been staring, pretended Jisung hadn’t just thrown you under the bus in the worst way possible. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, and for a second—just a second—it felt like the world had rewound itself, like you were sixteen again, tangled up in late-night conversations and inside jokes only the two of you understood.

But then the recognition in his gaze flickered, replaced by something unreadable. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but one of his friends nudged him, pulling him back into their conversation.

Just like that, the moment was gone.

Jisung flopped back into his seat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself.

“You’re welcome,” he said, stealing a fry off your plate like he hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

You exhaled sharply. “What the hell was that?”

“That, my dear emotionally constipated friend, was me helping.”

“Helping?” You let out a dry laugh. “You just made things worse.”

Jisung shrugged. “Felix was gonna notice you eventually. I just sped up the process.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing the heat in your face to fade. “He didn’t even come over.”

“He will.”

Jisung said it with so much confidence that it made your stomach twist. You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

But Felix didn’t come over.

He didn’t even glance in your direction again.

By the time you left the café, your chest was tight with something ugly, something close to regret.

It was raining by the time you got back to your apartment. The kind of rain that made the world feel heavier, pressing down on your shoulders, making everything colder than it should be. You should’ve gone inside. Should’ve let the door click shut behind you and drowned out the thoughts swirling in your head with a shitty TV show or an assignment that was due way too soon.

But instead, you found yourself standing on the sidewalk, watching as the city blurred under the downpour, feeling the way the damp air clung to your skin.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there.

Long enough for the streets to empty. Long enough for the rain to soak through your hoodie. Long enough for a voice—his voice—to cut through the storm.

“What are you doing out here?”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned.

Felix stood a few feet away, hood pulled up, blonde hair sticking to his forehead. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—still made something in your chest crack open, something you had spent too much time trying to bury.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What are you doing here?”

Felix shifted on his feet. “I saw you leave the café.” A pause. “I thought you might—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it did.

It mattered more than anything.

Because despite everything, despite the months of distance and unspoken words and aching silence, he was still here.

Still chasing after you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.

The rain drummed against the pavement, a steady rhythm that filled the silence stretching between you. Felix shifted slightly, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to step closer or turn around and walk away.

You should’ve said something. Anything. But your throat felt tight, like every word you had swallowed over the past year was lodged there, refusing to come out.

Felix sighed, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. “You always did like the rain.”

His voice was softer than you remembered. Or maybe it had always been like that, and you had just forgotten the sound of it when it wasn’t filtered through a phone screen or echoing in your head late at night.

You swallowed hard. “Not really.”

His gaze snapped back to you. “What?”

You forced out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t like the rain. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like the only thing that makes sense.”

Felix studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step forward, just enough for you to see the way the streetlights cast shadows under his tired eyes.

“You’re mad at me,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know what I am.”

Felix exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

You felt your fingers twitch at your sides. “For what to happen?”

His jaw clenched. “For us to become strangers.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to.

You turned away slightly, staring at the water pooling in the cracks of the pavement. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you let it.”

“I know.”

There was something in his voice—something close to regret, or maybe guilt—but you didn’t know if it was enough.

“Then why are you here, Felix?”

Silence.

You finally looked back at him, heart pounding. He was already watching you, his expression guarded, but there was something raw in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just—” He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I saw you leave. And suddenly, nothing else felt important.”

The rain blurred the edges of everything, made the world feel quieter. It was just you and him, standing on the edge of something that had already fallen apart, something that could never go back to what it was.

Your chest ached.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

Felix’s breath hitched. “I know.”

And yet, neither of you moved.

Because despite everything—despite the pain, the distance, the silence—he had come back.

But you didn’t know if it was enough.

Not this time.

The rain didn’t let up. It soaked through your hoodie, clung to your skin, made everything colder than it should be. But none of it compared to the chill settling in your chest as you stood there, staring at Felix like you were still trying to figure out if he was real.

If this moment was real.

His words echoed in your head. I saw you leave. And suddenly, nothing else felt important.

It should have meant something.

It did mean something.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because if he had really cared—if you had really mattered—he wouldn’t have needed a reminder. He wouldn’t have let you drift so far away in the first place.

Felix shifted again, eyes darting across your face like he was searching for something. Some kind of answer, some kind of permission to step closer, to fix what had already cracked beyond repair.

“I never wanted to lose you,” he said

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

Felix flinched, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud. Like he thought you’d keep pretending that everything was fine—that this wasn’t breaking you in ways you didn’t know how to fix.

His mouth opened, then closed. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, uncertain. He looked like he wanted to take a step forward, but he didn’t. Maybe because he knew he had no right to.

“I never wanted to lose you,” he said, voice barely audible over the rain.

Something sharp curled in your chest. You let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You say that like you didn’t let it happen.”

Felix exhaled, frustrated. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” you shot back, the words slicing through the air between you.

A beat of silence. Felix’s brows knitted together, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down at the wet pavement, like the answer he wanted was somewhere between the cracks in the concrete.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, heart pounding against your ribs.

“You didn’t even try, Felix.”

He looked up then, eyes searching yours like he could find a different truth hidden there—one that made this easier, one that erased all the months of distance and silence. But there was nothing. No way to rewrite what had already happened.

“I did try,” he whispered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

You stared at him, rain dripping from your lashes. “No, you didn’t.”

Because trying wasn’t just sending a late-night hey, hope you’re doing okay text after weeks of silence. Trying wasn’t brushing off missed calls with sorry, got busy. Trying wasn’t letting you feel like you were the only one who cared enough to hold on.

Trying meant fighting for you.

And Felix hadn’t done that.

Felix had let go.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I thought you didn’t need me anymore.”

That made something in you snap. “Are you serious?”

Felix blinked, startled by the edge in your voice.

“I needed you, Felix,” you said, each word trembling with the weight of everything you had never said. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

His face twisted in something close to regret. “I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask.” The rain filled the silence that followed, a steady, relentless downpour.

Felix’s gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

“I miss you,” he admitted, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

God. You had waited so long to hear those words. Had imagined them in so many different ways, in so many different scenarios where things still had a chance to be fixed.

But now?Now, it was too late.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes stinging. “I miss you too.” Felix looked up at you, something raw and desperate flickering across his face. “Then—”

“We can’t go back.”

It hurt to say it. Hurt even more to watch the way Felix’s entire expression shattered.

But it was the truth.

Because even if you missed him, even if you would always care, you couldn’t keep breaking your own heart waiting for him to choose you first.

Felix sucked in a breath like he was going to argue, like he was going to find some way to fix this—but then he stopped.

He saw it in your eyes.

This was the end.

Felix nodded once, barely perceptible. His lips parted, but whatever he was about to say died before it could reach you.

And then—just like that—he turned and walked away.

You watched him go, rain soaking through your clothes, through your skin, through the hollow spaces he had left behind.

You had spent so long being afraid of losing him.

You never realized he was already gone.

Even as Felix disappeared into the rain, you stood there.

Frozen.

Drenched.

Ruined.

The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, stretching toward the place where he had just been. Like even the world itself was reaching for him. Like even the universe didn’t want to let him go.

But you couldn’t chase him.

Not this time.

You sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t feel like enough. The air was thick with something heavy—regret, grief, the ghosts of every moment that led to this. It settled in your lungs, made it impossible to breathe.

You wiped a hand over your face, but it was pointless. Your tears mixed with the rain, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe that was a mercy. Maybe if you stayed out here long enough, you could convince yourself that you weren’t falling apart, that the cold biting at your skin wasn’t loneliness, that the ache in your chest wasn’t the shape of him.

But it was.

It had always been him.

And now, for the first time, you had to figure out who you were without him.

You forced yourself to move, every step heavier than the last. By the time you made it inside your apartment, your limbs felt like lead. The door clicked shut behind you, but the silence was unbearable. Suffocating.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

For one stupid, hopeful second, you thought it might be him. That maybe, just maybe, Felix would still fight for you, even after everything.

But it wasn’t.

It was Jisung.

Jisung (11:47 PM): You okay?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but what were you supposed to say? No? I just lost the most important person in my life? I don’t know how to be okay without him?

Instead, you typed out the safest lie you could manage.

Y/n (11:48 PM): Yeah. Just tired.

You stared at the message, then shut off your phone before Jisung could respond.

Because if you saw another text asking if you were okay, you might actually break.

You moved on autopilot, peeling off your soaked clothes, dragging yourself into the shower. The hot water burned against your skin, but you barely felt it. Your hands pressed against the tiles, head hanging low, eyes squeezed shut.

You had done the right thing.

Hadn’t you? Your breath shuddered out of you.

If it was the right thing, then why did it hurt so much?

The water kept running, steam curling around you, but it didn’t wash anything away. The ache sat deep in your bones, untouched, unmovable.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, forehead pressed against the tiles, listening to the steady rhythm of the water hitting the floor. Long enough for your fingers to wrinkle. Long enough for your mind to spiral back to every memory you had tried to bury.

Felix laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, head tipped back like he had never known a bad day in his life.

Felix waiting for you after class, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

Felix on your bedroom floor at two in the morning, telling you about his dreams like they were something tangible, something he could hold in the palm of his hands.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Always him.

And now, never again.

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to move. The shower was supposed to help, supposed to make you feel lighter, but when you stepped out, you only felt emptier.

You went through the motions.

Towel. Clothes. Lights off. Bed.

But sleep didn’t come.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, rain still tapping against the window like it refused to let you forget what had just happened. Like it wanted to remind you that Felix had stood in front of you, close enough to touch, and you had let him walk away.

Your phone buzzed again.

You didn’t check it.

Couldn’t.

Because if it wasn’t him, then that meant he had really let you go.

And if it was him—if he had reached out, if he had found the words that had been missing tonight—then you didn’t trust yourself not to answer.

Didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart all over again. So you turned your phone face-down and let the silence swallow you whole.

The next morning, you woke up feeling like you had spent the entire night drowning.

Your head ached. Your body was heavy. The space beside you in bed felt too cold, even though Felix had never been there, even though it wasn’t his place to fill.

Jisung was waiting for you at the café, two cups of coffee already sitting on the table.

He took one look at you and sighed. “Yeah, that bad, huh?” You sank into the chair across from him, rubbing at your temples. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jisung snorted. “That’s cute. You think I’m giving you a choice.”

You shot him a glare. “Jisung.”

“You,” he shot back, mimicking your tone. Then he leaned forward, expression softer. “Just tell me, did you at least say what you needed to say?”

You hesitated.

Because what did that even mean?

Had you told Felix how much he had hurt you? Yes.

Had you told him you still loved him, even now? No.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the coffee cup. “I said enough.”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t tell you that “enough” wasn’t the same thing as closure.

And maybe that was why you had always loved Jisung in a different way. Because he understood when to fill the silence, and when to just let it sit between you.

But you also knew him too well to miss the way his eyes flickered with hesitation before he spoke again.

“So,” he said, dragging out the word. “You didn’t check your phone this morning, did you?”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

Jisung winced, like he already knew how this was going to go. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table.

You stared at the screen.

At the text from Felix.

At the words that made your entire world tilt.

Felix (3:12 AM): I’m sorry. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve fought harder.

Your breath caught. Jisung shifted, watching you carefully. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You didn’t know.

Because Felix was too late. But you weren’t sure if your still even heart cared.

[lingrimmart]

~ sunglasses ~

1. Junyver and Ingrid

2. Elias aka Marestail and Roui

[gothwizardmagic]

having a longhaired cat is so fucked up summer is over and shes starting to get rounder and rounder and every time i see her circular ass sitting there and think about how its only march and she still has MONTHS more fur growing time before winter hits i genuinely tear up at the thought of how fucking Huge she is going to be

[mishkakagehishka]

I love having one (1) tumblr blog for everything bc it's like "i don't think my dad actually even likes me. Anyway come look at my blorbos. Also i'm thinking about writing a satirical novel"

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I was so caught up in the euphoria of finding a good title for my wip, that for like 2 months I lived in a world where other people being able to come up with the same idea didn't exist.

[dveam]

almost ordered the stickers but then I remembered that I promised to myself to be more responsible with my money

[stonersweetiexx]

A coworker invited me to join her for a book club event at a local book store. We are reading Hello Gorgeous by Ann Napolitano. I have never heard of the book, but I need to be more social so I am going to step out of my comfort zone.

[onrainynights]

aaaaaaaaaa

[bapydemonprincess]

If one more person in my vicinity insists August is a Summer month I will-🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

[camscendants]

I just heard the school bus pass my house 🥺

[commodoreshock]

Turns out my coping mechanism for being treated like a child at 36 is to in turn act fucking childish

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall Free

"The Food and Drug Administration approved new mRNA coronavirus vaccines Thursday [August 22, 2024], clearing the way for shots manufactured by Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna to start hitting pharmacy shelves and doctor’s offices within a week.

Health officials encourage annual vaccination against the coronavirus, similar to yearly flu shots. Everyone 6 months and older should receive a new vaccine, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends.

The FDA has yet to approve an updated vaccine from Novavax, which uses a more conventional vaccine development method but has faced financial challenges.

Our scientific understanding of coronavirus vaccines has evolved since they debuted in late 2020. Here’s what to know about the new vaccines.

Why are there new vaccines?

The coronavirus keeps evolving to overcome our immune defenses, and the shield offered by vaccines weakens over time. That’s why federal health officials want people to get an annual updated coronavirus vaccine designed to target the latest variants. They approve them for release in late summer or early fall to coincide with flu shots that Americans are already used to getting.

The underlying vaccine technology and manufacturing process are the same, but components change to account for how the virus morphs. The new vaccines target the KP.2 variant because most recent covid cases are caused by that strain or closely related ones...

Do the vaccines prevent infection?

You probably know by now that vaccinated people can still get covid. But the shots do offer some protection against infection, just not the kind of protection you get from highly effective vaccines for other diseases such as measles.

The 2023-2024 vaccine provided 54 percent increased protection against symptomatic covid infections, according to a CDC study of people who tested for the coronavirus at pharmacies during the first four months after that year’s shot was released...

A nasal vaccine could be better at stopping infections outright by increasing immunity where they take hold, and one is being studied in a trial sponsored by the National Institutes of Health.

If you really want to dodge covid, don’t rely on the vaccine alone and take other precautions such as masking or avoiding crowds...

Do the vaccines help prevent transmission?

You may remember from early coverage of coronavirus vaccines that it was unclear whether shots would reduce transmission. Now, scientists say the answer is yes — even if you’re actively shedding virus.

That’s because the vaccine creates antibodies that reduce the amount of virus entering your cells, limiting how much the virus can replicate and make you even sicker. When vaccination prevents symptoms such as coughing and sneezing, people expel fewer respiratory droplets carrying the virus. When it reduces the viral load in an infected person, people become less contagious.

That’s why Peter Hotez, a physician and co-director of the Texas Children’s Hospital Center for Vaccine Development, said he feels more comfortable in a crowded medical conference, where attendees are probably up to date on their vaccines, than in a crowded airport.

“By having so many vaccinated people, it’s decreasing the number of days you are shedding virus if you get a breakthrough infection, and it decreases the amount of virus you are shedding,” Hotez said.

Do vaccines prevent long covid?

While the threat of acute serious respiratory covid disease has faded, developing the lingering symptoms of “long covid” remains a concern for people who have had even mild cases. The CDC says vaccination is the “best available tool” to reduce the risk of long covid in children and adults. The exact mechanism is unclear, but experts theorize that vaccines help by reducing the severity of illness, which is a major risk factor for long covid.

When is the best time to get a new coronavirus vaccine?

It depends on your circumstances, including risk factors for severe disease, when you were last infected or vaccinated, and plans for the months ahead. It’s best to talk these issues through with a doctor.

If you are at high risk and have not recently been vaccinated or infected, you may want to get a shot as soon as possible while cases remain high. The summer wave has shown signs of peaking, but cases can still be elevated and take weeks to return to low levels. It’s hard to predict when a winter wave will begin....

Where do I find vaccines?

CVS said its expects to start administering them within days, and Walgreens said that it would start scheduling appointments to receive shots after Sept. 6 and that customers can walk in before then.

Availability at doctor’s offices might take longer. Finding shots for infants and toddlers could be more difficult because many pharmacies do not administer them and not every pediatrician’s office will stock them given low demand and limited storage space.

This year’s updated coronavirus vaccines are supposed to have a longer shelf life, which eases the financial pressures of stocking them.

The CDC plans to relaunch its vaccine locator when the new vaccines are widely available, and similar services are offered by Moderna and Pfizer."

-via The Washington Post, August 22, 2024

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

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⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[heechwe]

so high school | 𝖑𝖍𝖘

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, nerd!reader, tutor!au, high school au, oral (f + m receiving), penetration (all characters are of age!), light choking ୨୧ synopsis: You and your boyfriend are complete opposites on paper—you, the girl hidden inside a book, and Heeseung, the star of the basketball team—but it feels so right every time you’re together.

Heeseung at the free-throw line, certain he will make the basket and win the championship, turns to look at you in the stands. The sounds of his coach, taunts from the opposing team, encouragement of his teammates, and commotion of the final game of the season all fade into the background. To him, all that matters besides the ball in his hands is you.

You, amongst the others in the crowd with their hearts in their mouths, have no fears for your boyfriend. The star player who’s going to make history has never given you doubts before in his talents. All you can do is smile, incredibly proud and incredulous at the thought that he is all yours and nobody else’s.

It’s almost unimaginable how the two of you found each other, coming from completely different worlds. But like all stories, similar to the ones you’ve read since childhood, the story of you and Heeseung has a clear beginning…

AUGUST

“Do you ever stop to—I don’t know—not read?” Jungwon asks, jotting down notes in his notebook.

You giggle and flip the page. “It’s the last book on Choi’s summer reading list. Besides,” you retort, looking directly at your best friend, “how else would I be able to read and still remember what you just said to me if I didn’t practice?”

“Fuck off.” You lightly knock his shoulder with yours.

Even though it was still very early in the school year, you still had a lot to concentrate  on with the month coming to an end. Like the first novel Mrs. Choi selected on her extensive reading list. You planned to discuss it with the members of the school’s book club, your notes already tucked in your backpack for today’s Friday meeting.

Now, sitting with Jungwon in the hallway as you eat your lunch, your focus is solely on finishing the last fifty pages of the last book in the list Mrs. Choi created. Jungwon closes his notebook and gets up from his spot next to you. “Alright, I gotta head to Chem.  I’ll see you after school!” With a wink, he runs down the hallway and disappears down the corner.

Who you don’t expect to pop up next to disturb the sudden quiet of the surrounding area is Lee Heeseung, star shooting guard for the school’s basketball team. You never spoke to him before, but his reputation and family’s legacy preceded him. His brother was the shooting guard for the team years ago, breaking numerous records before he graduated. Now, Heeseung’s definitely filling his brother’s shoes and then some.

As a person, however, you know nothing about the boy at all. This year, though, you shared the same English class with Mrs. Choi. She cared little for his extracurriculars or persona around campus; what mattered to her was the effort of her students and the quality of the classwork.

Heeseung passes you by on his way towards his destination, not sparing a glance. You sit attentively as he knocks on Mrs. Choi’s classroom door.

She answers after a moment, a somber smile on her lips. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lee?”

He clears his throat and asks her, “You saw my message and I—“

“I am aware, Mr. Lee. My response still stands. Is there something else you need?” Mrs. Choi sees you out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t acknowledge your snooping.

“I will do anything to correct my last assignment. Please,” Heeseung begs.

“Mr. Lee, the cutoff for submissions was last week. I’m sorry, but your grade is final.” She sighs and looks at her watch.

“There’s nothing I can do to bring it up before the first game?” Heeseung asks, his voice growing thin from his frustration. He’s not rude, but clearly disappointed he isn’t getting his way with his big eyes and pleading words.

“How about this? I’ll tell Coach Sung you’re working on a paired project to make up the grade.”

“Perfect.” Heeseung breathes a sigh of relief before he takes in the rest of her sentence. “Wait, who’s my partner?”

Mrs. Choi extends her arm out to point in your direction. Immediately, you want to tuck yourself in your book and hide. You did not intend for your interest in their conversation to put you right in the middle of it, and now you wish you hadn’t feigned curiosity at all.

“She’s one of my best students, so you’re in great hands.” She turns her head so both you and Heeseung can hear her. “I’ll send both of you the information for the project later today.”

You didn’t notice Heeseung had kept his focus on you until you broke your stare-off with Mrs. Choi. Her lips are upturned in a secret smirk when you turn your attention to him.

Heeseung isn’t bad to look at, the definition of his muscles peeking out of his shirt in multiple places and his brown hair falling into his face. Each piece of his physical being represents the epitome of a Greek god’s form. But the fact neither of you had ever interacted up to this point is what scares you more than his intimidatingly good looks.

When Mrs. Choi gently closes the door, Heeseung awkwardly walks over to your position, towering over you. Ironically, his presence physically embodies your feelings towards him, this stranger now being shoved into your life.

“I’m Heeseung.”

You give him a close-lipped smile and extend your hand out to him, your name leaving your lips immediately. Displaying fake confidence, you hope he can’t tell how terrified you are.

His eyes brighten when his hand touches yours. You stand up, hand still in his, and the feeling of his palm against yours causes you to fumble your next words. “S-so I guess I should give you my number. I mean so once we get the assignment—“

Heeseung smirks. “Usually girls flirt a little more before asking for my number.”

You scoff and tuck your book closer. “I was offering to give you mine, actually. For educational purposes.”

The noise of his laughter fills the small corridor. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly feeling annoyance creeping under your skin. “Well, if it’s that hard to swap information, you can find me after school in the library.” You walk away, but Heeseung follows quickly behind.

“I have practice once the last bell rings.”

You look at him with serious eyes, not bothering to stop your stride towards the stairs. “Tell Coach you can’t make it.”

“Are you nuts?” Heeseung says, eyes wide.

You smirk. “You have to get your grade up to play, right?”

You watch the clock in the library with scrutiny. Members of the book club have been gone for half an hour, but you chose to stay behind. School let out an hour ago, and yet you’re still holding out hope Heeseung will come. But every minute that goes by proves you have to face facts: you’re now forced to collaborate with a stereotypical jock.

Mr. Kim, the head librarian, puts the disorganized books on the shelves as you tap your pencil on the table. “Waiting for someone? You don’t usually stick around this late,” Mr. Kim says with a smile.

You grin back, the sentiment not reaching your eyes. “You could say that.”

After another ten minutes of silence, you give up. You begin packing up your belongings, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself the entire time. Curse your interest in the guy and his lack of care for his academics. No wonder his grade was in the tank already. What was the point of athletics if he didn’t have other prospects to fall back on?

Just as you’re walking out of the library, Heeseung runs into you. Sweat’s dripping from his forehead and his breaths are labored. Clearly, he chose basketball over your project. You want to punch him for putting you both in this position.

“I swear I was going to blow off practice,” Heeseung says, but he can see your doubt in his words on your face.

“Sure. How about this? Figure out how to do the project on your own.” You press your body into his to push him out of your way. He follows in suit and rubs the spot you shoved, pretending to be wounded.

It only fuels your ire. You’ve only spoken to the jerk twice and you’re already tired of him treating every word you say and feeling you have like a joke. “Is failing that amusing to you?”

Heeseung’s expression immediately goes cold. “I’m not failing.”

“Sure. So Choi’s just doing this to torture you.”

He weighs his response in his mind before answering. “I may not be perfect, but Choi is really hard on grading.”

“That first assignment was just about what your future looks like after high school.” You push your backpack over your arm. “Excuse her for thinking you had plans outside of throwing a ball around a field.”

That laugh of his may just be the end of your life. He chuckles hard and puts a hand out to stop you. “First of all, that’s football.” He tries to make you look at him directly, but you refuse, too angry to give into what he wants. 

He continues anyway. “Second, basketball is my life. Past, present, future, okay? Without it, I don’t even know where I’d be.”

His voice is sincere, more honest than it’s been before. Regardless, your understanding and disappointment is evident. “Don’t you think that that’s the problem?”

“It hasn’t been one before. Suddenly I say it out loud and it’s an issue?” Heeseung’s voice raises a decibel, clearly agitated and back to his cold exterior.

If he wants to fight about this, you’re game.

“No,” you say, matching his vocal level. “The issue is that your focus is solely on basketball when there’s more important things in life than a dumbass court and sweaty guys trying to make touchdowns.” 

“You’re mixing up your sports analogies, angel.” Heeseung steps closer, testing your boundaries. Your chest heaves up and down, your breath labored. You may just slap him if he gets closer.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” A fraction of his expression slips. His eyes challenge you in both irritation and anxiety. The bravado’s merely a mask for the fear that he’ll lose the one thing he wants the most in this world. And did you have it in you to be the reason he couldn’t have it?

You sigh and rub your palm across your forehead. “Tomorrow, meet me at the marketside pier. 8 AM. Take it or leave it.”

He releases a humorless chuckle. “You’re not gonna make this easy are you?”

“Not on your life.”

Heeseung is there at one of the pier’s wooden picnic tables with his materials sprawled out when you arrive at 7:45. You weren’t expecting for him to be there on time, much less earlier than you. The sun reflects off of his hair, turning the brown curls almost orange. Like the first time you saw him, you can’t help but be reminded that he is painstakingly attractive.

You give him a shy smile and put your backpack down next to you.

“I can tell you’re surprised,” Heeseung says with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah.” You unzip your bag to grab your English textbook. “I thought on the weekends you typically do…’fitness stuff.’” He laughs at your air quotes.

“Well, to be honest, I wake up at 6 AM every morning for drills with my dad.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Like you said, my sole focus is on that damn ball,” Heeseung says, opening his own textbook. “But I want to change that.”

“So you can keep playing,” you remind him, teasing the poor guy.

“Half true,” Heeseung says. “But I shouldn’t have left you hanging, yesterday.”

You nod. “I appreciate your apology.” You grab a pencil from your bag, pushing on the eraser until the lead pops up. “And I shouldn’t have been so judgmental. You have to be good at stuff besides basketball, even if it’s not studying.”

“Hey! I’m doing well in all my other classes, thank you very much.” You both share a minute of laughter. “But, to be honest, I do like to sing.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

“For real! One day, I’ll take you to karaoke. I won’t make fun of you if you can’t keep up with me.”

“Okay, we’ll see.” You direct his focus back on to the page. “Now, onto Shakespeare.”

SEPTEMBER

Although Heeseung took his sweet, laborious time to translate and understand Shakespeare’s old English, the project went off without a hitch. Mrs. Choi was even surprised herself, in disbelief you pulled such an expansive and well-thought analysis out of the quintessential jock.

Now, it seemed the best next step to keep Heeseung on the right track was to sit him right next to you. Your initial partnership continued to benefit him in both his success in English and focus on academics, possibly for the first time in his high school career.

Better than that, he may have found a new friend in you that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

By the end of one Tuesday class, Heeseung asks you to have lunch with him and his friends, a request that makes your previous seating buddy in English, Yujin, freak out.

Both her and Jungwon corner you on your way out when you tell them the news.

“No fucking way,” she whispers excitedly, slapping you on the back with vigor.

“That hurt,” you moan.

“Are you prepared?” Jungwon asks, smirking.

“Prepared for what?”

“The lion’s den, dude! You’re gonna be with not just his douche friends, but also the cheerleaders, other sports players…be prepared for the worst,” Jungwon grumbles.

“Oh shut up, Won!” Yujin threatens to hit him too, but he retracts. “Have fun on your pseudo first date.”

“It’s not a date!”

By the time lunch comes around, you hold yours with shaky hands, searching the lunch courtyard for the jock’s table. You usually sat with Jungwon or Yujin in the hallway of the English department to eat. Now, you’re a small fish in a big pond, waiting to be eaten alive.

Was it, in fact, a date, like your friends hypothesized? Did you have to try and impress Heeseung more than normal? Did you want Heeseung to take you on a date, real or fake, to begin with?

"Hey!"

Heeseung waves you over with a confident but over-exaggerated arm, flapping it wildly so you notice. He didn't need to do that, though; you could pick out his voice in any crowd.

You walk over with a smile and sit down, feeling small next to the strangers you had not met until this moment. The basketball team's not unwelcome, but they are awkward at your sudden presence at their usual lunch table, even if Heeseung made it known beforehand that you would be hanging out with them to eat.

He says your name and introduces you to his friends. "And that's Sunghoon, Jeongsong, and Jaeyun." You recognize the last two, Jay and Jake. Jake, the strikingly blonde one, has Chemistry with you this year. He smiles and tips his soda can at you in acknowledgement.

"Hee was telling us you’ve been saving him this term in English. Choi can be a pain in the ass, am I right?" Sunghoon and Jeongsong share a laugh, but you bristle at the comment.

"Not really," you say. "Choi sponsors my book club, so we have a good relationship. I think that's why she wanted me to whip Heeseung into shape in the first place." You elbow Heeseung in the side, and he grins in response.

"She's probably right."

"Book club kid, huh?" Jake asks. "Haven't been one of those since elementary school."

Jake's comments make the entire team laugh. Your cheeks turn pink and Heeseung takes a sip from his drink, his posture stiffening in the process.

"It's not a bad thing though," Jake interjects amidst their laughter. "Books are fun."

"A bit nerdy, though," Sunghoon comments.

A girl next to Sunghoon smacks him hard in the arm, but he just pokes his tongue at her.

Your anxiety spikes sitting there with all of these people, your gut feelings a reminder that they’re all a part of Heeseung’s world, not yours.

You clear your throat and stand up from the table. “I forgot to say, Hee, I have to do something for Choi anyway.” Heeseung’s face turns down at the corners. The only audible response you receive is from Jay and Sunghoon in the form of snickers.

”Run along, pet,” Sunghoon comments with a smirk.

You hope your eyes give the offense you won’t bother saying out loud. Fuck off, asshole.

When you make it to your usual lunch spot, Yujin and Jungwon are surprised to see you walking down the hallway.

”What happened?” Yujin asks.

”Exactly what Won said was going to happen,” you confess, sitting down in a criss-cross position beside her. “Now give me your chips.”

When the end of the day comes around, Heeseung catches you on your usual trek to the bus. “You’re forgiven, by the way.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What did I do?”

”You left me alone with my shithead teammates! I needed you there for backup, y’know.” He smirks and grabs your backpack from your shoulder to put around his arm. “I’m sorry about them. Sunghoon, mostly.”

”Can’t believe you’re friends with that guy,” you mumble.

”He’s the only one who I’m not friends with, truthfully. The others are cool. They’re just not used to new people.”

”I never would have guessed.”

Heeseung’s laugh is hearty, with a dazzling smile to match. You can almost forget the heap of embarrassment you felt earlier when you look at him like this, carefree and youthful.

“Anyway, let me give you a ride,” he offers, pointing to the senior parking lot. His car is freshly washed, its coat of paint identical to the school’s colors of blue with silver accents.

”What will your friends say?” you ask with a fake gasp.

”Fuck them. Besides, you’re also one of my friends. Now let’s go.” He takes your hand to walk in the direction of his car, not releasing your palm until you’re at his passenger side door.

As you give him directions, your mind goes back to the labels you had been running through in your mind all day. Were you Heeseung’s friend? Yes. Did you want to be more? Surely he didn’t just ask anyone to have lunch with him and his friends if he didn’t have other intentions, right? So, in that case, did yours match his?

A part of you wants to say yes, but the rational piece keeps you in check. It’s ridiculous to expect more than a friendship. How could you when it was so obvious your worlds were so far from each other, your friendship a simple fluke? You were grateful for his presence in your life, knowing without him it would be a bit darker, but would it last?

Yet here you were. Sitting happily in his car, hair blowing in the wind as his thumb grazes the outside of your hand, you try to enjoy all the time you do have together.

OCTOBER

”This is ridiculous!”

”Come on, just try it!”

”When did I ever say I was good at sports?” You groan, holding the ball in your hands with nervous fingers. The basketball court at your local park is occupied only by you and Heeseung, but it feels as though there’s a thousand people in the metal stands watching you, waiting for you to mess up.

”You said if I passed the last test you would let me show you how to make a free throw.” Heeseung has his hands in his pockets, his letterman jacket flapping in the autumn wind.

“If I suck at this, you’re never going to talk to me again. Just watch.” You try to dribble the ball across the court, but it falls between your legs before you can travel any further.

Heeseung puts his face behind his hand, clearly chuckling to himself. You scoff at him and the response you saw coming the second he put the ball in your hands. “See? I told you you would think I’m embarrassing!”

He raises his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just cute, that’s all.”

”’Cute’ is probably the nicest way you could say I’m embarrassing.” You kick the basketball in his direction. He catches it without any effort, his face still shaped in a state of enjoyment.

”I said cute because I meant cute, you dork.” He steps to the free-throw line and motions for you to join him. You do, grumbling and grunting the entire way.

”Now, you have to relax. The only way you have half a shot at making the basket is if you stop tensing up.” He hands you the ball again and steps behind you.

He puts his hands on your hips. his palms soft against your hoodie. You can practically feel the heat of his skin through the material of your clothing, and you hope he can’t tell how much your heartbeat has spiked from him being so close to you.

”Next thing is to bend your knees. They can’t be locked up.” You listen to his words, trying not to focus on how his body is making yours react. You may be imagining it, but even his voice sounds a bit breathless from the small distance between yourself and him.

His lips are ghosting over your ear when he says, ”Now shoot.”

You release the ball from your hands, hoping the angle of your throw and Heeseung’s directions will prove you’re partially competent. 

And sure enough, the basket makes it in a single whoosh. You turn in Heeseung’s grasp, releasing a happy cheer. “That was amazing!”

You feel the rush of the shot in your veins, but suddenly the only thing that makes your body hum in pleasure is the sudden crash of Heeseung’s lips against yours.

Unsure how to react, you stand there frozen in place as his mouth moves on its own accord. But slowly, surely, happily, you fall deeply into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel the press of his tongue against your mouth, begging for entrance.

You comply, letting the feeling of him and the thrill of this private moment in both of your worlds fill you to the brim with quiet pleasure and happiness.

[LHS] Can we talk, please?

[LHS] Did I do something wrong??

[LHS] IDC if you don’t respond. I’ll keep texting until you say something…

[LHS] Don’t leave me hanging :(

You sigh and throw your phone to the other side of the bed, tucking your comforter closer to your chest. Deciding to stay home from school was probably not the best way to handle your problems, but just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you’re sensible all the time.

This weekend’s excursion with Heeseung was beautiful, no doubt. But the fears continued to creep in with little regard for how happy he made you that day or all the days that came before it. Would how he felt about you last any longer than his basketball season? Did he entertain this simply for the fact that it was entertainment and nothing more? 

The thoughts had been too much when you said goodbye to him on your doorstep with another hasty, giddy kiss and all the hours following it. Maybe you were self-sabotaging, but it was better to manage expectations now than be crushed in the aftermath.

When Yujin calls you during lunch, you have half a mind to ignore it. You answer anyway to avoid your friends thinking something drastic happened.

”Hello,” you mumble, the effects of your late morning nap hitting you.

”Dude, Heeseung’s on a tear today. He even asked Jungwon where you were, and I didn’t even think he knew the kid existed. What the hell happened on Saturday?”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of your doorbell. “I gotta go. I’ll tell you later.” You hang up, hastily grabbing your fuzzy robe before running downstairs.

You don’t bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, but you curse yourself for not doing so when you’re confronted with Heeseung. He’s a sweaty and panting mess, but he doesn’t care for his appearance. His face morphs into relief when he sees you staring back at him.

”Thank God,” he says before stepping closer to you. He runs his hand over your forehead, frowning. “You’re not sick.”

You shake your head.

”So, you just ignore me all weekend and then don’t show up to school today?”

You sigh. “I didn’t know what to say when I saw you.”

He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. “So you chose not to see me at all? Was kissing me that terrible?

”No!” You run a frustrated hand through your hair, the spot in your hallway suddenly too cramped. You push him back outside and close the door behind you. “I don’t regret it at all. And I’d do it again if I could.”

Heeseung smirks at that, clearly happy with your response. “So, what’s the problem?”

”The problem is that when you get bored of me, things won’t go back to normal for me like they will for you, Hee. You may think this is a game but—“

Heeseung’s sudden laugh is marked with a bitterness. His eyes grow serious, so much so your words stop short because of his stone expression

”Do you think that little of me?”

Your body tenses at his words, unsure how to respond. You have never thought of him as lesser than once, not since getting to know him. But maybe only looking at your feelings regarding your relationship compromised his own in the process.

He steps closer, your faces an inch apart. “Two months ago, I didn’t realize how much my life was going to change because of you. All I thought about before was basketball. And now, you’re one of the only things outside of that damn game that matters to me. When I haven’t talked to you or seen you for too long it’s like there’s this rock in my gut that I can’t get rid of. I kissed you because I wanted to, not for fun or because it’s this momentary thing.

”So, if you still think I’m going to get bored of you in a few days or weeks or months, then you really aren’t as smart as I thought you were, angel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Breathless would be too small of a word to describe how his speech affects you. You feel the same buzz of his kiss from a few days throughout your entire body from his words alone. It makes every worry and fear that has plagued you evaporate, replaced with his promises and all the reasons you should jump in headfirst without another thought.

So you do.

You kiss him hard, crashing into his lips and hoping all of the feelings he harbors reflect in the actions of your mouth. You hold onto him with your hands on his neck and the smoothness of your lips in a beautiful rhythm with each other.

Whatever happens next, you know there’s no turning back now.

NOVEMBER

“And Sim, our prime point-guard, passes to Lee. Lee has ten seconds to make another three pointer and win the game. Will he do it? Time to find out!” Kim Sunwoo screams into the microphone, broadcasting the highlights of the semi-final game to the many listeners not attending in-person.

Lucky for you, you have the perfect spot in the stands to watch Heeseung make the winning basket and lead the team to victory.

The crowd roars when your boyfriend secures the team’s spot in the championship game. His teammates lift him up above their heads and shoulders, chanting his name and holding him with all of their strength. Heeseung immediately searches the crowd for you, his excitement fueling his newfound focus.

When he does see you, clapping your hands and cheering with the rest of the bystanders, he kisses the inside of his palm and shoots it in your direction like he’s making another basket. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, but you only blush and wink.

Ever since that day on your doorstep, you can’t seem to separate yourself from him or the feelings he stirs up inside of you. The thought and reality of not seeing or hearing from him for too long immediately dampens your spirits, just like Heeseung described to you when he confessed. Jungwon calls you “lovesick fools” every time you both are in his presence, but it’s not that. The love you feel for your boyfriend is one that strengthens every sense, impulse, and desire. Without it and him, that’s when you feel the weakest. And every time Heeseung smiles at you or holds you close, you can tell he feels the same.

Whether your worlds were the exact same or as different as they possibly could be, you both made your own perfectly fit for just the two of you.

The outside world has to creep in every once in a while, though.

At the end of the night, Heeseung’s arm is wrapped perfectly around you as you walk. You discuss your shared plans for the night and subsequent weekend since your parents are away at a work conference. Heeseung stops short when he sees his father waiting at his car with crossed arms.

“Good job, Hee,” He says first and foremost. “Saw you lost a bit of steam in the third quarter, though. We’ll have to do some more conditioning before the final.”

And there it was. The judgment you saw so often in conversations between Heeseung and his father that made you ache for the boy you loved. As his father, he should’ve been proud to see his sons succeeding, one of them off and playing for a world-renowned team and the other on his way there. Instead, all they received was judgment. It wasn’t your place, but you couldn’t wait for the day Heeseung stood up to him.

“At least I made the winning basket, right?” Heeseung shrugs off the criticism with a laugh and holds you closer. “We have to go eat, so—“

“Of course.” His father moves out of your way. “Lovely to see you again, darling,” He says to you with a small smile as he opens the passenger door for you. You return his greeting, suddenly uncomfortable with how close he is.

On your drive to your house, you try to help Heeseung destress with a hand on his thigh. “Don’t let him get to you,” you say sadly.

He smiles and gives you a knowing stare. “I’ve been dealing with him my whole life. He doesn’t have that power anymore.” He takes your hand from his thigh to hold it tightly in his own palm. “Besides, I’m one step closer to the championship and I got my girl next to me. Nothing’s getting in the way of my good night.”

You set your backpacks down at the door when you step inside your house. Heeseung follows you to the kitchen. While you’re finding the flier with the number of your favorite takeout restaurant, Heeseung presses his lips to your neck. The trail of his kisses going from the back of your ear to the start of your collarbone makes you shiver.”

“Hee,” you warn him. “We won’t be able to eat if you keep distracting me.”

“Food is the second priority,” he responds, lips feathering your skin. “Right now, we need to celebrate the championship.”

“The championship is still three weeks away.”

“If we both know I’m going to win, what’s the point of delayed gratification?” He pulls the sleeve of your shirt down to expose the top of your shoulder, kissing that area too to make your body thrum with pleasure.

“Speaking of that…” You turn to face Heesung, pressing your back against the counter. “I guess we can celebrate something tonight besides your impending win.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow.

“I got early acceptance to Sky.”

Heeseung’s eyes immediately light up at your announcement. He pulls you in by the waist and spins you around the tiny space between your kitchen island and the fridge.

When the topic of college came up, it was as good a time as any for the two of you to discuss your future plans with each other. As fate would have it, Heeseung planned to play for Sky University’s basketball team next year, and you were waiting on your official acceptance letter when you both started dating.

Now, Heeseung would have the two most important things to him in the next chapter of his life. The boy’s over the moon, as any other person would be.

Heeseung lifts you over his shoulder, immediately heading in the direction of the stairs to take you to your bedroom. He laughs off your mock protest.

He knows for certain he’s in love with you. It may not be the perfect time to say it, especially before he’s about to ravish you, but the perfect time will come when it feels right.

He doesn’t say it when he strips you bare for only his eyes as he kisses you senseless, shocked and grateful your body is for him and him alone to see and cherish. He doesn’t say it as you kiss every inch of his bare chest to send him into a rambling mess of praises and curses.

Somehow, stupidly, the words slip out when your mouth is wrapped around his cock, tongue flat against the underside of his tip as he feels the back of your throat against him.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

The air stills, both your bodies going rigid at the sudden confession that has just left his lips. But, instead of running scared, you take your mouth off of him and stare deeply into his eyes, smiling wide. “What’d you say?”

Heeseung breathes out a sigh of relief, suddenly taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you in that hallway. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You giggle and press another kiss to his lips. He sees a tear leave your eye, and he wipes it away gently with his thumb. “I love you, too, Heeseung.”

You fall back into a steady rhythm of kissing and touching, Heeseung’s hands roaming the skin of your stomach, the swell of your breasts, and the cleft between your thighs, making you moan.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Heeseung whispers against your lips.

He lays you flat on your back, kissing what areas he hasn’t touched yet with his hands. He needs you to know, in every moment, he chooses you and will never stop choosing to be with you.

If he had to make the choice to either give up the game or you, he would choose the former in a heartbeat. His dad, his friends, and even fate may say it’s young love and you haven’t been in his life as long as basketball has, but they don’t see him the way you do.

Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he doesn’t have to. 

When Heeseung finally presses his lips to your clit, kissing the nub with adoration, your legs shake at the contact. You instantly run your fingers into his hair. “Fuck,” you curse, the word rarely slipping from your lips save for moments like these.

The first time you had been together, Heeseung didn’t know exactly how to touch you without being terrified it was too much. But now he knows all the ways to turn you into a beautiful mess.

He licks languidly across your center and through your folds, keeping the perfect pace for you to ride your hips against his mouth. He inserts a finger into your entrance after coating the digit in the arousal already pooling at your center. You, typically so put together, are ready to fall apart at the simple press of his mouth against you.

Heeseung knows he can get you off this way, without question. And most nights, he doesn’t mind when you’re the only one who receives pleasure. But tonight, you moan out a request that he can’t say no to.

“Heeseung, please. I want you inside me when I come.” He doesn’t have to be told what to do twice when it’s the best command he’s heard all night.

He takes your mouth in his, holding your jaw in his hand and slightly applying pressure to the side of your neck. A half-empty moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact. To him, the sounds that you make are their own form of poetry, better than anything you’ve read to him all year.

Heeseung quickly grabs a foil packet from your bedside drawer to put on himself, protection being the one thing you can’t forget in the midst of your desire for each other. Lining himself up with your entrance, he thinks you could not look more beautiful with your half-lidded eyes and eager hands grabbing onto his hips to finally push him inside of you.

When he does ease in, he swallows the curse prepared to leave your mouth with his lips. It’s an indescribable feeling, the stretch and pull of your walls taking him in completely. Although you’ve been together many times before this night, it’s still a novelty Heeseung does not take for granted.

He takes his time establishing a rhythm, loving the pants and whimpers you emit because of him and for him. He holds his hand on your throat, his thumb going into your mouth for you to wrap your lips around in a lewd manor.

“Ah, fuck,” you say as he snaps his hips, filling you to the hilt. “Just like that.”

He feels his orgasm in his gut, threading further up his body as he snaps his hips harder and faster, moving in and out at a faster pace than normal. You don’t mind, scratching lines down his back as you cling to him. You’re both reduced to a heap of I love you’s and satisfied sounds, and it could not be more perfect.

“Fuck, Hee, I’m coming,” you say in the form of a promise, one so precious he wants to hear it every day.

The flutter of your walls around him as you fall apart pushes him to his own end, releasing into the condom with a guttural moan. He kisses you deeply before separating from you, running to the bathroom to throw the remnants of your lovemaking into the toilet and clean himself up.

You hold your arms out to him, ready to have him back by your side. He grins and kisses the crown of your forehead.

“Think about all the nights we can do this next year,” Heeseung whispers into the dark.

“I can’t wait,” you respond, pressing a kiss to his sweaty chest. “I love you.”

He grins happily to himself, the words a thousand times more powerful leaving your mouth. “I love you, too, angel.”

With your body curled into his chest, your heartbeats matching in tempo, he thinks no amount of championship wins could compare to the love he’s found in you.

DECEMBER

The basketball feels light as air in Heeseung’s hands, incomparable to the feeling in his chest looking at you. His teammates can tell he’s staring directly at your position in the stands. They wonder how his mind is still so occupied by you, even amongst the sea of spectators waiting for him to either succeed or screw up

Little do they realize, you’re the exact reason he’s going to win the title.

As he looks in your direction, he takes the shot without second-guessing himself. He hears the faint gasps of some attendees and even his coach, but the following swish of the basket in the hoop tells Heeseung all he needs to hear. And all he needs to see is your beautiful, proud face as the gym explodes into cheers.

You’re the best and truest thing he has in this world. He knows he’s a champion, in both the traditional and figurative sense. With you by his side, he’ll always feel like the winner of every game he’ll ever play.