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ckret2 · 24 days ago

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Chapter 90 of human Bill Cipher and the Mystery Shack having entered an uneasy alliance against their shared enemy: the government. Agent Powers begins to suspect his date "Goldie" is hiding something; but it's impossible to tell who to trust when the rest of the town is hiding something too.

Boy is the town ever hiding something.

A lot of somethings, as it turns out.

(There's a code in this chapter! If you're not an eager code-cracker, don't stress about figuring it out, the solution's given later in the chapter. If you are an eager code-cracker, you oughta solve it first before you read the rest of the chapter.)

####

Powers usually woke up before his alarm; but today, the alarm dragged him out of a dream to blink blearily at the thin predawn glow filtering through the thin motel curtain. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about. Something about triangles that glowed like the rising dawn.

The bed seemed bigger than it had the night before. Colder. He was suddenly acutely aware of how lonely his life was.

The motel room didn't have a coffeemaker or microwave. He remembered being frustrated by that oddity in another local motel last summer. Strange how he could remember details like that, but so little else about last summer's investigation. He'd get something at the police department.

He cleaned up, dressed, put his case file in his briefcase, and headed out.

####

"You're an early riser, Agent Powers," Sheriff Blubs observed. "Still on Washington time?"

"Washington is in the same time zone as Oregon," Powers said. "I rise with the sun. Keeps my circadian rhythm regular, keeps me sharp on the job."

"I meant..." Blubs petered out, shrugged, and sipped his coffee.

The police department's coffee was bad, but got the job done. The food on hand appeared to be slightly stale bagels and very fresh donuts. Powers would have to get a proper breakfast later.

"Find what you were looking for at the Mystery Shack?" Blubs asked.

"No," Powers sighed. But, admittedly, he'd been distracted. "But we're not done there yet. We're expecting more specialized equipment from HQ."

Blubs nodded. "Always something going on there," he muttered. "Think you'll arrest Stan Pines again?"

"Hm. According to Mr. Ramirez, he's out of town."

"Huh! Is he?"

"Allegedly. Traveling the world with..." He trailed off, fully registering what Blubs had said. "Sorry—'again'?"

"Like when you brought him in to interrogate last year?" Blubs said. "I assumed nothing came of it, since you let him go without any charges."

He had no recollection of arresting Stan Pines last year. He had no recollection of arresting anyone. He didn't even have the authority to make arrests unless he had reasonable grounds to suspect someone had committed a federal felony. And yet, something about the claim itched at the edge of his brain, like trying to remember what had triggered a case of déjà vu.

The sheriff and his deputy had been Powers's liaison with local law enforcement last summer. They'd been friendly and helpful through the whole investigation. If anybody might know what had happened and be willing to help...

He turned to Blubs. "Sheriff Blubs, did anything that you might call... unusual happen last summer?"

Suddenly Blubs couldn't meet Powers's gaze. "Well uh—never mind all that." (Déjà vu prickled at the back of Powers's mind again. Hadn't Blubs said something like that a few days ago?) Blubs took a deep sip of his coffee. "Say, do you like those donuts? Durland makes 'em!"

"Does he."

"Best donuts in Gravity Falls, if you ask me! I'm trying to watch my weight, but, hoo. Just can't resist his donuts."

Powers almost tried to push Blubs back toward his original question, but...

Have you asked anyone if anything weird happened here last summer? Try it. They act like they didn't even hear you. It's strange.

... maybe not.

####

A steady beeping interrupted Dale's sleep. He slapped his alarm clock, hit something flat and glassy instead, and opened his eyes to see what it was. He was in the car with Trigger, who was also asleep; had they both nodded off?

Last night's memories came rushing back. The old lady. They must have fallen asleep because of the coffee!

She must have used decaf.

Dale blinked at his tablet to see why it was beeping.

"Oh!" He swatted Trigger's shoulder. "Trigger!"

"Mrgh?"

"I've got the missing flash drive's signal again!"

"What?" Trigger sat bolt upright. "Where is it?"

"It's..." Dale frowned. "Ten feet in front of us?"

They looked out the windshield.

A goat, chewing a branchful of leaves, stared at them.

They exchanged a look, then scrambled out of the car. Trigger shouted, "Hey!"

The goat startled and galloped for the woods.

"Stop! Halt! Come back here!" Trigger ran after it.

Dale started to follow, turned around and jogged back to the car, retrieved his keys and phone, locked the car, and then sprinted to catch up.

####

Powers's phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered, "Hello?"

"Hey!" Dale's voice sounded breathless. "We'll be in a bit late! We're in hot pursuit of the flash drive!"

"Excellent," Powers said. "'In hot pursuit'?"

"I think a goat ate it!"

Faintly over the phone, Trigger's voice said, "Which way'd it go?"

"Uh... left, go left!" To Powers, Dale said, "By the way—thought you should know, we saw Goldie come to the Mystery Shack around one in the morning last night."

Powers's stomach flipped. That was after he'd dropped her off. "What? Why?"

"Don't know. Just thought you'd want to hear."

Baffled, he said, "Thank you. Keep me updated," and ended the call.

"Hey there, lover boy!" Durland elbowed Powers, startling him. He waggling his eyebrows. "Lazy Susan says yooou had a little date last night!"

Powers felt the back of his neck heat up. Gossip traveled fast in a small town. "Er—yes." Not very professional of him, but. "Someone I met in town a couple of days ago named Goldie." (What had she been doing at the Mystery Shack so late?)

"Oh, Goldie!" Blubs said. "Well! He's just a delight."

Powers gave him a quizzical look. He? "We... might be thinking of different Goldies."

Durland said, "Short brown gal? Big yellow hair and a gold tooth?"

A memory from dinner flashed through his mind's eye: a loose golden curl that had come loose and dangled softly in front of her eye; her gold tooth peeking out as she smirked like she knew something no one else did. His stomach flipped. "I... yes, that's her."

"Yeah, we know 'er! We're in the club for—"

"We're in a social club," Blubs cut in. "H—shhe's been looking to get out and meet new folks, I'm glad she ran into you."

A club? Why would a tourist join a club in town? "Is she... local? I was given to understand... well, I suppose I assumed she was a tourist." She'd talked like an outsider. Like it was her and Powers against the rest of this strange town. But then, she'd also talked like she knew this town well.

"Oh, she's an out of towner, but she's staying over at the Mystery Shack for a while. Old colleague of Stanford's, I think," Durland said. He looked at Blubs. "How long is she staying, did she say? Was it for the summer?"

"Could be. I don't think she's mentioned," Blubs said. "That place really fills up in the summertime."

Why hadn't she said anything?

If she was Stan's colleague, why hadn't he turned her up during their investigation into Stanford Pines's background? (Why had he investigated Stan Pines? He tried to remember.)

Why had she had him drop her off somewhere else, so far from the shack?

What was she hiding?

When Blubs stepped out of the room, Powers turned to Durland and said, voice low, "I need to ask you something. It's important."

"Sure! What is it?"

"Has there been anything... odd happening in town?" he asked. "Possibly paranormal in nature? Maybe involving the Mystery Shack?"

Durland's face immediately closed off. "Oh! Ohhh. Uh—never mind all that. Hey, Bluuubs?" He hurried from the room. "Do you need some, uh—help with the paperwork?"

Powers's eyes narrowed.

He flipped open his case file to skim while he waited for an update from his men—and a jolt shot up his back. There were only three pages in the folder. Where was the rest of it? He checked his briefcase, then rushed outside to check his car. He'd let Goldie read the file; had she...? No. He didn't want to think so.

He drove back to the hotel.

####

As soon as he unlocked the door, he saw a disheveled pile of papers lying on the dresser. He sighed in relief. They must have slid out of his file before he put it in his briefcase. He'd been distracted that morning. Careless of him. (He always seemed to be strangely careless in this town.) He put the papers back where they belonged, shut his briefcase again, and turned toward the door.

There was a rumpled paper on the floor with bright red writing on it.

He picked it up. A short message had been written with a thick marker, the large letters filling the page: "STOP DIGGING UNLESS YOU WANT TO LOSE ANOTHER AGENT."

Another agent?

Powers called Dale, tapping his foot anxiously until he picked up. "Dale! Are you alright?"

"As... as well as I can be, sir." He was breathing heavily. "A little winded. That goat's nimble—"

"What about Trigger? Is he still there?"

"Uh...? Yeah, he's nearby."

"Are you sure?" Powers demanded. "100% sure?"

"H... hold on." A few seconds of panting, and then he said, "Yessir, right here. I've got him by the hand." (Powers heard Trigger quietly ask, "What are we?")

"Good. Have either of you seen anything suspicious, anything at all?"

Trigger leaned closer to the phone to say, "I believe I saw a gnome, sir."

"I didn't see it," Dale added.

"He had a pointy red hat," Trigger reported gravely. "I could have punted him."

Didn't sound like something capable of vanishing a federal agent. "Very well. Watch each other's backs closely," Powers said. "And let me know if anything happens."

Dale said, "You got it, sir."

He hung up and studied the message again. He flipped it over; on the other side of the paper was a flier, prominently headed "Gravity Falls MUSEUM," with a calendar of activities from May. (Apparently, on Wednesdays children could try "gravel panning.") Somebody had scrawled a message on the paper in pen:

TYQ FOP

DYEIGNQL LS FAOE LLY BZYMQUFUW LYVQ DIGQ VQRIJI SAG AG LIYQ

OFWYQ KIM RYJF QWIE

Gibberish. And nobody in his team knew how to crack ciphers...

But he knew somebody in town who did.

He hesitated for just a moment; then dialed the number Goldie had given him last night.

####

Just around the corner of the motel, Stan was pressed to the wall, catching his breath. That had been a close call. He'd arrived at the motel after Agent Powers had left for the morning, picked the door lock, returned the highly classified documents Bill had pilfered, and dropped in the threatening letter Mabel had written; but he'd only barely gotten back out before Powers pulled into the parking lot. He hadn't expected Powers to return nearly so soon. (He half wondered if Bill had planned it that way. He seemed like the kind of con artist who would work throwing a partner-in-crime under the bus into his plan.)

He tiptoed past Powers's door, then ran down the block for his car.

####

Bill was dragged from sleep by the feeling of his burner phone buzzing under the couch cushion. Not already. He'd barely gotten to sleep. He'd only just started his second REM cycle. He groaned, yawned, picked it up, and tried to sound perkier than he felt. "Yello?" He stifled another yawn. "What? No, no, I'm up. Been awake for hours.

It was the call he'd been expecting. He sat up, suddenly much more awake, grinning broadly. Right into his trap. So far so good. He stretched, only half listening while Powers explained the situation. "A cipher? Yeah, sure, no problem." He grabbed a skirt and tank top, "If it's that urgent, I think I can clear my schedule! Meet you at Greasy's?"

He stuffed foundation and mascara into his umbrella, thumped down the stairs—nearly tripped in his haste—and thudded on Soos's door as he passed. "It's showtime!"

####

When Powers arrived, Goldie was already outside the diner, leaning by the door. (Had she come from the Mystery Shack?) As soon as he was out of his car, she called, "Hey, Bermuda! Making me wait for you?"

"I got here as soon as I could."

She was less made up than last night, and he realized with a sudden burst of warmth that yesterday she must have gotten gussied up for him.

His attention caught on one of her earrings as it reflected the sun into his eyes. Odd; she was wearing the same aqua green triangular earrings she'd worn yesterday—one had a gold star on it—but he hadn't noticed there was a bright gold eye painted on the other triangle. Surely he'd just missed it, though; why would it have gained an eye between last night and today?

Now that he'd noticed it, it was a reassuring sight. He saw that symbol everywhere back in Washington: over opera houses, on the gates of graveyards—even on the ceiling of the Bureau of Covert Investigations' lobby, surrounded by rays of brassy gold. When the BCI first formed, the All-Seeing Eye had been part of its logo—before the Department of Cover-Ups had hastily passed down an order to change it to their current eagle-and-magnifying-glass logo, and then covered up the order. But it hadn't been worth it to renovate the old art deco building's decor, and the Eye of God still benevolently watched over the agents.

As Powers opened the door for Goldie, he asked, "Did you call me 'Bermuda'?"

"I'm dropping a hint! I think you'd look nice in Bermuda shorts."

"O-oh."

She flashed him a brilliant smile as she swept past. "When's the last time you took a vacation, anyway? The beach in town's a lot nicer without a suit on."

In spite of everything he'd heard this morning—it was a relief to see Goldie again.

He could ask about the shack later.

Every booth and half the counter were filled up; they were seated at the end of the counter. Powers sat between Goldie and the crowd, trying as much as he could to shield their conversation from eavesdroppers. "Busier at breakfast than dinner."

"Oh, yeah, Greasy's is the hottest coffee spot in town."

"Is it that good?"

"Dunno. I prefer tea," Goldie said. "It's got more to do with the celebrity endorsement than the coffee itself. Fiddleford McGucket used to hang out here, chain drinking coffee pots. Now everyone wants to get coffee where the great inventor McGucket used to—but now that he's made it big, he doesn't come here himself anymore." She scoffed. "Doesn't that figure!"

"Ah, yes. McGucket." He'd been surprised to see that name in the news. "When I was in town last year, I heard a great deal about a local homeless man who squatted in the junkyard—an 'Old Man' McGucket. A relation of Fiddleford, or...?"

"That's the same guy."

"Huh. The man the locals described didn't sound like a genius inventor."

"He wasn't. A year ago, as far as anybody in town knew, he was just the village idiot." Goldie shrugged. "And all the sudden, the Northwests lose all their money in some kind of fraud deal nobody can make sense of, and now he's living in Northwest Manor!" She let out a disbelieving huff, and Powers was sure he detected skepticism in the cock of her brow. "I guess you can never tell, can you?"

He studied Goldie's face—so beautiful, so intelligent, smiling at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Hiding just how close she was to this town. Pretending she had nothing to do with the Mystery Shack. "I suppose you can't."

Once they'd ordered breakfast, Powers showed Goldie the threatening letter and the note on it. She studied the code critically. "It's not a simple substitution cipher," she muttered. "It can't be anything complex, not if they're just scrawling it on a museum handout and throwing it away like trash. Maybe Vigenère—you need to know a code word for that one. Either they have a standard code word we'll never guess; or, they made it something simple that the recipient would know to look for... Got a pencil?"

Powers fished around in his briefcase for a pencil and handed it over. Goldie pointed at the flier's heading—"Gravity Falls MUSEUM"—underlined the word "MUSEUM," which was larger than anything else on the page, and muttered, "Worth a shot." She drew a complicated grid lettered A to Z along the top and left sides, crossed with vertical lines and horizontal lines and diagonal lines, then wrote the word MUSEUM over and over above each letter in the encrypted text—MUS EUM MUSEUMMU... She tried to explain how the cipher worked as she set up her grid. It flew over Powers's head.

"Now let's hope I grabbed the right word." She started out needing to trace the grid to find each letter, but the farther she got in the message the less often she had to look at it, until she'd translated the whole thing:

HEY BUD

REMEMBER TO LOCK THE PNEUMATIC TUBE ROOM BEFORE YOU GO HOME

UNSEE YOU NEXT WEEK

She pushed the paper over to Powers—"It's not a lot to go on."—and dug into the omelet that had arrived while she was translating. "What does 'unsee' mean?"

"I have no idea." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It looks like somebody wrote on a scrap paper they had on hand."

"That's not much help," Goldie lamented. "Anybody who's visited the museum since May could've grabbed this calendar—and whoever grabbed it first wrote a note on it and passed it to somebody else. Anyone could have sent this to you." She gestured at the paper. "Maybe you guys can dust it for prints?"

"That takes longer than most people think. And we've both touched it now."

He reread the message. Pneumatic tube room...

Slowly, he said, "I think the museum has pneumatic tubes. I remember seeing them last year."

"Did you?" Goldie's brows shot up. "Huh. Isn't that convenient."

"It is." There couldn't be many other places in town with pneumatic tubes. Maybe the post office, but he doubted it. "This may have been written from one museum employee to another. That would narrow down the suspects..."

"Mind if I come along?" Goldie asked.

Powers gave her a puzzled look. "To?"

"The museum! I don't think I've ever been to the museum! You've got to investigate it, right?" She grinned crookedly. "You know how much I love to see you at work."

Powers tried to ignore the flush creeping up his neck. "I can't allow that. If whoever sent this threat is there, this could be dangerous. I don't want you in harm's way."

The cheeky grin slid off her face. Seriously, she said, "Then that's exactly why you need me. You don't expect me to let you walk in there without any backup, do you?"

She had a point. If Dale hadn't called him yet, he and Trigger were still pursuing the goat. He wasn't sure he could trust the police here.

He wasn't sure he could trust Goldie, either.

But she was willing to admit there was something strange in this town when nobody else was. He wanted to trust her.

And she was right. He did need backup. "Okay; but I want you to stay near the exit." He took out his phone and texted Dale's number to Goldie. "And if anything happens—get help."

####

Goldie promised to stay upstairs, looking at the exhibits; and Powers followed the pneumatic tubes to a staircase, down into the basement...

...and through an immense wooden double door, flanked by lit braziers and framed in an arch of stones, which had a carving depicting two hands cradling an eye that had been X'ed out with blood red spray paint.

Which was a weird thing to find under the museum in a town with barely 5,000 people.

He'd heard rumors about a secret society in the Pacific Northwest whose symbol was an eye with a red X through it—one of the rare secret societies that actually managed to keep its secrets. Was this...?

He eyed the lit braziers nervously—had somebody been here recently?—but closer inspection revealed the flame was actually fueled by gas. Perhaps they were always lit. Dangerous, in a museum filled with old, dry papers and fibers; he began to wonder whether the museum was a mere extension of whatever this was, and not the other way around.

He pushed through the door.

Stone subterranean chamber, more lit braziers, a life size wood carving of a robed man with outstretched arms and a crossed-out eye on his chest standing in front of what looked like a shrine. Powers wasn't one given to flights of fancy, but if he were asked to imagine where an evil secret cult might meet, he'd be hard pressed to think of anywhere more perfect than this. All it was missing was a stone table for human sacrifices.

And the room was filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of pneumatic tube canisters.

He picked a few up. All of them had names written on them, a few labeled "(VISITOR)" or "(TOURIST)", most followed by the word "MEMORIES". He recognized a couple names from his investigation in town. He tried to pry one open and couldn't. What was in these things?

He found a filing cabinet near the carving, with a paper taped on top that read, "TOP SECRET! Do NOT open unless you're permitted to see the Society of the Blind Eye's secrets! (That means NOT YOU, Jeffrey!)" Ah, well—eye with an X through it, they would be called the Blind Eye, wouldn't they.

Powers pulled open the top drawer. There were only a couple of files in this one: one contained what looked like a list, again written in code; the other held what looked like blueprints to some sort of weapon called a "Memory Gun"—and if the notes on its usage and repair in the following pages were anything to go by, the Blind Eye had one of these things and was using it regularly.

As he flipped through the blueprints, a browned, square piece of paper slipped out of the folder and fluttered to the floor. He picked it up. It looked faded and aged, smelled like coffee, and was criss-crossed by diamond creases. Jumbles of incomplete diagrams and letters covered the paper.

As he turned around, a light caught his eye—not the yellow-red flicker of the braziers but a sickly digital glow. There was a computer monitor against the wall, its screen black but for a glowing green X'ed out eye. It sat atop a box labeled "↓INSERT↓"; the label pointed toward a pneumatic tube canister half-slottered into what looked like an oversized battery holder.

Powers scanned the room to make sure he was still alone; then pushed the canister fully into the holder.

It clicked and locked in. The green eye disappeared. The screen displayed a slender woman in her late thirties with coppery hair and a couple of figures in red robes partially visible in the shadows behind her. Metal cuffs bit into the sleeves of her well-worn flannel shirt, pinning her arms to a heavy chair; as she struggled to free herself, a camera swung from a strap around her neck, but somehow Powers doubted she was a sightseeing tourist. She snarled at the video camera recording her, "Where am I?! What do you think you're doing?! If you don't let me go, I swear I'll strangle you with your own stupid red bathrobes—"

An unseen person with a deep voice and a vaguely British accent said, "Be calm. Cooperate and this will all be over soon."

"Like hell am I cooperating! Let me go!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, "HEEELP—"

One of the robed figures behind her stepped forward and clapped a large, meaty hand over her mouth. The deep voice said, "All we want is for you to tell us one thing: what is it that you have seen?"

The meaty hand tentatively uncovered her mouth so she could reply, then jerked out of the way when she tried to bite him. She snapped, "Nothing! I haven't seen a single stupid thing! You dragged me in with a bag over my head—"

"Did you not run into town, screaming in fear, claiming you were being chased by... some tall, faceless monster?"

"I—What? What does that have to do with—?" Her eyes widened. "What are you, the monster's cult?"

"Quite the opposite." The recording camera moved closer to the woman's face. Someone else snatched the woman's camera away by the neck strap. "Just be calm, think of that faceless monster... and in a moment, you'll never think of it again."

"What do you mean?" The rage slowly drained out of the woman's face, leaving only fear behind as she stared directly into the camera's lens. "What does that thing—? Don't! Don't—"

The recording ended. Static snow filled the screen. What in the world had Powers just watched?

He removed the canister from the slot and the screen went black. The label on the canister read "MRS. CORDUROY MEMORIES". He knew about the Corduroys; the eldest daughter worked for the Mystery Shack.

He had a report on Raina Corduroy's 2009 disappearance in his folder.

There was a date written on the tube canister. It was three days before her disappearance.

Goldie had told him Dan Corduroy was scared of something in the trees.

He flipped open the folder on the Memory Gun; held the canister up against a similar-looking part of the blueprints labeled "MEMORY CANISTER"; and read the other labels on the blueprints: "ELECTRIC TAPE (STORES MEMORIES)," "MEMORY SPECIFIER," "RADIATION BULB (DISASSEMBLES NEUROLOGICAL PATHWAYS)"...

And in a moment, you'll never think of it again.

It couldn't be possible.

He grabbed another memory canister laying on the right corner of the console. "MR. AND MRS. GLEEFUL MEMORIES." He'd visited a Gleeful Auto Mart just a few days ago.

He popped it into place. The screen lit up.

A woman with gray-streaked dusty brown hair sat on a plush pink sofa, sobbing into a tissue and struggling not to hyperventilate. A man—it was the Mr. Gleeful from Gleeful Auto Mart—wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. The angle was low, aimed at their knees, as though the camera had been left on a coffee table.

"It was awful," Mrs. Gleeful sobbed, "he was—he was lifting things and—throwing them around like some kind of poltergeist, or—or a demon— I've never seen my little Giddy that furious before, I've never seen anyone that furious before..." She grabbed a fresh tissue. "He's—he's got some sort of devil in him, we need to call a priest or a doctor or something—"

"Now, now, honey." Mr. Gleeful held her tighter and patted her arm. "You don't mean that. He's always been a mite tempestuous, you recall; and he's just practicing with those new powers of his—"

"Well I want those powers gone!" She pounded her fists on her bony knees. "Those powers and that awful book and—and—" She burst into heaving sobs again, flung an arm around her husband, and buried her head in his shoulder. "I just want my sweet little boy back."

Mr. Gleeful grimaced uncertainly and murmured, "I don't think I could get that book away from him if I tried." He picked up the camera—not a camera, Powers realized; the "memory gun" was designed to take recordings—and aimed it at himself and his wife. "Don't give yourself a headache crying, sweetheart; you won't worry about him anymore." He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. "And I'm sure he'll make a better first impression on us with those powers next time."

For a second, she could only sob hitchingly into his shoulder; but then she asked, voice tiny, "Next time?"

Mr. Gleeful squeezed his eyes shut.

The recording ended.

Mr. Gleeful clearly knew what the memory gun did. He'd used it voluntarily. On a suspicion, Powers searched his wallet for the business card Mr. Gleeful had given him.

His name was Bud Gleeful. HEY BUD.

Goldie had sent him to Gleeful Auto.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Bud Gleeful was a mind wiping cultist and owned the best car dealership in the county. All the same—Powers turned so he could see the door from the corner of his eye, watching it warily, as he picked up the next canister.

It had Preston Northwest's name. He was one of the most important people in town. The patriarch of the richest family in Oregon—until last summer. Descendant of the town founder—allegedly. (Powers had gone undercover at last year's Northwest Fest and seen a few things that made him doubt the credibility of the Northwest family history—but nothing firm; and he couldn't very well interview that ghost now. Something shady was going on, but that wasn't his department.)

He clicked the canister into place. The screen lit up.

The memory gun turned back and forth as Preston paced back and forth in front of his manor's windows, delicately holding a narrow stemmed glass of what looked like bubbly white grape juice, but was probably much stronger. The deep vaguely British voice was back: "Would you explain what exactly it is you called on us for, Mr. Northwest?"

Fuming, Preston said, "Some... child dug up the truth about the town's founder—as well as the founder himself! This is unacceptable!"

"It certainly sounds traumatic," deep voice agreed. "Then you'd like us to... 'liberate' the child from the burden of this memory...?"

"No no no, you don't get it—the founder is still alive! Still alive! Just... running about out there!" He ran a hand through his $300 haircut. "I can't imagine how, he must be over two hundred years old, but—well, you know what this blasted town is like!"

"Intimately," deep voice said distastefully. "Then you want us to erase the child's knowledge that the founder is alive. And perhaps yours? You seem... distressed."

"Wh—?" Preston whirled around to stare at deep voice in outraged offense. "No, not me, you fool! I want you to find the founder, and make him forget his history! His whole life, if you have to!"

There was a pause. "That isn't how we operate, Mr. Northwest."

"I don't care!" Preston began pacing again, taking a deep drink from his definitely-not-grape-juice. "I could have you broken up in an instant if I wanted—nothing in this town runs without the Northwest Family's stamp of approval, and don't forget you're using the facility my grandmother commissioned—so if you want to keep operating, you operate how I say!"

There was a longer pause. The deep voice said, slowly, menacingly, "You really do seem very upset, knowing about this man running around in the woods. You really ought to forget all about him. And us."

"What?" Preston turned again; but this time, his eyes weren't on the speaker, but staring straight into the gun. "Oh no. You can't! You know you can't, how do you think you'll afford all your little custom canisters without my money?!"

"I don't think we'll need to worry about finances."

"Of course not," a clear female voice said. The gun swung around to frame Priscilla Northwest, standing in the doorway at the far end of the room. She said evenly, "As we discussed, I've arranged for your society to continue receiving its annual donation from the Northwests. You have nothing to fear."

Preston gaped at his wife in disbelief. He didn't even notice that the gun was slowly turning to aim at his head again. "Scilly? How do you know about— But— But why— How dare you—"

"You're too wound up over this," Priscilla said evenly. "You need to get it off your mind, darling. You're going to give yourself frown lines."

"Get it off my...?" His broken, dazed laugh was cut off sharply by the end of the recording.

Tape after tape of this. This was pretty obviously some sort of secret society that had been wiping people's memories around town—but to what end? What was the pattern? A woman who'd seen a monster, the parents of "child psychic" Gideon Gleeful (was he a real psychic?), the disgraced descendant of a fraud of a town founder... and if all of these recordings were like that, and if there were hundreds of recordings...

He looked down at the canisters scattered across the console—and spotted a fourth one. Name turned directly toward him, almost as though it wanted him to find it. "GOLDIE LOCKE (VISITOR)".

A chill ran down his spine.

He plugged it in.

Goldie was in the same chair where Mrs. Corduroy had been restrained—wearing a rumpled white button-up and an undone black tie, hair disheveled, teeth bared, one eye squeezed shut tight in pain, the other wide and furious. Her arms weren't strapped down like Mrs. Corduroy's had been; instead, they were wrenched behind her back. Apparently someone had restrained her first and then flung her into the chair.

She was already talking when the recording started: "—it doesn't matter what you do to me! Threaten me any way you want, I won't talk!"

"Talking is exactly what we don't want you to do, Ms. Locke." The deep voice was back, although sounding a little rougher than in the other recordings. (It was clear there had been a struggle; Powers hoped Goldie had broken his nose.) "And we'll make sure you never do."

Goldie flinched, both eyes opening. "You're going to...?"

"No, not that. We don't use such messy methods. It's enough to make sure you don't remember your current assignment—or anything that could lead you back to it."

"My team will be looking for me—"

"Your team won't remember you. We'll be dealing with them shortly." The gun lurched a foot closer to Goldie's face. She flinched again in fear. "I hope your life is flashing before your eyes, Ms. Locke! Because this is the last time you'll ever remember it!"

Her wide eyes got wider. “Wait—! No! Whoa-whoa-whoa wait wait stop STOP STOP—"

The recording ended.

Leaning on both hands over the console, Powers stared into the static snow with mute horror.

######

(Post-TBOB changes: added half the sentence "and don't forget you're using the facility my grandmother commissioned" to suggest it was Abigale Blackwing who built the big stone chambers under the museum. The rest of Preston's statement was the same, since I'd already decided the Northwests were bankrolling the Blind Eye—Abigale was just a bit of serendipity. And I think that's it? This chapter was impacted more by the official Gravity Falls coloring book than by TBOB.

PSA: this is the first chapter from Powers's POV, which means it's the first chapter that almost exclusively calls Bill "Goldie" and "she/her." So, a reminder: canon has exclusively called him "Bill" and "he/him" since 2013, and so do I except when I'm writing the POV of characters who don't know who Bill actually is. You, reader, know who Bill is.

I've had trouble in the past with commenters using the wrong name/pronouns for Bill just because he's been stuffed inside a body he does not identify with; so, don't let a chapter from a character who's wrong make the situation worse, please. Thanks.

Anyway!! We're shifting into conspiracy mode y'all. Wish Agent Powers luck. I'll be interested to hear y'all's theories on where Bill is going with all this; some parts of the hints/foreshadowing have been more overt than others.)

#(please look at the little pictures I spent too much time on them)#(me: 'hey guys if i add backgrounds in any more art before March i need you to put a skunk in my inbox.' me in march: *does this*)#(hey guys if i add backgrounds in any more art before April i need you to put a skunk in my inbox.)#(as much of the art as possible was photoshopped from screenshots or traced; otherwise this woulda taken me 3 months instead of 3 days.)#(i never claimed to be an honorable artist)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #agent powers #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(didn't realize until i looked at all four pictures together that it's just. the moms. it's all mom lore. this is the mom lore chapter.)#(one of these things is not like the others; one of these things does not belong: 👩👩👩⚠️)

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lowkeyhollland · 8 months ago

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best of both worlds

peter park x stark!reader 4.2k words mix it all together & you know you get the best of both worlds

“I just don’t understand why I can’t know who Spider-Man is,” you grabbed yesterday’s unfinished iced coffee from the fridge and closed it. “I know everyone else’s identity, Dad. Why not this one?

“Y/n, I love you, but–” Your dad started but was rudely interrupted.

“You’re a yapper!” Sam yelled from across the kitchen and Bucky started laughing with him as you shot them a glare.

“Okay, who taught them that?” You crossed your arms as the two kept laughing.

“I’m sorry, princess. But it’s true,” your dad laughed with them while you rolled my eyes. He messed with your hair and kissed the top of your head. “You can’t keep a secret to yourself.”

“You told the whole world you’re Iron Man,” You rebutted, and ‘oohs’ erupted from the small crowd. “Plus, the only person I tell is Peter.”

“What about when you told Ned you were going with us to Germany,” Bucky said.

“I had to tell my teachers I would be gone and he was curious,” You shrugged and took a sip from your coffee.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.” Just then, the man of the hour, Spider-Man swung into the kitchen. Well, he walked into the kitchen. “I might be gone–” he stopped mid-sentence when he saw you. “Y/n! Hi!”

“Hello, Spider-Man,” You narrowed your eyes at him and he spun his head around.

“Did I do something?” His voice squeaked and you narrowed my eyes even more.

“She’s just upset that we won’t tell her your identity,” Tony informed him.

“If I just keep guessing who you are, will you tell me if I’m right?” You batted your eyelashes at the masked hero as you put on the sweetest smile. You could tell he was smirking as he let out a soft chuckle while shaking his head.

“I doubt you’ll guess correctly, sweetheart.” He crossed his arms and Tony’s flickered between the two of you, a faint smirk forming on his lips. A small blush crept onto your cheeks at the nickname.

“All I’m saying is everyone in the Hannah Montana universe was stupid because they couldn’t put two and two together,” you mumbled as you grabbed a granola bar from the pantry.

“But how were they stupid if they never heard Miley sing? They had nothing to compare her to.” Spider-Man started the counter-argument and you raised your eyebrows, turning to face him and straightening out your back.

“At every concert, the artist speaks to the audience. How did they not notice that Miley and Hannah sounded the same when speaking? Or even her mannerisms.” You eyed Spider-man cautiously as he grabbed an apple.

“Alright, one of you can’t be in here if you are going to remove your mask.” Your dad pointed to the both of you and you rolled my eyes.

“It’s fine, I’m leaving for school anyway.” You slung your backpack on and grabbed your car keys. “Bye Dad, love you. Bye, guys! See you later.”

“Wait, are you picking up Parker?” Your dad yelled and your eyes widened.

“Shit! I’m late!” You yelled and ran out the door to the car.

“Drive safe!” You heard your dad’s voice in the distance while seeing a flash of red leaving the tower. Interesting.

– – –

You frantically knocked on Peter’s apartment door. It swung open and Peter smiled and was breathing heavily. “Hi,” he sighed and smiled.

“Hi,” You smiled back at him. “You ready?”

“Yeah! Let’s go.” He walked out and locked the door and the two of you hurried to your car.

You were speeding down the road, not trying to be late for the second day. “Y/n/n! Slow down!” Peter grabbed the car handle and sat straight back in his seat.

“Oh please, I’m only ten over. I cannot be late again. Mrs. Smith threatened to give me a week’s worth of detention if I was late to her class… again. ” You stopped at the red light and took a sip from your coffee and Peter scoffed.

“As if they’d ever give Tony Stark’s daughter detention.”

“You’d be surprised,” you said under your breath. “Hey, weird question.”

“What’s up?” Peter looked over giving you, his chocolate brown eyes full of wonder and ready to tackle whatever question you had to say.

“Did you watch Hannah Montana as a kid?” And just like that, all the wonder was drained from his eyes and his mouth formed a line.

He knew he had to be careful of what he would say in this conversation in case it reminded you of Spider-Man this morning. It wasn’t that Peter didn’t trust you. No, not at all, he trusted you with his entire life. You were his best friend, but Tony had advised him to keep his secret identity to a limited number of people in case it spread like wildfire.

“Not really, why?”

“Nothing, I just got into an argument with Spider-Man today.” You grumbled, looking in your blindspot to switch lanes, seeing Midtown was coming up on the left.

“It won’t ever shock me how easily you can just casually mention superheroes.” Peter took your coffee and took a sip from it. His face scrunched up and he immediately gagged. “How much sugar did you put in this?!”

“It’s from Dunkin’! You know I always get three packs of sugar with my Dunkin’ coffee.” Peter shook his head as he handed it back to you before you both got out of the car.

“And every time, I forget how disgustingly sugary your Dunkin’ order is.”

“It's not my fault you like your coffee black. You know, you have to be some psychopath to like straight-up black coffee.”

“Sorry, you have the palette of a five-year-old.” You gasped at the comment and lightly pushed Peter away as you walked through the school doors.

“Whatever, I’ll see you later.” You playfully rolled your eyes with a small smile on your face before walking away to your first period.

“See you!” Peter exclaimed, a smile forming on his face as he admired you from afar.

– – –

“I was team Jake because I had a thing for blondes, but then when he cheated on Miley, I was so heartbroken my dad had to watch me to make sure I didn’t throw up from crying so hard.” Ned and Peter listened to you intently as you rambled on about your favorite childhood show. MJ would look up from her book now and then to nod at you to show she was listening.

“How were you not team Jesse right away? I mean, even I was head over heels for him,” Ned argued with you about the teen heartthrobs.

“I don’t know, Jake was so charming to six-year-old me. I just couldn’t not fall in love with him. He was always so smooth with everything.”

“So, the opposite of Peter?” MJ raised an eyebrow and smirked while you let out a giggle.

“Exactly.” You agreed with her while Peter’s mouth hung open.

“Okay well, Miley didn’t even have to tell Jesse she was Hannah. He figured it out himself because he was so in love with her while Miley had to put the wig on in front of Jake.” Peter smugly said. You stared at him as he proudly smiled at himself.

“I thought you didn’t watch the show,” you mumbled and Peter’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I mean, not really, but– okay fine,” Peter sighed knowing you had caught him in a lie. “I was the biggest Hannah Montana fan out there. I used to perform just like her in our living room.” The whole table burst into laughter and his entire face went red.

“Please tell me May has videos!” You said in between laughs and you heard your best friend grumble something.

“Is that why there were purple Hannah Montana sheets in your linen closet?” Ned asked, wiping away tears.

“It’s okay, Pete. My go-to karaoke song is ‘Best of Both Worlds.’” You smiled in an attempt to make him feel better. He gave you a tight lip smile, knowing no one would let him forget about this. “But, back to this Jake and Jesse discourse,” you circled the conversation back on track. “Would you say Jesse only found out because he was so insanely in love with her?” You watched as Peter thought about the question for a while. You couldn’t help but smile as you admired the way his brown curls fell on his head perfectly or how he bit his lower lip a little as he concentrated.

“Yes, I believe so.” And that was all the information you needed.

– – –

Peter walked into the living room of the compound, following the echoes of your laughter. He furrowed his eyebrows together when he saw you throwing a laughing fit over something on your phone.

“Are you… okay?” Peter cautiously asked. You motioned for him to sit next to you on the couch, still laughing.

“Look– look at what May sent me,” you managed to get out. Peter looked at your phone and saw a video of six-year-old him singing ‘I Got Nerve’ into a remote, dancing around the living room like he was a pop star.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled under his breath, horrified. He quickly grabbed your phone away and held it up as you protested against it.

“No! Peter give it back!” You exclaimed climbing over him to take back your phone.

“Nu-uh!” A playful smile formed on his lips when he switched which hand held the phone. You were both laughing and messing around until you lost your balance and he caught you under his arm, pulling you close to him so you wouldn’t fall off the couch. Your faces were inches apart and you were praying your face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Hi,” you whispered to him, staring into his big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he mumbled back, his eyes flickering down to your lips. His action didn’t go as unnoticed as he had hoped when you smirked back at him. It wasn’t uncommon for you two to be so close to each other, but the position you were in was definitely different than most times. You know, being quite literally on top of him and everything.

“Can I have my phone back, please?” You batted your eyelashes at him. Peter gulped and nodded, not trusting anything that might come out of his mouth. You slowly got off on top of him and sat at the end of the couch and Peter tossed you your phone as you threw your legs over his lap.

“Now delete the video,” Peter demanded. You were taken aback by his tone and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I top him once and I don’t even get a thank you,” you jokingly said and he rolled his eyes.

“Y/n, seriously.”

“Fine,” you grumbled and deleted the video against your will.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiled at you but the nickname took you by surprise. You furrowed your eyebrows together and looked at your best friend.

“Wait, why are you even here? I didn’t invite you over.” You realize Peter just appeared out of nowhere.

“She tops me once and thinks she’s in control of me,” he jokes around and you lightly kick his leg.

“You fucking wish, Parker.” You laughed at how red his face had turned while his eyes widened.

“I- uh, I have that internship with your dad, remember?” He answered your question, ignoring the comment you made. You silently mouthed an ‘oh,’ completely forgetting about the internship.

“What do you even do for the internship? I’ve never seen you here doing anything else but hanging out with me.” You eyed your best friend suspiciously as he squirmed around avoiding your eye contact.

“I– uh, you know, I do… stuff.” He scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows furrowing together once more.

“What kind of… stuff?” You raised an eyebrow at him and could’ve sworn you heard him gulp.

“I… repair their suits! Yeah, I do that,” Peter said almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“So why are you here today? No one has been on a mission in like a month.” Your suspicions were rapidly going up by the minute. Why would your best friend lie about what he does for your dad? Unless… No, that's crazy, you thought.

“I was upgrading Spider-Man’s suit,” Peter’s face fell. Shit. Alarms were going off in his head, hoping you wouldn’t catch onto anything. But another part of him was hoping you would. He thought maybe he should just come clean. Right here, right now. He watched as you eyed him up and down, biting your lower lip.

“Fun.” He sat there shocked. Fun? That was all you had to say?

“Yeah, super fun.” He let out a sigh as he sat further back on the couch. You looked at him curiously, opening and closing your mouth like you had something to say. He looked at you, questioning your movements, but you just shook your head. “I should… probably get back to your dad.” He lifted your legs off his lap and you just nodded.

“Yeah, don’t want to upset Tony Stark,” you scoffed and he smiled.

“Maybe tomorrow after I’m done, we can watch a movie?” Peter suggested, but you had other plans.

“Tomorrow’s Bachelor night,” you smirked and you could have sworn you saw Peter’s face light up.

“Oh, I don’t want to miss the girls fighting. Save me a seat next to you,” he winked and you felt your cheeks start to blush. “I’ll see you later.” Peter messed with your hair and kissed the top of it. You sat there in shock while he walked away, eyes wide and face red once he realized what he had done.

– – –

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think I can keep it a secret from her any longer.” Peter stood next to his mentor as they worked on his suit together, the memory of him kissing your head replaying over and over again. Tony sighed and looked at Peter.

“If you want to tell her, kid, you can. No one’s stopping you.” He tilted his head to the side as he sighed again. His answer took Peter aback.

“But you told me I shouldn’t tell her.” His mouth hung open, still shocked at Tony’s response.

“I only said that in hopes of keeping my daughter safe.”

“But she’s constantly surrounded by other superheroes. And, no offense, but she’s your daughter.” Peter bluntly said and Tony let out a dry chuckle.

“I know.”

“So, why did you tell me to keep it from her in the first place?” Peter looked around confused.

“Because she’s already surrounded by enough heroes as it is.” Tony made it seem like it made total sense, but Peter just stood there stunned.

“So?” He felt bad giving his mentor attitude, but he was so confused and lost at what to do and the responses he was receiving.

“So,” Tony exaggerated. “If she’s seen with Spider-Man, she can, you know, attract danger.”

“But she’s already seen with– I’m so confused, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s eyes pleaded for a clear response and Tony groaned.

“Again, if she’s seen with Spider-Man, she can get hurt. I just want my precious daughter to be safe, is that too much to ask for?”

“But she’s always seen with you guys. I don’t understand.” Peter was so confused he thought his head was going to explode for feeling so dumb.

“If she is seen with Spider-Man–” Tony tried to emphasize.

“Yes, I get it, but–”

“Oh my God, do I have to spell it out for you? Kid, we all know you’ve been in love with Y/n ever since you met the girl!” Peter stood there dumbfounded.

“What? I– no I am not– I mean no offense, but–” Peter’s words were all jumbled together as his cheeks flushed pink.

“What’s Parker rambling on about now?” Steve asked as he walked through the doors of the lab.

“Trying to convince me he’s not in love with my daughter,” Tony bluntly said, turning back to work on the suit. Steve burst into laughter and Peter’s face fell.

“Oh, Parker, anyone can see that you’re head over heels for her from miles away.” Peter’s entire face had turned red from embarrassment.

“Okay, so maybe I am—“

“And you are,” Tony mumbled. Peter shot him a look before continuing.

“Why does that have to interfere with me being Spider-Man? She’s my best friend, I’m tired of lying to her all the time when she’s already a part of this sort of lifestyle!” Peter threw his hands up in frustration.

“It’s up to you, Parker. But if Spider-Man is seen with any sort of love interest, criminals can take advantage of that. And it’s your responsibility to make sure my daughter gets home safe.” Tony pointed his finger into Peter’s chest. The kid gulped and nodded before returning their attention to his suit.

— — —

“I’m home!” You yelled through the compound. Walking into the kitchen, you saw a familiar red suit rummaging through the fridge. “Hello, Spider-Man.” You announced. He whipped his head around, causing him to almost hit it on the door.

“H-Hey, Y/n!” He scratched the back of his neck and you eyed him suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. It’s Bachelor night, are you gonna watch with us?” You swirled your iced coffee in your hand before taking a sip.

“Yeah!” Spider-Man responded. “I mean, uh, well. I will be watching it just not… here.” Peter looked around nervously under the mask, debating if he should just tell you his secret right now. But Tony’s words rang in his head about the danger it could put you in. He watched as you used the straw to mix your coffee even more and nodded to his words.

“You should watch with us,” you suggested. “You can finally meet my best friend, Peter.”

Peter almost collapsed when you suggested that his alter ego should stay for ‘family night.’ You had never hung out with Spider-Man that often, always running around to see other people outside of the compound. The fact that you were inviting him was almost out of character.

“Only if I get to sit next to you, pretty girl,” Peter smirked under the mask getting caught up in the moment, watching you almost spit out your coffee.

“Woah there, Spidey. You’re getting bold over there.”

“Can’t help myself when you’re probably the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.” You couldn’t help but smile because you assumed who might be under the mask. Getting up from your seat, you walked over to the masked hero and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Maybe I can say the same about you if you just, I don’t know, take this little thing off.” You wrapped your fingers around the edge of the mask and could feel his heartbeat going crazy. Peter gulped as you continued to mess with the mask. It was harmless flirting, right? If he told you he was Spider-Man, it wouldn’t put you in too much danger because you two were just… friends. Right?

“Is that coffee good?” Peter tried to change the topic, now feeling very strange watching you flirt with his alter ego instead of his true self. You removed your arms from him and grabbed your coffee, handing it to him.

“Do you wanna try it? It’s good. Trust.” You reassured him. He grabbed the coffee from your hands and lifted his mask just right under his nose.

As he swirled the straw around to mix the coffee around more, you couldn’t help but notice Spider-Man’s thin lips. How familiar they looked. He brought the straw up to his mouth and took a sip but immediately gagged.

“Is this from Dunkin’?” He asked and you smirked. That was all the information you needed.

— — —

You knocked on Peter’s door. He had texted you earlier, saying he had something important to tell you and it couldn’t be over text or call. You had a feeling that he was finally going to tell you his secret. Peter swung the door open and smiled, cheeks turning pink.

“Hi,” he breathlessly said. You weren’t quite sure why he was out of breath, but you just assumed it was nerves.

“Hi,” you responded back. He let you into his apartment and you followed him to his room. You took in his room, smiling at his dorky Star Wars posters. Walking over to his desk, you noticed a picture of you and him. It was blurry and you were both laughing, your arms wrapped around his neck while his arms were around your waist. “This is new,” you told him, picking the picture up.

“Oh! Yeah,” Peter’s face turned red but he walked up behind you to look at the picture, placing a hand loosely over your hip. “MJ took that picture from a few weeks ago. It’s my favorite.” He smiled down at you, taking in your features as you continued to stare at the frame.

“It’s cute,” you turned around, your breath hitched seeing his face just inches from yours. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, those lips, and it reminded you of why you were here. You set the picture back down and walked away from Peter, already missing the warmth he brought you. Sitting down on his bed, you brought your legs up and he sat down next to you.

“So, I did have something to tell you,” his voice trailed off toward the end and you gave him your undivided attention. “God, this is sorta hard to say.” His hands messed with the end of his covers, shuffling something.

“You’re Spider-Man!” You blurted out. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as you smacked your hand over your mouth, not expecting to say it so bluntly.

“How did you–”

“Peter, I’m not stupid. You don’t have to recreate the scene where Miley is holding up the Hannah wig to Jesse with your Spider-Man mask,” you gestured your hand to his that was still under the covers. He slowly lifted his hand to reveal the mask from the bed.

“Well, yes I am Spider-Man.” You smiled to yourself, proud that you figured it out by yourself. “But,”

“But?!” You interrupted him. He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head.

“But,” he continued. “That isn’t why I invited you over. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so insanely happy you figured out this secret and I feel a weight lifted off my chest. You’re my best friend and–”

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He sheepishly smiled and looked at you. How your hair fell perfectly over your shoulder as you ran your hands through it, an anxious tic Peter found you do often.

“I wanted to tell you that…” he spoke slowly as you hung onto every word that came out of his mouth, your heart about to explode from your chest. “I am in love with you.”

The room was silent. You could hear a pin drop. You stared at Peter in disbelief, your brain running a thousand miles an hour.

“Y/n, please say something,” his voice was low, barely coming out as a whisper.

“I…” you started, “I’m in love with you too.” His face broke out into the biggest smile you have ever seen and you mimicked him.

“Really?”

“I mean, you said it yourself. Jesse was so in love with Miley that he knew he was Hannah before she even told him,” you smirked as Peter rolled his eyes.

“Only you would bring up Hannah Montana in the middle of a moment like this,” his hand cupped the side of your face and you smiled sheepishly.

“Only with you,” you closed the gap between the two of you. When you kissed, it truly was like fireworks were going off behind you. You smiled into the kiss, but the fireworks seemed to be getting louder– wait what?! “Do you hear that?” You pulled away from Peter, his eyes half closed.

“Mm, no,” he leaned in again to kiss you, but you pushed him away.

“Peter, my dad is blasting someone a few blocks away.” You saw out his window and he immediately jumped up.

“I’m so sorry to leave right now but–”

“Go get ‘em, Spidey.” You winked at him and he smiled. He put on his mask and took off his hoodie to reveal the suit.

“Will you be here when I get back?” He asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

“Is Hannah Montana one of the best Disney Channel shows?” Peter rolled his eyes.

“On second thought, you can go home,” he was about to climb out the window before you pulled him back.

“Yes, I will be here. You,” you poked his chest, “be safe.” You lifted his mask and kissed him one more time and Peter melted into the kiss.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled against your lips, but you pulled away making him frown.

“Peter.” You said sternly.

“Yes, sweetheart?” “Go help my dad, idiot."

“On it!” And with that, Peter swung away. This really was the life and he just had to hold on tight.

#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #tom holland

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estellan0vella · 27 days ago

Text

The Romantic Trials and Tribulations of Han Peter Jisung: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 19.3K

CW: Panic Attacks and Anxiety, Sexual Harassment and Assault Attempt, Violence and Physical Assault, Jisung falls fast and hard, Discussion of mental health issues, Language barrier difficulties (reader is Brazilian-Korean), Jisung is a yapper, strangers to lovers, CurlySung with a little manbun General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The living room is a mess of blankets, snack wrappers, and bodies sprawled across the couch and floor. You’re wedged between Chan-hee and Kevin as the bluish glow of Twilight plays on the TV. You barely even care about the movie, half-listening as Edward broods over Bella while the real entertainment unfolds in front of you.

Juyeon and Jacob are wrestling like their lives depend on it, grunting and cursing as they roll across the floor, limbs flailing. The cause of their battle? A single, lonely piece of kimbap sitting on the coffee table, the last remnant of the meal you cooked earlier.

“You two are fucking ridiculous,” Chan-hee says, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “It’s one piece of kimbap.”

“It’s the last piece,” Juyeon grunts, trying to pin Jacob’s arm behind his back. “And Y/N made it. That makes it sacred."

Kevin throws his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Just fucking split it.”

“No,” Juyeon and Jacob yell at the same time, their voices muffled as they continue to struggle.

Kevin rolls his eyes and throws a popcorn kernel at them. It bounces off Jacob’s head. “You guys are fucking exhausting.”

Jacob finally manages to wriggle free, lunging for the kimbap, but Juyeon is quicker. He snatches it up, shoving it into his mouth before Jacob can stop him.

Jacob lets out a horrified gasp, flopping onto the floor like he’s just been stabbed. “You’re dead to me,” he mutters, face buried in the carpet.

Juyeon chews triumphantly. “Worth it.”

Kevin claps his hands together. “Okay, children, now that that fucking disaster is over, tomorrow, movie marathon?”

You shift uncomfortably, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your jumper. “I... um... I can’t,” you mumble, your Portuguese accent thick as you struggle to piece the sentence together. “I, uh, plans with Minho.”

Chan-hee’s head snaps toward you so fast you think he might get whiplash. “Excuse me?!”

Kevin gasps, clutching his chest like you just personally betrayed him and you sink further into the couch. “He, um, needs help, with, uh study. Marine life.”

Chan-hee stares at you, utterly scandalized. “We’re not even classed as your best friends, are we?”

Your eyes widen in panic. “You are! You are! Just different. I know Minho longer. Like, um, since I born longer.”

Jacob, Juyeon, and Kevin all let out dramatic gasps, clutching at each other like the revelation is too much to bear. Juyeon strokes Jacob’s hair like he’s comforting a grieving widow. “We’ll get through this,” he murmurs.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “You all are dramatic.”

Kevin leans in, grinning. “Remember how he threatened us when you moved in?”

Everyone falls silent for a moment. Then, as if on cue, they all shudder.

“Oh, fuck,” Juyeon mutters.

“I still have nightmares,” Jacob adds.

Chan-hee rubs his arms like he’s suddenly cold. “He didn’t even have to yell. Just stared at us with that fucking psychotic look, like he was planning where to hide our bodies.”

Kevin nods solemnly. “Yeah. That was terrifying.” He turns back to you. “So what are the plans for you and Mr. Murder Stare?”

You hesitate, already regretting saying anything. “Um, going to frat house. Meeting his, uh, friends.”

The room falls dead silent before Kevin and Chan-hee both let out twin gasps of pure horror.

Jacob scrambles to his feet. “We need the sage.”

“Now,” Chan-hee agrees, already digging through the mess of the coffee table.

Juyeon stands, nodding gravely. “I’ll get the lighter.”

You blink in confusion. “Uh, what?”

Kevin grabs your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “Y/N, you’re stepping into Alpha Phi territory. That place is cursed.”

“They’re demons,” Chan-hee adds. “We have to cleanse you before you go in.”

Jacob returns with a bundle of sage, holding it like it’s a weapon. Juyeon flicks the lighter open, flame dancing.

You sigh. There’s no arguing with them when they get like this. “Okay. Do... whatever.”

Kevin grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Chan-hee waves his hands dramatically. “Everyone, gather around! We must protect our dear Y/N from the hellfire she is about to walk into.”

Juyeon lights the sage, the scent of burning herbs filling the air. Jacob starts humming some kind of ominous chant, waving his hands in circles.

Chan-hee presses a hand to your forehead. “Be gone, evil spirits of Alpha Phi! May the ghost of marine biology protect you!”

Kevin stifles a laugh as he moves behind you, making a cross over your back with the sage. “We anoint you with the power of sanity, so you do not lose yourself among the testosterone-ridden fiends.”

Juyeon walks in circles around you, waving the sage like a priest performing an exorcism. Jacob throws popcorn in the air like it’s holy water.

You sit there, letting them do whatever the fuck this is, fingers playing with the hem of your jumper. Your face is warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as they take it all way too seriously.

Kevin finally steps back, nodding in satisfaction. “Alright. She’s protected.”

Jacob pats your head. “If you feel possessed, let us know.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. Your anxiety is still there, humming beneath your skin, but they always make things feel a little lighter. Even if they’re fucking insane.

Chan-hee flops back onto the couch. “Now, let’s finish this fucking movie. And someone make more kimbap before Jacob kills Juyeon.”

Minho stands in the middle of the Alpha Phi frat house living room, a spatula in his hand, smacking it against his palm with slow, deliberate force. The rhythmic sound echoes through the space, a sharp snap against his skin, a warning. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the repeated slap of silicone against flesh set the tone.

Hyunjin, sprawled half-asleep on the couch with his buzzed head resting against a pillow, blinks sluggishly. “What the fuck is going on?”

Minho lets the spatula land one more time, tilting his head slightly. “All of you have a chance to live past tomorrow as long as you listen to what I say right now.”

Seungmin leans forward from his spot in the armchair, adjusting his glasses. “The fuck does that mean?”

Minho finally stops hitting his palm and plants the spatula against his hip. “My best friend is coming over tomorrow afternoon.”

Chan looks up and sighs, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “Min, you have people over all the time. We literally hear you fucking them. So what if you’re fucking your best friend?”

Minho freezes. A visible shudder runs through him before he lets out the most guttural, agonized gag. His entire body convulses, and he violently dry heaves, doubling over, hands on his knees. The sound is disgusting like he’s about to vomit all over the carpet.

“Dude, what the fuck-”

Felix, who has been sitting quietly on the couch with Jisung nestled between his legs, presses his lips together, watching with faint amusement as Minho continues to gag like he’s choking on pure horror.

Jisung, still fidgeting with his cube while Felix braids tiny sections of his hair and shoves random clips into it, looks up. “That was a really strong reaction. We should unpack that.”

Minho abruptly straightens, eyes burning with rage. He strides over to Chan and smacks him across the shoulder with the spatula. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?!”

Minho smacks him again. “This is not like that, you absolute fuckhead!” Another smack. “She’s my best friend. Only a friend.” Smack. “And everyone here knows I prefer cock anyway!” Smack, smack, smack.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Minho!”

Minho finally relents, shaking the spatula at the rest of them. “She’s coming over because I have a marine life portion of my veterinary science course, and she studies marine biology and she has crippling anxiety.”

Seungmin gestures lazily to Jisung. “He also has crippling anxiety.”

Jisung, still on the floor, barely looks up, too focused on clicking his cube back and forth as Felix continues to mess with his hair, now twisting the strands into uneven sections and securing them with tiny hair ties.

Jisung hums. “Yeah, but mine makes me hyper as fuck. I can’t sit still. I can’t stop talking. My brain is like a YouTube autoplay button that someone forgot to turn off.”

Minho exhales sharply, running a hand through his honey-blonde hair. “Exactly. You and her have very different presentations of anxiety. You’re a chihuahua on crack cocaine.”

Jisung grins. “Aww, thanks.”

Minho ignores him. “She can’t talk to new people. I have to do that for her. If I don’t, she just shuts down.”

Felix frowns. “Are you sure bringing her here is a good idea?”

Minho presses the spatula against his palm again. “No, which is why I am giving you all this talk now and why all of you shall have the fear of Minho put in you.”

Jisung glances up, blinking. “Isn’t the saying fear of God?”

Minho points a finger upwards. “God, if you believe, is up there.” He slowly lowers the finger and points directly at Jisung. “I am right here. Much, much closer.”

Seungmin smirks. “Yeah, because Satan came to earth and took on the name Lee Minho.”

Minho shrugs. “Maybe. Now, listen the fuck up. She doesn’t like loud noises or sudden loud noises. They make her panic, so being quiet is fucking necessary.” He stops and turns to glare at Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin. “So all three of you stay the fuck out of the kitchen. No fire alarms.”

Chan scowls. “Hey-”

“No.” Minho raises the spatula again. “I swear to god, if that fire alarm goes off, I will fucking end you.”

Changbin groans. “That was one time.”

“One time my ass. You nearly burned the whole fucking kitchen down.”

Hyunjin throws his hands up. “Okay, yeah, that was bad, but-”

“Do you want to die?”

“No.”

“Then stay the fuck out of the kitchen.”

Felix squeezes Jisung’s pec absentmindedly as he glances up at Minho. “So basically, we just have to be on our best behaviour?”

Minho tilts his head, considering. “No. You all need to know the consequences of fucking up.”

Seungmin sighs. “Here we go.”

Minho cracks his neck. Then, slowly, he levels his gaze at Chan first. “If you say anything that makes her uncomfortable, I will personally drag you by your stupid curly head of hair and drown you in the fucking toilet.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “That seems excessive.”

Minho ignores him and moves to Changbin. “If you yell near her, I will rip out your vocal cords with my bare hands and string them up like decorations.”

Changbin snorts. “Creative.”

Next, Hyunjin. “If you scare her in any way, I will take that ugly fucking buzzcut of yours and carve a smiley face into the back of your head with my pocket knife.”

Hyunjin gasps, hand flying to his hair. “Bitch!”

Felix is next. “If you touch her without permission, I will break all ten of your fingers and then feed them to you.”

Felix pouts. “I wouldn’t touch her-”

Minho moves on. “Seungmin.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically. “Let me guess. If I insult her, you’ll shove my head into the oven?”

Minho shrugs. “Actually, I was thinking of locking you in the laundry room and filling it with spiders, but the oven is a solid alternative.”

Lastly, Jeongin. Minho crosses his arms. “If you do anything stupid, I will throw your entire fucking sewing machine out the window.”

Jeongin gasps, clutching his chest. “That’s fucked up.”

“Wait a second.” Chan gestures vaguely at the group. “You didn’t threaten Jisung.”

Minho turns to Jisung, who looks up from his fidget cube with curious eyes. “I will take your consoles,” Minho says. “And then I will gently tuck you into bed, and I will make you take a nap if you scare her with your rambling.”

“That’s fucking favouritism!”

“What the fuck?!”

“Are you kidding me?”

Jisung sputters, eyes wide. “No, wait, that’s not favouritism! I hate naps more than anything!”

Felix ruffles his hair, snickering. “Aww, poor baby.”

Jisung flails. “No, seriously, I fucking hate naps! I’d rather be waterboarded!”

Minho smirks. “Sucks to suck, buddy.”

Jisung groans, collapsing against Felix’s legs. “I fucking hate this house.”

Minho lets the chaos settle for a moment, rolling his shoulders before fixing them all with another pointed look. The spatula, still firm in his grip, smacks against his palm once more. It’s almost a reflex at this point.

“Also, there’s something else you need to know,” he says, his tone measured, but firm enough that it silences the lingering murmurs of complaint about favouritism. “Her Korean is very broken. She spent most of her life in Brazil. Technically, her first language is Korean, but she has spoken Portuguese for so long that she’s basically relearning the language now. She’s got a strong accent, and sometimes it takes her a few seconds to translate. She also uses her hands a lot when she talks, she gestures to try and figure out what she’s trying to say.”

Felix immediately nods. “Oh, yeah. I get that.” His fingers absentmindedly smooth down one of Jisung’s messy little braids. “I did the same thing when I moved here. It’s fucking hard. Your brain works twice as much trying to make sure you don’t sound like an idiot.”

Jisung perks up. “Oh! I was like that when I lived in Malaysia! Learning Malay was fucking hard, dude.” He clicks his fidget cube rapidly, his knee bouncing as the energy spikes in his chest. “Like, okay, so, I was already speaking English and Korean, right? But then I get thrown into this whole new language, and it’s like- fuck- what’s the word? Overload! Yeah, like, my brain was constantly buffering. And then when I finally got used to Malay, I had to start learning Mandarin too because everyone around me spoke it, and let me tell you, the tonal shit? A fucking nightmare.”

Changbin nudges Jeongin. “He’s going off.”

Jeongin smirks. “It’s kinda impressive how his mouth can keep up with his brain.”

Jisung barely pauses to breathe. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on writing! The characters, the sentence structure, the grammar, it’s a whole fucking process. Sometimes I’ll write something and realize I mixed up three languages in one sentence, and I have no idea how the fuck it happened. And then, like, my brain is just constantly flipping between them, and-”

Minho sighs. “Come on, Ji. We’ll get you some decaffeinated tea to wind you down, and I’ll sort out that mess on your head before Felix ruins your hair permanently.”

Jisung bounces to his feet instantly, almost knocking over the coffee table in the process. “Okay!” He scurries after Minho like an excited puppy, his fidget cube still clicking away in his hand.

Once they’re in the kitchen, Minho flips the light to a lower setting, the glow dimming into something softer. Jisung’s energy is still at its peak, but Minho knows the drill.

Jisung plops himself onto the counter, swinging his legs. “You know, I’ve been thinking about trying boxing more seriously. Not just for cardio, but like, an actual thing.” His fingers drum against his thighs. “Like, you know how we go to the gym and spar sometimes? What if I did that, but, like, a couple more times a week?”

Minho grabs the kettle and starts filling it with water. “Try the tea first.” He sets it on the stove, turning to face Jisung with a raised brow. “If you can sit through one sensory video without bouncing off the fucking walls, we’ll talk about increasing your gym time.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain.” He twists his fidget cube in his palm, considering. “What video?”

Minho leans against the counter. “One of those animated ones.”

Jisung claps his hands. “I love those. My favourite is when they change faces, and I’m like, ‘Aww, smiley peas,’ and then they switch, and I’m like, ‘Awww, smiley banana!’ And when they line up like a rainbow? Fucking art.”

Minho just shakes his head, amused, as he sets a mug on the counter. He brews the tea, setting it in front of Jisung before pulling out his phone to queue up a video. The screen fills with soft, satisfying animations, fruits and vegetables bouncing, colours shifting in rhythm with calm background music.

Jisung picks up his mug, blowing on the tea before taking a cautious sip. His shoulders drop slightly as the warmth spreads through him, the combination of the video and the drink working its magic.

Minho stands behind him, carefully undoing the mess Felix created in his hair. His fingers work gently, untangling knots and loosening the haphazard braids.

“You let him get really carried away this time,” Minho murmurs, combing his fingers through Jisung’s hair.

Jisung hums, watching as the fruit on screen morphs into another shape. “He likes playing with it. And honestly? It feels kinda nice.”

Minho chuckles. “You’re such a fucking cat.”

Jisung shrugs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds being the soft music from the video and the occasional sip from Jisung’s tea. His knee still bounces, but slower now. The energy isn’t gone, but it’s settled, softened around the edges.

Minho finishes untangling the last braid and smooths his hands over Jisung’s hair. “There. Good as new.”

Jisung sighs dramatically. “You’re the best, Min. Seriously. What would I do without you?”

Minho smirks, tossing the fidget cube back to him. “Probably combust.”

Jisung catches it easily, already clicking it again. “Yeah. Probably.”

The summer heat clings to your skin as you step up the worn stone steps leading to the Alpha Phi frat house. The sun hangs high, casting long shadows against the pavement, and your fingers twitch against the chain strap of your black quilted shoulder bag. Your silver anxiety rings spin under your thumb, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break.

You inhale deeply, adjusting your fitted black cropped turtleneck, the fabric snug against your torso while your wide-leg grey trousers billow softly with each movement. The material is light, breathable, but you still feel the weight of your own nerves pressing against your chest.

You reach the front door, hesitating for only a second before pressing the doorbell. Your eyes widen as Love Me Like This by NMIXX rings out at full volume, echoing across the porch and probably into the street.

Before you can fully process the absurdity, the door swings open, and Minho is standing there, smirking. The sight of him eases something tight in your chest.

His eyes flick to your expression, the slight tension in your posture, and his smirk softens into something gentler. "Hey," he says, and before you can overthink it, he pulls you into a hug.

You let yourself relax for just a second, your face pressing briefly against his shoulder. The familiar warmth of him is grounding, and when he pulls back, you manage a small smile.

"How have you been?" he asks, watching as your fingers fidget with the strap of your bag.

You hesitate for a moment, translating in your head before answering. "I got project partner," you say slowly, your Korean clumsy, the sentence structure awkward. "Beom-Seok. He, uh, he is something."

Minho’s eyes narrow instantly. "Need me to fight him?"

Your eyes widen, shaking your head quickly. "No! No!"

Minho just exhales, giving you a look. "You ready?"

You nod.

"You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, okay?" His voice is quieter now, just for you. "I’ll just tell you their names, and then we’ll head up to my room."

Another nod and Minho steps back, motioning for you to enter. You toe off your white Converse at the doorway, leaving you in your black ankle socks, and step inside. The air is cooler, the scent of something vaguely fried lingering in the space.

Then, suddenly, seven heads appear from the living room doorway, stacked on top of each other like a fucking totem pole of nosy idiots.

Minho groans. "Are you fucking serious?"

The heads remain stacked. A curious, synchronized tilt. You instinctively step slightly behind Minho, peeking out cautiously.

Minho gestures vaguely at the group. "Y/N, meet Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Jisung, Jeongin, and Seungmin." He points them out one by one.

You nod, heart pounding, and manage, "Nice to meet you."

The accent is unmistakable, thick and foreign, the syllables slow as you carefully piece them together. The words don’t flow naturally, each one feeling like a small mountain to climb.

You glance at Minho, silently asking if you said it right and he nods approvingly. "You got it. Pronunciation was great."

Felix grins. "Super impressive. It took me way longer when I was learning Korean."

"Oh!" Jisung practically vibrates where he stands. "That’s so cool! You’re, like, bilingual. Or trilingual? Do you speak anything else? Because that’s fucking sick. Oh, right, I should introduce myself properly. Han Jisung, at your service. Investigative journalism major, criminal psych minor. Also part-time nuisance, full-time genius. And, like, I totally get the whole language struggle thing. I lived in Malaysia for a while, right? So I had to learn Malay, and it was so fucking hard, like, the sentence structure? The way verbs change? Fucking insane. And then I came back here, and my Korean was rusty as shit, so I had to relearn a bunch-"

"Jesus Christ, someone stop him," Seungmin mutters.

Chan sighs, reaching out to slap a hand over Jisung’s mouth and Jisung nods in thanks, eyes still buzzing with energy.

Minho sighs, shaking his head. "Let’s go," he murmurs to you, leading you away from the mess and up the stairs.

The sound of the others talking fades as you follow Minho to his room, the walls lined with posters and books, a desk cluttered but organized in a way only he would understand. The scent of fresh laundry lingers, familiar and oddly comforting.

You glance at him, hesitating before saying, "Jisung is cute."

"He’s single, you know. You could get that chronically anxious dick."

Your foot immediately swings out, colliding with his shin and Minho yelps, stumbling back, clutching his leg dramatically. "You little-"

Before he can finish, you snatch a magazine from his desk and swat him over the head.

He wails. "Violence!"

You huff, crossing your arms and Minho groans, rubbing his shin. "Fine. No more comments about Jisung’s dick. Jesus."

You glare for a second longer before tossing the magazine back onto his desk.

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "You and your fucking kicks."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He notices but doesn’t say anything, just nudges your arm lightly.

"Come on," he says. "Let’s actually study before we end up talking about Jisung’s fucking anxiety again."

You nod, settling onto the floor with him, feeling just a little less on edge.

As soon as Minho and you disappear upstairs, Jisung spins around dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been physically struck. His eyes are wide, sparkling with something unhinged, and his mouth falls open as if he’s about to recite the most poetic sonnet of his life.

“Love at first sight,” he breathes, staggering slightly as if the sheer weight of his emotions is too much to bear.

Jeongin’s head snaps toward him so fast it looks like he might get whiplash. “Minho’s friend?!”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating like an over-caffeinated bobblehead. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Minho’s friend! The most beautiful creature to ever grace this filthy frat house! The embodiment of grace, of elegance, of shyness so devastating it makes my heart fucking ache! The little peek from behind him? The way she barely spoke but when she did, the accent, Jeongin! The fucking accent!”

Changbin stares at him, horrified. “Do you have a fucking death wish? Do you want to die? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you try to pull anything with Minho’s best friend.”

Chan squints at Jisung like he’s just grown a second head. “Jisung, I know you’re mentally ill, but are you fucking insane?!”

Jisung throws his arms in the air, his fidget cube clattering onto the couch. “I can’t control it! My heart! It’s not mine anymore! It now beats for her! She had a halo, I swear to god! A halo! And a sexy accent! And she studies marine biology! Marine biology, Chan! Do you know how much I know about ocean life?! Too much! An unhealthy amount! I have years of marine documentary knowledge just rotting in my brain, waiting for the perfect moment to be used, and this is it! This is my moment!”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

Jisung, completely unfazed, keeps going. “Did you see her?! Did you see how fucking delicate she was? Like a little fairy? Like, holy fuck, I swear I saw wings. All quiet and pretty and soft, like a book character that just came to life. Like, I know she’s shy, and I know she has anxiety, but holy shit, that just makes her even more unreal. Like, I have anxiety, but it makes me feel like a coked-up raccoon, she has anxiety, and it makes her look like a fragile porcelain doll that I want to protect with my life! It’s a different kind of anxiety! It’s the kind of anxiety that makes my soul yearn-”

Seungmin groans. “You need to be medicated.”

Changbin shakes his head. “No, he needs a fucking lobotomy.”

Jisung keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear them. “And her outfit? The black turtleneck, the wide-leg trousers? That’s the kind of effortless fashion that’s just unfair. Like, she could’ve worn a trash bag, and she still would’ve looked like an ethereal being that descended from the heavens just to ruin my life! And the way she held her bag? Like, the little fiddling with the strap? That was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire existence, and I watch baby animal compilations at least once a day!”

“Shut him the fuck up,” Hyunjin mutters.

Chan doesn’t even hesitate. He lunges forward, smacking Jisung upside the head.

Jisung yelps, but he barely stops talking. “-and don’t even get me started on her rings, because holy shit, there’s something about silver jewellery that just does something to me, and- ow, what the fuck, Chan-”

Hyunjin joins in, smacking the other side of Jisung’s head. “Shut the fuck up!”

Jisung shrieks, ducking as Changbin swings at him next and Changbin finally gets him, jabbing him in the ribs. “MINHO IS GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU.”

Felix, watching the absolute carnage unfold, simply tilts his head. “I think it’s sweet.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching Felix’s wrist like he’s just been given a lifeline. “Thank you, Felix! Someone here actually appreciates romance.” He composes himself, straightening his spine. “I need a plan.”

Felix nods solemnly. “First, you need a sword to defend yourself against Minho.”

Jisung nods back, equally serious. “Right. A sword.”

Changbin gapes at them. “Are you two fucking dumb? A sword?! Against Minho?! He’ll just take it from you and stab you with it!”

Jisung waves a hand. “Details, details.” He places a hand over his heart again. “I am willing to risk it all for love.”

Felix tilts his head. “Honestly? If Minho were to let anyone here date his friend, it’d probably be Jisung.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Gentlemen, welcome to the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung.”

The quiet room is a sanctuary. A place where the hum of voices, the constant shuffle of students, the relentless buzz of the outside world all fade into the background. It’s one of the few spaces on campus where only a handful of students have access, those who need silence, those who require a place to breathe.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the volume on your laptop as the Korean narration of the marine biology documentary plays quietly. The Portuguese subtitles flicker at the bottom of the screen, your eyes following each word carefully. It’s the best way you’ve found to strengthen your Korean, forcing your brain to process both languages at once.

Your fingers toy with the anxiety rings on your hands, silver bands spinning as you jot down notes in your notebook. The documentary covers coral ecosystems, the way the reefs function as an underwater city teeming with life. You’re completely engrossed until the door opens.

Jisung stands in the doorway, holding up his access pass like he’s proving he has a reason to be here. His fitted black zip-up jacket hugs his frame, the high neck zipped up just below his chin, and his light-wash, wide-leg denim jeans hang loosely over his black combat boots. There’s something effortlessly cool about him, but the nervous energy buzzing around him makes him feel more approachable.

His expression is open, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t look like he’s here to disturb the quiet, though his very presence carries an air of movement, of something constantly in motion. He hesitates just slightly, eyes flickering toward the empty seat next to you.

“Can I sit with you?”

You nod and Jisung’s smile widens as he settles into the chair beside you, leaning in just enough to peek at your laptop screen. “Ooh, I love that documentary. They’re talking about coral life, right?”

You nod again, fingers still fidgeting with the rings on your hand.

Jisung glances at the screen again, tilting his head slightly. “Can I watch with you?”

Another nod. He seems completely unbothered by your silence, instead resting his arms on the table as he scans the subtitles. After a second, he furrows his brows. “What language are the subtitles?”

You hesitate for a moment, mentally piecing together the sentence before speaking. “Uh, Portuguese? Is that how you say?”

Jisung hums thoughtfully. “Close. You put too much emphasis on the initial consonant and not enough on the vowel.”

“Oh.” You repeat the word, trying to correct it.

Jisung grins. “Yeah, you got it.”

You smile, just a little.

He doesn’t seem to expect you to talk much, which is a relief. Instead, he starts filling the silence with easy chatter, his voice animated but careful, slow enough that you can follow along.

“I love marine biology documentaries. I mean, I love all documentaries, but marine life is especially cool. Did you know octopuses can change colour not just to blend in, but also based on their mood? Like, they literally express emotions through their skin. That’s insane. And don’t even get me started on mimic octopuses. They can literally impersonate other sea creatures. Like, full-on cosplay. They can pretend to be sea snakes, lionfish, crabs. It’s like if I just shapeshifted into Minho whenever I wanted to scare someone.”

You do know. You know everything he’s saying, but you let him talk. Jisung watches your expression as he continues, testing how much you understand. If you look even slightly lost, he slows down, repeats certain words, and if that doesn’t work, he pulls out his phone, opening a translator app and speaking directly into it.

You blink in surprise when the app suddenly speaks in Portuguese, perfectly clear and easy to understand.

Jisung grins. “I use it a lot. Seoul has a ton of tourists, and I like helping people if they need it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod again.

He keeps going, keeping his voice soft so he doesn’t disrupt the quiet of the room. “Also, jellyfish? Some of them are basically immortal, like, they just revert back to their younger form and start their life cycle over. Which is kinda cool, but also terrifying because imagine if humans could do that? Like, if you hit eighty and just decided to turn back into a baby instead of dying. That’s some horror movie shit.”

Your lips twitch, amusement flickering across your face.

Jisung notices immediately, his grin widening. “Oh, I saw that. I made you smile. That’s a win for me.”

Jisung leans back slightly, staring at the screen as the documentary shifts to a segment about symbiotic relationships in the ocean. “Oh, clownfish and anemones! Classic duo. Everyone thinks of Finding Nemo, but the wild part is that clownfish can actually change sex. If the dominant female in the group dies, the largest male will turn into a female to take her place. Like, full biological transformation. That’s commitment.”

“You know lots.”

Jisung shrugs, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of his jacket. “I get hyper-fixated on stuff sometimes. Documentaries are my comfort zone.”

You understand that more than he realizes.

Jisung tilts his head. “You’re really quiet.”

Your fingers twist the rings on your hand. “I do not know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”

You huff a quiet laugh, and Jisung grins like he just won something.

The documentary continues playing, but you find yourself paying more attention to Jisung’s presence beside you. He’s restless, always moving in some way, bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, adjusting the zipper of his jacket. But it doesn’t feel disruptive. It feels natural.

He doesn’t press you to talk, doesn’t expect you to meet him at his energy level. He just exists beside you, comfortable in his own whirlwind of movement, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the pressure to shrink yourself down.

Maybe, just maybe, Jisung isn’t as overwhelming as you first thought.

Jisung practically explodes into Felix’s room, the door swinging open with such force that it bounces off the wall. Felix, who had been comfortably hunched over his gaming setup, lets out a startled noise, nearly dropping his controller.

“The fuck, Jisung?” Felix huffs, yanking off his headset.

“I spent time with Y/N today!”

That gets Felix’s attention. Immediately, he pauses his game and spins in his chair, his full focus now on Jisung. “Oh?”

Jisung nods so violently that his hair flops in his face, his excitement barely contained. “We were in one of the quiet rooms. Just me and her, no interruptions, just vibes. And we watched a documentary. A marine biology documentary. Felix, do you understand how fucking insane that is?!”

Felix smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, yeah. Wild.”

Jisung is undeterred, pacing the small space as he gestures wildly. “She looked so pretty, man. Like, she was just sitting there, watching the documentary, and I swear to god, she has this ethereal kind of presence. Like, you know when the light hits someone just right and they look all angelic and shit? That was her. She was wearing this really nice fitted bodysuit, deep V-neck, and I am a man, Felix, I noticed, and those high-waisted jeans? Fucking criminal. The way they fit her-"

Felix bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Jesus, you’re gone, dude.”

“I am!” Jisung agrees, throwing his arms up. “And the jewellery, her little silver rings? I think I ascended when she started fidgeting with them. It’s so fucking cute! Like, she was just sitting there, all focused, twirling the chain around her fingers like some kind of shy goddess-”

Felix raises a hand. “Okay, Romeo, calm the fuck down.”

Jisung stops abruptly, inhaling deeply before exhaling all at once. Felix watches him for a moment before grinning. “Well, it seems like your hyper fixation on documentaries finally did something for you.”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating with agreement. “I know, right?! It’s like the universe finally aligned like this was the moment my excessive knowledge of marine biology was meant for! She didn’t even get annoyed when I rambled. She let me talk! And you know how people usually get all ‘Jisung, shut the fuck up’ when I start going off? She didn’t do that! She just listened! Like an angel! Like the patron saint of patience and marine ecosystems!”

Felix snickers, tilting his head. “So what’s the plan, loverboy?”

Jisung's face splits into a mischievous grin. He dramatically claps his hands together, rubbing them like a cartoon villain. “I have a plan,”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m going to write a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life. And then I’m going to ask Y/N to help me.”

Felix stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing. “That’s actually smart.”

Jisung grins, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “I know! She’s literally a marine biology major, Felix. This is perfect! It’s academic, it’s something I genuinely care about, and it means I’ll get to spend more time with her!”

Felix shakes his head, still grinning. “Damn, you’re really in deep, huh?”

Jisung groans dramatically, flopping onto Felix’s bed. “Felix, I am drowning. And you know what? I don’t want a fucking lifeboat. I’m just gonna let the ocean of my emotions consume me.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Alright, Shakespeare, go get started on your research before you combust.”

Jisung sits up instantly, determination burning in his eyes. “You’re right. I need to prepare. This has to be perfect.”

Felix watches as Jisung scrambles to his feet, already pulling out his phone, probably to start researching on the way to his room.

As he reaches the doorway, Jisung pauses. Then he turns back, pointing dramatically at Felix. “Operation Love at High Tide is officially in motion.”

Felix groans. “I fucking hate you.”

Jisung just grins and bolts down the hallway, already mumbling excitedly to himself.

The quiet room is a refuge against the relentless heatwave. The campus feels suffocating, the humidity pressing in from all sides, and your body always feels heavier when it’s this hot, like the warmth drags your energy down until your limbs are sluggish, your mind slower to process. It doesn’t help that Beom-Seok has been more unbearable than usual, his usual annoying flirtations escalating into excessive physical contact, hands lingering far too long on your wrist, your shoulder, even the small of your back. The moment you’d managed to shake him, you’d practically sprinted to the quiet room, seeking out the air conditioning and solitude.

The cool air soothes the tension in your body as you sit at the table, your laptop open in front of you, an article on turtles and microplastics affecting their breeding cycles displayed on the screen.

Your green maxi skirt pools around your legs as you shift, the material soft against your skin. The white crochet halter top breathes easily in the heat, and the bandana keeping your hair back prevents it from sticking to your skin.

The door swings open and Jisung steps inside. His white Nirvana graphic tee is slightly oversized, hanging loose over his camouflage cargo pants, and his white chunky sneakers make soft thuds against the floor as he moves toward you. A white bandana keeps his hair out of his face, but a few strands still manage to escape, framing his features.

He places his bag on the chair across from you before sliding one of the cups in his hands toward you. “Hey,” he says, his tone easy, familiar. “Figured you’d need this.”

You blink at the iced latte in front of you, condensation already beading on the plastic. Your fingers brush against the cold surface as you hesitate, glancing up at him.

Jisung grins. “I figured you’d want something iced since, you know, death heat.”

Your lips part, struggling for a second to form the right words. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Jisung waves a hand, plopping down across from you and taking a sip of his own iced americano. “Don’t judge the outfit, okay? I’m running out of clean clothes because I’m sweating through everything in this fucking heatwave. I think my laundry basket is actually mocking me at this point.”

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at his shirt and pants. “You.. look fine.”

Jisung grins. “See, this is why I like you and I need your help.”

You glance at him, waiting.

“I chose to do a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life,” he announces, pulling his notebooks from his backpack. “And I thought, you know who can help me? Y/N.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly as he slides his notes toward you. The pages are chaotic, a mess of hurried writing, crossed-out sentences, and doodles.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, not much. And not factual enough. Which is why I desperately need your help.”

You pull the notebook closer, your eyes scanning the pages. You have to read slowly, taking your time to process the Korean and translate it in your head. But as you go through his notes, something becomes increasingly clear, there’s barely anything about plastics and aquatic life. Instead, it’s filled with scattered thoughts, personal opinions, and elaborate doodles of sea creatures.

You pause, a small smile tugging at your lips as you read one of the notes scrawled in the middle of the page.

Male dolphins should be cancelled. Make a #MeToo movement for female dolphins at a later date.

A quiet laugh escapes before you can stop it. Jisung immediately perks up. “Oh my god, I made you laugh. That means you got to that part, huh?”

You glance at him, still amused. “Male… dolphins?”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back. “They’re rapists, Y/N! It’s awful! I was doing some research, and it turns out they have fucking gangs where they kidnap female dolphins and force them to mate. And it gets worse! They also hump humans! There are actual recorded incidents of people getting harassed by fucking dolphins! Like, imagine going on a nice vacation, swimming in the ocean, and then bam! Sexual assault by a dolphin! I trusted them! We all trusted them!”

You already know all of this. But you let him talk.

“And the thing is, everyone thinks dolphins are these cute, friendly ocean puppies, but no! They’re fucking menaces! And you know what else? They kill for fun! They’ll just murder baby porpoises for no fucking reason! They don’t even eat them, they just do it! Like some serial killer shit! If dolphins had access to land, they’d probably be running underground crime rings or some mafia bullshit.”

You sip your latte, watching him with mild amusement and Jisung slams his notebook shut. “I’m sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest.”

You nod solemnly. “I get.”

Jisung exhales deeply, slumping forward onto the table. “So. Are you gonna help me fix my article so it actually has, you know, real information?”

“Yes. I help.”

Jisung beams. “You’re the best.”

You tap your pen against Jisung’s notebook, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of words and sketches, a mix of actual research and unhinged commentary about marine life. Your fingers twitch slightly as you resist the urge to cross out half of what’s written and start from scratch.

“You need more, um, fact? More, uh, sources. Not just, your, uh,” You wave a hand vaguely at the dolphin rant section.

Jisung snickers but nods, tapping his fingers against his iced americano. “Yeah, okay, fair. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

You tilt your laptop toward him, opening the article you had been reading before he arrived. The page is filled with data, references, and case studies on how microplastics affect the reproductive cycles of sea turtles.

“This...” You hesitate, searching for the word before sighing and resorting to miming. You point at the screen, then gesture with your fingers like you’re flipping through pages of a book.

Jisung immediately brightens. “Oh! Research! Like, actual academic sources?”

You nod quickly. “Yes! That.”

Jisung scoots closer, eyes scanning the article as he sips his drink. “Okay, this is actually sick. Sea turtles getting fucked over by microplastics? Not sick. But the amount of data here? Sick.” He tilts his head, reading. “Wait, so the microplastics don’t just mess with their digestion, they actually affect temperature-dependent sex determination?”

“Yes. Uh, how to say...” You gesture vaguely in the air, thinking. “More heat, more...” You pause, then trace the outline of a turtle shell with your fingers.

Jisung watches, amused but also genuinely interested. “More heat makes more turtles?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. More, uh, female?”

“Oh shit, it skews the ratio?”

“Yes!” You smile slightly, relieved he understands. “More heat, more female. Less male.”

Jisung whistles, rubbing his chin. “So they’re basically just making future generations completely unbalanced because of plastic. Yeah, okay, I definitely need to fix this shit.” He flips through his own pages, groaning as he lands on yet another doodle of a very muscular crab holding a knife. “Jesus, past Jisung, what the fuck were you on?”

You can’t help but laugh quietly. Jisung hears it and grins, immediately encouraged. “Alright, let’s really get to work. What other sources should I be using?”

You start scrolling, pulling up more articles, explaining them in slow, broken Korean while he listens attentively, nodding along. He asks questions, some smart, some absolutely ridiculous, but he cares, and that alone makes it easier to keep going.

Then, suddenly, you hear it. Beom-Seok’s voice.

Your fingers immediately tighten around your anxiety rings, your whole body going rigid as your stomach twists itself into knots. You hear him somewhere outside, laughing loudly, his voice carrying through the hall. It’s too much, too familiar, and you really don’t want to deal with him right now.

You turn quickly to Jisung, your voice low, urgent. “I... not here.”

Jisung frowns slightly, looking at you properly for the first time. His energy settles just enough for him to catch the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you twist your rings over and over again.

Jisung doesn’t ask questions, he just nods without hesitation. And then, because he is Jisung, he immediately hypes himself up like he’s about to walk into a literal fight. He bounces up on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms, taking a quick sip of his americano before setting it down like he’s getting into the zone. Then, without warning, he starts throwing quick jabs in the air, shaking his head like he’s about to step into a boxing ring.

You stare at him, blinking until he catches your expression and grins. “What? Minho says I gotta be ready at all times. I could get jumped. You never know.”

Beom-Seok’s voice is closer now, just outside the room. Jisung straightens up, rolls his shoulders, and swings the door open like a bouncer checking for ID. He leans against the frame, immediately raising an eyebrow.

“Pass?” he asks, voice flat.

Beom-Seok blinks at him. “What?”

Jisung gestures vaguely toward the quiet room. “This is a pass-only room, dude. You got one?”

Beom-Seok frowns. “I’m not trying to come in. I’m looking for Y/N.”

“Well, it’s just me and my mental health issues in here.”

Beom-Seok blinks again. “What?”

“You know, it’s actually crazy how much people underestimate the importance of mental health rooms. Like, did you know that excessive stimulation can literally fry your nervous system? It’s actually fucked up. And people assume that just because I’m loud, I don’t get overwhelmed, but oh-ho, my guy, let me tell you-”

Beom-Seok’s brows knit together. “I just-”

“-sometimes the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my shit is a fidget cube. A fidget cube. Can you imagine? The fragile balance of my entire existence depends on the smooth rotation of a tiny plastic fucking cube. And you know what else is fucked up? The government. But we don’t have time to get into that-”

Beom-Seok’s jaw tightens. “I just want to know where-”

“-and speaking of time, isn’t it wild how time perception changes depending on emotional states? Like, when you’re having fun, time moves fast as fuck, but when you’re stuck in a boring ass conversation-” he gestures vaguely at Beom-Seok “-it’s like time stops completely. Scientists have theories about it, but honestly, my personal belief is that it’s all a simulation, and we’re just pawns in a very elaborate-”

Beom-Seok stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. “Are you on something?”

“I am simply powered by caffeine and anxiety!”

Beom-Seok clenches his jaw, clearly trying to decide whether or not it’s even worth engaging anymore. “Look, just tell Y/N I’m looking for her.”

Jisung tilts his head. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Beom-Seok stares at him for another few seconds, then exhales sharply, shaking his head as he turns to walk away and Jisung grins to himself, watching him leave before slowly shutting the door.

You peek out from behind the table, shoulders still tight, but relief creeping in. “He... gone?”

Jisung nods proudly. “Yup! He stood no chance against my greatest weapon, insufferable energy.”

You exhale, tension draining from your muscles. “Thank you.”

Jisung flops back into his chair, sipping his iced americano like he didn’t just mentally exhaust another human being into leaving. “Anytime. Now, let’s get back to fixing my disaster of an article.”

Two weeks have passed, and the quiet room has become a routine, a ritual. Every day, you and Jisung escape here, seeking the crisp relief of the air conditioning while the outside world suffocates under the relentless heatwave. The afternoons stretch into evenings, iced coffee sweating against plastic cups, the hum of your laptops a constant background noise.

You’ve been meaning to start Jisung’s article. Really. It’s just that every time he sits down, notebook open, laptop glowing, he gets distracted. It always starts small, he’ll see something in the news while opening his browser or remember something halfway through a sip of his coffee, and suddenly, the conversation veers.

Today is no different.

Jisung leans back in his chair, his sleeveless white top clinging to his skin in the summer heat. His broad chest stretches the fabric in a way that should be illegal, and a black bandana keeps his hair back, but a few strands have escaped, curling against his forehead, and he’s tied part of it in a little bun at the back of his head to stop it from touching his neck.

He’s halfway through an enthusiastic retelling of a Princess Diana documentary, gesturing animatedly with his iced americano in one hand.

You sit across from him, quietly sipping your iced latte. The cream-coloured cropped blouse you’re wearing ties just below your breasts, the billowy sleeves falling loosely over your arms. Your blue maxi skirt pools over your crossed legs, the soft fabric cooling against your skin. A matching blue bandana keeps your hair back, two strands framing your face.

Jisung doesn’t need you to speak. He never does. He just talks, and you listen. And you like it.

“The wildest part? The fucking conspiracy theories. Like, okay. I love a good conspiracy. Did aliens build the pyramids? Maybe. But the amount of people who think MI6 had her killed? The theories actually make sense, which is the fucked-up part. The Royal Family hated her, and suddenly she dies in a crash with zero CCTV footage from the tunnel?”

You blink at him, processing his rant. “You think she was, um, killed?”

“I mean. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

You shake your head slightly, sipping your coffee. “You watch many, uh, true crime?”

Jisung snorts. “Too much. Documentaries, podcasts, YouTube deep dives, all of it.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “You ever watch that one on, uh, what’s his face, Ted Bundy?”

You nod slowly. “Yes. Many...” You search for the word, frowning before miming a camera with your hands. “Many, uh, films?”

Jisung grins. “Movies! Yeah, yeah, there’s been a shit ton.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “You like true crime?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

Jisung hums, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. “Fair. It’s fascinating but also terrifying.”

You nod in agreement, twisting one of your silver rings absentmindedly. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the low hum of the air conditioning filling the space.

Then, finally, you clear your throat. “You... should start, uh, making, um...” You pause, struggling to piece the sentence together before settling on the easiest way to say it. “Mind... maps?”

Jisung tilts his head, thinking. “Mindmaps?”

You nod. “To, um... build... up main parts?” You frown, thinking harder before miming connecting dots in the air. “Like, um... break... break research?”

Jisung watches your hands, his grin growing. “Ohhh, I get it! Like, use a research paper, break it into sections, and then use those small ideas to flow into the full article?”

You exhale in relief, nodding. “Yes! That.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah. That makes so much sense.” He immediately unzips his bag, pulling out highlighters, notebooks, his laptop, and a ridiculous number of coloured pens. “We’re about to make this shit art.”

You shake your head but smile, watching as he spreads out his supplies.

He flips open a blank page in his notebook, tapping a pen against his lip. “Okay, so first, we pick a research paper, right? Which one should we use?”

You pull your laptop closer, scrolling through the saved articles. After a few seconds, you tilt the screen toward him. “This? It, um, good?”

Jisung leans in, scanning the page. “Microplastics and their impact on marine food chains. Yeah, okay, this is perfect.” He cracks his knuckles, grabbing a green highlighter. “Let’s fucking go.”

You both start working, reading through the paper and breaking it down into simple ideas. Jisung is surprisingly focused when he wants to be, humming softly as he underlines key points and draws messy bubbles around main topics.

You glance at his notebook and immediately stifle a laugh. His mindmap is chaos. Some sections are neatly labelled, others have tiny doodles next to them. You spot a tiny, angry-looking jellyfish wearing sunglasses in the corner.

Jisung catches you looking and grins. “What? He’s a cool motherfucker.”

You shake your head, laughing softly.

Jisung taps his pen against the page, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a boring-ass report, though. If people wanted to read a report, they’d just read the research paper.”

You tilt your head. “So... add, um, your, uh,” You pause, struggling before pointing at him. “You.”

Jisung blinks. “Me?”

You nod. “You... is funny.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah, I am. How's this?”

His first attempt at a joke is scrawled across the page in slightly uneven handwriting:

Microplastics: because just fucking up the land wasn’t enough, we had to ruin the ocean too.

He glances up, waiting. You blink at the words, considering them for a moment before tilting your head slightly. “It good,” you say carefully. “But, maybe, shorter?”

Jisung grins, flipping the page to rewrite it. “Alright, alright, let me work my comedic genius.” He mutters to himself as he rewords it, scribbling out different variations before nodding to himself and showing you the final version.

Microplastics: land pollution wasn’t enough, so we said fuck it, let’s poison fish too.

You huff out a quiet laugh, nodding. Jisung’s grin stretches wider. “Yes! Okay, that one stays.”

He gets back to work, tossing out different one-liners for various sections of his article. Some make you roll your eyes. Some are so bad you just stare at him until he groans and crosses them out himself. But the ones that make you actually laugh? Those, he keeps.

For the section on the ocean’s rising temperatures, he jots down: The ocean is getting hotter, and not in a sexy way.

You giggle at that one, covering your mouth, and Jisung fist pumps. “See? This is why I need you. You’re my official bullshit detector.”

Another one, for the way microplastics are now showing up in human bodies: Congratulations, you’re now 30% water and 5% plastic. We’re all just one step away from becoming living Barbie dolls.

You snort, shaking your head, and Jisung beams as he underlines it.

Then he gets to the part about dolphins. His eyes light up mischievously, and before you can even process what’s happening, he scribbles down: Male dolphins: proof that even the ocean has predatory men.

You laugh, really laugh, a full-bodied, breathy noise that catches even you by surprise. Jisung gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I knew it! I fucking knew that one would land.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “It... good.”

Jisung grins, practically bouncing in his seat as he scribbles more notes. His energy fills the room, easy and contagious, and for once, you don’t feel overwhelmed by it.

Then there’s a knock at the door. Your stomach drops. You don’t need to hear the voice to know who it is. Jisung groans before standing up and making his way to the door. He swings it open just enough to poke his head out, squinting dramatically at whoever is standing outside.

“You again?”

Beom-Seok stands there, brows furrowed in frustration. “Where’s Y/N?”

Jisung lets out a long, suffering sigh and leans against the doorframe. “Ahh, here we go again. The saga of men who can’t take a fucking hint continues.”

Beom-Seok frowns. “What?”

Jisung ignores him completely, launching straight into another one of his infamous rants. “You know what I don’t understand? Clingy men. Like, bro, why do some guys act like GPS trackers with fucking attachment issues? Like, what happened? Did your parents not hug you enough as a kid? Do you need therapy? A pet? A hobby? Why are some dudes so allergic to leaving women the fuck alone?”

Beom-Seok sighs, visibly annoyed. “I just need to-”

“Oh, no, I get it,” Jisung continues, nodding like he’s solving a true crime case. “You’re one of those guys who thinks ‘no’ means ‘convince me,’ huh? Like, ‘Oh, she’s just playing hard to get.’ Nah, my guy. You are the game, and it’s called Leave Her the Fuck Alone Simulator 3000.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “Is she in there or not?”

Jisung grins, tilting his head. “Hmmm, mystery. The suspense. The drama. What will happen next? Will the creepy guy take a fucking hint, or will he continue embarrassing himself? Stay tuned for the next episode of No One Wants You Here.”

Beom-Seok’s patience is clearly thinning. “Look-”

Jisung keeps going, undeterred. “Also, fun fact? If you keep showing up like this, it stops being persistence and starts being a fucking horror movie. ‘Oh, but I just wanna talk to her’, okay, Michael Myers, then why the fuck are you showing up like an unwanted jump scare? Ever heard of a text? A call? A restraining order?”

Beom-Seok glares at him now. “I don’t even know you.”

Jisung gasps, fake-offended. “And yet,” he says, placing a hand over his heart, “I already know so much about you. The fact that you have the personality of a wet napkin? That’s one. The fact that your hair looks like it was cut by a blindfolded five-year-old? That’s two. And three, the fact that you’re still standing here after I’ve made it so fucking clear that you’re not wanted?” He clicks his tongue. “Tragic.”

Beom-Seok looks about two seconds away from punching him. “Just tell Y/N I was looking for her.”

Jisung raises his brows. “Yeah, I could do that. But I won’t.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, shaking his head before finally walking away.

Jisung watches him go, then slams the door shut with a triumphant grin. He turns back to you, flexing dramatically. “And that’s how you fend off unwanted male attention, my dear Y/N.”

You exhale, the tension in your body finally easing. “Thank you.”

Jisung waves a hand. “Anytime.” He plops back into his seat, cracking his knuckles. “Now, let’s get back to roasting the ocean’s biggest predators. And no, I don’t mean sharks. I mean dolphins.”

You shake your head, amused, as Jisung dives right back into his notebook, ready to turn his article into something only he could write.

The quiet room is supposed to be safe. The air conditioning hums steadily as you sit at the table, legs crossed beneath your flowing green maxi skirt, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of your brown cropped blouse, the billowy sleeves soft against your skin. The green bandana holds your hair back, keeping the damp strands from sticking to your forehead.

You don’t move when the door opens, assuming it’s Jisung coming in with his usual chaotic energy, maybe a new documentary to ramble about, maybe another iced coffee for you without you even asking.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

Your entire body goes rigid. The voice is not Jisung’s. You slowly turn your head, dread clawing up your throat as you see Beom-Seok standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you stand up abruptly, backing away without thinking. Your breath comes quicker now, panic settling under your skin, making your hands shake as you clutch the edge of the table like it’s a lifeline.

Beom-Seok steps inside, closing the door behind him. "It’s not very nice of you,"

He moves toward you, and before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you forward. You stumble, colliding against his chest, the sudden proximity making bile rise in your throat.

"You keep running away. That’s not fair, Y/N. I just want to talk."

His other hand reaches for the tie of your blouse, fingers grazing the fabric. The panic spikes in your chest as you struggle, twisting in his hold.

"Let go,"

His fingers pull at your blouse, yanking, and the thin fabric tears with a sharp rip. Something in you snaps. You shove at him, hands pushing against his chest, his shoulders, anywhere to get him off of you. His grip doesn’t loosen, and when he leans in, trying to press his mouth against yours, your instincts take over.

You slam your forehead into his nose. Beom-Seok shouts, jerking back in shock, and in that split second, you kick him in the shin as hard as you possibly can. He stumbles, cursing, and you don’t waste a second.

You run. Your feet pound against the floor as you sprint down the hallway, gripping your skirt in one hand to keep from tripping, the other clutching your torn blouse to your chest. Your heart is a drum against your ribs, your breaths sharp and panicked, your vision blurring at the edges.

You don’t stop. You don’t look back. Then, suddenly, you crash into something solid.

Arms wrap around you instinctively as you collide with a warm, broad chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Your fingers tighten into the fabric of a ribbed beige top, your body trembling violently as you cling to the person holding you.

Jisung. His hands steady you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head.

"Woah, hey, hey, hey," he says, his voice instantly softer than you’ve ever heard it. "What’s going on?"

His body tenses. His gaze flickers to the torn fabric of your blouse, to the way you’re holding it together, to the sheer terror in your wide, unfocused eyes.

Jisung exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening. "Y/N," he murmurs, his voice carefully even, like he’s trying not to scare you more.

But you can’t breathe. The world is closing in, the hallway spinning, your own heartbeat too loud in your ears. Your chest locks up, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps, but no air fills your lungs. You grip Jisung tighter, burying your face against him as your entire body trembles violently.

"You gotta breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low, reassuring. "You're gonna have a panic attack if you don’t breathe."

You can’t. Your gasps turn desperate, your fingers clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Jisung moves carefully, slowly lowering the both of you to the ground until he’s sitting with his back against the wall, keeping you curled up against his chest. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand stroking your back, the other still resting against the back of your head.

"It’s okay," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I got you. I got you."

Your breaths are still erratic, your chest rising and falling too fast, your body shaking.

Jisung gently shushes you, his hand running up and down your back in soothing motions. "I know, I know," he murmurs. "It’s okay. Just breathe with me, okay? Just try."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the steady warmth of his body, the way he’s grounding you, holding you together when you feel like you’re going to break apart.

Jisung keeps rocking you slightly, his voice constant, whispering to you, not expecting you to respond, not forcing you to speak. "You’re safe," he murmurs. "I promise. You’re safe now."

Your gasps start to slow, just barely, as you cling to his voice, to the soft, steady sound of it.

"You’re not alone, I got you."

The frat house is an absolute mess. The portable air conditioning unit hums pathetically in the middle of the living room, barely offering any relief against the oppressive heatwave that refuses to let up. The seven shirtless men sprawled around the space are nothing short of miserable.

"This is fucking unbearable," Chan groans, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes closed. Sweat glistens on his skin, his black gym shorts clinging to his thighs. "I feel like I’m melting into the furniture."

"You are melting into the furniture," Jeongin mutters, sprawled out on the floor in front of the AC like a starfish. "You’re going to leave a sweat imprint."

"Shut the fuck up, it’s so hot," Changbin huffs, lying next to Jeongin, arms crossed over his bare chest. "I swear to god, if I hear the words heatwave one more time, I’m punching something."

Felix, leaning against the arm of the couch, lazily fans himself with an old magazine. "It’s so hot my freckles feel like they’re melting off."

Hyunjin, draped across the other couch with his arm over his eyes, groans dramatically. "If I have to move, I’m going to die."

Seungmin shifts slightly, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows on his knees. "I don’t get how some people actually like summer. It’s stupid hot, everything’s sticky, and I’m constantly questioning whether I’m sweating or just wet from the fucking air."

Minho lets out an exhausted sigh. "If we don’t get rain soon, I’m going to start sacrificing you guys to the gods."

The front door swings open and Jisung walks in, and he’s carrying you on his back, your handbag slung over his shoulder alongside his own backpack. His arms are locked under your thighs, holding you securely, and you’re clinging to him.

Jisung crouches slightly, letting you slide off his back, but you don’t step away. You stay close, lingering just behind him, your blouse still torn, the fabric clutched tightly to your chest. Your shoulders are tense, and your eyes remain downcast, your whole body wound up like a tightly coiled spring.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Since when did you two know each other?"

Jisung clears his throat, adjusting your bag on his shoulder. "Uh, so, she’s been helping me with an investigative journalism assignment, but I was on my way to meet her, and she came running out of the quiet room. It took me a while to calm her down, but I still don’t know what happened."

You shift slightly, still half-hidden behind Jisung. Your fingers twist the fabric of your blouse, your throat tightening. "He… grab me. And he try to-" You pause, struggling, before tapping your lips. "What’s... word?"

Jisung’s entire body goes rigid.

"And he uh..." You gesture to your blouse, still torn, still exposing your shoulder. Your voice is small, but you keep going. "So I uh..." You tap your forehead lightly, then point to Jisung’s nose. "And then I kick. Hard."

"Who?"

You glance up at Jisung, hesitating, and he furrows his brows, realization dawning. "Oh. Oh fuck." He snaps his fingers. "That guy, right? The one who kept showing up? The one that wouldn’t fucking leave? I knew something was off with him. Knew it. You can always tell when a guy’s got that weird creep energy, you know? Like, why do some dudes think persistence is charming? It’s not! It’s fucking terrifying! If a girl isn’t responding, that doesn’t mean try harder, it means back the fuck off! Like, holy shit, it’s not a fucking game, and-"

"Jisung," Minho cuts in, voice low, controlled. "Who?"

You swallow hard. "My project partner. Beom-Seok."

Minho doesn’t speak. He just stands, movements slow and deliberate, walking toward the door. He grabs his shoes. Then his T-shirt. "Are you going to be okay with Jisung?"

You nod hesitantly, still pressed close to Jisung. "Jisung is nice."

Minho nods, something flickering in his eyes. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips for just a second, he’s glad you’re branching out, that you’re letting someone else in.

Jeongin moves first, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his sneakers. Seungmin follows, cracking his knuckles. Chan and Changbin exchange a glance before moving toward the door without a word.

Felix ties his hair back, jaw tense. "Where is he?"

Chan pulls his t-shirt over his head. "We’ll find him."

Minho turns to you, stepping forward. His hands are warm as they settle gently on your shoulders, then move up to cup your face. He studies you for a moment, taking in every detail, your trembling fingers, the way your eyes are still wet, the tension in your jaw.

Then he pulls you into a hug. His chin rests on top of your head, and one of his hands gently smooths over your hair, grounding you.

"I’m gonna go fight that fucker, okay? We’re all gonna beat him up. He’ll never come near you again."

You nod against his chest, gripping the back of his shirt and Minho squeezes your shoulders once more before pulling back, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer. Then he turns on his heel and walks out the door and the others follow.

As soon as the door closes, Jisung leads you into the kitchen, the overhead light flickering slightly before settling into a dull glow. He gestures toward the cabinets, already reaching for a couple of glasses. "Tea? Coffee? Booze?"

You hesitate for a second, rolling the options around in your head before mumbling, "Cachaca?"

Jisung pauses, blinking at you. "Cachaca? I think we have some somewhere. Minho drinks it."

You nod quickly, trying to explain. "Yes, I-" You wave your hand through the air in a dramatic swoosh motion, trying to find the right word.

Jisung watches, grinning. "Posted it?"

"Yes! Posted! Woosh! From Brazil!"

Jisung laughs, shaking his head as he moves toward one of the higher cabinets, standing on his tiptoes slightly as he rummages through the bottles. "Damn, so we’ve got imported liquor in this frat house? Fancy as fuck."

You shift slightly, still holding your torn blouse together, the fabric damp against your skin. Jisung glances at you out of the corner of his eye before setting the bottle down and walking over to the chair and grabbing a jacket. Without a word, he drapes it over your shoulders. It’s too big, warm from his body heat, and the fabric instantly makes you feel safer.

Your fingers automatically slip into the pockets out of instinct and they brush against something inside. You pull out two tickets, frowning slightly as you inspect them. COEX Aquarium. Gangnam. Next week.

Jisung freezes mid-pour, eyes flickering between you and the tickets. "Oh. Uh-" He rubs the back of his neck. "Forget about those."

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

He exhales, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I was gonna ask you to go with me. Like, on a date. But after, you know, that dickhead, I figured you might not want to go on a date right now."

You shake your head immediately, gripping the tickets slightly tighter. "No, no," you insist, struggling to find the right words. "You are... very nice. Not bad like Beom-Seok. "I would like date with you. You are nice. You no care I am bad at Korean. You are good man, Jisung."

Jisung watches you for a long moment, unreadable, before he exhales through his nose. "Don’t feel forced-"

"I no feel forced," you interrupt, shaking your head more firmly this time. "I, uh, would like to go on date with you."

Jisung studies you for a second longer before he breaks into a grin. "Great!" Then he pauses, tilting his head. "So, to summarize what just happened here, you asked me on a date that I paid for?"

You nod, smiling slightly and Jisung snorts. "Okay, well, can’t complain, can I?" He slides a glass of cachaca toward you, ice clinking against the sides before he takes a sip of his own.

The alcohol burns, sharp and familiar as it settles in your chest and Jisung hums contentedly before his eyes light up with an idea.

"Ooh, wait. Let me show you these videos I like watching. It’s animated dancing fruit and vegetables, there’s one where they dance to Pink Venom."

Jisung pulls his phone out, quickly typing before angling the screen toward you. The video starts playing, a hyper-stylized animated sequence of little fruit characters, their bodies bouncing to the beat of BLACKPINK’s Pink Venom. Tiny, grinning strawberries spin in circles. A smug-looking banana moonwalks across the screen. The entire thing is completely ridiculous.

You stare at it for a long moment before letting out a small, breathy laugh.

Jisung grins, leaning closer. "It's art."

You shake your head, but you keep watching, sipping your drink. Jisung rests his chin in his hand, his smile lazy and content as he watches you instead of the screen.

For the first time all night, the weight pressing on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

Minho is lying on his back on Jisung’s bed, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting on his stomach, a small ice pack balanced over his bruised knuckles. His tank top sticks slightly to his skin from the humidity, and his legs are stretched out in a pair of loose gym shorts. He’s tired but he’s also satisfied, his body still thrumming with the remnants of adrenaline from earlier.

Minho cracks an eye open just in time to see Jisung slip out of bed and cross the room to his closet. “What the fuck are you doing?” Minho mutters, shifting slightly to sit up.

Jisung doesn’t answer. Instead, he rummages through his closet, pushing aside sneakers, stacks of manga, and a box labelled Jisung’s Hoard (DO NOT TOUCH, CHANGBIN I MEAN IT) before finally pulling out a riot shield.

Minho stares as Jisung holds it up in front of his body, gripping the handle tightly, his head barely peeking over the top.

“I’m going on a date with Y/N next week,” Jisung announces and then, as if expecting immediate violence, he ducks behind the shield.

Minho blinks slowly, then sighs. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Okay, listen, before you say anything, or hit anything, just think for a second, okay? I didn’t plan for it to happen like this, I was gonna ask her in a cute way, but then she found the tickets in my pocket and technically she asked me first so if anything you should be mad at her, actually, wait, no, don’t be mad at her, I take that back, that would be bad, I mean-"

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jisung.”

"-okay but I swear I'm not a creep, I was gonna take her anyway just as a friend, you know I love aquariums, but then she found them and she wanted to go and she said I’m nice and not a bad man, which was very validating by the way-”

“Jisung.”

“-and I promise I’m gonna be good to her, I’m not gonna fuck around, I mean, I barely date to begin with because most people are annoying and I have trust issues but she’s-”

“Jisung.”

"-different, you know she’s different, you’ve known her forever, I’ve only known her a few weeks and I already know she’s different, she doesn’t make me shut up and she lets me ramble and do you know how rare that is, do you know how many people tell me to just shut the fuck up and-"

Minho exhales loudly. “Jisung.”

Jisung freezes, peeking out from behind the shield.

Minho stares at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Okay.”

Jisung blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Minho shrugs again, shifting slightly as he repositions the ice pack over his knuckles.

Jisung stays behind the riot shield, just in case and Minho watches him for a second before sighing. “Did you buy that just to break the news to me?”

Jisung straightens slightly, still gripping the shield. “No, I bought it because I thought it’d look cool. But it’s multi-purpose.” He pauses, then reaches into his closet again, pulling out a fucking katana.

Still behind the shield, Jisung holds up the sword. “This is what I actually bought to tell you the news.”

Minho stares at the blade, unimpressed and Jisung wiggles it slightly. “It’s fake, but it looks real enough that I hoped you’d piss your pants.”

Minho snorts. “Idiot.”

Jisung carefully sets the katana down but does not lower the shield. He eyes Minho warily. “You’re really not gonna attack me?”

“No.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Minho rolls his shoulders, exhaling slowly. “If it were Hyunjin or Jeongin, I’d attack. But not you.”

Jisung frowns. “Why?”

“They’re sluts.”

“What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

“They’d hump and dump, and you wouldn’t,” Minho explains simply. “You care about people’s feelings too much”

Jisung stares. “That’s the nicest and most backhanded thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Minho smirks. “You know I’m right.”

Jisung sighs, finally lowering the shield slightly. “Yeah, okay, fair.” He crosses his arms. “Jeongin always says I’m scared of women, and that’s why I don’t hump and dump.”

Minho snickers. “He’s a little shit.”

“Women don’t scare me. Well, some do. But not Y/N.”

Minho hums, watching him carefully. “You like her.”

Jisung huffs. “No shit.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches for a pillow.

Jisung sees it and his eyes widen. Minho moves fast, throwing the pillow straight at Jisung’s head. Jisung screeches, throwing the shield up again just in time. The pillow bounces off with a dramatic thump, landing on the floor as Jisung stumbles slightly under the weight of the shield.

Minho smirks. “Just had to do something about it.”

Jisung groans, collapsing onto the bed with the shield still in his arms. “I fucking knew you were gonna do something.”

Minho just chuckles, settling back against the pillows as Jisung exhales, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing. He knows Minho isn’t mad, but still, he wasn’t about to risk it. Slowly, his fingers trace the edge of the shield, his mind drifting. He really does like you. And for once, he’s not scared of what that means.

Minho stands in front of your closet, arms crossed, eyes scanning your clothes with the kind of focus most people would reserve for a life-or-death situation. You stand beside him, fingers twisting the silver anxiety rings on your hands, your stomach already tight with nerves.

"It’s 10 a.m. You’re meeting Jisung at 1 p.m. That gives us three hours to pick out an outfit and get you ready, more than enough time. And I’ve even factored in an extra hour for me to give you a calming talk so you don’t freak the fuck out."

You let out a slow breath, nodding and Minho hums, his sharp eyes darting over the options in your closet. "It’s still a fucking heatwave, so you need something light."

He pulls out a black mini-dress with contrasting white trim on the straps. The fabric is soft, the cut simple but flattering, barely reaching mid-thigh. He holds it up against you, tilting his head as he assesses.

You glance at the dress, then back at Minho, nodding in approval. Minho tosses the dress onto your bed before moving to your shoe rack. He crouches, tapping his chin before grabbing a pair of white sneakers and a pair of mid-calf socks.

"You’ll be walking around COEX, so these are practical," he explains. "And they go with the dress. Simple, clean."

Next, he steps over to your collection of bags, brows furrowing in concentration before he selects a small white handbag. He holds it out, nodding in satisfaction. "Done. Outfit complete. Go put it on."

You take everything and hurry into your bathroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands shake slightly as you set the clothes down on the counter, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

You change quickly, pulling the dress over your head, smoothing the fabric down over your hips. The material is soft against your skin, breathable and perfect for the oppressive heat outside. You slip on the socks and sneakers, then glance at yourself in the mirror.

The dress is cute, simple but flattering. The white trim adds a soft contrast, and the sneakers keep the whole look casual enough that you don’t feel overdressed.

You step back into your room and Minho turns, eyes scanning you up and down. He nods, satisfied. "It’s perfect. Heatwave suitable, cute, and kind of casual sexy." He gestures toward your vanity. "Now, hair and makeup."

You hesitate, shifting slightly. "I... thought you would no like.... me and Jisung uh date."

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "I’m protective, not possessive," he says simply. "You can date whoever you like. But if Jisung makes you upset, I will have to de-limb him."

You stare at him for a second before letting out a small, breathy laugh and Minho smirks, nudging you toward your seat in front of the mirror. "Oh, and you need to do my makeup. I have a date with Chan later."

"Chan?"

Minho shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips as he stands behind you, eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys your face through the mirror. He tilts his head, assessing, before reaching for your makeup bag. "Alright, let’s get this done quickly. You need something light and natural, nothing too heavy in this disgusting-ass heatwave."

You nod, sitting still as Minho gets to work. His movements are practiced, efficient, the result of years of perfecting his own makeup routine and frequently doing yours. He applies a light layer of foundation, blending it in effortlessly with a sponge, making sure it evens out your complexion without feeling cakey.

"Close your eyes," he mutters, already reaching for a soft brown eyeshadow.

You stay still, your fingers twisting your silver rings as Minho moves on to your brows, quickly filling them in with light strokes. His touch is gentle but firm, his expression focused as he works.

"Okay, look up," he instructs. He holds your chin lightly as he swipes a small coat of mascara on your lashes, careful not to smudge it. "You need to be able to survive the day without looking like a raccoon."

You hum softly in agreement, your hands still gripping the hem of your dress nervously.

Minho sighs as he picks up a lip tint. "Relax, Jesus," he mutters, swiping the colour onto your lips. "Jisung isn’t gonna sacrifice you at the aquarium. Now, hair."

He quickly gathers your hair into his hands, pulling it up into a loose, messy bun at the crown of your head. He leaves a few strands out to frame your face, stepping back to examine his work.

"Perfect," he announces, smoothing his hands over your shoulders. "Alright, my turn. Make me hot."

He flops down into the chair, legs spread lazily, watching as you pick up his makeup bag. You pull out a primer first, dabbing a small amount onto his skin.

Minho smirks. "If you make me too pretty, Chan won’t be able to control himself."

You shake your head, smiling slightly as you begin blending his foundation. His skin is already annoyingly smooth, so it doesn’t take much work.

As you carefully contour his cheekbones, you pause, tilting your head. "You no tell me you like Chan."

Minho exhales through his nose, amused. "I didn’t know until I sucked his dick. I’ll know if I love him once I’ve fucked him."

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh as you pick up the highlighter. "You uh, top?"

Minho stares at you. "Yes, duh."

You furrow your brows, concentrating as you sweep highlighter over the bridge of his nose. "No duh. I think you uh, take? How you say?"

Minho tilts his head. "Sub? Bottom? Take it up the ass?"

You nod. "Yes?"

Minho sighs dramatically. "Oh, my sweet best friend who peed on me when she was one and traumatized four-year-old Minho, no, I do not bottom."

You pause mid-swipe, blinking. "What?"

Minho leans forward slightly, voice dropping into a dramatic whisper. "I was four years old, four, and I thought, hey, let me be helpful, let me change the baby’s diaper. And what did you do? You fucking pissed on me. My soul left my body that day."

You stare at him, trying so hard not to laugh. "I... sorry?"

Minho rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch in amusement. "You should be. You ruined my childhood."

You shake your head as you move on to his under-eye makeup, carefully blending out the concealer. "Your nose is so nice."

Minho smirks. "I know."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are careful as you set his makeup, making sure everything looks smooth. Finally, you swipe a light layer of lip balm onto his lips before sitting back.

"Done."

Minho stands, inspecting himself in the mirror. He tilts his head, humming in approval. "Damn, I do look hot."

You smile slightly, proud of your work.

Then Minho turns to you, expression softening. "Okay," he says, his voice quieter. "Now, listen to me."

You inhale deeply, already nervous.

Minho gently takes your shoulders, turning you to face him. "You look amazing," he says firmly. "And you are amazing. Jisung’s gonna have the best fucking time today because he gets to be with you."

You chew on your lip, your fingers twitching. "I nervous."

"I know," Minho says. "And that’s fine. But this is Jisung we’re talking about. He already adores you, okay? He’s not expecting anything, he’s just excited to spend time with you. You don’t have to be perfect."

You exhale shakily, nodding and Minho squeezes your shoulders. "You got this," he murmurs. "And if anything happens, you call me. Okay?"

You nod again, a little more sure this time.

Minho smiles. "Now, go make that idiot fall even harder for you."

And somehow, you feel like maybe, you can.

The subway station is already busy when you arrive, the hum of conversations, the echoing chime of announcements, and the distant screech of a train pulling in filling the underground air. The sheer amount of people swarming around makes your stomach tighten, anxiety curling in your chest like a tightly wound spring.

Then you spot Jisung leaning against a pillar, hands in the pockets of his light-wash baggy jeans, oversized black graphic sweatshirt swallowing his frame in an effortlessly casual way and his black beret-style cap sits low over his forehead, round-framed glasses perched on his nose. A long silver chain dangles from his neck, catching the dim subway lighting as he shifts.

The moment he sees you, his entire face lights up. "Y/N!"

You relax slightly, just at the sight of him as he bounces toward you, taking a moment to look you over. "Damn," he says, exaggeratedly adjusting his glasses like he’s inspecting you. "You look cute as fuck."

You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you."

Jisung grins before offering his arm dramatically. "Shall we, my lady?"

You huff out a small laugh before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. Together, you make your way onto the subway platform, the train pulling in just as you reach the edge.

Once inside, it’s crowded. You tense slightly, pressing yourself closer to Jisung as bodies push around you. He notices instantly, shifting so that his arm is wrapped securely around your waist. His other hand reaches up, grabbing the overhead handle for balance.

"Hold on to me," he murmurs, his voice light but reassuring.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his torso. His sweatshirt is soft against your skin, his scent a mix of fabric softener and something warm and familiar.

Jisung hums. "Sorry about the subway situation. I tried to learn to drive last year, but my instructor suffered a mental breakdown and quit driving forever after my fourth lesson when I ran over a fox and then crashed into a tree."

You blink up at him. "What?"

Jisung nods solemnly. "Tragic, really. Do you wanna hear the full horror story?"

You hesitate, but the subway is already moving, and focusing on him instead of the cramped space seems far better. You nod.

Jisung grins. "Okay, buckle up, lesson one was already a shitshow. So, I get into the driver’s seat, right? I think I’m ready. My instructor is like, 'Okay, we’re just gonna gently ease onto the road,' and I’m like, got it. So, what do I do? I fucking floor it. Almost ran over an old lady in the crosswalk."

"Jisung!"

"My instructor screamed so loud that I thought she was gonna pass out. She made me pull over and just sat there for like five minutes, staring into the void. I had to keep apologizing while she processed the fact that she almost died."

You shake your head, biting back a smile. "Next lesson?"

Jisung smirks. "Lesson two. So, I get back in the car. I think, okay, this time I’ll be normal. But then, turns out, I have a horrible habit of mistaking the gas for the brake. So, we’re in a parking lot, right? Just doing slow practice. My instructor’s feeling confident, she’s like, ‘Okay, let’s try reversing into a spot.’ I try. Instead of gently backing in, I fucking slam the gas. The car flies backwards. Hits a fucking shopping cart. Cart goes flying, hits another car, sets off the alarm. Instructor? Sobbing."

"No."

Jisung nods dramatically. "Oh yes. The store manager comes out, asks if everything’s okay, and my instructor’s just sitting there with her head in her hands, whispering, ‘Why me?’ I thought she was gonna quit right then."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Lesson three?"

Jisung sighs. "Lesson three was almost normal. Except, I kept forgetting the difference between the turn signal and the windshield wipers. So, every time I tried to turn, I just aggressively turned the wipers on instead. It was sunny as fuck outside. My instructor started twitching every time I reached for the controls."

You giggle, gripping onto him a little tighter as the subway car rocks. "Okay, last lesson?"

Jisung exhales dramatically. "Lesson four. The one that ended it all. So. We’re driving down this quiet-ass street, everything seems fine. I’m focused, I’m chill, I’m not hitting the gas like an idiot. And then it happens."

You furrow your brows. "What happens?"

Jisung presses his lips together. "I see something dart out from the trees. I think it’s a cat. But no. It’s a fox."

Your eyes widen. "You hit a fox?"

"I hit the fuck out of that fox."

You gasp, hands tightening slightly on his sweatshirt. "What happened?"

Jisung shakes his head, as if still haunted. "It was so bad. The fox bounced off the windshield. Like, full-on ragdoll mode. There was blood everywhere. And the worst part? Chunks of it got stuck in the grill of the car."

"Jisung!"

"I KNOW!" He throws his head back. "The instructor screams, I panic, I swerve, and guess what? Straight into a fucking tree."

"You crash the car?"

Jisung groans. "Yes. The airbag fucking explodes in my face. I’m sitting there, stunned as shit, and my instructor? She gets out of the car. She walks away. Doesn’t even look at me. Just leaves."

You stare at him. "She quit?"

"Forever!" Jisung throws up his hands. "She sent me a fucking text later, saying she was retiring and that driving was too stressful."

You laugh, covering your mouth. "You bad at driving."

Jisung sighs dramatically, hugging you a little closer. "Yeah. So this is why we’re taking the subway."

You shake your head, still giggling as the train rattles toward Gangnam. Jisung holds onto the overhead handle, keeping you steady against him, his warmth pressing against you in the cramped space.

And somehow, even with the overwhelming noise and the sheer number of people around you, you don’t feel as anxious anymore. Not with Jisung’s arm wrapped securely around you, his voice filling the space between you with ridiculous stories and endless laughter.

The entrance to the COEX Aquarium is bright and bustling, the cool air inside a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat outside. The faint scent of saltwater fills the air, mixed with the clean sterility of glass and metal. People shuffle through the check-in, collecting tickets and brochures, voices overlapping in excited chatter.

Jisung immediately makes a beeline for the check-in counter, grabbing a map from the stand with an eager grin. His round glasses slide slightly down his nose as he reads, and he absentmindedly pushes them up with a knuckle.

“Alright,” he announces, flipping the map dramatically. “So, the tour goes in this order: Rainbow Lounge, then the Story of Korean Fish, Fish in Wonderland, Amazonia World, Marine Touch Lab, Mangrove and Beach, Living Reef Gallery, Ocean Kingdom, Marine Mammal Village, Deep Blue Square, Deep Blue Sea Tunnel, Garden of Jellyfish, Penguin's Playground, and then, boom, gift shop.”

You nod, gripping the strap of your handbag, feeling the smooth material under your fingers as a grounding technique. "Sounds… good."

Jisung grins, tucking the map into his back pocket before reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours effortlessly. "Let's go," he says, tugging you forward. "I need you to tell me all the facts about the creatures, and then I'll tell you my superior facts."

You blink up at him, slightly startled by the warmth of his palm against yours, but his excitement is contagious, and it helps ease the lingering anxiety in your chest. You nod again, squeezing his hand slightly in agreement.

The first exhibit is the Rainbow Lounge, a room bathed in soft blue lighting with massive curved tanks lining the walls. Inside, schools of vibrantly coloured fish glide through the water, their scales shimmering under the lights, reflecting hues of red, yellow, blue, and green. The effect is mesmerizing as if stepping into an underwater dream.

Jisung whistles, eyes wide as he presses closer to the glass. "Damn. This looks like a gay fish nightclub."

You huff out a small laugh, stepping beside him. Your gaze follows the movements of the fish, recognizing different species instantly. You point at a particularly bright fish with long, flowing fins. "That… is uh, people call it Dory fish."

Jisung nods, grinning. "Ahh, Finding Nemo’s sidekick. Got it."

You gesture to another fish with a striking pink-and-purple gradient. "This is… fairy wrasse," you continue, carefully picking your words. "Males... uh.." You pause, miming a size difference with your hands.

Jisung furrows his brows before gasping. "Oh! Males grow bigger?"

You nod, relieved. "Yes! And change colour. When, they, uh," You gesture vaguely, trying to think of the right word.

Jisung tilts his head, thinking, then smirks. "When they’re horny?"

"No!" You swat at his arm, making him laugh. "When they... grow. Mature."

"Uh-huh, sure," Jisung teases, wiggling his eyebrows. "They hit fish puberty."

You shake your head, but your lips twitch slightly in amusement. You move on, pointing at another group of fish with iridescent scales. "These... are neon tetras. They live in... big groups. Uh, shoals." You glance at Jisung to make sure he understands.

He nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! They gotta stick together so they don’t get eaten."

You point at another fish, gesturing with your fingers in a sharp motion. "This one has teeth. It... bite."

Jisung leans in, squinting. "Wait, what?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Biting fish? In the gay nightclub?"

You nod. "Yes. It bite."

Jisung gasps dramatically. "A fish biter? In this economy?" He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Truly, there are no safe spaces left."

You press your lips together, holding back a laugh. Jisung’s amusement grows as he watches you struggle. "You want to laugh," he accuses playfully. "I see it."

You shake your head quickly, but the small smile on your face gives you away.

Jisung leans against the glass, watching the fish swim in rhythmic patterns. "Okay, my turn for facts," he says, clearing his throat. "Did you know that clownfish are all born male, but if the dominant female dies, the biggest male turns into a female?"

You nod, already knowing this, but you let him continue.

Jisung grins, clearly proud of himself. "Which means that in Finding Nemo, Marlin should’ve turned into a girl and married Dory. Disney lied to us."

You shake your head, amused, as he moves on to another fact. "Oh! Also, parrotfish sleep in their own mucus bubble to protect themselves from predators. Like, they literally spit out a cocoon of snot and sleep inside it. Which is both disgusting and kind of genius."

You nod again, already aware of this, but you enjoy watching him talk. His enthusiasm is infectious, and the way he gestures with his free hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped around yours makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jisung glances at you. "Wait, you already knew that, didn’t you?"

You hesitate, then nod sheepishly and Jisung groans dramatically, flopping against the railing. "Ugh. My documentary knowledge is nothing compared to yours."

You shake your head quickly. "No! It… good."

He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Good, but not great."

You hesitate before nodding again, lips twitching. "Yes."

Jisung gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased. "Fine, I’ll just keep going until I say something you don’t know."

The entrance to Ocean Kingdom is dimly lit, designed to mimic the deep sea, where only beams of artificial blue light filter through the massive tanks lining the walls. The air is noticeably cooler here, the faint hum of filtration systems and the rhythmic sound of water bubbling creating a serene atmosphere. The exhibit is all sleek glass, towering tanks filled with sharks gliding effortlessly through the water, their movements smooth and eerily silent.

Jisung stops dead in his tracks, gripping your hand tightly. "Holy shit," he breathes. His round glasses reflect the light from the water, his eyes wide with pure, unfiltered excitement. "Okay, this is so fucking cool. I love sharks."

You nod, stepping closer to the thick glass. A massive sand tiger shark swims past, its long, jagged teeth permanently exposed, giving it an almost menacing grin. The blacktip reef sharks follow close behind, their streamlined bodies sleek and agile as they weave through the artificial coral structures.

You glance at Jisung. "You like sharks?"

Jisung nods so aggressively his beret nearly slips off. "Like? Like?! I fucking adore sharks. They’re so misunderstood. They get all this bad press because of Jaws and dumbasses who think every shark is out here just waiting to eat people."

You smile slightly, pressing your hand against the glass as a hammerhead shark swims by. "Sharks, no like eat people."

Jisung gasps, gripping your arm. "See?! You get it!"

You nod, as you point at the hammerhead, then gesture with your hands to show the width of its oddly shaped head. "This is... hammerhead. Their head... is like..." You pause, miming a wide sweep with your hands.

Jisung watches your hands, nodding in encouragement. "Uh-huh, yeah, like a...?"

You think for a moment before snapping your fingers. "Like radar! It... help them find fish in sand."

Jisung’s jaw drops. "They scan the ocean floor?! That’s fucking insane."

"Yes! They sense, uh..." You pause, struggling for the right word, then tap your fingertips together in quick succession.

Jisung immediately jumps in, eyes lighting up. "Movement?"

You beam, nodding quickly. "Yes! Movement! In sand!"

Jisung watches as another hammerhead glides by. "Damn. That’s fucking metal."

You step closer to another tank, pointing at a whitetip reef shark resting on the bottom. "This shark no need to swim."

Jisung blinks. "Wait, what?"

You nod. "Most sharks need swim to breathe. This one can stop."

Jisung looks at the shark in shock. "So it just vibes? Like, it can just take a fucking nap?"

You smile, nodding. "Yes. Nap shark."

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically. "That’s so fucking unfair. If I stop breathing, I die. But this bitch? Just chilling at the bottom of the ocean? That’s some bullshit."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased with himself.

Then it’s his turn. "Okay, my turn for shark facts," he announces, straightening his posture.

You nod, waiting.

Jisung points at a nurse shark in one of the smaller tanks. "Did you know sharks have been around for over 400 million years? That’s older than dinosaurs. Like, these motherfuckers have been thriving while whole-ass species got wiped out."

You nod, already knowing this, but pretending you don’t so he’ll keep rambling. "Wow..."

Jisung puffs up proudly. "Yeah. And get this, sharks have a sixth sense. Like, actual superpowers. They can detect electric fields in the water, which is how they hunt shit hiding under the sand. Like, everything gives off tiny little electric signals, even beating hearts. Sharks can fucking sense it. They’re like ocean assassins!"

You nod again, listening as he moves on to his next fact.

"Oh! And their skin? It’s not smooth. It’s covered in tiny scales called dermal denticles, which literally means ‘skin teeth.’ If you rub a shark one way, it’s smooth, but the other way? It’s like sandpaper. Imagine having fucking teeth all over your body."

You hum, feigning deep thought. "Weird…"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Right? And get this, sharks can go into a frenzy when they smell blood. But it’s not like in the movies where they just attack randomly. They’re just curious. They check shit out first. They’re not mindless killers."

You already know this, but you nod seriously, making him feel like the smartest person in the world. "Smart shark."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hand slightly. "Exactly! They’re smart as fuck."

He pauses, watching as a massive tiger shark swims past. The stripes on its body stand out even under the dim lighting. Jisung leans in slightly. "Wait, isn’t that the one that eats everything?"

You nod. "Tiger shark. It eat… uh…" You pause, struggling for the right word. "It eat… anything. Trash. Uh…" You mime throwing something.

"Oh shit, like actual garbage?"

You nod. "Yes! Tires, license plate… even chair!"

Jisung gapes at you. "A fucking chair?"

You nod again. "Yes. It eat… no care. Just… eat."

Jisung stares at the tiger shark with newfound respect. "Honestly? Same."

You giggle, and Jisung grins at you before suddenly tilting his head in thought. "Oh, I have a question," he says. "So, I lived in Malaysia for a bit, right? And had to learn to speak a bit of Malay. Even when speaking Malay, I always thought in Korean first. So, do you think in Portuguese and then translate?"

Your eyes widen slightly. You nod slowly. "Yes… is very… hard. Head… always busy."

Jisung hums in understanding, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Damn, Y/N, your brain must be on fire 24/7."

You huff a small laugh, nodding. "Sometimes… yes."

Jisung watches you for a moment before giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, for what it’s worth, you speak Korean really well. Like, way better than I would if I tried to learn Portuguese."

"Thank you."

Jisung grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. "You’re welcome, smart girl."

The Penguin Playground is colder than the rest of the aquarium, the temperature-controlled environment mimicking the frigid conditions of the Antarctic. A light mist hangs in the air, condensation forming on the glass of the massive enclosures where dozens of penguins waddle, dive, and swim with surprising grace. The sound of their squawking fills the room, along with the occasional splash of water as they torpedo through the pool.

Jisung practically vibrates with excitement beside you, his grip on your hand tightening as he tugs you closer to the glass. "Ooh, okay, listen, I watched a whole-ass documentary on penguins last night, so I have so many facts."

You nod, already smiling as he gears up for another intense ramble.

Jisung clears his throat dramatically. "Okay, first of all, people always think penguins are these cute, loyal, fluffy little bastards but no. These motherfuckers are ruthless. Did you know that some penguins fucking cheat on their mates?"

You blink up at him, feigning shock. "Cheat?"

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, eyes wide. "Like, they have ‘mating pairs’ and whatever, but some penguins just go around fucking other penguins on the side. Like, dead-ass homewrecking each other’s little ice nests."

You huff a small laugh, nodding as if this is the most shocking news you’ve ever heard. "Bad penguins."

"Right?" Jisung scoffs, shaking his head. "And it gets worse. You know how they give their mates those cute little pebbles, right? Like, oh, here’s a stone, I love you, let’s build a nest together?"

You nod.

Jisung grips your shoulders. "Some of them fucking STEAL the pebbles."

Your mouth drops open. "No."

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, pointing aggressively at the penguins behind the glass. "Some of these sneaky little bitches literally go around stealing the best pebbles from other nests instead of looking for their own. Just straight-up robbery. And you wanna know why? Because the best pebbles get you the best mates. It’s like fucking gold-digging but in the penguin world."

You shake your head, barely holding in your giggles. "Scammers."

"THEY ARE!" Jisung throws his hands up. "They’re fucking criminals! And you know what else? Some of these thieving motherfuckers actually TRADE the stolen pebbles for sex."

Your eyes widen as you process that. "Trade?"

"TRADE!" Jisung yells, clearly outraged. "Like, ‘Oh, you want this really nice rock? That’ll cost you one fuck.’" He turns to the glass, pointing at the penguins. "Who taught them capitalism?!"

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as laughter shakes your shoulders.

"And listen, if you thought that was the worst of it, let me tell you about their shit habits, literally. Did you know penguins fart? Like, a lot?"

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. "Fart?"

"So much fucking farting."

You press your lips together, pretending to be intrigued. "Why?"

Jisung smirks, adjusting his glasses dramatically. "Because of their diet, my dear Y/N. These little tuxedo-wearing menaces eat so much fucking krill and fish that their guts are basically fermentation chambers. They store gas like it’s a fucking science experiment, and then, boom, stinky ass farts."

You shake your head, covering your face with your hands as you giggle.

Jisung leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And it gets worse."

You peek up at him through your fingers. "Worse?"

"Yes." Jisung nods grimly. "Because penguins, my dear Y/N, shit with force. These little bastards don’t just poop. They launch that shit. Like, projectile diarrhoea. Scientists actually did a study to measure how far a penguin can fire its own crap."

You stare at him, struggling to keep a straight face. "Really?"

"Really!" Jisung nods eagerly. "The average launch distance of a penguin’s explosive diarrhoea is about 1.3 meters. That’s like, over four feet of straight-up shit cannon."

You can’t hold it in anymore, you burst out laughing, doubling over slightly as your shoulders shake. Jisung beams, clearly thrilled that he got you to laugh.

"And," Jisung continues, clearly on a roll now, "if you thought we have it bad with public restrooms, imagine being a fucking penguin scientist. These poor fuckers have to sit around in a frozen hellscape, measuring how far penguin shit flies for the sake of science. Imagine going to college and getting a degree, only to end up with a job where you’re literally dodging high-speed bird turds in the fucking Antarctic."

You gasp for air between giggles, clutching your stomach. "Jisung!"

Jisung grins. "What? It’s true! Imagine coming home after work and someone’s like, ‘Hey, what do you do for a living?’ and you just have to be like, ‘Oh, you know, just penguin poop physics.’"

You wipe at your eyes, shaking your head as you finally manage to compose yourself. "That is so sad."

Jisung nods solemnly. "Rest in peace to all the penguin poop researchers." He sighs dramatically. "They were the real ones."

You giggle again, looking back at the penguins. Some are waddling around, pecking at the ice, others diving smoothly into the water, their little bodies streamlined and graceful despite how ridiculous they look on land.

Jisung nudges your arm. "You still think they’re cute?"

You nod without hesitation. "Yes."

Jisung sighs, shaking his head. "Even knowing they’re cheating, thieving, rock-trading, shit-launching criminals?"

You smile. "Yes."

Jisung grins. "Yeah, me too."

You both stand there for a moment, just watching the penguins in comfortable silence. Then Jisung gently tugs on your hand. "C’mon, let’s go buy unnecessary amounts of shit from the gift shop."

The sun is still brutal when you and Jisung step out of the COEX Aquarium, but the heat doesn’t seem as oppressive after the hours spent in the cool, dimly lit exhibits. The matching turtle plush keychains you both bought at the gift shop swing slightly with each step, yours hanging off the strap of your handbag, and Jisung’s clipped to a belt loop on his oversized jeans.

He’d insisted on matching, grinning like a maniac as he dramatically held up the two keychains side by side, saying, "Look, they’re like us, one is shy and the other talks too much."

Jisung stretches, groaning as he rolls his shoulders. "Okay, so what now?" he asks, tilting his head to squint at you behind his round glasses. His hair is slightly messy from wearing his beret all day, but he hasn’t put it back on, letting the slight breeze cool him off. "The date can’t end here. We could go to a cafe or get bubble tea, I am starving. Like, actually starving. I thought the penguins might’ve tasted nice with some rice back there."

You wrinkle your nose, playfully nudging his side. "Jisung!"

"What?!" Jisung grins, rubbing his stomach dramatically. "It’s their fault for being so plump and round! If we were in a survival situation, you’d consider it too."

You shake your head, holding back a laugh. "No. Bad."

Jisung groans. "Fine, fine, I’ll find food that isn’t a penguin." He turns to you expectantly. "So? What do you wanna eat?"

You hesitate, thinking. "We could... go get... cheesecake? Is that how you say?"

Jisung gasps.

You blink at him in confusion. "What-"

"You are a dream woman," he interrupts, placing both hands on his chest as if he’s just been blessed by the universe. "Cheesecake is my fucking favourite. That’s it. That’s the final straw. You have to be my girlfriend now."

You freeze slightly, your brain stumbling over the last word. "Girlfriend?"

Jisung blinks at you before realization dawns. "Oh. Right. You don’t..." He pauses before trying again. "You know? Girlfriend?"

You still look lost, trying to piece it together, so Jisung immediately jumps into action.

He clutches his chest dramatically, swaying like he’s about to faint. "Oh, my love," he sighs, reaching for you as if in a tragic romance drama. "I cannot live without you!"

You blink, watching him curiously and Jisung moves on to the next demonstration, pressing his hands together in the shape of a heart and wiggling his eyebrows. "You know? Love. Romance. Heart-fluttering moments."

You tilt your head slightly, still not entirely sure what he means.

Jisung groans, then escalates immediately. He mimes sex. Your eyes widen as he thrusts his hips dramatically, makes an obscene hand gesture, and moans loudly, loud enough that people turn to stare.

"JISUNG!" you gasp as you smack his arm.

He just laughs. "Now you get it!"

You cover your face with your hands, still mortified. "Yes! I get! I get!"

Jisung snickers, nudging you playfully. "So? You gonna be my girlfriend or what?"

You peek at him through your fingers. "You like me?"

Jisung scoffs. "Duh." He reaches out, gently pulling your hands away from your face so you’ll look at him. "Of course I like you. You’re amazing. You’re smart as hell, you let me ramble for hours, you listen to my dumbass facts, and you even pretend to be impressed even though you already know everything. That’s some top-tier girlfriend material shit right there."

You stare at him, taking in his sincerity and Jisung watches you expectantly, still holding your hands. "So? What do you think?"

You hesitate, feeling your heart pound a little too hard. Then, slowly, you nod. "I like you too."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hands. "Fucking finally," he sighs dramatically. "Alright, now that we’re officially dating, I’m taking my hot girlfriend to get cheesecake."

You giggle softly, letting him pull you along as the heat of the summer sun bears down on the city. But somehow, despite the heatwave, despite the sweat sticking to your skin, being with Jisung makes everything feel lighter.

The frat house is dimly lit when you and Jisung step inside, the air slightly cooler than the humid streets outside. It’s quiet for once, which is rare for a house full of chaotic men, but you assume most of them are either out or recovering from whatever questionable decisions they made last night.

Jisung, however, is still buzzing with energy. He kicks off his shoes, dragging you inside excitedly. “Okay, okay, you need to see my realm,” he announces, gripping your wrist as he starts leading you toward the stairs. “It’s like fucking Mary Poppins’ bag, but a room. I buy so much random shit that I never use. It’s basically a museum of bad financial decisions.”

You raise a curious eyebrow but let him pull you along, his excitement infectious. The stairs creak under your steps as you both make your way up, and Jisung keeps talking, gesturing wildly. “Honestly, I don’t even know half the shit I own. Sometimes I open a drawer and it’s like, oh, hello, cursed object I forgot about.”

You giggle, shaking your head as he finally stops in front of his door. He turns to you dramatically, gripping the handle. “Prepare yourself,” he warns, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is not just a room. This is an experience.”

With that, he swings open the door.

The first thing you notice is that Jisung was not exaggerating. His room is a chaotic explosion of random shit. Posters cover the walls, some of them normal, bands, movies, anime, while others are questionable choices, like a framed photo of Shrek in a Renaissance-style painting.

There are plushies stacked in one corner, a full arcade joystick setup next to his desk, multiple fidget cubes scattered on his nightstand, and an entire shelf dedicated to random collectables. A rubber chicken, a Funko Pop of Michael Scott from The Office, a tiny golden Buddha, and what looks like an actual taxidermied frog playing a tiny violin.

You step inside cautiously, glancing around. "You buy a lot."

Jisung grins proudly, kicking some clothes out of the way. “I know, right? It’s fucking awesome.”

He immediately starts pointing things out, launching into the backstory of every ridiculous item.

“This,” he says, grabbing a tiny, handheld fan from his desk, “was supposed to save my life during this heatwave, but it barely blows any air, so now it just sits here collecting dust like a useless piece of shit.”

You hum, pretending to be deeply fascinated.

He grabs a remote-controlled car next. “Bought this because I thought it would be funny to terrorize the frat house, but then Changbin fucking stepped on it, so now it just drives in circles forever.”

You nod, clearly taking notes on his terrible purchasing habits. Then he picks up a weirdly realistic-looking pigeon figurine.

You blink at it. "Pigeon?"

Jisung grins, shaking the bird at you. “YES. I bought this because I read somewhere that pigeons are government spies, and I thought it would be hilarious to keep one as a double agent.”

You narrow your eyes at him. "You believe that?"

Jisung shrugs. "I mean, not really, but the possibility is funny as fuck.”

You shake your head, barely holding in your laughter as you continue looking around. Then your eyes land on something big and ominous leaning against the wall. A riot shield.

You point at it. "Why?"

Jisung follows your gaze, then laughs, walking over to grab it. “Ohhh, this thing? Yeah, okay, so it looked really fucking cool when I bought it, but then I just never used it. It sat in my closet for months.”

You tilt your head. "But you use?"

Jisung nods dramatically. "Yes, it finally proved useful when I told Minho we were going on a date. I used it to protect myself from his wrath."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Minho hit you?"

Jisung grins. “No, but I wasn’t about to take my chances.”

Then, without warning, he reaches under his bed and pulls out something even more ridiculous, a realistic-looking katana.

Your mouth drops open slightly. "A sword?!"

Jisung nods, holding it up with a completely serious expression. “This, my dear Y/N, is what I actually bought to protect myself against Minho.”

You blink at him, then glance at the sword again. "It real?"

Jisung snickers. “No, it’s fake but it looks real enough to make Minho hesitate for like, two seconds.”

You shake your head, amused but not surprised. Then Jisung suddenly gasps, eyes lighting up. "OH! You need a stone!"

You tilt your head. "Stone?"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Like penguins, right? They give each other stones to say, I like you, let’s build a nest, let’s be criminals together.”

You nod, playing along, and Jisung immediately dives into his desk drawer, rummaging through random junk until he finally pulls out a small pebble. He holds it up proudly before walking back over and placing it gently into your palm.

You stare at it, warmth spreading in your chest. "My stone?"

Jisung nods. "Your stone."

You turn it over in your fingers, rubbing the smooth surface before looking back up at him. "You give me nest?"

Jisung grins. “Hell yeah, I give you a nest. We’re in this together now.”

You giggle, gripping the stone a little tighter.

Jisung watches you for a moment, his smile softening. Then, before you can process it, he steps closer, tilting his head slightly as he studies your face. There’s a pause, a moment of quiet anticipation, before he leans in, his hand gently cupping your cheek as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is warm, deep, and unmistakably Jisung, a little eager, a little messy, but so full of feeling that your chest tightens. His lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate pressure, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he’s been thinking about this moment for longer than he’d ever admit.

His free hand finds your waist, fingers curling slightly against your dress as he pulls you in, his body flush against yours. You feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way his heart races against your own, and you melt into him, pressing up on your toes to kiss him back with just as much uncertainty and want.

When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his forehead resting lightly against yours. He exhales a soft, breathy laugh, his grip on your waist loosening just slightly.

"Well, I guess the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung paid off."

And you laugh, because, somehow, it feels like the truest thing in the world.

Requested by Anon

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @puppymsworld

Proofread by the one, the only, the lovely @hwangjoanna (who has a Squid Game SKZ AU which you should all go and show some love

Dividers by: @enchanthings-a

Curlysung as a result of this poll

Please like, reblog and comment as I researched so much for this story, I researched aquariums in seoul and went on a deep dive on the CEOX aquarium website and all attractions mentioned are attractions that exist at CEOX aquarium and I also did so much research on marine biology, so much

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